#and he was way out of crease on a lot of these

[mabelstone]

Common Tongue

hozier x f!reader

part five of lullabies <3 | part four | masterlist

cw: 18+, oral sex, a lot of this is sex ok u should know me by now, the word 'balls', not much plot tbh

word count: 4.1k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure @the-imperfectgirl-blog @l1nd3n @yunonaneko xo

I woke in the delicious warmth of Andrew’s arms, his soft breaths against my neck sending a chill down my spine. I gently nuzzled into his touch, his arms autonomously holding me tighter. For the next week and a half, this was my morning routine. Also part of the morning routine was the part where I would slip out of his grip as gently as possible when I was on the verge of weeing myself.

I’d slip back into bed, entranced by the way sleep drenched breaths swam through the small parting of his lips. The way his muddy greens danced under his eyelids as he dreamt, and the way his thick lashes swept along his high cheekbones made it near impossible for me to look away.

We danced around the fine line of being lovers, friends, and fuck buddies, not even entertaining the thought of defining what we were. I knew it was all probably moving too fast considering I’d just gotten out of a relationship. Not that I really cared - Andy had a way of numbing me. Numbing the heartbreak in a way that I didn’t even have to acknowledge it. He made me feel happy and sexy and loved, if that’s what you’d call it.

Like he could feel it, he’d wake to me watching him, causing me to blush profusely and apologise. He’d either pull me in and kiss my neck and forehead, or remind me with a grin, “staring is rude, y’know,” in his deep, groggy morning voice. It was rare to catch him watching me sleep as I was the early riser of the two of us. But during the day, I’d swear I was his favourite sight. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

This past week also consisted of numerous phone calls to Andy, all from producers begging to sign him to their labels. I was so ecstatic for him, but of course, he was overtly humble as always. After doing his research and attending a few meetings, he decided to go with Rubyworks.

“Andy!” I threw myself into his arms excitedly, squeezing him so hard, I thought he might implode. “I’m so proud of you… we have to celebrate!”

“I’dunno, baby…” he sighed, raking his hands through the back of my hair while I melted into his touch. “This all might blow up in my face yet.”

“Don’t talk rubbish!” I scolded him, peeling my face away with my arms still around him so he could see me frown. “And you deserve to be celebrated. And we have no plans for dinner. Please?”

“Because you’ve twisted my arm,” he gave in, bending down slightly to capture my lips in his. As if I had any control at this point, I autonomously kissed him back, a squeak leaving me when he effortlessly picked me up and sat me on his kitchen island.

He deepened the kiss, one of his hands squeezing my thigh, the other tangled in my hair. I sighed against him, my hands skating across his abdomen. His tongue slipped into my mouth, forcing me to swallow a grunt of his. Both of his hands now slipped up my thighs, stopping just at the crease of my hip with a firm squeeze.

“You’d better stop,” he warned, pupils blown.

“Or what?” I teased, hands now gripping his biceps. Fuck dinner. I’ll give him something better to eat.

“You’ll see later,” he promised with a kiss to my temple, sliding his hands off me. “Let’s get ready now, or it’ll be impossible to drag me out of this house.”

“Fine,” I sighed in faux disappointment, hopping off the table and dragging him behind me by his hand.

I put on my favourite dress; a flowy black number with a corset like top that did me lots of favours in the breast department. I wore some simple three inch heels, sheer black stockings, and a faux leather coat. My hair was slicked back into a wavy ponytail, complimented by some chunky gold jewellery to break up all the darks I had on. I wore Andrew's favourite perfume of mine, Jimmy Choo's Eau De Parfum. I'd always had an illustrious love for fashion, but oftentimes Joe had an issue with my style. Not Andy, though. His jaw just about hit the floor and he looked as if he were close to calling off our plans and just taking me to bed instead. Not that I would have protested... but no, tonight was about him.

He looked edible in a black button up and brown jacket, with those white converse's that were basically fused to his feet at this point. He trimmed his beard down and has doused himself in Tam Dao by Diptique, and when I say he smelt divine, I mean, I considered calling off our plans as well.

At first, we found ourselves in a cheesy karaoke bar that was walking distance from his house. We threw back a couple shots, laughing and cheering on both the good and… not so good performances. Andy always said that despite the voice he was gifted with, he hated singing karaoke. I eventually convinced him to duet Islands in the Stream with me. It was the most fun I’d ever had. He then gave his own rendition of Sex Bomb, and I hate to admit it, but it did something to me. We snacked on shitty street food as we passed through the weekend markets, enjoying our tipsy people watching.

After that, we found a dim lit bar in the west end with live music and cheap drinks for happy hour. We caught a taxi and walked hand in hand from the car to our booth. For once, I loved having everyone's eyes on us. I wanted everyone to see us together, though we weren't really together.

The combination of the sultry jazz band in the background mingling with the effects of too much alcohol too fast had me sliding my foot up his leg, getting a high from watching his eyes darken as he squirmed. He gave me a warning look, to which I innocently sipped at my drink and averted my head to the band, gently applying pressure to his crotch. I felt his hand grip my ankle, and when I thought he'd move me away, he ran his hands up my leg instead, stopping only when he reached my knee. I turned my head back to him quickly, my core growing hot at the feeling. He looked gorgeous, curls framing his face, his eyes fixed on me as if I were the most interesting thing in the room.

His stare challenged mine, almost daring me to keep going. The look in his eyes screamed, "see what will happen," and I have never been one to turn down a dare.

Drunkenly, I slid my finger around the rim of my glass, bringing the salt to my lips as I sucked my finger clean, making effort to show my tongue at first. I pushed it in far deeper than necessary, almost able to hear the way his breath hitched in his throat. His grip on my ankle tightened, and I applied a bit more pressure with my heel.

"I swear to God, I will throw you into a cab right now," his eyes were hooded and narrowed in on me. It felt like a stand off between a predator and prey, despite feeling nothing but safety in his presence.

"You wanna take me home, big boy?" I teased, relishing in the way his cheeks flushed when I used the ridiculous pet name. He loved a good double entendre. Well, triple entendre, really.

I reached across the table to grab his hands, running my thumb over his knuckles. Despite the often heated nature of our exchanges recently, I'd never felt more loved. Maybe that was the wrong word, it was too soon. I'd never felt more secure.

He abruptly got up from the booth, dragging me to the dance floor with him. I laughed wildly, the alcohol buzzing through both of our veins like a freight train. “You hate dancing!”

“I know!” He shouted back over the music, pulling me in close to him by my waist. “But you’re beautiful and you’ve been force feeding me whiskey.”

“Hardly force feeding,” I scoffed, slapping his arm playfully. We swayed to a cover of I’d Rather Go Blind by Etta James, giggling uncontrollably at how uncoordinated we both were. It didn’t matter, it felt good.

Then there was the feeling of someone bumping into me hard, followed by the cold of a drink soaking the back of my legs. I gasped, pushing myself further into Andy to get away from the feeling.

“Sorry,” the woman spoke with no sign of remorse in her tone or expression. Andy was quick to grab a handful of napkins from the table beside us, wiping me down as I blushed embarrassedly. I was sure I was hallucinating when I looked up and saw Joe smirking. Fucking loser.

“Andy,” I pulled him up by his coat from where he was wiping me down. “Let’s go.”

“It’s okay, darlin’, you can’t even tell-“

“No, Joe is here. Let’s leave, please.” I felt hot and nauseous immediately, the glint in his eye from across the room all too familiar. He was going to make me pay for leaving him.

Andrew’s expression turned unreadable, yet he still nodded and stayed close behind me as I quickly fled the bar. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I nodded, acutely aware of how dry my throat felt. “He’s just unpredictable, I’d rather not deal with him tonight. Or, ever for that matter.”

He just hummed in response, lacing his fingers with mine. He pulled out his phone to order us an Uber. I tried to protest, insisting that we hadn’t celebrated him enough. He shushed me with a kiss, reassuring me that tonight was wonderful and he was grateful. I leaned into his body while we waited in the cold, his arm around my shoulder as we watched the traffic pass us by.

“So you are with him?” Joe scoffed, seeming to appear out of thin air. I startled at his voice, scolding myself internally for peeling away from Andy so quickly. “And you couldn't fuckin' wait for the chance to steal her, could you?"

“We aren’t together,” I quickly interjected, ignoring the way Andy’s face faltered at my clarification. “And even if I was, we are over. It’s over. Don’t you understand?”

“I understand that you can’t keep your legs shut.”

I was taken aback by his comment, unable to think of a snarky reply as my cheeks warmed and my jaw slackened.

"That's no way to speak to a woman, show some fuckin' respect," Andrew growled, stepping closer to my ex, absolutely towering over him. Joe tried to get in his face, both of them puffing their chests out like two pigeons. It was kind of sexy. Is that horrible to say?

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Joe bit back, grabbing a fistful of Andrew's shirt.

"Stop!" I shrieked, grabbing Andrews' wrist, trying my hardest to get him away from Joe. "I want to go home."

"Home?" Joe seethed through gritted teeth, his face red as a traffic light.

Andrew shoved Joe back, sending him stumbling, barely finding his footing.

"Andy, I want to go home," my voice was fragile as I tugged on his wrist once more, his expression immediately softening when he saw tears in my eyes. He took my hand in his, leading me away as he checked to see if Joe was hanging around. Looks like the security guard saw him, thankfully.

The Uber rolled up two minutes later and I couldn't have climbed in any quicker. I was beyond grateful to be in a warm car rather than out in the cold with Joe.

"That was fuckin' scary," I huffed, throwing my head back against the headrest.

"I'm sorry," he cooed with a gentle hand threading through my hair. "I shouldn't have said anything to him."

"That was not your fault," I assured him, turning to look at those big, doe eyes that were starting to make me weak.

He gave me a half hearted smile and sat in silence for the rest of the drive. I wondered what he was thinking, but felt it was probably best to just let him feel how he needed to. When we got home, we thanked the driver and walked into Andrews house in silence.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently, standing by as he shucked his coat.

"Yeah," he sighed with a shake of his head, though it wasn't convincing in the slightest.

"Did I do something? Or, say something?" I prodded further, softly taking his hand so he'd look at me.

"Really, it's no big deal," he gave me a half hearted smile, squeezing my hand once before heading for the stairs. "I'm gonna go shower."

I watched as he walked away, wracking my brain for anything that could have happened. Surely seeing Joe didn't upset him.

Then I remembered how fast I was to reassure my ex that Andy and I weren't exclusive. Fuck. I planned out my approach in my head for a while so I didn't dig the knife in deeper.

When I made it to his room, he was in his closet with dampened curls and a towel around his waist, looking for clothes, I presume. I knocked softly to let him know I was at the door.

"Andy?"

He hummed in response, turning only his head to me.

"Is it because I said we aren't together?"

He huffed some half witted laugh, almost as if he were embarrassed.

I walked closer to him, taking his hand into mine. "Well we aren't officially together, Andy." I sighed. "But I guess we kind of are together, aren't we?"

That caught his eye.

"And," I continued, "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with right now." I took his face into my hands, pulling him close as I softly kissed him. His mouth was much warmer than mine and he smelt so fresh and delicious.

Each time we kissed, something deep inside of me sparked like a flint and steel. The near palpable electricity of that spark conducted its way through my lips straight to his. We found a steady rhythm that was soon forgotten, replaced by tongue and teeth, desperate for more. Without breaking contact, we staggered back onto the bed, only the cotton of his towel and the nylon of my stockings keeping our bodies separated. My hands tugged at his soft auburn curls, eliciting encouraging hymns of appraisal that I wished I could devour. His hands dug into my hips harder than he ever had. Not hard enough to hurt me, but hard enough to let me know he wanted me just as bad as I did him.

I moved my mouth to his neck, sucking at his delicate skin, feeling his pulse against my lips. He shuddered and gasped, desperately trying to grind my body against his. The sinful noises he made only made me crave him more, only made me yearn for his beautiful rhapsodies. To hear them alone, without the deafening ring of my own pleasure in my ears, to hear them without my own pants and sighs overwhelming his. Just him, all of him.

"Andy, I really want to suck your cock," I blurted, pulling away to look at him through drooped eyelids. "May I please?"

"Good manners," he joked, his eyes even more lidded than my own. "Of course, baby." He pulled me in for another kiss, his tongue gliding against mine as I let a hand trail down his stomach and underneath his towel. I felt him twitch in my hand as I started to stroke him, his groans reverberating in my mouth.

I had never wanted to knob somebody off so bad. I always hated it with whoever else I was sleeping with. There was something about Andy. He was such a giver that it felt wrong not to give him something back. Like I'd be missing out on a sacred experience if I didn't do it right now. There was no part of me that didn't get pleasure out of pleasuring him.

I pulled my lips from his, sliding down between his legs. I kissed from his jaw to his collarbones, to his chest and then his stomach, watching goosebumps form along his creamy skin, his calloused hands skating along my forearms.

I finally freed him from the towel, watching his cock jump against his happy trail. I took him into my hand, pumping his length a few times to see his facial expression change. My God, was it the most divine sight. Unable to hold off any longer, I licked a flat stripe over his tip, his precum dancing on my tongue.

"Fuck," he practically gasped, gently grabbing the back of my head.

I slowly wrapped my lips around his tip using one of my hands to guide him into my mouth. Without taking his eyes off me, he reached behind his head for a pillow, staring at me like he might die if he looked away. I didn't dare take my eyes off his.

I slowly took more of him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him as I did so. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, borrowing a whimper from my mouth working around him. I pulled off briefly to blink up at him, "tell me how you like it, please."

He whimpered some response, nodding desperately. I put my mouth on him again, looking up for further instruction.

"Stick your tongue out a little," he breathed, the faintest of smiles on his face. "Good, now start movin', baby."

I nodded best I could with my mouth full, bobbing my head at a steady rhythm. I looked up at him through my lashes, my stomach flipping at the sight before me.

"Gooood girl," he praised me, freeing one of his hands from my hair to brush his thumb over my cheek. "Can you go a little faster, angel?"

I hummed in agreement, moving my head along his length faster, keeping my tongue out along the base the way he liked, making sure to hollow my cheeks the best I could. Not that there was much room for that. I moved one hand to steady myself against his thigh, the other slipping down to massage his balls.

"Jesus Christ," he moaned, throwing his head back. "Yeah, that's it. Just like that." My stomach flipped, my core on the verge of boiling over. I swear I could get off on the sight and sounds of him alone.

I took him as deep as I could, fighting off the urge to gag as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. My jaw was aching and tears were threatening to fall from my eyes, but I was determined. I could tell he was close by the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

He gave my hair a firm tug, a warning, almost as if to give me the option to pull off. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep going."

I hummed in acknowledgement, no shred of intention to stop in my body.

"Where, baby?" He breathed, the muscles in his stomach beginning to tense. I traced a few shapes with my tongue as a form of communication, my way of showing him where, looking up at him. "Christ, Y/N," he groaned, spilling hot ribbons onto my tongue, his hips stuttering beneath me. I kept my mouth on him as he rode out his high, his face contorted in ecstasy, brows furrowed, mouth agape as his euphonious appraisals slipped from it.

I pulled off, my lips swollen and red, mascara no doubt running down my cheeks, and now uncomfortably horny.

Like he could read my mind, he sat up pulled me into his lap, now kissing my neck. His beard scratched across my collarbones in the most tantalising way, his hands working quickly to unzip my dress. He did so with ease, slipping the material off my shoulders where it pooled in our laps.

"You are perfect," he sighed against my skin, kissing me hard as he palmed one of my breasts. I whimpered against him, my hands in his hair as he buried his face in my chest. One of his hands cradled the bottom of my skull, the other guiding my breast to his mouth as he flicked his tongue across my nipple.

"Andy," I whined, pure need unmistakable in my tone. "Mmh, need you, baby."

He flipped me onto my back without warning, sliding down the bed between my thighs. His eyes were hungry, almost primal. Despite his release only moments prior, he had determination written all over his face as he buried his face between my thighs, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses through my stockings. "Please, I need you now. Please, please," my voice was whinier than I'd ever heard it, so much so I almost didn't recognise it.

My dress was still bunched around my waist, but he didn't seem too inconvenienced. My stockings, however, had no chance of surviving this one. In one fluid movement, he ripped through the crotch of my stockings, tearing them thigh to thigh. I gasped, my stomach flipping at the gesture. He pulled my knickers to the side, sliding his tongue over my clit without warning. Instantly, my back was arching autonomously, my head already thrown back against the mattress.

His tongue flitted against me with expert precision, switching between sucking and licking. "Tell me how you like it," he spoke against me, the vibrations from his voice combined with his soft lips against the most sensitive part of my body making my head go fuzzy. I couldn't even respond, only able to fumble around for his hand.

He slipped two fingers in with ease and I nearly screamed in pleasure. Lewd, wet noises filled the room, my whines and moans somehow even louder than the physical proof of my arousal. His deft fingers worked me to the fastest orgasm known to man, hitting my g-spot with each thrust, his tongue signing love letters onto my clit.

I chanted his name like a mantra, desperately clinging to the bedsheets beneath me as I completely lost myself under his touch. The most incredible feeling ever ripped through my every nerve ending, every fibre, every atom of my being. I shook uncontrollably beneath him, toes curled, eyes screwed shut as I made noises nobody else had ever torn from me. This must be what heaven feels like.

I finally came back down to Earth, panting like I'd ran a marathon. Andy wiped his mouth on the towel, the most satisfied grin I'd ever seen plastered to his face.

"Andy, I-" I stammered, genuinely lost for words as I laid my head on his chest. "I owe you the world. What do you want? Whatever it is, it's yours."

"Are you kiddin' me?" He laughed exasperatedly, kissing my forehead. "I should be givin' you the world. That was the closest to a religious experience I've ever had."

"You'd better write a song about this," I half joked, shimmying my dress off finally.

"Way ahead of ya', darlin'," he sighed in content. "I need to do that more."

"You ruined my stockings, Andy," I sighed in faux disappointment, "but that might have been the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

Then he was back to his shy self, a bashful grin on his face that he covered with his arm, leaving my heart to soar within my chest.

Fuck. I was catching proper feelings. Like... proper. Like, L-Word feelings. The realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks. Andy was to go and record some songs next week. What if he didn't feel the same? What if he got really famous and left me behind? Was I just sex? Was he just a rebound? It all has really moved fast, I shouldn't be getting attached...

"I'm gonna shower," I smiled politely, excusing myself before he had a chance to say anything.

A million thoughts raced through my mind at once. Was I trying to sabotage this for myself? It felt nice to be clean, a nice reset. The water defrosted me, made me feel centred again. I dried off and slipped into one of his hoodies.

"I need to tell you something," I blurted, unable to stop the words from coming out as I walked back into his room.

i did some googling and there might be some confusion (or maybe not, but just in case) when i say stockings i mean toe to hip tights/hosiery. i'm australian lol i apologise if some things don't make sense... i don't like the word hosiery ok

[dollfacefantasy]

ddlg with chris!!!😫

who else need daddy chris rn 😔

chris redfield x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, ddlg, p in v, cockwarming

tags: @nexysworld @d10nyx @pupthepokemonenthusiast

It’d been a hard day for you, and Chris knew it. He could tell from the second you got home. He could tell from the rhythm of your steps, the measure of your breaths, and the wistful look in your eyes when you stepped into the living room with him. Every theory he had was confirmed when he heard you call for him.

“Daddy?”

Your voice is soft and demure, how it sounds when you get in this mood. It’s muscle memory at this point, but it’s like two wires connect among the circuitry of his brain. He’s in a mood too now. The one that directly complements yours.

“C’mere, princess,” he calls in return and pats his lap, his arms already open and awaiting your arrival.

In seconds, your bag is on the floor against the wall and you’ve closed the distance between you two. Your ass finds its familiar perch on his thigh while the rest of you sinks into his broad, pillowy chest. He strokes your head and keeps you secure against the heat of his body.

“There’s my little girl,” he murmurs.

His palm intrinsically remembers the way it’s supposed to move up and down your spine. His leg bounces a few times just to remind you that he’s here, and he’s in control now. There’s nothing for you to worry about when daddy’s got you.

That glowing warmth begins to settle over your shoulders. Your stresses leak away from your brain, leaving it empty and swimming with nothing but your want for him.

“Tell daddy what’s got you down, sugar,” he says.

A lot of the time, once you had this go-ahead, everything would just pour out of you like a broken faucet, but not right now. You weren’t in the mood to vent right now. You were in the mood for daddy to make everything better.

“Too much goin’ on,” you say simply as you slot your face in the crook of his neck.

He hums with understanding and pulls you in even closer, like it was possible for the two of you to meld together.

“Too much going on?” he repeats, “They got my baby working too hard, huh?”

You nod to the leading questions, wanting to reach the destination.

“That’s not fair. You’re not made for thinking. That’s why you got a daddy,” he murmurs, his fingers coasting upwards to massage the base of your neck.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, drawing out the syllables, “Makes my head hurt.”

“Where’s it hurt, baby?” he asks.

“Here, here, here,” you say, pointing front and center on your forehead and then behind each of your ears.

He responds in kind and lands his lips on each spot. Each kiss is precise and tender. He makes a little “mwah” sound to really drive home the power of these.

“Feel any better? Or do you need a few more?” he asks, his lips already brushing your forehead while he speaks.

“Few more,” you answer without a second thought. You were never one to turn down kisses.

He gives you the few more, and your dangling feet begin swaying back and forth subconsciously. He notices in an instant, a small tell you were slipping deeper into a docile, malleable state of mind. He guides you back a bit and tilts your chin up, wanting to look into those eyes that’d be going glossy in no time.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I think daddy’s got an even better fix for this,” he says and smacks a kiss on your temple.

You look up at him curiously though you have an idea of what’s coming. The two of you had a familiar routine when it came to you feeling spread thin. He boosts you to your feet and tugs down your bottoms and panties, leaving you in just the t-shirt you’re wearing.

“Why don’t you grab your game, baby? Then you can come relax with daddy,” he instructs.

You nod and move to follow the directions. While you’re gone, Chris prepares himself for you. He lifts his hips and pushes his pants down to his ankles. His cock lays against the crease of his thigh, warm and heavy. Grabbing it, he gives it a few strokes to get it stiffened up. After all, nothing relaxed his sweet girl more than a few minutes on it.

You scurry back into the room, still pantless with your Nintendo in your hands. You head to him and stand between his legs. He turns you around by your hips and then guides you down onto his length.

“That’s a good girl,” he grunts as your heat engulfs him.

His head rests against the chair, and he lets out a shaky breath. You were so fucking tight and wet. Your pussy took the thickness of his cock like that was its purpose, and he couldn’t get enough.

Once you’re settled he pulls you towards him so your back is against his chest. You squirm a little to get comfortable, raising one of your feet to rest on his thigh. You settle in as if nothing is amiss. He watches over your shoulder as your game boots up. The little characters dance across the loading screen before you take control and start running around the map.

He relaxes too. His arms come to rest around your waist while his fingers rub your tummy gently.

“Look daddy. You like her dress?” you ask him as you show off the little outfit you’d dressed up the character in.

“Mhm. She’s pretty. Just like you,” he mumbles and kisses behind your ear.

You laugh a little and continue playing, showing him the different things you’d built in the game and mini tasks you had to complete.

To be honest, moments like these helped Chris relax too. His cock buried inside you as you sat there and brightened up the room. It was soothing, therapeutic even. You were dripping all over him, moving the little joysticks around as your slick dribbled over his balls.

He rubs your sides, the care he has for you seeping from his palms into the softness of your torso. Every so often, you’d move a bit to adjust yourself, and he would grit his teeth to resist the urge to thrust into your warmth. He manages to restrain himself though, knowing you just needed some time to relax before more stimulation.

Staying still for a while more, he allows you that. It’s only when he sees you beginning to stall in your game that he squeezes your hips and rolls his own as if he’s getting comfortable. You’d been trying to decide what you wanted to do next in your game, but the motion draws a whine from your throat, and you tilt your head back to look up at him.

He smiles at your sweet expression and drags one of his thumbs down your jawline. “What’re you looking at, hm?” he teases, “Is it daddy’s turn to play?”

You nod, and he rewards you with a peck to your lips. He hooks his large palms under your knees and folds your legs flush against the rest of your body. Your breath gets shakier as the elevated position lets his cock reach even deeper inside you.

You keep playing your games for a handful of thrusts, but the way he’s sliding in and out of you, hitting even the deepest of your sweet spots makes you put the handheld console aside. He nuzzles the side of your head.

“There we go. You feel a little better, baby?” he murmurs against your ear.

“Mhm,” you whimper. A soft, breathy moan leaves your throat as he pumps into you a little quicker. The pace was still nice and slow, supplying you with an even, steady stream of pleasure.

“Good girl,” he says, “You just let go, let daddy do all the work. Just let that pretty little head go empty.”

You nod lazily and turn your head to plant sloppy, weak kisses on his neck. He grunts at the feeling of your saliva coating his skin, digging his fingers into the dough of your legs. His hips continue rhythmically thrusting into your wanting hole. The feeling satisfies you like no other. You feel full and sated, like there’s nothing left on earth to long for. It makes it easier to turn your brain off.

“That’s my baby,” he coos, “My sweet little girl. Daddy’s here.”

Your noises are soft, cute mewls and delicate whines. Chris cherishes each one, savoring the way they drift to his ear and pull him further to release. He knows you’re getting closer too from the way you’re clamping down on him effortlessly. Every thrust massaged his thick shaft between your velvety walls. It never took much to make you cum when you were in this space.

He tilts his head down and steals your lips off his neck, connecting them with his own. Amidst the kiss, he feels your hips grinding forward a bit in an attempt to reciprocate his thrusts.

“So cute, princess,” he smiles against your lips.

You merely whimper in response and lean in for more kisses. He indulges you before pulling back and looking into your glazed eyes.

“You gonna cum soon?” he grunts.

“Yeah, daddy,” you whimper. Whines bubble from your lips at a higher frequency now and he ups his thrusts to match.

“Gotta use your manners first, babydoll. I know I’ve taught you how to ask for what you want,” he tells you.

A strangled breath comes from you and your eyes screw shut. You wanted to let it all go, but right now to your little mind, being a good girl was more important than fleeting pleasure.

“Can I please - mm - Can I finish, daddy? Pretty please?’ you ask, lips jutting out into a small pout.

He grins and squeezes your legs gently. “Perfect, angel. So polite,” he praises, “Yes, you can finish.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimper quickly before your back arches off his chest and you cum. You become impossibly tighter around his cock, and his moan accompanies yours as you gush around his length.

His arms fully support your weight as you lose yourself in the throes of release. He fucks up into you deep enough to hit the switch that keeps you a babbling, squirming mess against him. And now that he knows you’re over the edge and feeling good, he can let go himself. He feels the tightness of an impending orgasm and lets it snap.

He cums inside you, warm ropes of cum filling your insides. He knew you always craved that ultimate connection, that absolute claim on your body when you were feeling like this. So he provides that for you and drains himself in your cunt.

You start coming down from your high, melting back against his chest. His arms finally put your legs down and allow you to rest on his lap. He encircles them around you and holds you close while he peppers kisses on your cheek. His cock stays buried inside you. You needed a slow pull out, nothing jarring or sudden.

“Did that feel good, baby? Is your headache all gone?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you respond, “Feel a lot better.”

He smiles at the tender tone your voice takes on. Your eyes were drooping a bit too.

“Daddy always makes it better, yeah?” he asks.

You nod and smile, nestling your face against his neck.

“I think daddy’s gonna clean you up now and then put you down for a nap,” he says while rubbing the small of your back.

You nod again. He slowly pulls out of you and turns your body so he can scoop you up against his chest and stand with you in his arms. You nuzzle his neck before resting your head on his shoulder.

“Love you, daddy,” you murmur.

“Love you too, baby.”

[lalacliffthorne]

🤍 just a one time thing 🤍

modern!Cassian x Reader

summary: add together best friends and a drunk slip up and you got a massive load of chaotic feelings.

part I

notes: well - so much for next week? life just - majorly got in the way. anyway.

fuuuuuuck I can't. 😭💞 this has been long overdue, bc honestly - Cassian just has my whole fucking heart, and this modern version reduces me to a pile of giggling, feet-kicking mush. I've had this idea for a while now, along with some impeccable inspiration - and it's finally coming together. this one's got smut (duh), flirting and friendship (and a whole lot of f-bombs on Cassian's side) -- and, which seems to be business at usual for me at this point - it got insanely long. in fact, it got so long that I had to scratch posting it in one part, cause I think that would have brought tumblr down, like - really. *winces* so, this is part one, somewhere around 20k words (oh boy) -- you know the drill; get cozy, get comfortable, you're gonna be here for a while.

______________________________________________________________

The library was my favorite place on campus.

Even though it was way too small for so many students and had way too little workspace, which meant it was chronically stuffed with people, there was just something calming about the absolute silence you entered once you walked through the front doors. And I had quickly realised that if you slipped into one of the lesser frequented sections, moving through the aisles all the way to the back where the tilted roof was glass and everything was completely quiet, you could actually pretend you were alone, just surrounded by hundreds and hundred of books, not another soul around.

Which meant it usually was the perfect place for any sort of breakdown.

Usually.

♡

“You okay there?”

The deep, amused voice made me jump slightly; quickly, I pulled the book from my face and dipped my head back, craning my neck – and felt my breath catch.

Oh.

A guy was standing a few feet away, his brows crunched together and eyes narrowed, but the corner of his lips twitched.

At least it looked that way from upside-down.

I blinked. Then I sent him a slow, sheepish smile from my position down on the carpeted floor, sprawled out on my back, head tipped back and neck craned to look up at him.

“Hi.”

The guy stared down at me, and slowly, his lips curved upwards.

My heart missed a beat, and my breath hitched.

Oh.

“Hi.” His voice sent a tingle over my skin, deep and warm. Creases dug into his cheeks as he grinned down at me.

Creases.

Crap.

Clearing my throat, I crunched my nose, smiling innocently up at him. “Can I – help you?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” The dude narrowed his eyes, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to smirk as he leaned his shoulder against one of the shelves. His voice rumbled through me, low because of our surroundings, sending tingles down my spine.

Using my book to scratch my chin, I squinted up at him. “Why?”

The dude’s eyes narrowed further, a slow grin spreading over his face.

Creases.

“Cause you’re laying starfish-style on the floor with a book on your face.” He raised his brows, eyes twinkling. “I don’t know ‘bout you, but to me, that kinda sounds like a breakdown.”

I blinked. Then I laborously pushed myself up into a sitting position, grumbling “Judgy much.” under my breath. Somehow, the guy still picked up on it, because he chuckled, the deep sound travelling, and my breath hitched. My eyes darted up, and for the first time, I really looked at him.

My heart got stuck in my throat, and I almost felt myself shrink a little.

Well, shit.

Of course he was gorgeous.

Dark eyes that tracked over my face in amusement, even darker hair, the top half pulled back haphazardly into a bun. His grin caused dimples to appear in his cheeks, there was a faded scar on the side of his face shifting with his smirk, and his jaw looked like it could cut through paper.

And then there were the tattoos.

All in black, they were scattered all over his muscled arms, down to the backs of his veined hands and disappearing into the sleeves of his t-shirt, peaking out above the collar. His shoulders were straining against the material even though it was hanging loosely on his wide frame, muscles working under the fabric when he shifted lightly in the spot, crossing his arms over his chest. I tried not to stare as his biceps tensed and relaxed again.

God, there probably wasn’t an inch on the guy’s body that didn’t carry muscles. Even with his loose joggers it was clear that he never skipped leg day, his biceps were the size of my head, and his chest and shoulders were broad enough I felt my throat go dry.

I blinked, and the guy’s shit-eating grin grew.

Ah, crap.

Clearing my throat, I quickly raised my brows.

“So, can I – help you?”

“I don’t know.” The guy narrowed his eyes in thought, pushing off the shelves. “Any reason you’re back here?” The corners of his lips twitched, his deep voice vibrating like he was holding back a smirk when he sauntered towards me. “Deleted someone’s assignment when they went to the bathroom? Spilled soda on a book worth more than your apartment?” Dimples formed in his cheeks when he grinned. “Smuggled in your cat?”

I crunched my brows.

That seemed – oddly specific.

“No...” It came out more like a question, my head dipping to the side in slight confusion, and the guy chuckled as he crouched down in front of me. A wave of his warm cologne washed over me, something dipped in my stomach, and he raised his brows at me with a smirk.

“Hope it hasn’t got anything to do with you currently blocking the number one hook-up spot on campus.”

I blinked. Then I snorted a little and started to giggle, raising my brows.

“You’re kidding, right?”

The guy stared at me, the corners of his lips slowly curving upwards.

I stared back with a wide smile that dimmed a little. Then I crunched my brows. “You’re joking.”

The guy grinned, his gaze tracking over my face.

“Nope. Wish I was.” He sighed deeply before crunching his brows. “Have you been back here often lately, ‘cause that would explain why suddenly every horny student has migrated to the fourth floor over at the auditorium; before you ask how I know,”, the corners of his lips tipped into a smirk, “I walked in on a couple fucking in the broom closet a week ago.”

I stared at him. For a second, my mind was simply blank as I felt heat wash into my face and the guy stared back, the corners of his lips twitching and eyes twinkling mischievously. Then I blinked and crunched my face in confusion.

“Why didn’t you knock?”

The guy arched his brows. “Knock. At a broom closet.”

I raised my shoulders, somehow managing to fight a wide smile when I widened my eyes at him.

“I don’t know; it’s a broom closet in an empty hall, that’s like the second most clich�� place for a hook up. I mean,”, I tried to keep my lips from curving upwards, “you probably scared the crap out of them; neither of them will ever be able to do it in a confined space again because they’ll be too scared of you suddenly barging through the door, but – to the rest of the student body, a broom closet will still be pretty high up on the list!”

The guy snorted, dropping his head for a second as his shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

“So you’re saying it’s my fault?” He looked up at me again, creases digging into his cheeks as he grinned widely and raised his brows.

“Well, it’s definitely not mine.” I frowned, something giddy bubbling under my ribs as I tried to suppress a beaming smile. “What did you just walk into a broom closet for?!”

“I thought someone was dying in there.” The guy widened his eyes at me, his grin growing bigger. “That poor girl was faking her fucking heart out, and it wasn’t surprising, the guy was practically making her teeth chatter.”

A snorted giggle broke from my throat before I could hold it back, and the guy raised his brows, deep creases forming in his cheeks. “Seriously man; it was traumatising, I’m getting flashbacks every time I just open a fucking door.”

I tried to fight the giggles bubbling in my chest. “In that case, maybe it’s good then he can’t do it in small spaces anymore.”

For a second, we just stared at each other while suddenly, I couldn’t keep my grin at bay, my heart hopping against my ribs and the guy’s lips curving, dimples in his cheeks as his twinkling eyes pierced mine. Then I blinked, and my gaze caught on the clock on the wall behind him.

My eyes widened as something dipped in my chest, startled.

“Shit.”

Hastily, I crammed my book into my bag and scrambled to get to my feet. Looking around to make sure I hadn’t left anything, I turned – and almost ran face first into a broad chest.

My heart missed a beat, my gaze slowly moved up, and my breath caught in my throat as I felt my lips part a little.

Oh.

Crap, he was tall.

The guy’s lips curved like he could read my thoughts as he stared back down at me. He was so close, I could feel the scent of his cologne fill my lungs with every soft, hitching breath, something dark and warm and addicting.

I could have stepped back to make it more comfortable for both us. I probably should have; I was still barely an inch away from bumping into his chest and had to crane my neck to look up at him, the top of my head barely even reaching his shoulders, his own head dipped so he could hold my gaze.

But for some reason, I suddenly couldn’t move a muscle, my breath caught in my throat and my heart thrumming against my ribs as I stared up at him with slightly widened eyes. His wide shoulders were basically blocking the light and his broad, solid chest was radiating warmth, his scent making my head swim. There were green flecks in his iris, surrounding his dark pupils in a ring and melting into warm brown that slowly started to twinkle.

“What were you doing back here again?” The guy’s quiet voice vibrated like he was suppressing a grin, his eyes narrowing lightly.

Somehow, I kept myself from swallowing. Instead I managed to pull myself together with a huff and started to glower up at him.

“Not what you’re thinking right now.”

The guy slowly started to smile shit-eatingly, dimples digging into his cheeks as he raised his brows.

“Actually, sweetheart, you’re the one thinking it -”

Grumbling, I turned around, barely fighting the stupidly wide grin threatening to break over my face.

When I threw a quick look back before turning the corner, the guy was still standing in the same spot, dimples in his cheeks as he stared after me with a grin.

♡

Rain pattered onto the skylights above, the lamps dunking the quiet library in warm, golden light.

It had started chucking it down just a little after I had slipped into my favorite rarely visited section, setting up camp under the windows. I had gotten some work done before pulling my book from my bag, curling up against the wall.

Crunching my brows in focus, lost in the story, I was about to turn the page when a pair of sneakers appeared in my vision.

The scent of dust and paper was chased away by a dark, warm scent; my heart leapt into my throat and my head whipped up, and someone plopped down next to me.

My breath caught, and the guy that had been wandering my mind since his appearance in my section a few days ago stared at me with contemplatively narrowed eyes. There was the hint of a crease showing in his cheek, his loose sweatshirt somehow making him look even broader, and his huge frame dwarfed mine even with him sitting on the floor.

“You know…” He shifted, one tattooed hand rising from where it was loosely draped over his pulled up legs as he dipped his head towards me.

“Over there,”, squinting as his lips quirked, he pointed towards the aisles leading back into the main space of the library, “are workspaces where you can actually sit at a table instead of on the floor?”

I stared at him, and slowly, something started bubbling in my chest. It felt warm and giddy, causing my heart to hop and a big grin threatening to break free on my face.

Biting it back just barely, I crunched my brows.

“Yeah, but, over there,”, leaning his way without being able to help it, I also pointed towards the aisles and looked back at him, raising my brows dramatically, “you have to actually kill someone to get a seat.”

The guy chuckled, the sound travelling through me. Eyes crinkling and dimples digging into his cheeks, he grinned and leaned back against the wall, easily stretching out one long leg and propping his arm onto the other. I tried not to stare at the tattoos inked onto his skin, muscles flexing beneath when he shifted to get comfortable and smirked at me.

“I was hurt when you ran away from me the other day.”

Something fluttered high in my chest. “I didn’t run away, I had class.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye.” The guy’s eyes were twinkling even as he furrowed his brows with a pout, which – looked ridiculously adorable for a six-foot-something guy with tattoos all over.

“I was late.” Widening my eyes at him, I tried to fight that strange feeling that started bubbling in my chest, warm and giddy and causing my lips to try and break into a huge smile.

“You had time to stare at me.” The guy smirked, a crease digging into his cheek as his gaze lazily dragged over my face, and I glowered at him even as heat bled into my cheeks.

Damn it.

The guy’s grin grew, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then he raised his brows, draping his hand over his knee.

“So you’re still sitting in the hook up-section.”

I huffed, trying to fight my twitching lips.

“Yeah, well; your word is the only one I got that this is actually a hook up spot, and I’m not about to give up the only place in this library where I don’t have to fight anyone to get a seat.”

“I'd fight for you.” The guy’s eyes were twinkling as he stared at me, his grin growing when a laugh broke from my throat.

“Besides.” I turned back towards my book and raised my brows, feeling my lips curve. “I decided that if that whole thing is true, then I will gladly keep scaring people off with my presence.”

The guy’s eyes were twinkling as his gaze dragged over my face. “You sure you’re the right person to scare anyone away?”

I quickly turned my head to scowl at him. “Hey; I might not be a fucking giant, but I can kick very painful places.”

The guy’s smirk widened, creases digging into his cheeks and iris sparkling as he stared at me. “Kinky.”

I huffed, mostly to suppress the laugh rising in my throat as the happy bubbling under my ribs grew.

“Also, I don’t have to be scary, just a person being here is gonna do the job.” I felt a cheeky grin tug at my lips when I arched a brow. “People generally don’t want an audience when they’re having a quicky in the library.”

The guy squinted at me, his lips curving.

“You talking out of experience?”

My cheeks heated, and I glared at him.

“I don’t know; you’re the one who heard people fucking in a closet and decided to take a look,”, I grumbled.

A deep laugh broke from the guy’s chest, the sound suppressed as he tipped his head back, his shoulders shaking as he laughed silently. Something hopped against my ribs, and I tried to fight the stupidly wide smile pushing onto my lips.

Breathing a chuckle, the guy dropped his head again with a grin, his twinkling eyes flickering over my face as he narrowed them.

“So why did you decide robbing people of quickies in the library was a good idea? Cause there’s a bunch of students 'bout to be really fucking pissed.”

“Because unlike a broom closet, no aisle here has a door. I don't wanna know how many people got traumatized because they were looking for a book at the wrong time,”, I grumbled drily before crunching my face. “Also; fucking in a library, have some respect, the poor books.”

“What, a broom closet is less sensitive?” The guy furrowed his brows, his lips twitching like he was fighting a laugh.

“Yeah; I mean, the only thing to defile in there are mops, and they’re used to dirty stuff,”, I mumbled absentmindedly.

For a second, there was silence, and when I raised my eyes before looking to the side, the guy was staring at me, the grin on his face slowly growing.

My lips started twitching, and a giggle bubbled in my throat.

“You know, I don’t even know your name.” The guy reclined lazily, his eyes bright when he raised a brow.

Staring back at him, I felt my lips curve. “Well, I don’t know yours, so I’d say that’s fair.”

The guy’s grin widened. Then he sent me a light wink.

“Cassian.”

Something leapt up and down under my ribs, and I tried to fight a wide smile.

“Y/N.”

For a second, we stared at each other, something bubbling wildly in my stomach. Then the guy, Cassian, blinked and crunched his brows, again looking ridiculously adorable.

“So what was that breakdown the other day about?”

I sighed and raised the book I was holding. “This. I’m really trying to enjoy it, but it’s just breaking my brain –“

“It’s a book, baby; how bad can it be?” Cassian’s lips curved into a smirk as he plucked it from my grip, crunching his brows as he turned it to read the back, and I felt my breath catch at the absolute nonchalance with which he called me baby. But somehow, I managed to push past it, widening my eyes at him.

“It’s the story, okay; listen –“

“Next station -”

The tinny voice coming from the speakers overhead ripped me out of my thoughts, and I raised my head, my gaze landing on the name of the station on the screen.

“Shit.” I felt my eyes widen as my heart jumped against my ribs, and I quickly darted out of my seat.

♡

“Sorry, excuse me –“, wincing, I weaved my way through the people coming my way from the crosswalk. Squinting against the last rays of sunlight, I breathed out, the cold air making me shiver gently as I slid my hands into my pockets and stopped at a red light. Rocking back and forth on the spot, I let my gaze flicker over the square behind the crosswalk.

I didn’t know why exactly today, my brain had decided to take me on a trip down memory lane. But it caused that same happy, bubbling feeling to rise under my ribs and made me barely suppress a wide, giddy grin.

The light shifted to green, and I crossed the street, feeling my brows furrow gently as I let my gaze wander over the square. The windows of the restaurants and shops reflected the last golden rays of light, there were people crossing the square; elderly couples, groups of teenagers -

My breath hitched in my throat, and slowly, a wide smile spread over my face.

In the middle of the square next to the fountain, a tall figure towered above all others, wide shoulders even broader under a dark puffer jacket, his profile lit by the last golden flickers of sunlight, straight nose crunched against the cold and strong jaw tensing and relaxing as he lazily shifted on the spot. His eyes slowly tracked over the square, the last light causing the scar on the side of his face to shift.

My heart rose in a warm thrum, and I whistled sharply.

Cassian looked over his shoulder, gaze darting over the people - until his eyes found mine.

Even from a distance, I could see the twinkle beginning to spread through his iris.

Creases slowly started forming in his cheeks, and something skipped happily against my ribs when my best friend began to grin shit-eatingly. The lines of his smirk, now, nearly two years later almost as familiar as my own, made my heart do a happy wiggle, and I began to beam back.

I quickened my steps, and Cass turned towards me, raising his brows as his lips curved.

I got faster, a happy giggle bubbling in my throat, then I crashed into him.

Cassian grunted, but the sound quickly turned into a chuckle as he leaned down with a dramatic groan and lifted me off the ground. His arms tightened in a squeeze around my waist, his shoulders broad and solid beneath my arms, and feeling something skip happily against my ribs, I swung my legs around his waist with a giggle, interlocking them tightly.

“Hi monkey.” Cassian’s deep voice rumbled through me, a little raspy as always and vibrating with a grin. Slipping his arms under my thighs to hold me up, he chuckled when I pulled back just enough to press a firm kiss onto his cheek.

The scent of his cologne started to fill my lungs, and something hopped happily against my ribs when I leaned back and saw a dimple forming in his cheek.

“Hi.” Sliding my arms around his neck, I grinned at him, and Cassian smirked, a crease digging into his cheek. The light hit his eyes, causing the green spots in his iris to glow, and wriggled in my stomach.

“You good?” Cassian hoisted me up a little to adjust his grip, grinning when I tightened my grip out of reflex.

“Yup.”

My stomach grumbled, and Cass raised his brows.

I squinted. “Apart from that.”

Cassian smirked.

“You know, I’m always surprised by how much food you can stomach,”, his eyes narrowed, “it’s like you’re a little black hole for snacks or something –“

I glared and lightly slapped the side of his head, and Cass broke off with a deep chuckle that made my whole body shake.

“Leave me alone, I haven’t eaten all day.”

“You? Haven’t eaten?” Sliding his right arm under my ass to hold me up, Cassian freed his other hand to slap it against my forehead, brows dramatically crunching. “Are you sick, baby?!”

“Oh, fuck off.” Trying to push his hand away, I nearly lost my balance, quickly locking my legs tighter around his waist and linking my arms back together at the nape of his neck. Cassian chuckled, his warm eyes flickering over my face as he grinned at me, and I had to fight the overwhelming urge to press a kiss onto the side of his nose.

“I’m fine. Just got sucked into writing this morning and basically didn’t stop until like an hour ago.” I shrugged.

Cassian stared at me. Then his lips curved, and slowly, very slowly, that familar shit-eating grin spread over his face, only doubled tenfold now as he eyed me, creases digging deep into his cheeks.

I blinked and felt my heart do a little swerve.

“Don’t.”

My best friend widened his eyes lightly, even as his grin grew. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

I widened my eyes back at him, something warm suddenly bubbling wildly in my chest. “I know you, dipshit; you were about to drop some suggestive innuendo about sucking!”

“Dude, your mind went there; I didn’t actually say anything -“ Cassian’s grin was broad as he raised his brows and slipped his hand back around my thigh, and my heart leapt against my ribs.

“I can’t with you.” I shook my head, barely keeping the warm, giddy feeling in my chest from causing a stupidly wide smile to spread over my face.

“Can’t without me either, baby.” Cassian smirked and winked, and I lost the fight against the giggle breaking from my throat.

“Put me down, you idiot.” Trying to keep the grin mirroring his in check and failing, I slid my legs off Cassian’s waist. “If Mor’s gonna make me drink, we gotta change the food-situation.”

Cass leaned down to place me back onto my feet with a dramatic groan.

“Alright.” Straightening laborously, he pulled his phone from his pocket and squinted at the screen. “We got - another hour until we’re meeting the others; so, let’s get you something to eat before you start getting hangry.”

“I don’t get hangry.” Frowning, I craned my neck to stare up at him indignantly.

Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Cass stared back, brows rising.

“Okay, fine; maybe sometimes. A little.” Grumbling, I crossed my arms in front of my chest as I glared up at him, and Cassian slowly started to smirk, causing his cheeks to crease. Then he dropped his head, and something toppled under my ribs when he pressed a kiss onto my cheek, his hands sliding around my jaw to keep me from moving when the first was followed by another, and another, until my heart hopped and a giggle bubbled in my throat.

Cassian grinned against my cheek before pressing one last firm kiss against my temple.

“Alright, c’mon, sweet cheeks.” With a smirk, he straightened to his full height, his arm sliding over my chest and turning me around, his body pressing into my back as he started to push me down the sidewalk. I craned my neck to try and look up at him.

“Who’s party is this again?”

Cassian shrugged, the neon lights of a shop throwing shadows under his jaw and cheekbones, dark brows furrowed lightly.

“I don’t know, think someone from one of Rhys’ classes?”

I hummed, frowning in thought. “Think they’ll have food?”

“Nah, don’t count on it; we’re getting you something now.” Looking back, Cassian wrapped his arm over my shoulder, lightly drawing me into his side as a cyclist zipped past us.

My stomach twisted with a soft growl, and I looked up at him with a pout, fighting a smile. “Thanks.”

“Are you kidding?” Cass threw me a look, huffing. “Not eaten all day; you and I need to have a talk.”

Warmth rose under my ribs, and I looked back ahead, shaking my head even as a wide smile spread over my face.

Cassian sniffled against the cold air, pulling up his shoulders a little as he crunched his brows contemplatively. “I could eat.

“You can always eat.” I grinned teasingly up at him before yelping and snorting a giggle when Cassian tightened his grip and leaned down with a grin to playfully nip at my jaw. His breath hit my skin, something bubbled high in my chest, and Cass straightened up again with a smirk.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Food’s life.”

Snickering under my breath, I huddled into his side, shivering dramatically and chattering my teeth.

“Why is it still so fucking coooold –“

“Want me to warm you up?” Cassian’s grin was shit-eating enough that I snorted, elbowing him into the side. Whining dramatically, Cass tugged me into his side, grinning when he rubbed his palm over my arm and raised his brows.

“Okay, seriously, what do you wanna eat?”

♡

Crunching my brows, I studied the two packages of crisps in my head, trying to figure out which one to take.

Something warm brushed against my shoulder, then a head slowly appeared right next to mine.

I felt my lips twitch; a snorted giggle broke from my throat, and I quickly reached up and pushed Cassian’s face away from me.

His chest vibrated in my back as he straightened up with a deep laugh, his head tipping back, and shaking my own, still snickering softly, I raised the packages to squint at them dramatically.

“I can’t decide!”

"It's okay, I'll help with the rest." Grinning, Cassian leaned over my shoulder and plucked both of them from my grip, pressing a dramatic kiss onto my temple before straightening. His chest pushed into my back, and quickly snagging the packages from his grip, I piled them into my arms, letting him steer me down the aisle.

The small supermarket was fairly empty thanks to the time, the city and sky outside becoming darker by the minute as we reached the register. Dropping my things onto the conveyor belt behind what looked like a guy’s dinner and a girl’s grocery run for the weekend, I sighed happily at the sight of crisps and two bottles of soda.

Cass leaned over me to snag a pack of gum, throwing it down next to my stuff, then he straightened, his arms sliding around my collarbones and his chest pressing into my back when he rested his chin on my head. Snuggling into my jacket, I leaned into him, giggling into his sleeve when Cass squeezed me with a dramatic sound.

Something started bubbling happily against my ribs, and I felt Cassian grin into my hair. Then he placed his chin back on my head and slightly clacked his teeth together, the vibration travelling through me. I snorted and Cass chuckled, his chest shaking in my back.

The guy in front of the line paid as the girl got ready to start shovelling her groceries back into her cart, and I looked to the side, letting my gaze roam until it met the one of an elderly woman a register over. I sent her a grin, and the old woman beamed, her eyes gleaming as they darted back and forth between Cassian and me. Then she leaned over slightly, her voice lowered confidentially as she said with a wide smile: “Such a lovely couple.”

My heart dipped, and I froze, my eyes widening and lips parting awkwardly. But before I could quickly correct her, Cassian’s deep voice echoed from somewhere above me, a grin vibrating through his voice.

“Thanks.”

I blinked before quickly craning my neck to stare up at him in bewilderment.

The smirk I got in response was shit-eating, only topped by the quick wink that followed.

The elderly woman beamed happily, sending me a gracious nod before moving forward in line, and I quickly turned and elbowed Cass into the ribs, something skipping in my chest when I hissed: “What the hell?!”

“What?” Cassian dropped his head so he could mumble into my ear, his smirk still wide as he threw the old lady a look over my head. “Didn’t wanna disappoint her. Besides.” His nose grazed my temple, and his smirk became shit-eating as his eyes dragged over my face. “Can’t blame her for assuming.”

My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes darted back and forth between his, warm and twinkling and suddenly so very close with his head dipped.

With a blink, I pulled myself together and rammed my elbow into his ribs again, and Cassian whined softly and dramatically, his grin wide as he straightened up again.

Grumbling, I turned back ahead, trying to ignore the heat suddenly pulsing in my cheeks.

♡

“No, wai- stop that!” Quickly yanking the my fries away, I glared at Cassian, trying to keep in a laugh.

We were sitting on a bench circling the big tree at the corner where the others were supposed to meet us, the sky above dark, cars rushing past. I was huddled up, legs criss cross, my knee pressing into the side of Cassian’s thigh while he lounged against the backrest, squinting into the neon lights of a laundromat across the street. The wrappers of the burgers and fries we had picked up at the take-out place next to the supermarket were crunched up next to me, and one bag of crisps was open in Cassian’s lap, but for the past few minutes, he’d been trying to sneak his hand into the paper bag that contained the rest of my fries.

Glowering, I turned to hold the package out of Cassian’s reach, twisting as I dropped my head back to pop a fry into my mouth. Cass quickly leaned forward, his arm sliding past me, and I gave a sound of protest that bubbled with laughter as I hastily held out my arm, trying to put the package to safety.

“Stop it, you already had the rest of the extra fries, your burger, your fries, and that huge bite of mine, and you’ve got the whole package of crisps, why can I not eat this in peace?”

“Cause baby, I’m twice your size; how can you expect me to not still be hungry when you are?” Cassian’s grin was shit-eating, his warm breath brushing over my nose, and I glowered back at him.

For a moment, we stared at each other, faces only inches apart, the green flecks in Cassian’s eyes twinkling as something bubbled in my chest and I barely fought the wide smile trying to form on my lips. Then Cassian’s hand shot forward, I quickly tried to twist away, and a soft squeak broke from my throat when Cassian dipped forward, sliding his arm around my waist and dragging me into his body.

For a few seconds, we were caught in a scuffle as I tried to save my fries while aimlessly flailing my legs and shaking with uncontrollable giggles, Cassian’s huge body half burying me beneath him as he tried to reach the bag, groaning and cursing under his breath until he managed to snag some fries. A dramatic whine broke from my throat, and whooping lightly, Cassian sat up with a wide grin.

Breathlessly, I slumped against him, and Cassian tipped his head back and dropped the fries into his mouth with a smirk.

Grumbling, I tried to sit up, but Cassian’s arm wound around my waist wasn’t budging, instead sliding tighter around me.

For a few seconds, I struggled, then I gave up.

Slumping into his side in defeat, I huffed. Cassian’s scent started to rise into my nose, dark and warm and familiar, and I could feel the warmth radiating from him even through his puffer jacket.

Shivering slightly, I shuffled a little to get more comfortable, pulling up my legs. Cassian draped his arm over my collarbones, and I snuggled into the curve of his elbow, squinting into the light of the laundromat as I leaned my head against his chest. Then I plucked some fries from the little package and craned my neck to look up at my best friend, holding them up.

A wide grin spread over his face, and leaning forward quickly, Cass snagged them from my fingers, teasingly biting my knuckles. I yelped a laugh, slapping his chest, and Cassian’s chuckle vibrated through me when he leaned back, chewing lazily.  

Snuggling further into his arm with a happy sigh, I dropped some fries into my mouth, chewing contendly. I could feel Cassian shift as he took a sip of my soda, then he dropped his head to steal another fry from my fingers, sending me a wink when I glared up at him, dimples digging into his cheeks.

A few minutes later the fries were empty, and I was digging around in the second package of crisps, giggling breathlessly as Cassian kept dipping his head, lightly nipping my jaw.

“Stop the-“ Quickly holding out some crisps, I snorted when Cassian pulled them out of my grip with his teeth while grinning, dipping his head back to let them slide into his mouth.

There was a sharp whistle, and I turned my head, craning my neck.

My gaze flickered over the street until it caught onto three people slowly making their way towards us, and I started beaming and waved. Cassian’s body shifted in my back as he leaned over me with a soft grunt, stretching his arm out to dip his hand into the crisps and shortly making me vanish from sight.

When he straightened up again, three shadows fell over us, and I happily grinned up at our friends.

“Starting the party without us, I see.” Rhys shook his head in disappointment, letting his arm slip from Feyre’s shoulders. He was wearing a thick jacket, his hair fashionably messy as always, and the tip of his nose was pink from the cold, but the twinkle in his eyes was mischievous as usual.

“Hey, you’re the ones late,”, I grumbled with a pout.

“Someone took ages getting ready.” Feyre, also with a slightly pink nose and huddled into her jacket, rolled her eyes.

Both Cassian and I turned our heads to look up at Azriel, tall and brooding and never the one making anyone late.

Az returned our looks before raising a brow. “Very funny.”

Snickering, I laborously sat up up, Cassian’s arm sliding down my side. Feyre dropped down next to me onto the bench, freeing her hands from her pockets before she hugged me, her teeth chattering dramatically. Giggling, I squeezed her back.

“You two ready?” Leaning down slightly to greet Cassian with a bro-handshake, Rhys raised his brows.

“Yeah,”, I crunched my brow and squinted up at him, “where’s Mor though?”

“Should be -”, Feyre dipped her head to the side, “ah, nevermind.”

Leaning forward to follow her gaze, I nearly tipped off the bench, but Cassian's hand slid over my stomach, keeping me upright as I beamed when I saw a tall blonde speedwalk towards us, red painted lips glinting in the lights.

“Punctual as always!”, I yelled, causing Feyre to grin widely, and Mor called back loudly: “Fuck off!”

Snickering, I pushed myself up again, gathering all of our trash before getting to my feet on the bench. Cassian’s hand slipped off my waist, and I rested my own on his shoulder to laborously climb over his lap. His calloused fingers wrapped around my wrist, keeping me steady, and a deep chuckle travelled through me as Cass held onto me until I was on his other side, dimples digging into his cheeks as he smirked up at me. I flipped him off with a grin, then I turned around, wandering over the bench towards the trashcan on the other side of the tree.

When I got back, Cassian and Feyre had gotten off the bench, Cass towering over Mor who was bickering with Rhys over which way to go. Azriel caught my gaze over Feyre’s shoulder, rolling his eyes and causing me to snicker.

Coming to a halt on the bench next to where Cassian was standing, I exchanged a look with Feyre, and she sighed and stepped forward, trying to break up the bickering.

Shivering, my eyes got caught on Cassian’s profile, and my heart did a little flip.

“Hey Cass?”

Cassian looked up at me, and I raised my arms, beaming at him.

“Piggyback ride?”

My best friend smirked, eyeing me. “Sure you can carry me?”

I dropped my arms and glowered at him.

Chuckling, Cassian stepped towards the bench, turning his back towards me, and smiling brightly, I leaned down slightly, sliding my arms over his shoulders and hopping onto his back.

Cass caught my legs, his warm hands gripping my thighs before he slipped his arms under my knees, lightly hoisting me up. My chest pressed against his broad back, his scent rose into my nose, and grinning happily, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Okay, ready.”

“Can we just go?”, Cassian interrupted Mor and Rhys, a dimple forming in his cheek as he smirked. “By the time you two are done, the party's over.”

I parted my lips with a soft gasp. “The horror.”

Cassian’s chest rumbled as he laughed, his head tipping back lightly.

“Fuck off, baby.”

Grinning, I slung my arms tighter around his neck before crunching my brows and pouting. “Seriously, can we please just go; I don’t give a shit about how quickly we get there as long as we get there.”

“Amen,”, Azriel grumbled.

“Well, if he would listen to me –“ Mor glowered at Rhys.

The two started bickering again, and Az shook his head and brushed past us. “C’mon.”

I slid my arms tighter over Cassian’s collarbones, and Feyre sighed and slipped past her boyfriend, Cassian waiting until she was past him before following after her.

Resting my chin on my best friend's shoulder, I felt my heart do a happy wiggle as my body swayed with his steps. Behind us, the bickering slowly faded into the distance. Az and Feyre, a few steps in front of us, fell into conversation, Feyre linking her arm through Azriel’s, and Cassian craned his neck slightly to look back at me.

A deep crease slowly formed in his cheek as his eyes flickered over my face, and I crunched my brows.

“What? Do I have – something on my face?”

Cassian’s body vibrated as he chuckled and turned back ahead with a grin, squeezing my calves. “Nah.”

Staring at the side of his face for another second, I blinked before shrugging and leaning forward quickly to press a kiss onto his cheek. I could feel a crease forming beneath my lips, then I pulled back, grinning widely, and Cassian shook his head, gaze directed forward but eyes twinkling.

♡

Rhys and Mor caught up with us after maybe two blocks, both grumbling about being left behind, but I just snickered and slid off Cassian’s back, linking my arm through Mor’s to pull her with me.

The party of who-knows-who was located in some industrial loft further downtown. There were people standing in front of the entrance, smoking, a few stepping out of the way as Rhys pulled open the heavy steel door with a dramatic flourish. When I slipped into the stairwell after Feyre, I felt a warm, tall body towering in my back.

The music was audible even down here, and sliding my arm out of Feyre’s, I tipped my head back to stare up the winding staircase. I could feel the others push pass me, talking as they started to climb the stairs. Then something brushed against my back, and when I looked over my shoulder, Cassian’s breath hit my hair as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against my shoulders as he crunched his brows and stared up the stairwell.

“What are we looking at?”

A snorted giggle broke from my throat, and elbowing him into the ribs, I turned, sliding my hand around his wrist to tug him with me towards the stairs with a wide grin.

By the time we reached the fifth floor, the floor was vibrating, the noise of the party had doubled, and I was wheezing dramatically.

“God, who thought throwing a party up that many stairs was a good idea?” My voice was breathless as I held my sides, grimacing at the huge, open metal doors opposite of the stairs behind which lights flashed, illuminating the silhouettes of dozens of people. The others had apparently already gone in, because the landing was empty apart from empty bottles on the floor.

“Someone who’s never fallen down any steps while drunk.” I could hear the shit-eating grin in Cassian’s voice as his hands closed around my shoulders, rubbing slowly back and forth. I snorted a breathless giggle before straightening with a wince and, trying to steady my breathing, began to trudge over the landing, feeling my best friend in my back.

When I stepped through the open doors, I was hit by the noise and the music that made the thick, stale air vibrate. My gaze darted over the open floor loft, only lit by flashing lights changing colors and spotlights hitting the walls, so dark you could only see the outlines of the mass of people, and my breath caught in my throat. The noise and the amount of people crowding the space caused my chest to begin thrumming with a mix of exhilaration and anxiety, and something slowly closed around my lungs, making the flickering lights swim, the noise closing in on me -

A calloused hand slipped under my jacket, wrapping around my side as a solid chest pressed against my shoulders, and a familiar scent washed over me, chasing away the stale smell. My heart dipped; I ripped my gaze away from the crowd dipped in darkness and looked up over my shoulder, and something loosened in my chest.

Cassian was so close that I could see the details of the dark ink at the base of his throat, towering over me like a lighthouse in the dark as he let his gaze flicker over the crowd, the flashing lights illuminating his face and slightly crunched brows. His thumb absentmindedly brushed up and down over my ribs, and something started to bubble gently in my chest. The noise slowly faded to the edge of my conciousness, still present but no longer a weight on my senses, and I could feel my shoulders sink as the tightness around my throat slipped away.

“I think the others are over there!” Cassian’s deep voice vibrated through me as his grip tightened, then he dipped his head, and I could feel his shit-eating grin against my cheek when he called over the noise: “Want me to put you on my shoulders?”

I lightly kicked his shin, and Cassian’s chest shook when he laughed into my hair, his smile wide as he straightened. His body pressed into my back, and he started to gently push me through the crowd.

In the flashing lights, it was hard to even make out faces, the music causing the floor to vibrate and the noise leaving my skin humming. I quickly reached back, hooking my fingers into Cassian’s belt loops as my heart thrummed against my ribs, my breath hitching when I felt his body tower over mine like a rock between the waves.

Cassian’s grip tightened. Then the next second he drew me back into his chest just before some girls shoved past us. I nearly tripped over my feet, but Cass held me steady, and when I threw a quick look up at him over my shoulder, he was glaring after the group, muscles in his jaw flexing and a dark shift in his eyes.

Something toppled in my stomach when I felt his hand slip up a bit, wrapping around my ribcage, then his body pressed into mine, and Cass nudged me forward.

We caught up with the others about halfway through the loft. Feyre clocked us first, and I waited until a group of guys had pushed past us, yelling over the music and causing me to unconciously move back into Cassian’s grip. Then I stepped forward until I was standing next to her and crunched my brows.

“How ‘bout we find a - less crowded spot?”, I called over the noise, trying to sound lighthearted, but Feyre looked right through it. Squeezing my elbow comfortingly, she called back: “The guys are gonna see if they find a place to sit or something!”

Nodding back, I craned my neck to look up at Cassian. He was still towering over me, his hand wrapped around my ribcage protectively as he didn’t make any move to step away from me.

Warmth rose in my chest, and I leaned back into him without being able to help it, feeling him shift when he looked over his shoulder, then Mor appeared at my side, calling loudly: “Let’s go get something to drink!”

Glad about an opportunity to blend out some of the noise and chaos, I nodded, poking Cassian’s ribs to get his attention. He turned his head back towards me and dropped his gaze, and I stretched lightly to call: “We’re gonna go get drinks!”

“I’ll come with you!” Cassian’s deep, steady voice vibrated through me, and feeling something warm bubble high in my chest, I rolled my eyes with a grin.

“I’ll be okay, I got the girls! Just go with Rhys and Az, we’re gonna be fine!”

Cass crunched his brows, looking ready to protest, and with a soft laugh bubbling in my throat, I slid my hand towards his collar, tugging him down with a grin. Cassian complied easily, one corner of his lips curving as a wave of his scent washed over me, and stretching, I pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek, just long enough that I could feel a crease forming under my lips. Then I pulled back, and something leapt into my throat when my nose brushed against Cassian’s.

The room and noise faded. Cassian’s head was dipped so far that I could see the green specks in his twinkling eyes as they flickered over mine, only an inch away, so close that his breath was fanning over my lips. 

Like he could feel the way I suddenly stilled, Cassian’s gaze flashed. Something twisted low in my stomach when his lids suddenly grew heavier, eyes darkening with something deep, hazy, almost heated as they slowly dragged over my face, and suddenly, I was acutely aware of his wide, towering body half pressed against mine.

My breath caught, Cassian’s muscles shifted, and his lips parted as he slowly, absentmindedly ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

My heart got stuck somewhere in my throat, someone’s elbow hit my back and made me jump, and Cass blinked, his lips tipping back into his usual, lazy grin as he straightened slowly, nothing left of that strange, heated look but the light twinkle in his eyes when he dipped his head to call into my ear: “Stick close to the girls!”

Maybe it was the noise around us, but Cassian’s voice sounded deeper, travelling through me and almost causing me to shiver. But somehow, I managed to push away the way my heart pounded against my ribs and poked his side, sending him a wide, cheeky grin. “Duh.”

Cassian’s chest vibrated when he chuckled, his cheeks creasing as he dropped his head to press a kiss against my temple, and something leapt against my ribs. Then Feyre took my hand and pulled me with her.

♡

After raiding the kitchen area at the other end of the loft, we squeezed back through the crowd towards the windows where couches were set up. Mor was carrying shotglasses and a bottle with clear liquid that just the sight of had already made me feel woozy, glancing over her shoulder every few steps to check on us and glaring at anyone who got too close. Feyre had beerbottles in her arms, her hand on my shoulder as she stayed in my back, and I was carrying boozy lemonade I had found in the fridge, the ice cold cans pressing against my arms and keeping my focus away from the crowd and bass vibrating through the floor.

Mor slipped past a group of guys, and following after her, I threw a quick look back to make sure Feyre was still behind me before turning ahead again, and something leapt high in my chest.

The boys had cleared one of the couches and two armchairs facing them. In the flickering lights, I could see Cassian’s teeth flash when he grinned, a chuckle causing his shoulders to shake. He was lounging on the couch, melted into the cushions, his long legs spread lazily. His black t-shirt was straining against his wide shoulders, the colorful, raging lights flickered over the tattoos scattered over his arms all the way down onto his hands, and deep creases formed in his cheeks when he smirked at something Rhys said.

Mor called their names over the noise, and when I blinked, Cassian’s gaze darted over the crowd, finding mine over her shoulder. The corners of his lips curved up, a lazy twinkle spreading through his eyes as he started to smirk.

Rolling my eyes, I took two of the beerbottles Feyre handed me and squeezed past Azriel. He was occupying one of the armchairs, boot propped up onto the coffee table and sending me a faint smirk when I handed him a beer.

Cassian grinned up at me as I moved to squeeze into between the coffee table and the couch, his legs falling apart further to make space for me, and I handed him the other bottle of beer.

“Here,”, I called over the loud, blaring music, and Cassian straightened and leaned forward, snatching my wrist.

My heart nearly toppled out of my chest, and I yelped softly when he pulled, dragging me down onto his lap.

My breath caught in my throat as I toppled into him, chest colliding with his, Cassian’s breath grazing my lips and nose nearly bumping mine. One corner of his lips tipped upwards as his twinkling eyes dragged lazily over my face. Then he dipped forward, and I made a light noise of surprise, hastily holding onto his shoulders when his arm slid around the back of my butt, nearly lifting me into his chest as he dragged me closer until my thighs bracketed his hips.

Something skipped into my throat, and I huffed, causing Cassian’s grin to widen as he slouched back into the cushions, his head tipping back lazily as he stared at me.

“Best seat in the house, baby.”

I snorted under my breath, feeling my lips curve into a wide grin as I leaned forward to speak into his ear. “I don’t know; Az looks pretty comfy too -”

Cassian leaned forward quick as lightning, and my laugh caught in my throat when he lightly sank his teeth into the soft skin of my neck just below my ear, his grin so wide, I could feel it against my skin.

Curling my fingers into his hair like reflex, I held my breath, and, dimples showing in his cheeks, Cassian pulled back, his eyes twinkling.

Huffing, I managed to tear myself away from the sight of his curving lips and the crease digging in his cheek. Flicking his forehead, I shifted to get comfortable in his lap, feeling warmth rising in my chest when Cassian’s large hand cupped my hip to keep me from sliding away to the side.

“Did we miss anything?”, I called over the noise, carefully opening one of the cans I had dropped onto the couch.

Cassian made a non-commitical sound and plucked the drink from my fingers, turning his head to take a sip. His throat worked when he swallowed, causing the tattoo at the base of his neck to ripple, then he made a face.

“Urgh.” Blinking and smacking his lips, he looked at the can, brows crunching. “How the fuck can you drink that?”

“By knowing it’s the only thing you won’t drink for me!” I grinned and pulled the can from his grip, something warm bubbling happily in my chest, and Cassian’s body started shaking as he tipped his head back with a deep laugh.

Grinning, I took a sip, feeling Cassian’s gaze drag over my face and down my throat.

“Hey!” Mor’s loud voice made me look over my shoulder, and when Cass dipped his head to the side to look past me, the blonde grinned widely. “They got a beer-pong table!”

My heart dipped, and slowly, I felt a grin spread over my face.

A couple minutes later, we had fought our way through the crowd and Mor and I were standing on one end of the dining table by the windows, cups arranged in front of us and Azriel and Cassian on the other side. Cassian’s eyes were twinkling in the light as he propped his arm onto Azriel’s shoulder, raising his brows at me, and without a word spoken, I saw the challenge in the way he smirked as his eyes dragged lazily down my body.

Something rose under my ribs, and I narrowed my eyes, feeling a wide, cheeky smile slowly spread over my face. Then I lightly nudged my chin forward.

Do your worst.

Cassian started to grin. Sliding his arm off Azriel’s shoulder, he caught the ping-pong ball some guy threw his way and turned slightly, raising his hand. Then he sent me a wink and tossed.

♡

A few hours later, the sky outside was pitchblack and a happy buzz had taken over my entire body, making me very giggly and a little sleepy.

“Hey.” A finger gently tapped my nose, and I shifted, forcing my eyes that had started to feel very heavy to open, and my breath caught a little in my throat.

Cassian stared down at me, a grin causing dimples to dig into his cheeks. Then he dipped down his head, and his breath grazed my cheek when he called into my ear: “Think it’s time we get you home, baby!”

I didn’t protest, not with how heavy my limbs and eyes had started to feel. Instead I reached up to poke Cassian’s cheek and sent him a wide, slow beam that caused his own grin to widen.

It’s goofy edge, the depth of his dimples and his pupils, blown and darker than usual, were the only signs that he definitely wasn’t sober anymore either.

Slowly freeing myself from where I had curled into his side, I felt Cassian’s arm slide off my shoulder, curling around my waist instead to keep me steady, and following a warm, lazy impulse, I leaned up and pressed my lips onto his cheek, long enough for his scent to fill my lungs, dark and warm and mixed with a boozy edge.

When I pulled back, Cassian turned his head, and in the flashing lights, his eyes suddenly seemed deeper and darker, his warm breath grazing my lips as his gaze dragged over my face. Then he blinked, his lips curved upwards and creases appeared in his cheeks, and his arm slid tighter around me when he dipped his head and pressed a slow kiss onto my cheek. His nose dragged over my skin, and shivers raced down my spine.

Somehow, I pulled myself out of the warm, buzzing feeling that filled my chest and turned around, pushing myself to my feet laborously. The room tipped just a little and I only nearly tripped over my own feet, but large, warm hands wrapped around my waist, holding me upright, and a giggle bubbled in my throat when I felt Cassian’s wide chest pressing into my back. Craning my neck to stare up at him, the warm buzz seemed to swell when I caught a glimpse at his wide, dimpled grin, his chuckles causing both our bodies to vibrate.

Cass leaned down his head, and his breath grazed my cheek when he called into my ear: “Let’s say bye to the others and then get the fuck outta here!”

♡

The next bus was another half an hour, so Cassian and I walked the way from the loft to my apartment.

The night air was cold and crisp, making the warm bubbling feeling in my chest swell even as the wind nipped at my skin. I slid my hand into Cassian’s after few blocks, his palm large and warm, engulfing mine as I linked our fingers and quickened my steps, tugging him with me, the happy, bubbling buzz in my body causing a giggle to rise in my chest, the smile on my face so stupidly wide it made my cheeks hurt when I turned and walked backwards, swinging our hands. Cassian’s answering grin was unrestrained and wide, causing dimples to dig deep into his cheeks when he pulled me back into his side, his arm sliding over my shoulder. Giggles broke from my throat when I bumped into him, nearly stumbling.

Cassian chased me the last few steps to the front door, even drunk still quicker than me, his arms wrapping around my waist just as I leapt onto the front step, and the storm of wild flutters in my chest reached new heights when he twirled me around in a circle, his chest vibrating as he laughed into my hair at the giggles bubbling from my throat that I just couldn’t contain.

“Stop i-“ I almost tripped when he dropped me back onto my feet, a snorted giggle leaving me, and warm hands gripped mine, keeping me upright as Cassian laughed fully, head tipped back and shoulders shaking. I flipped him off, and Cass caught my hand, grinning so widely, creases formed in his cheeks. He looked a bit flushed, from the cool air and the alcohol that seemed to make his gaze slower, more intense as it dragged over my face, and feeling something dip in my stomach, I turned around, trying to get my keys out of my pocket.

The warm light in the staircase flickered on when I pushed open the door. Shushing Cass and trying to suppress a giggle at the offended look he sent me, I nearly groaned at the sight of the stairs.

By the time we made it to the third floor, I was out of breath and desperately trying not to laugh at nothing in particular, the happy bubbling buzz in my chest making it hard to stay quiet as I dragged Cassian to my door.

Trying to slide my key into the lock, I missed, and a snorted giggle burst from my throat, shaking my body so badly, I leaned my forehead against the door, trying to keep the giggles in as more bubbled in my chest.

There was a deep, chortled laugh behind me, then I felt a warm weight in my back and a solid body pressing against mine when Cassian leaned an arm against the doorframe and dropped his head to smother his chuckling in my hair. The scent of alcohol rose into my nose, mashed with that scent that was just him, deep and dark and warm, causing my heart to rise, and I inhaled it softly without being able to stop it.

Trying to suppress more giggles, I pulled back my head just enough to look down, squinting dramatically. After two more tries, my key finally found the lock, jingling quietly when I turned it, and whooping softly, I pushed open the door.

My apartment was only lit by the glow of the streetlamps outside falling through the windows, the sky outside inky black like Cassian’s hair. I kicked off my shoes in the small hall, hopping on one leg and nearly falling over, causing a startled, snorted laugh to leave me.

“Fuck, I love your place.” Breathing out happily, Cassian let the door fall shut and slid out of his jacket, carelessly throwing it over the shoe rack before moving past me, and I switched on the small lights in my bedroom, just in time to see him collapse onto my bed.

“Dude,”, I whined, crunching my brows, “not the clothes on my bed!”

Cassian snorted before he rolled onto his back and started to laugh, his head tipping back and body shaking, and something rose high in my chest when I caught a glimpse at his face; the way his closed eyes crinkled and dimples dug into his cheeks.

Grumbling, I started taking off my socks, and still grinning, Cass pushed himself to his feet with a soft, dramatic grunt, his chest pressing into my shoulders as he pushed past me with a chuckle. I felt my skin tingle where his hands had closed around my ribs.

Cass ducked his head to the side to not hit it at the doorframe and trudged into the small kitchen, opening the fridge, and I made a face and started to shimmy out off my pants that had started to feel incredibly uncomfortable a while ago.

Screw jeans. I wanted joggers.

Kicking them to the side, I turned around, moving towards my bed while wrangling myself out of my top and carelessly throwing it over a chair. Tugging my bra over my head, I unceremoniously dumped it onto the floor before dragging the oversized t-shirt I slept in out from under my blanket. It vaguely smelled of something else besides me, something warm and dark and addictive, and after sliding into it, I buried my nose at the collar, breathing in deeply.

Something swelled and fluttered against my ribs, and I turned around with a happy sigh.

Cass was still bent over the fridge, arm propped onto the open door and head stuck inside, grumbling under his breath as he dug through the contents. Feeling a wave of giggles bubbling in my throat, I kicked our shoes out of the way and squeezed into the bathroom to wash off my make-up that had started to feel sticky on my skin. Nearly groaning happily, I dried my dripping wet face before raising my head and catching a glimpse at myself in the mirror; eyes bright and hair messy.

Looking around for the joggers I had left in here before leaving earlier, I crunched my brows. Then I shrugged and turned around.

“What are you even looking for?” I pulled the bathroom door close behind me before stepping into the door to the small kitchen and leaning against the frame, feeling the warm, bubbling feeling rise against my ribs when I stared at Cassian’s large frame towering in my kitchen, chugging soda from a colorful can. My gaze flickered over the curve of his throat and the tattoo rippling at its base, and something curled low in my stomach.

Finally dropping his head, Cassian swallowed and exhaled dramatically. “That was good.” He dropped the can into the trash before turning around, and I could see his movements slow as his gaze dragged down my body. His eyes flashed with something heated, growing deep and hazy, and my breath hitched, the warm feeling in my chest swelling.

Cass blinked, and slowly, he started moving, his piercing gaze never leaving my face as he walked towards me. A wave of his scent washed over me, warm and addictive, and all my thoughts quieted down when he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his knuckles brushing against my side as his low-lidded eyes dragged over my face. My chest brushed against his t-shirt, his warmth travelling even through the layers of clothing, and I stared up at him, feeling the warm thrum in my chest as my lips parted softly, my breath hitching as the warm buzz under my ribs swelled. My mind felt slow, hazy, muddled either by the alcohol cursing through me – or by Cassian’s scent filling my lungs, the warmth radiating from his large body, pulling me in, and the way he was gazing down at me, his eyes hooded and dark under heavy lids, an intensity in the way his gaze dragged over my face that sent tingling shivers over my whole body.

My breath caught in my throat, and my thoughts narrowed.

Beautiful.

All of him. The dark ink all over his skin, the shift of his muscles and hazy heat in his goddamn beautiful eyes. It felt like all of him pulled me in to swallow me whole, made my chest flutter with something so powerful, it caused my breath to catch as I stared up at him, my heart thrumming warmer against my ribs with every second.

And just because it felt like I might combust if I didn’t, I stretched and kissed him.

Something burst in my stomach, like hundreds of bubbling fireworks rising to the surface.

Cassian's lips were soft and tasted like fruit soda and alcohol, sweet and bitter at once. My chest swelled as my fingers curled into the soft cotton of his t-shirt and Cassian’s lashes fluttered against my cheek. Then a deep, low sound broke from his throat, and dropping his head to meet me, Cass slid his hands up my sides. His calloused palms wrapped around the sides of my neck, and exhaling deeply like a weight had lifted from his shoulders, Cassian kissed back like he’d been starving for it.

The rising feeling in my chest burst into a warm, fluttering storm.

Sinking down onto my heels, I dragged him with me, gripping his shirt and curling my fingers into the nape of his neck, feeling his warm skin and the way he shuddered at my touch, causing my heart to thrum and the bubbling feeling under my ribs to swell.

Making a deep, hoarse noise, Cassian moved until his wide chest pressed into mine, and his hand wrapped around my ribcage, dragging me into his body as he kissed me harder.

He was kissing me like he was trying to swallow me whole, devour me, his jaw flexing with every kiss that deepend, hungry lips parting mine, tongue swiping into my mouth like he was trying to memorize the way I tasted.

I dug my fingers into his sides when Cass began to push me backwards, feeling the planes of his torso, warm and hard, flush against mine and his body towering over me, causing the warmth bubbling in my chest to swell and heat to pool in my panties.

My back hit a wall, and something curled low in my stomach when Cass groaned low in his chest as his whole body pressed against the length of mine, so close my breath caught in my throat. His long fingers curled into my hair, and Cass dragged my head back and dipped his own to kiss my throat bruisingly.

My heart leapt into my throat, I sucked in a breath, and my eyes fluttered shut as my lips parted.

Cassian moaned against my skin, his hot breath heavy as he dragged his lips down the side of my bared neck, licking, biting, teeth sinking into my skin and leaving soft whimpers tumbling from my lips. His hand slid down to my waist and slipped under my t-shirt, and I held my breath when his palm dragged up my side to cup my ribcage, his calloused skin burning against mine.

Raising his head breathlessly, Cassian crashed his lips against mine, and the flutter in my chest hitched like my breath. His hand slipped further into my hair as his lips parted mine, tongue swiping greedily into my mouth, and a whimper spilled from my throat as I clung to him, kissing back feverishly.

Cassian groaned against my lips, biting down onto the bottom one and pulling lightly, causing my insides to flutter madly. Dropping his forehead against mine, he breathed heavily, and when I forced my eyes to open, my heart leap into my throat at the sight of his, half-lidded and feverish as they dragged over my face.

Cassian's throat worked like he was suppressing the urge to swallow, then his hand slipped away from my ribcage, his fingers brushing down over my stomach.

My lips parted, and my fingers curled into his shirt as the buzz in my chest slowed to a heavy, warm thrum.

Cassian watched me through hazy hooded eyes, swollen lips parted as he absentmindedly ran his tongue over the bottom one. Then his thumb hooked into the waistband of my panties.

The bubbling feeling in my chest rose until I held my breath.

Cass shifted and his nose nudged against mine, his head dipped so far that I could feel his hot, heavy breath on my lips, could see the green flecks in his iris bleeding together, and warmth built in my chest, fluttering wildly at the feverish look in his hazy, half-lidded eyes. His lips grazed the corner of my mouth, causing the thrum between my legs to tighten. Then his finger pulled at the waistband of my panties, and dragging them down my legs, Cassian dropped down to one knee.

My eyes widened, my heart rising, and my hand flew out to hold onto the doorframe as the other shot down to bury in his hair, some part of my brain catching up with the fact that he couldn’t possibly want to –

“Open your legs.” Cassian’s deep, hoarse order mumbled against my hip sent shivers down my spine so violently, my body shook.

“I –“

One big, calloused palm slid under my knee, and I nearly lost my balance when Cass dragged it up and over his broad shoulders.

My heart leapt into my throat, my back hit the wall, and Cassian groaned, his eyes hooded as he ran his nose up the inside of my thigh before biting down softly where my leg and hip met.

“Fuck.” His raspy words sounded slurred as he squeezed his eyes shut. A muscle in his jaw worked and I felt his wide shoulders shift. Then he dipped forward with a soft sound and ran his tongue greedily through my folds.

My lips parted as pleasure raced up my stomach and my fingers dug into his hair, and Cassian gave a noise sound low in his throat that sent my back arching.

“Shit, baby, you’re perfect,”, he mumbled into my skin, his deep voice so hoarse, it slid over my skin like sandpaper. His pupils were so large, they swallowed all color of his iris as he stared up at me through hooded eyes, hazy and heavily lidded as his palms closed around my hips, and with another soft groan, Cass dove forward, running his tongue hungrily over my pussy.

My body spasmed as my head fell back against the wall and pleasure twisted through me. Cassian was moving like he was trying to map out every inch of me, tongue circling my clit before dipping lower, coaxing whimpers from my throat.

“Shit –“

Cass buried his nose in my skin and sucked my clit into his mouth, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as my fingers dug into the doorframe and shaky curses spilled from my lips. My hips rolled forward, and Cassian grunted.

“Fuck, you’re killing me.”

Diving forward, his hazy eyes on my face, he sucked, slow, hard, his warm hands sliding lower, holding me in place as he firmly ran his tongue over me.

“Oh.” My insides twisted as heat washed through me from my muddled head to tensing legs, and my lips parted, no sound leaving my throat as I grabbled to hold onto something, my pussy clenching, and Cass groaned.

“Shit, do that again.” He pressed closer and sucked harder, his hooded gaze piercing my face. The sounds bounced off the walls, causing my insides to wind tighter and my body to stutter.

“Fuck.” My fingers curled into Cassian’s hair, and he groaned, deep and hoarse, his eyes fluttering and tall body bowing into mine as he pushed me further into the wall, lapping greedily at me.

My breath caught as I clung to the doorframe, feeling a familiar tightness build in my lower stomach, twisting more taut with the second.

“Shit,”, I whimpered; Cass dove forward, licking and sucking harshly, and my eyes rolled back as without warning, the tension snapped.

My back arched as my body shook and pleasure crashed over me in a tidal wave harder than anything I had ever experienced. My eyes squeezed shut, head pressing against the wall as I cried out, feeling my insides shudder and tighten, pulsing harshly around nothing, and Cassian tightened his grip around me, his moan vibrating through me and causing my limbs to tremble.

My body shook, and I slumped against the wall, trying to catch my breath, heat washing through me, skin buzzing and insides thrumming. Then a soft, delirious giggle broke from my throat, my heart pounding against my ribs as I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as the warm, bubbling feeling in my chest swelled.

Lips pressed against my hip, followed by teeth sinking softly into my skin before something warm brushed against my chest and calloused hands slid under my shirt to keep me upright.

Still breathing a little unsteadily, I forced my hazy eyes to open, and the warm thrum under my ribs grew tenfold when I found a tall body towering over me, so close our chests almost pressed together.

Cassian’s gaze was heavy-lidded and feverish, his lips swollen and parted, a dimple digging into his cheeks as he stared down at me through hazy, twinkling eyes.

My breath caught in my throat, and Cass blinked, his gaze shifting, becoming deeper, molten, hungry.

My heart rose, I swallowed, and Cass made a low, rough sound deep in his throat as his piercing gaze flickered over me face. Then he dropped his head, and I sucked in a sharp breath when his lips crashed onto mine.

My eyes fluttered, and a soft moan broke from my throat when I stretched, clinging to him as I dug my fingers into his shirt and kissed back feverishly.

Cassian’s body pressed closer, rough palms cupping my sides as he started pushing me backwards into my bedroom. Half-stumbling, half-pulling, I tugged him with me, curling my fingers into his t-shirt, the warmth and strength of his body towering over mine causing something to bubble and swell in my chest, and Cassian’s lashes fluttered against my cheek when he made a low, hoarse sound against my lips. Then he dropped his head, and his hand slid into my hair and dragged my head back.

A broken moan vibrated through my chest when he attacked my neck, kissing and sucking harshly, sinking his teeth into my throat until my lids fluttered and I fought soft whimpers.

My fingers tugged at his t-shirt desperately, pulling it up, and Cassian let off my neck just long enough to help me drag the soft fabric over his head.

Dropping it carelessly, I stretched, my lips crashing onto Cassian’s as my fingers curled into the hair at the back of his neck. My hand ran down his warm chest, and I felt his muscles shudder under my touch, causing warmth to buzz under my ribs and something to twitch low in my stomach.

Heat rose in my chest, and I broke the kiss to start trailing hungry, breathless kisses down his throat, sucking and biting gently at his pulsepoint, drunk on the taste and softness of his skin. A low moan vibrated through Cassian’s chest, the sound so deep it travelled through me as he let his head fall back, jaw flexing, and I softly bit into his collarbone, licking over the spot before pressing kisses down to his right pec, my tongue trailing over the art inked onto his skin.

Cassian made a sound somewhere between a groan and a moan, his fingers curled into my hair, and when I raised my head, thoughts hazy, he crashed his lips onto mine.

I whimpered, and Cass swallowed the sound greedily, his tongue wrestling past mine, swiping into my mouth. I inhaled sharply, my fingers digging into his warm skin, Cassian pushed closer, his large body pressing against mine, and without breaking the kiss, he leaned down and slid his calloused hands under my thighs, lifting me off my feet.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I sank my teeth into his bottom lip, and Cassian's eyes fluttered as he moaned before breaking into a deep chuckle, his lips curving upwards into a wide grin against mine. His hand squeezed my ass, and feeling that bubbling feeling in my chest swell, I let the giggle in my throat break free, my fingers sliding into Cassian’s soft hair.

Beginning to walk towards my bed, Cassian dropped his head and bit into the soft skin below my ear, licking and sucking at the spot harshly, and my eyes rolled back as I clung to his large, warm body, his bare skin pressing against my thighs and the muscles in his back shifting, causing something in my chest to soar. Then Cassian let himself drop forward, and a startled squeal broke from my chest when my back hit the mattress, turning into unrestrained giggles when his huge body buried me under its weight.

Grinning into my neck, Cassian dropped his head, and something tumbled in my stomach when his gaze clashed with mine as he sank his teeth into the fabric of my t-shirt, his dark eyes hooded and heated.

“Off.” The deep, mumbled order sent shivers over my body, and I pushed myself up, quickly starting to shimmy out of the fabric, Cassian’s tattooed fingers curling into the hem, helping to tug it up my torso. His eyes seemed to grow more hazy and heavy lidded the higher the seam went, and a low grunt escaped his throat when I slipped it over my head.

Dropping his head, Cass nuzzled his nose against my collarbone, sinking his teeth softly into my skin. Then he dragged his lips lower, and my back arched, a flutter exploding in my lower stomach when he slowly circled his tongue over my nipple.

“Shit.” My fingers dug into his neck, and Cassian groaned softly, his eyes fluttering when he buried his nose in my skin, biting the soft skin of my breast before sucking it into his mouth as far as possible.

A soft shaking sound broke from my throat and trembling shivers ran through my body as my insides twisted and the bubbling feeling in my chest rose, and Cassian moaned low in his chest as he started to suck and lick my nipple greedily until my fingers dug into his nape and I arched into him with a breathless whine.

Running his nose over my skin, Cass pressed a lazy kiss against a forming bruise, then he switched sides, his calloused palm closing over my breast. I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping into my throat, and Cassian watched with hazy eyes as a tattooed finger slowly circled my nipple until the pull was so tight, I squirmed, soft whimpers breaking from my throat as I pressed my head into the mattress and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Perfect,”, Cass mumbled raspily against my skin, sinking his teeth lightly into the soft skin above my breast before dragging his lips up to my neck, running his tongue teasingly over my throat. My hand shot up to grip his hair as I fought for breath, and Cassian dipped his head and kissed me, lazy and hungry, parting my lips and dragging his tongue over mine.

A shiver shook my body, I could feel Cassian's lips curve upwards, and warmth bubbled in my chest as I felt a soft, delirious giggle rise in my throat.

Cass grinned against my lips, his forearms pressing down into the mattress next to my shoulders as he shifted, his hips lodging into between my thighs, and the giggles got stuck in my throat when I felt the hard bulge in his pants press against my core.

A breathy sound escaped me as my hand shot out to dig into his back; my back bowed and my hips bucked, and Cassian groaned against my lips, his teeth sinking into the corner of my mouth. My eyes fluttered when I felt the outline of his cock, huge and what had to be painfully hard, straining against his jeans, and the rising feeling in my stomach grew unbearable.

My fingers were trembling with need as I slid my hands down over Cassian’s stomach, my chest thrumming and stomach buzzing, and I hooked my fingers into his belt, the clasp clinking when I pulled to open it. My eyes fluttered when his teeth sank into my neck, and cursing breathily, I tried to tug at his pants.

Cassian snorted a laugh into my skin, and a giggle burst from my throat as I kicked his ass with the heel of my foot.

“Stop – laughing –“

Cassian’s shoulders shook as his deep, unrestrained chuckles caused his body to vibrate, and my heart got stuck in my throat when he raised his head, dimples digging into his cheek, eyes hazy and grin wide.

“Need help?” Teasingly, he rolled his hips down, grinding his hard on against my pussy, and my back arched at the jolt of pleasure racing down my spine, a whimper breaking from my throat the same second a low groan tore from Cassian's chest, his eyes fluttering.

My heart leapt against my ribs, and an uncontrolled, breathless giggle spilled from my lips.

“Fuck you.” My breathy voice vibrated with more giggles that shook my body, my chest buzzing, drunk on alcohol and kisses and the familiar, dark scent filling my lungs, and I felt Cassian's face split into a wide grin against my neck. Then he raised his head, blown iris twinkling, and my heart leapt against my ribs when he nudged his nose against mine, lips ghosting over mine and crease digging into his cheek as he mumbled huskily: “That’s your job, baby.”

My breath caught, something twisted sharply in my stomach, and Cassian's hazy eyes pierced mine.

Swallowing softly, I reached down, touching his belt.

"Off." My voice was just a whisper, breathless and hoarse as heat built deep in my stomach, thrumming under my skin.

Cassian's gaze flashed, flaring as his heavy lids fluttered. Then he pushed himself up, his warm, solid weight disappearing from my body as he sat up. His hazy, dark eyes pierced mine, and without looking away, he started unbuckling his belt.

My lips parted softly as my gaze followed his tattooed hands like hypnotized as they undid his button, slipped into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a foil package, raising it to his mouth so his teeth could rip it open. Then they slid under the waistband, and Cassian pushed his jeans and boxers down his hips in one.

My soft inhale got stuck in my throat. Scorching heat washed over me, setting my cheeks aflame as my lips parted further and I couldn't do anything but stare, at sharp v-lines and flexing muscles as Cass slid the clear condom over his hard length.

My insides tightened, throbbing around nothing, and swallowing, feeling the bubbling feeling in my chest rise up into my throat, I tore my gaze away. My eyes darted up, and my breath hitched when my eyes found Cassian's, deep, heated and hazy beneath low lids as they pierced mine. Then he leaned forward, and his palms pressed into the sheets next to my sides. The mattress dipped under his weight when he pushed his pants off, his blown iris never breaking away from mine, then he moved up my body until he was hovering over me.

Staring up at him, a wild flutter rising under my ribs, I felt my breath hitch, and slowly, Cass lowered his head until his nose grazed mine.

My lips parted, and with a low, deep noise, Cassian leaned forward and crashed his lips onto mine.

My soft inhale got caught in my throat, something in my chest rose in a flutter, and with a quiet, needy sound, I stretched to slip my arms around his shoulder, my fingers curling into his hair as I inhaled sharply. Then I kissed back feverishly, and Cass groaned softly, his lips parting mine greedily, and his tongue swiped into my mouth, sliding against mine.

My body shuddered, and I arched closer as Cassian slowly lowered himself until his forearms pressed into the mattress next to my shoulders. His chest brushed against mine, his warm, smooth skin causing shivers to travel down my body, and I felt myself push closer almost involuntarily until Cass let himself sink lower, my muscles going lax at the feeling of his warm, massive torso pressing mine heavily down onto the mattress. My thighs slowly fell apart, and Cassian shifted, his chest sliding against mine and causing my nipples to tighten. Then his tip dragged through my folds, and my heart leapt into my throat as I gasped against his lips, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Cass groaned, low and hoarse. His throat worked, jaw muscles flexing, and his heavy lids shuddered.

“If you want me to stop, you tell me.” His voice was so raspy, it sent shivers down my spine.

My fingers dug into his back when I felt his cock slide over my pussy again, and I inhaled shakingly, nodding as my eyes rolling back slightly.

Cassian's nose nudged my cheek, his low, raspy voice vibrating through me. "Look at me, baby."

Somehow, I managed to force open my heavy lids, and something twisted tight and low in my stomach when my eyes met Cassian’s, blown like he was drunk on more than alcohol, his jaw muscles flexing like he was trying to reign himself in when he made a deep noise low in his throat.

“Need you to tell me.”

The bubbling warmth in my chest rose, and I nodded again, my voice breathy when I whispered: “I’ll tell you.”

Cassian’s softly sank his teeth into my bottom lip. Then he shifted his weight, one of his hands sliding over my thigh, his calloused palm leaving shivers in it's wake as it grabbed onto my knee and dragged it higher up his side until my leg slid over his back. His nose nudged against mine, his blurred, feverish eyes piercing mine. Then he rolled his hips forward, and my lips fell apart as I felt his tip push into me and how I clenched around him.

Cassian's body shuddered, his eyes fluttered, and he dropped his head into my neck.

“Fuck.” His deep voice sounded slurred, his back muscles flexing under my hands. His jaw worked as low, broken sounds rose in his throat, and a shaking whimper tore from my lips as my body arched into him.

“I - I don't -“ I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing shakily. “This might take a while.”

Cassian’s lashes fluttered against my cheek, and a low groan broke from his throat as he nuzzled his nose against my jaw, sounding hoarse when he mumbled: “Fuck; yes.”

A soft, startled giggle broke from my throat, and Cass grinned against my skin, my insides twisting at the sight of his hooded, hazy eyes and the crooked line of his smirk. Then he dipped his head and nipped my jaw, softly biting into my neck as he rolled his hips forward, and my eyes rolled back, my nails digging into his back.

♡

With a soft groan, I buried my nose in my pillow. Then I slowly blinked open one eye, feeling my nose crunch when the light sent a wave of pain through my head.

Ouch.

Whining softly and squeezing my eyes shut again, I dropped my head and buried my face in my pillow.

Urgh.

For a few seconds, I just laid completely still, feeling a steady pounding set up residence right underneath my skull. Birds chirped softly outside the window, a car passed on the street outside, and I could hear quiet clatter in another room.

My limbs felt heavy when I slowly raised my head again, making a face at the fuzzy taste on my tongue, the general queasiness and the spike of pain in my head as I squinted to take in my surroundings.

I was in my bedroom, stretched out diagonally across the mattress, clinging to my pillow. The gap in the curtains allowed warm rays of sunlight to fall onto the floor, and a cool breeze swayed the fabric. There were pieces of clothing scattered over the floor and the furniture, throw pillows dropped onto the carpet around the bed, my blanket was tangled around my bare legs, and I was wearing nothing but underwear and a too big t-shirt that smelled dark and warm and familiar.

Making a low sound in my throat, I contemplated just burying my head under the pillow and going back to sleep until my head stopped pounding and I didn’t feel like death anymore – but then the smell of something frying wafted into the room, and my stomach twisted and grumbled miserably.

Whining softly, I exhaled deeply. Then I slowly dug myself out of my blanket and slid my legs over the edge of the mattress. My whole body was aching, and wincing at the drumming pain in my head, I pushed myself to my feet, nearly moaning at the soreness of my muscles. Grimacing and tiredly rubbing my eyes, I sluggishly trudged over the carpet and pushed open the half closed door.

The smell of bacon got stronger, and running a hand over my face, I trudged through the small hall, coming to a halt in the door to the kitchen. Squinting into the sunlight, I blinked tiredly, and my heart performed a small, happy hop against my ribs at the sight of the tall guy moving around my small kitchen.

Cassian’s back shifted, muscles flexing under his bare skin as he smoothly flipped a pancake, the soft, concentrated crunch of his brows melting away when he placed the pan back on the stove. Twirling a spatula between his fingers absentmindedly, he looked around before beginning to stir what looked like scrambled eggs in another pan. The golden sunlight falling through the window made his eyes look softer and skin glow warmly, his large body dwarfing my kitchen as he moved around, and something squeezed softly in my stomach as my eyes flickered over his bare torso down to the black boxers peeking out over the waistband of his low hanging joggers.

Cass moved and threw a look over his shoulder, and our gazes met.

For a second, his gaze flickered down my body, and something shifted in his eyes when they seemed to linger on my bare legs. Then Cassian blinked and raised his eyes again, and something pulsed warmly against my ribs when one corner of his lips slowly curved upwards.

“Hey.”

His deep voice, warm and raspy, paired with the teasing twinkle spreading through his eyes sent a gentle tingle down my spine, and breathing out, I reached up to rub my eyes, crunching my nose gently as I mumbled hoarsely: “Hey.”

The scratchiness of my tired voice nearly made me wince, and Cass chuckled softly, dimples forming in his cheeks when he sent me a slow, shit-eating grin.

“You good, baby?”

Something leapt softly against my ribs at the teasing tilt of his voice, and exhaling heavily, I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe and dropped my temple against the cool wood as I stared at him tiredly, feeling my head pound. Then I raised my brows. “I definitely had too much to drink.”

A snort broke from Cassian’s throat, and the wide grin on his face caused something to topple lightly in my chest.

Breathing out, I blinked tiredly. Feeling my brows crunch softly, I stared into space as I tried to separate the blurry strands of memory in my head.

“Did you sleep here?” My hoarse voice sounded as sleepy as I felt as I blinked slowly.

Cassian raised his head, and his eyes flickered over my face.

I winced lightly, squeezing one eye shut as I sent him a crooked, sheepish smile. “I’m – sorry; I just remember that we left that – ridiculously full party last night, everything after is – blurry.”

Cassian’s gaze flickered over mine. Then he blinked, his jaw muscles shifted, and his throat worked gently like he was suppressing the urge to swallow.

Something twinged gently in my chest, and raising my head a little, I felt my brows crunch gently with worry as my eyes moved over his face.

“What?”

Cass blinked again. Then he turned his eyes away, one corner of his lips curving gently as he mumbled: “Forgot you’re a fucking lightweight.”

A soft giggle burst from my throat, and the curve of Cassian’s lips deepend just a little as he let the pancake slide onto a plate that was already filled with other, turning off the stove.

Staring at him and the shadow of a dimple in his cheek that didn’t feel fully him, I felt that soft twinge in my chest twist a little.

I blinked, then I pushed off the doorframe and trudged towards him, rubbing my eyes before sliding my arms around his waist and dropping my head against his chest with a tired, soft sound.

For nothing but a second, I thought I felt Cassian’s back muscles tense under my touch, his warm body seeming to freeze gently. But just was I was about to raise my head, a small breath left him, and I felt his shoulders sink. His hand slid up my back and his arm wrapped over my shoulder, and Cass dropped his head to bury his nose in my hair.

There was a small flutter against my ribs, and exhaling slowly, I slid my arms further around him, then I buried my face in his chest, his bare skin warm against my cheek. My eyes dropped close on their own accord, and just for a few seconds, the pounding in my head faded a little as I soaked in the solid feeling of Cassian’s body towering over mine and the warmth and scent of his skin. Then I raised my head relucantly and with a soft sigh, tiredly staring down at the pans for a second before I tipped my head back to blink up at Cass, feeling my lips curve just a bit as I squinted.

“That for me?”

Cassian’s eyes flickered over my face, and slowly, the smallest trace of a crease appeared in his cheek. Then he crunched his brows, narrowing his eyes a little even as his gaze started twinkling the tiniest bit. “You even hungry?”

My stomach tightened and rumbled, and a slow grin spread over Cassian’s face, causing his eyes to crinkle a little and small dimples to form in his cheeks and warmth to rise in my chest.

Chuckling softly, he slid his arm from my shoulder. “Sit down.”

Squeezing his sides with a tired, happy sound, I breathed out sleepily, dropping my arms from his waist and stepping back to move past him. My heart did a little skip when I saw that the small table at the window was set, glasses with orange juice next to cups and a steaming pot of coffe, another glass with water and painkillers sitting in front of the seat on the small sofa.

Something warm started bubbling in my chest, and feeling a soft smile spread over my face, I crunched my nose to barely suppress a yawn before wriggling past the table and climbing onto the couch.

Pulling the soft blanket over my bare legs and cuddling up in my seat, wrapping my arms around my knees, I tiredly blinked at the set table for a second, feeling the warm bubbling sensation under my ribs swell a little. Then I slowly pulled the glass with water towards me, ripping open one of the packages and dumping the contents into the glass. It started fizzling, turning bubbly and pale, and picking it up and making a face, I quickly chugged down its contents.

The bitter taste made me shudder and smack my lips with a grimace, quickly refilling the glass to rinse the taste out of my mouth and quench the sudden wave of thirst.

Emptying the second glass of water in one go, I barely suppressed a soft burp, and there was a quiet chuckle. Then a plate stacked with pancakes, eggs and bacon was placed in front of me, and when I raised my head, Cassian took the seat on the other side of the table, a soft dimple digging into his cheek.

The greasy smell of bacon rose into my throat, and groaning softly, I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.

“Thank you.” My voice was still raspy and tired, but the smell of food made some of the queasiness melt away, my mouth watering as I took my cutlery.

Warm silence settled over the kitchen as I started eating, feeling too sleepy and hungover for conversation. The sun tickled my nose and made Cassian’s eyes look like light hazel with flecks of green as he slow sipped his coffee, brows crunched a bit against the light. He didn’t seem in the mood for conversation either and just protested with a soft, dramatic sound when I snuck bacon off his plate, the corners of his lips curving just a little as he played with his fork, hazel eyes watching me.

Polishing off the last bit off pancake and egg, I breathed out happily, most of the queasy feeling gone as I put my cutlery down and blinked tiredly. Now, my stomach full and warm, the ache in my head dulling down to a painful thrum, I felt like curling up on the spot and napping for the next 24 hours.

Though –

Crunching my brows softly, I dropped my head, I carefully sticking my nose into the collar of my shirt and sniffling.

Wincing lightly at the stale smell of alcohol, I slowly raised my head again and blinked tiredly.

“I think I’m gonna take a shower.” Resting my elbow on the table and leaning my cheek against my hand, I sleepily stared at Cassian. Then I mumbled softly: “You okay?”

Cass blinked. His gaze slowly moved over my face, and his throat worked slightly. Then he dropped his head, the shadow of a crease forming in his cheeks when he nodded.

“Yeah.” His quiet, raspy voice sent a warm tingle down my spine as he raised his head again, watching me, and I stared back at him, my lids fighting to close, the sun warming my skin.

“You sure?” My words were soft, quiet.

One corner of Cassian’s lips curved, and he leaned forward until he could rest his chin on his arms, staring up at me. “You know, showering sounds like a good idea. You’re kinda stinky.”

Warmth swelled in my chest, and without changing my position, I picked up a piece of packaging and tossed it across the table. A soft giggle burst from my throat when it hit Cassian’s forehead, and Cass crunched his brows and whined softly, dimples digging into his cheeks and eyes twinkling softly in the light.

Feeling happiness bubble gently against my ribs, I stared at him with a tired, crooked smile. Then I got up slowly with a sigh, grumbling dramatically under my breath as I climbed off the couch.

Cass straightened, throwing the piece of paper onto his plate, and sluggishly squeezing past the table, I leaned down and wrapped my arms around his neck from the side in a tight hug, leaning my chin against his head and closing my eyes tiredly. Cassian’s hand rose to wrap around my forearm, his thumb slowly brushing over my skin, and feeling warmth rise in my chest, I dropped my nose to bury it in his hair. Then I pressed a long, dramatic kiss onto his temple and slowly straightened up again, squeezing his shoulder. Cass looked back at me, his palm wrapping over my hand for a moment, and sending him a soft, crooked grin, I gently flicked his forehead. Then I turned around, sighing tiredly and rubbing my eyes.

Taking a detour to the bedroom to get fresh clothes, I trudged into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The warmth of the sun and my full belly made me feel even more tired than before, and I barely managed to keep my eyes open as I stripped out of my clothes, dropping them carelessly to the floor before stepping into the shower and turning on the water.

My lids slid shut, and I allowed them to as I slowly scrubbed myself clean, letting hot water run over my face and down my back. The steady sound nearly made me doze off on my feet, and somehow pulling myself together, I turned off the water and stepped out onto the small matt, reaching for my towel.

Wrapping myself up, I stayed motionless in the same spot for a second with half closed eyes, dripping quietly, listening to the sound of a bee buzzing against the window.

A light knock against the door made me startle, and Cassian’s low, deep voice travelled through the door.

“Hey, you still awake?”

I blinked slowly. Then I mumbled, softly and hoarsely: “Fuck off.”

There was a muffled chuckle that sent a warm tingle down my spine, and I could almost see the way Cassian leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, dipping his head towards the door with a light grin.

“I used up the rest of your groceries, your fridge’s a fucking wasteland now; I’ll go down to the store and get you some shit for the weekend.” His deep voice vibrated over my skin even muffled by the door. “You want anything special or just the usual?”

Breathing out, I leaned my hip against the counter and blinked tiredly, my voice still rasping a little when I mumbled: “You staying?”

Cass was quiet for nothing but a second. Then his warm, raspy voice echoed softly through the door.

“Yeah.” The hum of his low, deep voice sent warm shivers over my skin when he added: “If you want me to.”

“Duh”, I muttered tiredly, my voice sounding a little less scratchy when I crunched my brows. “You always do. It’s tradition now.”

Cass huffed a deep laugh, and I felt my lips curve as I blinked slowly, my eyelids drooping. “Just get the usual. If I don’t feel like death tonight, I’ll make pasta, so – you just pick whatever you want for a sauce, and – get snacks. Lots of ‘em.”

Cassian chuckled, and warmth bubbled gently against my ribs. “Got it.” He lightly rapped his knuckles against the door. “Don’t fall asleep until I’m back, okay?”

I felt a slow, wide smile spread over my face.

“No promises,”, I mumbled with half-closed eyes, and Cass breathed another low laugh, then he pushed off the doorframe, the floor creaking. Warmth gently fluttered against my ribs, and breathing out, I slowly pushed myself off the counter as the front door fell shut.

Somehow, I managed to dry off and get myself into my underwear and a soft bra, even after giving up the fight against my heavy eyelids. Then I blindly grabbed my bodylotion from the shelf and forced my eyes to open dramatically as I turned around.

Just this and brushing my teeth and maybe sorting my hair and then I could go back to be-

My gaze found the mirror over the sink, and my breath caught in my throat.

The bottle of bodylotion slipped from my fingers and hit the tiled floor, and my lips parted as I stared at mirror and the dark bruises littering my chest, ribs and the side of my neck.

My heart thrummed once against my ribs, and memories crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Of heated, messy kisses and large hands wrapping around my limbs, turning and sliding my body into positions that had made my back arch, of lips dragging over my skin and teeth softly sinking into my ribs, of sweaty skin sliding together, my eyes rolling back into my head and a warm, massive body hovering over mine, husky curses rasped into my skin and fingers tangling with mine in the sheets.

Shit.

I stared into the mirror as my cheeks paled and my chest squeezed.

Shit, shit, shit.

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers @icey--stars @ailyr92

[vivwritesfics]

Waiting For The Sun

Chapter Three

Rhett Abbott has been hearing his soulmate in his head for ten years. She's the sweetest thing, nicknamed Muffin after her love of baking. Rhett doesn't know who Muffin is, doesn't know where she is, but hearing her voice always makes his day better. But then Trevor Tillerson is killed and Rhett's life is thrown into chaos. Through it all, Muffin in there for her soulmate. She wants nothing more than to find him, even through the chaos.

Soulmate AU

a/n: sorry this took so long!! but also, happy birthday to my favourite cowboy!!

Warnings: violence, abusive parenting, smut-ish

Series Masterlist

How is your date going? She didn't know if she sounded bitter when she asked, but she hoped that she didn't.

His laugh sounded in her head and she immediately grew embarrassed. You sound jealous, Muffin.

Muffin. He'd come up with the nickname just a few weeks ago, when she'd stress baked her way through her exams. They were just seventeen, and she swore she had never felt this level of stress in her life. It was cute and it suited her. He hadn't called her anything else since.

She scoffed out loud and hoped that he couldn't hear it. Me? Jealous? No way, she muttered in his head. She'd never stop him from going out and living his life, even if he was her soulmate.

He must have known this girl he was on a date with wasn't his soulmate, but he was young and his Muffin didn't mind. This was him discovering himself in a way that she would never be allowed to.

How is the movie? She asked as she continued on with her chores.

He couldn't have been from the same State as her, she decided when he first told her that he was going to the movies. If he was from the same State as her, he would have been outside like he was. Granted, he wouldn't have been hanging laundry fresh from the machine out to dry like she was. Wouldn't have been folding already dry laundry like she was.

Truthfully, she was too scared to head back inside. Her father's bad moods had become more and more frequent since her older sister had run off with her soulmate.

Just three days after their connection had started, they found each other. It didn't seem fair, not when she'd been trying to find her soulmate for the last three years.

It had been three months since her sister had left, three months since she'd disappeared, leaving only a note.

Her father had been so angry. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion, Esther finally finding her soulmate. But her father had shouted, had worked himself into a rage until he was throwing glasses against the wall and letting them shatter.

His mood had improved in the three months since, but not by a lot. It didn't take a lot for him to fly off the handle. Chewing too loud or the morning prayer not being to his liking. That was enough to set him off, to have her doing chores in the garden instead of in the house.

It's good, I think, he answered as she slowly folded the sheets.

You think?

He hummed. Yep, I think.

She paused on her sheet folding as her bright, bubbly laugh filled his head. Aren't you watching the movie?

Trying to, he answered. But, uh, I'm getting a handjob right now.

With her fathers shirt in her hands, she stopped, brows furrowed in confusion. A what?

A handjob, Mufifn.

She rolled her eyes and began folding the shirt. Yeah, I'm gonna need you to elaborate on that, cowboy.

There was a good moment before he responded. Oh my God, Muffin. You really don't know? Do you at least know about sex?

Normally, she would have chided him for the 'Oh my God', comment. But she was far too embarrassed for that. Yes, I know what sex is, she replied quickly as she placed the shirt on the basket in such a way that it had creases forming.

But you don't know about pleasure.

She didn't answer as she folded the shirt and placed it in the basket. C'mon, Muffin, came his voice in her head. There's no need to feel embarrassed.

I'm not embarrassed, she insisted, but her voice was shaking and it was so obviously a lie. I know about... sex, okay? My sister told me about it. She picked up her laundry basket from the floor and took it back into the house.

Muffin, sex and pleasure aren't the same thing, he replied. Well, as best he could while getting a handjob. They're normally entwined, but they're not the same.

She sucked in a breath and placed the laundry basket down. Can you tell me about it? About pleasure?

He let out that usual hum, the one she'd grown to know so well after three years. Anything for you, Muffin.

***

It had been a rough night for her. Her sleep had been restless, filled with anxiety that she couldn't quite place. On nights like this, her brain took her back to that evening, when her soulmate taught her about pleasure. She hadn't been brave enough to touch herself, then, but it had made her curious.

You there, Cowboy? She tried as she got herself ready for church that morning.

She hadn't expected a reply, certainly not at this time in the morning. But then a gruff mornin', Muffin filled her head.

She couldn't hide her surprise, not from him. What're you doing awake? She asked as she pulled her shoes onto her feet.

Haven't slept yet, Muffin. As soon as he'd said it, tiredness flooded her body. She didn't know who he was, but she could feel his exhaustion. That wasn't fair now, was it? Are you heading to church?

She gave a nod, one he obviously couldn't see. Yeah, she answered. As soon as I'm back, will you tell me why you haven't slept?

Yeah, he answered far too quickly. Yeah, I will.

He didn't speak to her while she was at church. She was appreciative as she listened to the pastor's sermon. She couldn't concentrate on church, though.

It was just like that time her soulmate kept her awake to talk her through things. It was his birthday, his twenty-first, and he insisted on giving her an orgasm, however he could. Her mind had strayed at church the morning after, and she couldn't meet the pastor's eyes.

Her mind was straying this morning, too.

He'd been awake nearly twenty-four hours. Why wasn't he dead on his feet? You still awake? She tried as she followed her parents out of the church and into their car.

Yeah, Muffin. Are you done at church?

She hummed as they began driving home. Are you gonna tell me why you're still awake?

His laugh filled her head as her father drove them towards their house. Past the Tillerson ranch, past the Abbott ranch, past Rhett Abbott on his horse. He tipped his hat towards her as she gave him a small wave.

But her soulmate had fallen silent. Not on his own volition, mind you. As desperately as he tried to answer her, he couldn't. Fuck! He eventually shouted, voice so loud in her mind. I can't fucking tell you, Muffin.

It's okay, Cowboy, she replied, trying to sooth him. That bad, huh?

I don't want you to hate me.

The car stopped and she hopped out. I'm not gonna hate you, cowboy. I'm sure it can't be that bad.

He couldn't respond to that.

Her mind strayed to him as she got on with her morning. As she cleaned the kitchen and made lunch for her parents, she was thinking about him.

But then her mind moved to finding him. How was she ever meant to do that when she was stuck here, in Wabang? She had no way to get out into the world and try to find the man made for her. No money, no skills.

I'm gonna ask my father if I can get a job, she said, trying to contact her soulmate for the first time in hours. They didn't have to speak every minute of every day. The silence was nice, knowing he was always there.

That's huge, Muffin, he replied. Gonna try for your local grocery store?

She shrugged her shoulders as she swept the decking outside. Maybe. I think it's about time I have some financial freedom, you know?

The moment she heard her father coming through the front door, her heartbeat was erratic. She propped the broom up against the fence that enclosed the decking and headed back inside.

"Hello papa," she called as she grabbed his usual beer from the fridge and poured it into his beer mug for him. As quickly as she could she marched to the living room and passed it to him.

Her father was already in his usual armchair. He took the beer from her hands and sipped it as he looked at his youngest daughter. He didn't say anything, but he didn't much talk anymore. He hadn't since Esther disappeared.

"Papa," she began as she sat on the sofa to his right. She was just sitting on the edge of it, back straight, too nervous to let herself sit comfortable. "I want to get a job."

"No," her father immediately said. "Not happening."

Her face dropped and she looked down at her lap. "Papa, pl-"

"I said no."

"But-"

Suddenly, his beer mug was flying at the wall just to the left of her. The noise that left her lips was full of fear, but she didn't dare move. "I said no, and my word is final," he said and settled back into his armchair, as if nothing ever happened.

Grabbing him another drink in a new beer mug. She cleaned up the mess of shattered glass behind the sofa and wiped up the liquid from the floor.

How did it go? Her soulmate asked as she swept up the broken glass.

She dumped the glass into the bin and wiped under her eyes. I don't wanna talk about it, she replied as she headed back outside to finish sweeping the deck.

Oh, Muffin. I'm gonna get you out of there.

She didn't cry about it, not when it wouldn't have done any good. Her father had been this way for the last seven years, ever since Esther left. He'd gotten them to scratch out Esther's face from every picture in the house, erasing any memory of her. All of the things she'd left behind had been discarded or burned in the yard.

She wasn't allowed to cry when her sister was erased from her life.

There was a knock at the door. She placed her broom against the fence and rushed through the house, to the front door. As she walked past her father, he didn't move, taking a long sip of his beer as she pulled the front door open.

One of her blonde haired neighbours stood at the front door. "Hey, Billy," she said as she wiped her hands on her skirt.

"Hey," Billy replied and pulled his hat from his head. She couldn't quite place the expression he was wearing, but something was definitely wrong. "Have you seen Trevor around?"

There was a time where she'd considered that one of the Tillerson boys might have been her soulmate. It was a haunting thought, and one that left her mind the moment it had entered. Billy was the best of a bad bunch, but she didn't didn't want him as her soulmate.

"Trevor? No," she said and leaned against the doorframe. "Is he okay?"

Billy shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. I hope so," he mumbled, eyes on the floor. And then, when his eyes met her own and he looked up at her, wearing puppy dog eyes. "I think something bad happened to him."

"Like what?" She couldn't stop herself from asking. There was something like guilt on her face when she met Billy's eyes again.

But he still answered. "I think Rhett Abbott killed him."

Rhett Abbott. She didn't know much about the man. Even though they'd grown up together, they'd had few interactions. She knew Rhett had a few run ins with the law, had seen Sheriff Joy (back before she became acting sheriff) bringing him back to the Abbott ranch in the pack of the police car a couple of times.

But Rhett wasn't a murderer, was he? He'd been sweet, if a little flirty, every time they passed. Tipping his hat or wearing that smile that looked as though he didn't know it was charming.

She looked back at her father, let her gaze linger on him for no longer that two seconds, before she turned back to Billy. "Do you want some help looking for him?"

The smile that crossed his face was wide and far too happy. "Yeah, I'd appreciate that."

Rhett Taglist: @finnydraws

@writtingrose

@nurse-sainz

@biancathecool

@xoxabs88xox

@afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff

Series Taglist: @nessjo

@butterflykale1doscope

@eternallyvenus

@daughterofapollo-7

@babybluemissy

[eideticspider]

|| @spiderbyhalf ||

With Hanukkah and Christmas steadily approaching, Cindy was unsurprised to see the halls at HQ almost empty. What was surprising was that it was more relaxed than eerie. Clutching the two cups of coffee in her hands, she nods at the odd passersby, even smiles though her mask hides it.

Christmas used to be one of her favorite times of year before the bunker. Ezekiel didn't really do anything to celebrate for her, maybe brought her the odd book to add to her tiny collection--but nothing to the same effect that her family had. And though she and her mother had had a strained relationship since she was freed, the holidays are a little easier. The house is full of warmth and laughter, the smell of good food and simmer pots swirls around the air.

It reminds her of better times and it's a time she's come to cherish.

She'd been putting in a lot of thought into her gifts, working into the night on some occasions to make sure they were just right. For her mother, a hand knit sweater in her favorite color. For her father, she'd gone out searching for the perfect watch after he'd casually mentioned he'd broken his original. For Al, a new set of knives for his new position as sous chef at his restaurant and a new apron. Peter and MJ would be recipients of tickets to the show MJ had suggested months ago and for Mayday? Of course she had to buy her the biggest, messiest art kit that she could get her hands on.

Miguel's gift had been another one that she'd worked tirelessly on--since the day after Thanksgiving. There were constant nights where she'd collapse on her bed, smudged with lead and smeared with paint. Anxiety constantly ebbed and flowed and she worried that he would hate it. Since she finished the piece, Cindy went back and forth with just going to the store and buying him something.

It was getting to the point where she didn't have time to keep alternating between ideas.

She hadn't done the piece with any kind of intention--just a reflection of a time they shared that she looked on with fondness. He was, with the strongest definition of the term, her best friend. She valued having him in her life, regardless of the connotations.

Even if she found herself thinking about a deeper connection more and more since Thanksgiving.

And even more so after her date with Derek.

He was a nice enough guy, and they had a decent time. He hadn't tried to kiss more than her cheek and they had good conversation.

But he wasn't the one. It had occurred to her that she couldn't be with someone she had to lie to, at least not in the long-term. And she liked Derek. Not enough to share her life with, but enough to not want to have to constantly lie about who she was. As much as she'd like to take credit for declining a second date, it had been more of a mutual decision.

(And, she'd never admit this to Miguel but the meat eating had been a problem.)

Not to mention, her mind had been all over the place since Thanksgiving. Overanalyzing his kiss to her cheek had come and gone, determined to be just friendly by her forced recognition. But still, she couldn't fight off the lingering feeling that there was something more there.

Not to mention, she'd been noticing just how...beautiful he was in recent days. The lines and creases of his face, his steady posture, the rare smile that she felt privileged to see, the way joy will glimmer in his eyes at a stupid joke...If she had been an artist of old, he'd be her muse.

But she was born in the modern age and it was considered a faux pas to send two texts in a row to a guy. Jesus.

Dr. Sinclair had her work cut out for her that week.

Using her shoulder to slip into Miguel's office, she sits and nudges his cup closer to him on his desk. Neat fingers tug down her mask so she can take a long sip of her own.

"How grateful are you that it's so damn quiet right now?" She teases, leaning her hip against the side of his desk.

[the-physicality]

.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 ❞

❝ BEING PROF. GETO'S T.A. IS SO HARD BECAUSE HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part two of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you're now professor geto's t.a. for the semester, forced to spend time with the man that you so desperately want, either of you barely able to hold back when you're around the other, so what happens when you're forced to go to a conference with him...and there's only one bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, so much mutual pining, bed sharing, cuddling, masturbation (f + m), oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), semi public sex (sorta), office sex (kinda), amateur's take on moral philosophy and ethics, art by @/nino84391425

✧ wc: 16,821 (apparently i am writing a novel lol) | part one | part three | part four

“On time for once?” Professor Suguru Geto remarks without looking up from his notes on the podium, even as your footsteps echo in the empty lecture hall, “color me surprised,” 

“Couldn’t be late on my first day as a teacher’s assistant, now could I?” and his lips curl in that damnable smile, as he finally glances up from his notes to see you looking far too gorgeous in his button up — one you had oh so generously relieved him of last night, pilfered away in your bag seemingly. 

“But you could be late on your first day as a student?” and you lick your lips, as you draw closer to him, “seems like you’re quite the hypocrite, not very ethical,” 

“Don’t think what we did last night was very ethical either,” you murmur, enjoying the way his dark eyes glaze over for a moment with the thoughts what you both did — the places touched, the moans heard, and the pleasure had — “plus, I definitely have an incentive to be on time now,” your fingers graze his, and why does his touch always feel like coming home. 

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand against your cheek. 

“Your gorgeous face,” you smile, leaning close as your lips brush, “and some stolen kisses before class,” 

“And what makes you think you’ve earned them, my favorite student?” He teases, as his fingers slide to the back of your neck, and his other hand snakes around your waist, tugging you close. 

“Oh, I have a few ways to earn them, Professor,” your fingers drag down his chest, “but I don’t know if we have the time before class to—“ 

And his lips find yours — needy and bruising, as your fingers clutch at his shirt, the pressed fabric now definitely creased under your touch, “we’ll make time,” he murmurs, as he leans back to drag his thumb down your plush lips, “I still have many things to teach you, and what time is there like the present?” 

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to your lips— 

RING. RING. RING. 

Your eyes snap open, a groan crawls its way out of your throat, as you fumble for your phone to silence the dreaded ringing. You lie back on your bed, a distinct ache between your legs that makes you squirm, and only want to bury yourself back into your bed and possibly the reality that existed within only your dreams. 

But this was sadly reality, and you had about two hours before your first class as a teacher’s assistant for Professor Suguru Geto’s ethics and moral philosophy class. And two hours before you would see Professor Geto for the first time since you had made out. 

You turn over, pressing your face into your pillow. You wondered if you tried hard enough, if you could suffocate yourself before then. 

Probably not. That would be far too lucky. 

~~~

Professor Suguru Geto couldn’t sleep — instead he spent his time staring at his ceiling, the blades of his fans spinning above him, just like his mind was — in circles. It was as if he almost didn’t want to risk his dreams taunting him, it was the same reason he had buried himself in research over the semester break, the same reason he had put off emailing you the materials for the semester, and the same reason he hadn’t seen you since that day you had kissed. 

It was too much of a risk. 

You were risk personified, even for a risk averse theologian he liked to think himself as. But you were the thing of myths, the dangled food for Tantalus, the far too warm sun for Icarus, and the promise of gold for King Midas. But you were not a myth — you were real, his student made of flesh and bone, the same flesh he had pressed into his desk just a few short weeks ago, his legs parting your thighs, his fingers itching to rip your pantyhose off your legs— 

He sighed, this wasn’t helping — his bedside clock blinked back at him mockingly — he only had a few hours before his first class. He should try to sleep even a little. So he did, shutting his eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t dream of you. 

But he couldn’t possibly be that lucky. 

How many times have you stood in front of this office door? Your Professor, to which this office belongs, would joke that it was far too many to count — and you’d be better speculating how many times that Sisyphus rolled the boulder up the same hill. But the last time you had been in it was the thing that made you hesitate now. 

But that was your entire relationship wasn’t it? A game of chicken, wondering who would hesitate first — and neither of you were the type to hold back. Except when it came to this — except when it came to your feelings for the other. 

You shake your head, trying to shake your anxious thoughts free of their eternal bounce around your skull, and grit your teeth before finally knocking. 

“I’m actually right here,” a voice behind you says, making you jump, as you whip around, nearly pressed against his office door. And now you stood face to face with the man who owned it.

And how was it that every time you saw him, he was achingly more perfect than the time before? His ebony hair was half down, black locks brushing against his shoulders, the rest tied up in a neat bun. A crisp white button up underneath a neutral toned knit sweater vest, the shirt very much like the one you had stolen in your dream. 

Perfect. 

“Professor Geto,” you offer a small smile, trying your best to keep your eyes on his, instead of drifting over his form, “it’s good to see you,” 

“It’s good to see you as well, and so prompt,” he says, brushing past you to unlock his office, “made a habit of being on time these days?” 

“Well, when your professor reprimands you in front of the entire class, you try to make a habit of being on time,” why did it feel like your dream was repeating yet again? It’s not as if your relationship with him wasn’t cyclical enough — life imitating dreams was almost far too much. He opens the door for you, letting you enter first, before he follows you in, “and aren’t you the late one this time?” 

His lips quirk, as he rounds his desk, and takes a seat, “You really can’t make it a conversation with me without giving me shit, huh?” 

“Language,” you chide, as you sit across from him, “not very appropriate for an academic setting,” and you have to bite back the want to say that you’ve done plenty of inappropriate things in this office the last time you both were here. 

“Well, our track record isn’t known for being very appropriate, now is it?” Or maybe you didn’t need to say it, because the way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. But that didn’t mean either of you would act on it. He licked his lips, mouth parted to say something, his gaze heavy. 

And the moment is broken when his email goes off — you squeeze your bag a little tighter, as you busy yourself with digging through your bag for the materials to go over. That sound was nearly traumatizing in this office, not only did it usually signal the start of some assignment you had to trudge your way through — it also was the sound that had ended your relationship before it even really began. 

“Class starts in an hour, so I thought we could have this meeting just to review the syllabus and see if you have any questions — as well as just overall any questions you had about being a T.A.,” he explains, pressing his pen to his lips, “I understand this is your first time being a T.A.?” 

“It is, I hadn’t really considered it until the department head approached me about that,” and he nods, a flash of emotion that surfaces for only a moment before dissipating, “what will my responsibilities be?” 

“Good question,” a smile pulls the corners of his lips, “obviously, as a T.A., you will have office hours that you can decide with your own discretion—” 

“So it’s okay if I have them once a month at 3:00 AM?” and he rolls his eyes as you bite your lip at the sight — why was everything he did so effortlessly attractive? 

Fucking unfair. 

“Witching hour, how apt,” he murmurs, as he tilts his head, “but they should be weekly, as I’m sure you know, and held not in the middle of the night, when nights should be used for other things,” and you have to bite back your reply, like what? 

And then he continues to explain, “You can also help with some grading — mostly entering grades online for me since you know I love to handgrade,” 

“Oh yes, truly enjoyed having my self-esteem cut to shreds after receiving a paper back,” you scribbled notes down in your notebook, “glad I won’t be on the receiving end this time,” 

“If you’re good, that is,” and you knew it slipped from his lips — from the way his lips parted, the way his body froze for half a second as if he had shocked himself — and he had, because the spark between you two remained, a weed stubbornly cracking through concrete, “sorry—’ 

“You don’t have apologize,” you shake your head, waving him off, “it’s really fine,” 

“It’s not,” he said softly, placing the syllabus down on the desk, “I know we agreed to keep our relationship professional,” 

“We did,” Yes, you both did — sort of. 

“And I want us to do that—” 

And you ask the question you weren’t brave enough to ask the last time you two had seen each other, “Why is that again?” 

When the email had come, it was as if a spell had broken — the rosy colored lenses had come off, only to leave the hard glare of reality behind. Your limbs still entangled while you both reread the email off of his screen — as if it would say something different the millionth time over. 

It didn’t. 

And then the awkward clamor of disengaging, slow limbs pulling apart, as the warmth of his embrace left as quickly as it had come. Silence as the two of you let the news settle in, like a noose tightening around your necks, and you slowly slid off his desk. 

“If I’m your T.A.,” you had said slowly, adjusting the skirt of your dress, “we can’t do this, can we?” and he had only nodded, his gaze unable meet yours, fixed to the rug on the floor of his office, and he could only muster two words as you brushed past him and gathered your things—

“I’m sorry.” 

But even so, you couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea? Why was it so wrong for the two of you to do this? What difference did it make that you were his T.A.? It was still against the rules either way — it was still unethical either way — so why, why did it matter? 

But he knew why, from the way his brow creased with lines and his lips pursed and the way his eyes yet again couldn’t quite reach yours — as if you’d spot something in them that he didn’t want to see. 

“Because we’re going to working together all semester long, with students in class who will see us each week,” he licked his lips, leaning back in his chair, “because it was already problematic if we saw each other without any classes or connection, but now — if you’re my T.A. and my girlfriend, how would I even properly supervise you?” and he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing as he blows air through his teeth, before his voice grows softer, “how would I focus on guiding you and our students if I’m too busy gazing into your eyes or staring at your lips or wanting to—” he cuts himself off, “you know it’s not a good idea,  most of our students probably wouldn’t notice, but rumors spread and it takes one good rumor to ruin your career,” and he adds, “with how things work, you don’t need me to tell you why it would be worse for you than me, even if I tried to take responsibility,” 

And you did know, knew very well that rumors got out that the two of you were together that nothing would happen to his reputation — perhaps he would be scrutinized a bit more, some judgment and side-eye from other professors and higher ups, but he wouldn’t get vilified like you would. Called a slut or a whore — and those would be some of the kinder names you’d be called, and you can’t imagine what it would do for your career, especially if you stay in academia. And then the rumors would fester and grow, more wondering where your grades came from — whether you had obtained them through honeyed words whispered over pillows and rumpled sheets instead through late nights spent at your desk and weekends practically living at the library. 

“I do know,” you said quietly. But it didn’t mean you wanted to do it anymore than you had that day. A part of you wished he had stopped you when you had turned to leave his office, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into his arms—but this was hardly a romance novel, “and you’re right,” 

He still has his gaze fixed anywhere but your face, settling his syllabus on his desk now, the silence familiarly filling the room yet again, muscles tense if your body didn’t know whether to flee or to draw closer. 

So you did neither, and instead broke the silence. 

“So would T.A.-ing provide an opportunity for me to teach the class?” and he blinks, eyes snapping up now, as a glimpse of sadness slips away behind his now thoughtful expression. 

“Would you want to do that? I don’t know if I could allow you to lead an entire class, only because some students may take some issue with another grad student teaching them—” 

“I don’t blame them with the tuition costs,” you mutter, and he nods, “don’t nod, it’s your salary I’m paying for,” 

He laughs, a noise you wished you could bottle because you knew it’d be the same as bottling happiness, “Well worth your money after how much your writing and understanding of moral philosophy and ethics has improved,” and you roll your eyes. 

“I see your ego is the same as ever,” and his lips curl, as he crosses his legs, and you fight the cruel temptation of your gaze flickering a little downward. 

“Well, Kant did say an ego is necessary to understand the world meaningfully and therefore act in a moral way,”  you tilt your head, being defensive with philosophy? That was a new one. 

But you weren’t one to let things go — as he very well knew. 

“And he also said that an ego can lead you astray from living a moral life if we become too self absorbed,” and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you calling me self absorbed?” 

You bite back a laugh, “Well, you are certainly self interested,” and you gesture around his office, “look at this office,” 

“What about my office?” he gapes at you, and you snort, you’ve seemingly struck a nerve by how wide his jaw dropped. 

“It’s a little…pretentious,” and dare you say it, your professor had a touch of pink painted across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, 

God he’s even pretty when he blushes. 

“I’m just teasing Professor,” and then you add, “it’s one of my more tedious qualities,” 

And he blinks, before his lips curl in the smile you never tired of seeing, “not tedious, more irritating,” 

You chuckle, before trying to get back on topic, “So you think you could work out me teaching a part of the class?” 

And he nods, “Let me discuss it with the department head — it should be fine,”

“Do I have any other responsibilities?” 

“If it doesn’t conflict with your schedule, you can also attend some classes, students can stay after and ask you questions as well,” and you nod, looking over his class times in the syllabus. 

“I can make the Tuesday one,” and he makes a note, as you rise, “we should go. Don’t want to be late for the first class now do we?” 

And he smiles the same damnable smile, “That would be a terrible first impression,” and his shoulder brushes yours as he opens his office door for you, “after you,” 

God, you thought as you stepped past him, the warmth from the brush of his body still there, this was going to be a long semester. 

If there was one thing you had learned from being a teacher’s assistant for Professor Geto’s class, it was that the students were even more desperate for your professor’s attention than you had thought. You thought your introduction had went relatively well — besides the pointed glares of several….enthusiastic students. 

After his detailed overview of the class, he reaches the resources section of the course syllabus, “Now, I am available at my listed office hours, in which you can make an appointment online. There’s also tutoring services through the university listed as well. And lastly, we have a T.A. for this class, for the very first time,” and he smiles, “Class, please meet your T.A. for this semester,” Professor Geto says your name and gestures to you, sat up in the corner of the lecture hall, and you stand, waving, “your T.A. took this very class last semester and showed great grit and dedication in the class assignments,” you have to stop yourself from shooting him a look, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips, “She is also a philosophy student, so please, feel free to reach out to her,” 

“Thank you Professor Geto for that…generous introduction,” your pause was slight enough that he caught it, a smile tucked behind an all too fake cough, “I really look forward to working with you all — this class truly had a great impact on my perspective about the world,” and you catch a flicker of an emotion ripple across his face out of the corner of your eye, “my office hours will be posted soon, and I hope we can get to know each other well over the course of this semester.” 

You sit as the students cast their gaze forward again, and the class continues on as usual. You make use of your time by reading for some of your other classes, until class was over. 

And that’s when you really learned something. As requested, you joined Professor Geto at the bottom of the lecture hall to help field questions from the students. 

Except, the students were far more interested in Professor Geto than they were in the course material. 

But maybe it was simply because it was the beginning of the semester right? It couldn’t happen again right? 

It was a good thing you weren’t getting graded because you would earned yourself a zero. As again, the next week, students were only interested in Professor Geto — whether it was because it was for his intellect or — you glanced at the students mooning over him — something else. 

Something you knew very well. 

You were forced to watch a female student flutter her eyelashes, then another brush against him, as she showed him what passage was confusing her, and then another student couldn’t stop staring at his lips. And then you wonder, if it had been another student who kept pestering him week after week, would it have been them instead of you? Would they have shared those moments together? Maybe even they would actually gotten to be in a relationship, instead of watching other people flirt with him—

“Excuse me,” your eyes snap up from your reverie and you see two students, seemingly waiting to speak to you. 

Those students had seemingly taken pity on you and spoke to you about the class, tips, and asked about your office hours. But soon enough, the students filed out one by one until it was just you and Professor Geto. And he’s collecting his things, as he glances at you, lingering still as you check your email on your phone, “Don’t you have class after this?” 

You blink, “how’d you know that?” 

And he’s straightening his notes to place back in his bag, before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, “well you’d always rush off after class so it was either you had class or you didn’t want to be alone with me,” he looks back to his bag and you hear the click of the zipper, “I was hoping it would be the former,” he adds. 

“Well, I never lingered after class when I was taking it either,” you adjust your bag, toying with the strap — why was it anytime you were with him it felt like stepping into quicksand, the more you struggled, the more you sunk — and even if you didn’t move at all, you were still stuck all the same, “didn’t want to get in the way your students stroking your ego,” 

And he raises an eyebrow, “Are we back to my ego again?” 

“I don’t see you shying away from smiles and praise from your students,” and his brow knits together, as he places his bag down on the podium, “no wonder your ego is so large,” 

“What students?” 

“Oh please, the ones swarming your desk after clsss. Didn’t you ever wonder why so many students from different disciplines take your class?” he opens his mouth and then you add, “and don’t say philosophy and ethics apply to every aspect of life,” 

And then he seems to consider the thought, as before his lips curl, as he leans against the podium. 

“Am I detecting some jealousy?” he smirks, and you pause before you scoff — far too quickly. 

“No,” and he only smiles wider. 

He chuckles, “That was convincing. I’m glad your ability to teach is much better than your ability to lie,” 

“I’m not—“ 

“Jealous or not,” and you have to bite back your retort, his gaze freezing you in place, a softness you hated to see — because you didnt know whether it made you want to push him away or pull him close, “there’s only ever been one student who caught my eyes,” 

Ah, there is was — you were sinking again. 

“Really?” you mumble, crossing your arms, “not even one other? You have a habit of unethical behavior for an ethics professor,” 

He’s grabbing his bag, before he’s taking a step forward to whisper, “Only when it comes to you,” and you have to force yourself not shiver at his words warming your skin, “I’ll see you next week,” 

And he’s gone — as you stand in the empty lecture hall next to the podium, the very one from your first dream— and you’re right back where you started. 

Professor Suguru Geto wasn’t the type to make mistakes. He was always meticulous and methodical — he used the very principles to help guide his life — because it gave him a moral framework, a way to interpret the world and his own actions. That’s what had drawn him to ethics in the first place. But then he met you. 

And it seems like he’s made nothing but mistakes since. 

He sat in his office after he practically fled the classroom, forcing his pace to be normal, hoping you didn’t see the flush on his face. Fuck, he tossed the pen he had picked up to start grading away, what was he doing? 

He had told himself it was for the best — again and again when he watches you leave at the end of the last semester. He held his muscles taut as he watched you gather your things, stepping over the crushed pieces of both of your hearts. The two words he had barely choked were the only ones he could manage before he watched his office door shut behind you. 

It was for the best. It was for the best. It was for the best. 

That sentence was on repeat in his mind as he tried to work on his paper over the break — “try” being the operative word. It felt as if even his work hadn't been untouched by you — your impact widespread and all consuming — just as your actual touch was. 

Fuck, he rakes his fingers through his hair, how was he going to survive this week much less this semester? 

He couldn’t afford to be selfish — for your sake and his own. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to be. He runs a hand over his face — he all but blatantly admitted that he had feelings for you after class. After promising to keep things professional — he was the worst. 

He only wished he was worse enough to do what you both wanted when you asked him in his office why you both couldn’t be together. He wanted to tell you the reasons why you should be — because he couldn’t stop thinking about you despite never seeing you over the break, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you standing in front of his office, and because he couldn’t help but smile when he could see you hesitating in front of the door — but he couldn’t help but smile when it came to you. But he didn’t. 

He couldn’t. 

But he also couldn’t help but toe that damn line in the sand, the one that he had drawn, but the one so desperately wanted to cross. 

And then there was a knock at his door, he sighs, “Come in,” 

The department head enters his office, as Suguru blinks before he gets to his feet to offer his hand, as they exchange greetings, before gesturing for him to sit, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I saw your email about having your T.A. teach part of your class, and I wanted to get a little more detail about it,” Suguru nods, his face composed, but his body tense — paranoia scratching at the back of his mind, no one happened to see them kiss had they? No one was on campus really at that point. And the door was closed — he probably just wanted more information.  

“What questions did you have?” and the department head runs down his list — what topic would you cover? How much class time would it take? Would he be asking the class first? Would he review your materials beforehand? 

“Well, you both seemed to have thought a lot about this,” he leans back, crossing his leg over the other, “I think having her teach a part of a class is fine, but I would like you both to do it sooner rather than later,” and Suguru opens his mouth, but then he adds, “and I’d like to attend that class,” 

Suguru tilts his head, “You would like to attend my class?” He considers his words carefully, “I was under the impression, based on the rules, the only thing needed to allow a T.A. to teach was the approval of the department head,” his anxiety begins to pick away at his nerves, “it’s not unusual for a T.A. to teach here correct?” 

It was his first time having a teacher’s assistant at this university so perhaps this was a quality check? To ensure both you and him were meeting the standards of the university — and his anxiety added, and to make sure no rules were being broken by either of you. 

“Yes, it’s not unusual, and I have my reasons which I’ll discuss with you after the class,” he checks the time and rises from his seat now, “I have another meeting soon — do you think she can present in two weeks?” 

Suguru hesitates, “I’ll have to ask her but most likely that should be fine,” 

“Okay please send an email cc’ing her and confirm the details,” he says his goodbyes, and he’s gone, as Suguru sits and considers this — what could he be planning? 

Or, his nerves add, what could he be looking for? 

Either way, he pulled up your email — it was going to be an interesting two weeks. 

“Deontology determines whether an action is right or wrong based on a set of rules and principles instead of the consequences of the actions,” you speak to an empty lecture hall, your voice echoing in the silence, “therefore an act that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” 

You had come into the lecture hall to practice yet again this week. You were cursing your past self for inflicting this optional task on yourself — it had taken far more time than you had expected (what’s new?), taken far more preparation than you thought (again, of course), and now had the fun added pressure of the department head attending. And why was he attending? A wonderful and complete mystery. 

The last two weeks have been amazing for your mental health, truly. 

You were lucky the lecture hall and the building at large was deserted at 8:00 PM — all of the staff and students had all but fled, and you were left with the perfect place to practice. It had been many nights of honing your presentation to the allotted time, leaving time to pose a thought exercise, time to discuss, and for questions. 

You don’t see the door behind you open, nor do you hear it close, as you use the clicker to go through your PowerPoint, switching to the next slide. 

“For example, killing an intruder, based on the consequence would be wrong, as I hope we all know killing is wrong — otherwise, I worry about what will happen when you get your grades back,” you give a brief chuckle — and hope some of the students would pity you with some laughs, and that’s when you hear a small laugh behind you. 

Your head snaps around, flushing when you see Professor Geto standing by the door. He’s wearing a deep royal purple button up and gray slacks, the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms. 

God, this wasn’t a dream was it? 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, his footsteps against the floor grew closer, and your body tenses, until they stop, “go on,” and he leans against the wall behind you. 

“But when you do kill an intruder to protect your family, that’s viewed as right under deontology,” and you can’t focus with his gaze running over you, an all familiar feeling settled over you. Would life imitate dreams again? Would he come over and ask you to continue your presentation as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder? Would he— 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you can’t meet his gaze, but you hear his footsteps, “should I go?” 

“No, no, it’s just,” you shake your head, “a little deja vu,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “deja vu?” 

Your blood runs cold. Fuck. 

“I don’t recall you ever presenting like this in my clsss before,” you can't decide if his voice is more thick with confusion or curiosity. 

“Yeah, no, sorry it’s nothing,” you brush him off, your eyes fixed on your notes on the podium, and you know he’s still staring, “what?” 

“I see you’re still not a very good liar,” and you scoff, “what is it that’s gotten you so bothered?” 

“Nothing,” you insist. 

“The more you say that, the less I’m convinced,” and now he’s walking closer, closer still — but you’re fixed in place, “what is it?”

“You never let anything go, do you?” And you turn, your breath catching when you saw how close he was — inches from you, his pretty eyes wide at the sudden movement, his breath warming your lips. Black strands fall in his face, and you have to stop yourself from tucking them behind his ear. Stop yourself from wanting to touch him, stop yourself from wanting him to lean forward, stop yourself from wanting him. 

Nothing good ever came from your want. 

“Only when it’s you,” but this man makes it impossible not to want him. Not when his voice is soft, not when the back of his finger, a knuckle brushes against your cheek. And no words are needed — you can hear it in the silence between you both, you feel it in the gentleness of his touch, and in the softness of his gaze. 

And you know you’re in love with him. You are.

But you can’t be. 

“I’m not telling you,” you murmur, looking away — and it seems to break the spell, as he steps back, nodding, a flicker of sadness that slips away under his facade,  “but maybe I will sometime, over a drink,” you add. 

A smile tugs at his lips, “Well we know how well that went, or didn’t go rather, and you know, we can’t anytime soon,” 

“Well sometimes an action that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Using deontology to convince me?” He tilts his head, “not a bad strategy — maybe I’ll have you write a paper,” 

“And willingly subject myself to your red pen? No thanks,” and he snorts, before the smile fades into a frown, brow wrinkled in thought, “what is it?” 

“Nothing, I’m just…” he crossss his arms, “I’m wondering why the department head wants to observe your presentation,” 

“He didn’t give any indication why?” and he shakes his head, “maybe he just wants to evaluate how good a job you’re doing,” you add, “you are relatively green,” 

“Not that green,” and you see his lips pressed together — and is he? — he was — he was pouting. You bite your lip how fucking adorable — but you know you’d be met with a scowl if you said that out loud, “don’t you worry that the dean may suspect something between us?” 

The thought had crossed your mind, but class had been nothing but professional so far, and you’d be too busy sweating bullets (and perhaps dodging them from the students if the presentation went poorly) to even consider your feelings for him. 

You sigh, “Look, nothing to do but get through it, right? It should be fine, we’ll deal with whatever comes after. As long as I don’t choke, and you don’t stare at me too adoringly, we should be fine,” 

And you expect a retort, a cheeky reply, or even a quite sarcastic one, but he only gives a small smile, “Right,”

You feel your cheeks burn and you can’t meet his gaze again without feeling your heart flutter. 

Fuck — maybe there was something to worry about. 

Despite the concerns, the presentation goes off without a hitch. You spot the dean sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, pen and notepad in hand, which did nothing to soothe your poor heart (nor did the far too many cups of coffee and the total lack of sleep). 

It happened quick — a blur of speaking, forcing yourself to slow your words down, a necessity when presenting — as you knew you always spoke faster than you believed you did when presenting. You think you even made the students laugh a few times, led an interesting thought experiment with a rousing debate that ended with no clear answer (as always), and then you answered questions. 

All the while, Professor Geto stood in the back, and you’d catch a glimpse of him by the corner of your eye, his lips curled in that smile that haunted all your nights and days. 

By the time it was done, you had barely realized time had gone so quickly, as you passed the metaphorical baton back to Geto. And you took a seat off to the side, opting to watch him lecture, rather than busy yourself with other work. 

It felt like old times, you thought, as you watched him speak. You couldn’t blame the people that took his class just to watch him speak — he was unfairly beautiful when he spoke, gesticulating as he read a Kant quote. And you kept your face as neutral as possible, but he catches your eye for a moment, corner of his lip twitching upwards. And a flush settles over your cheeks, as you discreetly press your thighs together, trying to look suddenly engrossed with your notebook. 

Your heart ached as much as your body did. You wanted to walk over and just kiss him, swallow his smart words along with his gasp, and feel those hands run along your body. You wanted to know every thought in his head, every part of his day, and fall asleep beside him. 

You glance up to see him still speaking — a black strand falling in his face. You bite your lip, before looking back down. 

This man would be the death of you — and it was even worse being alone with him. You’re thankful that your T.A. check-ins with him were every other week, because you couldn’t imagine having to spend more than an hour with him every other week. 

“You want us to do what?” You blink at the Dean, his lips curled in a smile, his hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Apologies for all the secrecy, I did not receive confirmation about this until earlier today,” he explains, “but I want you two to attend this conference on ethics and philosophy  — it’s over the weekend, two weekends from now. It would be a wonderful opportunity for the both of you to make connections and attend presentations, as well as mingle with prospective students. It would also afford us an opportunity for both of you to help put our university on the map,” 

You glance at Professor Geto, his lips parted in surprise, “Sir, is it appropriate for a male professor and a—“ 

“Don’t worry, the accommodations will be separate and it’s a public event, as long as everything remains professional, there’s no problem, right? As long as you two are okay with it and there’s no problem,” he glances between the two of you, “is there a problem?” 

And Professor Geto’s eyebrows knit together. It was a lose-lose situation — saying no meant raising some suspicions that there was an issue between the two of you, but saying yes meant going on a trip with the same professor you had kissed at the end of the last semester. And if anything happened on this trip...it could be very bad — ethically and otherwise. 

So you make the decision for both of you. 

“That’s fine. I’m happy to attend if Professor Geto is,” and you know you have no choice — you had to spend the weekend with him, alone. At a conference. In a hotel.

“Do you have everything?” Professor Geto asks, as you hand him your suitcase, your fingers brushing as you do.  He lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car, his black t-shirt riding up as he does, a quick flash of the expanse of his muscles—

Fuck, you bite your lip, stop, stop. Professor. He’s a professor. 

It didn’t matter that you had felt him part your thighs, as his lips slid against yours, nor that every time you saw each other, you felt this undeniable ache to touch him, comfort him, hug him, nor that you knew he felt the same and wanted to give in as badly as you did—

No, it didn’t matter. 

You consider his question, scrunching up your face in thought, “I think so, wait,” you snap your fingers as he glances at you, “forgot the rest of my apartment upstairs — you think that’ll fit in there too?” 

He smirks, rolling his eyes as shuts the trunk, “Ha, ha, ever consider becoming a comedian instead of a philosophy major?”

“Every day, but then I think what would my favorite professor do without me?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m your favorite?” 

“Who said it was you?” you grin at him, as he shakes his head and you open the passenger door seat and slide in, as he slips into the driver’s seat. He adjusts his mirrors, buckling his seatbelt, as a sudden wave of guilt bombards you. You had dragged him down this rabbit hole with you — and now the two of you had to spend the entire weekend together, alone. 

You lick your far too dry lips, “Sorry if I roped you into this,” you fidget with your phone, tapping on the screen absentmindedly. 

He starts the car, engine roaring underneath your feet, before he glances at you, brow furrowed in seeming confusion, “What? It’s not you that roped us into this,” 

You purse your lips, “But if I didn’t agree to it—“ 

He sighs, “We were in a position where we didn’t have much of a choice,” his fingers drum against the steering wheel, as his eyes flicker to make sure your seatbelt was on, “it’s not your fault — and it’s not a bad thing — we’ll spend time at the conference, we’ll mingle, and then return to our hotel rooms,” he adds, “don’t worry. Nothing will happen.” 

And his reassurance is almost a punch to the gut instead — and your brain chides you for being so childish — you knew it was for the best, you knew it was the right thing to do, and you knew he was trying what was best for you, and for him. 

But why did it hurt so goddamn much? 

You steal a glance at him as he pulls into the street and begins to drive, dark gaze forward, his hair tied into its usual neat bun, and a chain poked out from underneath the rounded opening around his neck. And then your eyes flicker back out the window.  

Was it really not a big deal to him? 

Because the last two weeks were consumed with nothing, but thoughts of being alone with him. Days spent in conferences, sitting beside each other, whispering thoughts and inside jokes; evenings spent socializing together, waiting for the other to give the signal to leave; and nights walking back to your rooms, fingers brushing as you walked beside each other. You were sure it would take a slight bend of the rules, a gaze that lingers a little too long, to break the paper thin resistance either of you had to the other. The two of you could barely be alone for more than a few minutes without temptation rearing its ugly head — even now your eyes can’t help but trace the curve of his jaw, the way the sunlight catches his eyes, the way your fingers want nothing more than intertwine with his hand that rests on the console between you two. 

But you don’t. You give a weak smile, glancing out the window as the streets of Tokyo pass you by — “Yeah it should be fine.” 

Just fine. 

“There was a problem with your reservation,” 

And after half an hour of waiting off to the side, with your luggage stacked up and irritation creeping its way to a new high as you watched others easily being checked in to the hotel, you assumed there was a problem. If there wasn’t a problem, you would wonder if this was a new take on Waiting for Godot that would end with the both of youu sleeping in the lobby. You rubbed at your temples, as Geto dealt with the hotel staff, his arms crossed, lips a tight line, “the hotel double booked one of your rooms, so we only have one room available for you.”  

You barely heard the rest of the argument your professor had with the hotel staff, the same phrase ringing in your ears — one room, one room, one room. With nothing more to argue about, they finally escorted you both to your room in awkward silence. And as they opened the door, you spotted it — there was only one single queen sized bed. 

One. Bed. 

You felt your cheeks flush, as you couldn’t even meet Geto’s eyes, as he began to speak heatedly with the manager again. And the excuses began, as the manager wrung his hands, about how no other rooms being available due to the conference and another event happening in town. 

“There is a couch though,” he offers,  pointing to a far too small couch, and the sharp glare that Geto gave him would put even his red pen to shame, “we will see about comping half—“ Geto crosses his arms, “all of your stay here,” and with that, he’s gone. 

“So,” you sigh, glancing at Geto, with a strained smile, “I have dibs on the bed?” 

Was this a cosmic joke? You wondered as you turned off the water of the shower, squeezing your eyes shut. Was this a version of ethical karma for what you had done last semester? An ultimate ethical test that you would surely fail? A fucking prank show? 

You didn’t know. You dried off and got dressed, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts, your hair still damp, as you took a breath and stepped out, towel slung over your shoulders. 

Geto was still on the phone, pacing back and forth — he was trying to call other hotels to see if there was anywhere else with two rooms or at least a room with two beds.

“Yes I understand it’s very last minute—“ he sighs for what must have been the billionth time today, “yes, there was a mistake at the hotel I’m staying at—yes, ok, well, thank you,” he hangs up, setting his phone down. 

“No luck?” You sit on the edge of the bed, wiping your hair, and he shakes his head. 

“The one thing they were right about is that every hotel room is booked solid — not only is our conference in town, but there’s a physical science consortium happening as well,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “I’ll have to give the Dean a call to update him on the situation,” 

You nod, “So what should we do about sleeping?” And he can’t quite meet your gaze, “are there no trundle or rollaway beds?” 

“No, apparently those have all been spoken for,” he grumbles, and he prepares to call the dean, “I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed—“ 

“Professor, we can—“ and his gaze snaps to you, “we can share—“ 

“No, we can’t,” he says softly, “you know we can’t do that,” 

“We’re both adults—“ 

“And we’re still a professor and a student,” he draws the line between you two again, the gash even deeper than before, the gap that’s meant to keep you safe — the chase meant to protect you — so why did it feel more like a punishment? “I’ll take the couch,” and he calls the Dean to update him on the situation. 

You busy yourself with drying your hair in the bathroom, before coming back out to see him hanging up the phone. 

“Well, are we in an ethical bind or should I go sleep in the lobby just to show there’s no funny business?” And he shoots you a look, “there have been stranger bedfellows,” and he opens his mouth, “and a single word comes out of your mouth, and I’ll join you on that couch,” 

And a very pretty flush adorns the tips of his ears and cheeks, “He said it was fine, it was out of our control, but to just document everything, including the hotel’s incompetence for legality reasons,” 

“You’re also a lawyer as well as a professor?” 

“You have to hedge your bets,” he shrugs with a smile pulling at his lips, before he checks the time, “I’m going to take a shower,” he sighs, pulling his hair from the messy bun, letting his black locks down. And you watch him run his fingers through his hair again, sighing, as he heads into the shower. 

You lay on the bed, biting your lip — as you turn over to use your phone, as the shower turns on. And you glance at the closed door — the thought of him in there, pulling his shirt over his head, shedding his pants and boxers. Your cheeks burn, burying your face in your pillow as if that would help (it did not). 

You curl up on the bed, turning away from the bathroom door, using your phone. And a few minutes pass, as you kind of drift off into sleep, and you hear a creak of the bathroom door open that rouses you from sleep. You don’t move at first but you hear shuffling, the sounds of a zipper. You finally turn on your other side, eyes fluttering open, and you’re met with the sight of bare skin. 

You blink, eyes flickering up to see your Professor’s flushed face, before your eyes slowly following a bead of water slip down his bare chest, black hair dotting along the middle of his chest and abs, down to a happy trail that was hidden by a towel wrapped around his waist. His clothes in his hand, and your eyes find his own, your lips parted and mouth impossibly dry. 

Oh. My. God. 

“Uh—“ and his cheeks flare red, as you try your best not to let your eyes flicker downward, “I forgot my clothes—“ and you turn away, as he darts back into the bathroom, “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled through the door. 

“It’s okay!” You reply, your heart thumping against your ribcage, squeezing your eyes shut to only be met the memory of his bare torso, “fuck,” you mumble under your breath, as you turn onto your back, and stare at the spinning ceiling fan above you. A distinct ache below at the thought of him. 

Your eyes flickered to the shut bathroom door. You hear the sound of water running again — maybe he needed to wash up again. Either way, you slid under the comforter, hand slipping into your shorts, you had some time. You wish you could have grabbed his hand before he fled into the bathroom, sat up on your knees, fingers sliding to his cheek. 

“Kiss me,” you’d murmur, and he would, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips sweetly, as your fingers glide up his bare chest. You’d swallow his gasp with delight, as your other hand finds his wet locks, fingers tangling in his black locks, “please,” you would guide his fingers to the hem of your shirt and he would oblige, lifting up and over your head. And your fingers would tug his towel away, letting it fall to the ground. 

Your fingers press against the wet patch on your underwear, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you gasp, imagining it was instead his eager fingers that tugged your shorts down. You sunk one finger in and then another, pumping slowly, and you knew he would get you ready for him. He would fuck you with his thick fingers, as his mouth latched to your clit, sucking gently as he fucked you open. You moaned his name softly, as you imagine his fingers stretching you open. 

“Do you want me, my pretty girl?” He would murmur between your thighs, lips glossy with your release, “s’good for me, taste as good as you look,” and he would press your back gently into the mattress as he would meet your lips again before, rubbing the tip of his cock against your puffy lips, “tell me what you want, Princess,” 

“Please,” you whispered, as you moved your fingers faster, adding a third finger, but you know his cock would feel so much thicker, and reach so much deeper, “fuck me,” 

And he would, sinking into you, his pretty cock parting your folds, his quiet grunts and moans whispering in your ear, as he works himself inside to the hilt. His lips would find yours as he would rock his hips into you — your cunt would flutter around his length. He would press your thighs apart further, long fingers digging into your soft flesh, the wet squelch of your cunt and the sounds of his skin slapping against yours would ring in your ears.

“S’close, Sugu—fuck,” you would keen against him, instead of your fingers, “please,” and his thumb would find your clit, just as yours did, and you would cum all over his cock, squeezing around his length, as he sinks even deeper, until his tip is brushing against your cunt. The moan of his name slips out, as you press your forearm against your mouth to barely stifle it. 

Fuck, you come down from your high, panting. And you glance at the bathroom door, thinking you’ll clean up once he gets out. You roll over in bed, as you pulled the pillow over your face. 

This was going to be a long weekend. 

Suguru lingers in the bathroom for far too long after that, the embarrassment of the moment still far too fresh in his mind, his cheeks still a dusty pink at the thought. Not only was it bad enough that he was trapped in this hotel room with you for an entire weekend, but now he had paraded out practically half naked for you to see. 

Fuck his life. 

He had hurried into the shower if only to get a break from being in the same room as you. It had been hard enough to endure the last few weeks as a T.A., but now he had to spend an entire weekend sharing a hotel room — and deal with situations like that one all weekend. Seeing you emerge from the bathroom, only in a t-shirt and shorts, still damp from your shower — wet hair in messy tangles that he wanted to run his fingers through— and that’s why he excused himself to the bathroom. A reprieve if only for a moment. If he had only remembered to bring his clothes into the shower — he wouldn’t have had to finish his shower, with only his discarded clothes to wear that had slipped off the clothes rack and onto the damp floor. 

He had stepped out, towel around his waist, as he peeled out, only to see your back to him, the sounds of soft breathing told him you were asleep. And he crept out, silently cursing as the door creaked and rifled through his suitcase for clothes. He had found them, and gone to retreat back when you roused and turned all at once. 

God, he sighed, it was such a mess. 

But the way you looked at him…lips parted, gaze flicking across his body, the way your eyes lingered a little too long on his torso — and now he had an entirely different problem. 

His cock tented against the towel, as his eyes slid to the bathroom door. What if he just hopped into the shower for a second again? The towel dropped to the floor, as he steps back into the shower, turning on the water. 

He groans, his fingers slide over his mortifyingly hard erection, teasing his slit as he would imagine you would, as you would open the bathroom door, murmuring his name, “Professor? Are you okay?” And you wouldn’t wait for his answer as you stepped into the shower with him, eyes raking down his body, a teasing grin on your lips, “not very ethical is that?” And your fingers would curl their way around the base of his cock, making him shudder with pleasure, “I can take care of that,” and you would kiss down his chest and stomach, even despite his protests, until you reached where he wanted your touch most. 

And god, you would look so pretty on your knees for him, as your fingers pumped him far too slowly, teasing him with a chaste kiss to his tip, tongue dragging against his slit, better than how his thumb did, “s’good for me, Professor,” you’d say, when you heard the hiss he just let out, “I wonder what other sounds you could make for me,” and your lips would close around his tip, sucking lightly, as he gasped, his other hand clasped over his mouth, muffling his sounds. 

He would look down with half lidded eyes, and see your head bobbing as you took him so well, your fingers toying with his balls, spotting your eyes flicking up to meet his — glazed over and desperate, just he imagined his were. Your mouth would feel so much better than his hand, the wet squelch of his pumping would not compare to you swallowing around him, sucking and licking around his length, his pre-cum and your drool slipping down the corner of your mouth. 

You’d swallow around him, as his fingers would slide into your hair. And maybe you would let him fuck your mouth, hips rolling slowly as you adjust, before he slowly would thrust faster. He would repay the favor tenfold once you were done, burying himself in your sweet cunt, until you were begging him to stop. His fingers moved faster around his cock, his low groans and wet squelch bouncing off the bathroom walls, hopefully drowned out by the running water.  Fuck, he wished he would feel how it would to have his tip brush against the back of your throat. 

He was close, the twitch of his dick in his hand told him so, and he imagined what it would be like to cum in your mouth, watching you swallow his release, if you’d want to, or cumming all over your face or chest, letting his cock drag over your tongue as he pulled out. 

Fuck, he shudders, moaning your name against his fingers, he cums all over his hand and the wall of the shower, his release running down mixing with the water. He rinsed his hand off, leaning his head under the water again, hoping it would wash away any traces of you. 

It didn’t. 

And as he emerged from the shower, making sure any trace of his act had slipped down the drain, but the towel around his neck, wondering if you’d see what he did on his face. But you wouldn’t — because you were fast asleep. 

His lips curled as he watched you sleep for a moment, your lips parted, curled up facing away from the bathroom — your feet sticking out of your blanket. He adjusts the blanket for you, and you shift a little in your sleep, mumbling something under your breath, before settling back in. 

And he bites his lip before turning away — he would never be clean, would he? 

Not when it was you. 

“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?” you murmur, the smile plastered on your lips nearly starting to chip and crack. 

Professor Geto sipped at his drink hiding his frown, long fingers cradling the wine glass far too perfectly, “at least another hour,” he sighs, “when in academia, one must get used to mindless conversing if only it will lead to another needless connection,”

And this day had been nothing but an exercise of that — lectures, panels, presentations — any other word that meant someone or several someones sitting in front of you, talking at you — with only maybe 30% of the people actually listening (if you were lucky or interesting). And now you were one hour deep into a mixer that had you engaging in dry chit-chat that had your mind going numb by the first ten minutes. Your only reprieve being by Geto’s side. 

You hated how he could make the dullest of things enjoyable for you, or rather—

You hated how much you loved it 

“How pithy — Plato?” And he snorts, as you finish off your own drink, “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything?” He shakes his head, and you head off to the bar. 

You were so restless after sitting for so long. Not to mention the slight rash you got from not washing up soon enough. You woke an hour and half later and cleaned yourself up — luckily Geto had passed out by then. You saw him sleeping half scrunched up, half sprawled out on the couch — one of his legs were hanging off the couch — and even his blanket had slipped off. You stifled a small laugh, taking a quick picture of him — so stubborn that he wouldn’t sleep on the bed with you. Your gaze had softened, as you picked up the discarded blanket and placed it over him softly, your fingers gently tucking some of his hair from his face. You fell asleep again after heading back to bed, and woke up refreshed — while Geto had woken up with a very sore back and neck. 

“Can I get…” you look at the menu, ordering your favorite drink, standing by the bar as you adjust your dress, you had opted for a black dress with sheer tights — one you had worn a suit jacket over it. You tap against the bar top, checking your phone as you do. 

“Can I get what she’s getting?” A dark haired man sidles up beside you, his mouth curled in a smirk drawing attention to a scar in the corner of his mouth, and his voice drops to a whisper, “though I think I’d enjoy you more than the drink,” 

You raise your eyebrows, “and I think you’ve certainly had enough tonight,” you say under your breath, giving an awkward chuckle, but he doesn’t seem to notice as the bartender comes back with your drink. Your eyes flicker over the crowd as you search for Geto but you can’t find him. 

“What’s your name, pretty?” And your skin crawls as his dark gaze slides over your body, “mine’s Toji,” and you bite back a sigh, introducing yourself, “it’s very nice to meet you — I’ve met a lot of people tonight but you definitely have been the most interesting,” and the bartender comes back with his drink. 

“Then you must have not met a lot of interesting people so far,” you say, eager to look for any out to escape this conversation, “my friend is waiting—“ 

“No, I’d say that you’re just that interesting,” he sips his drink, “can I get you another drink?” 

And right when you’re about to respond, “No, I don’t think she’s interested,” And you tense a moment before you register the familiar voice, Geto smiles at Toji, if you could call that a smile — it reminded you of one a predator gave its new prey, “especially because she’s a student, and you’re most assuredly not,” 

Toji raises an eyebrow, “But she is an adult, she can speak for herself, so why don’t you let her, Professor?” 

“Because—“ his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach for you but he can’t. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. And you know why he can’t. 

Geto’s smile wavers, and you intercede, “I can, and I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” you pay your tab, “let’s go back to the hotel, Professor,” 

And Toji pulls his card out, handing it to you, “If you change your mind,” he raises his glass, leaning against the bar, before he leans closer to you, whispering, “if you ever get sick of him, call me,” 

You give a polite smile, tugging Geto away until you reached the outside of the building, silence filled the space between you two, until you found your way outside. 

“What did he say?” He asks as he calls a car back to take you both to the hotel, and you don’t know how to answer that — not without making it worse, “actually, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,” 

“Professor—“ 

“You’re an adult, he’s right — you should be allowed to make your own choices,” he licks his lips, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen, “I’m sorry if I—“ 

“Can you let me speak?” you sigh, as you wave your hand in front of his phone so he would look at you, and his eyes meet yours, “you’re fine — I was trying to get out of there — I just felt very trapped.” 

He huffs out a chuckle. “When you took that long, I wondered if the group of solipsists had taken you hostage,” 

You grimace, “I guess when you believe everyone else is an illusion, you also think manners are an illusion too,” he laughs in earnest now, “now there’s a real smile,” He tilts his head, “the smile you had inside, real scary kind of smile,” you tease, as his eyes can’t quite meet yours.

“Oh yeah?” he suddenly seems very interested in his phone, “our rideshare is almost here,” 

“Almost like you were jealous,” and he scoffs. 

“Of him?” 

“Uh huh, he is pretty attractive, maybe I will give him a call—“ and you notice him grip his phone tighter, and your lips curl, “but I probably won’t, not really my type,” 

“Not your type?” he asks. 

“More into the intellectuals, that man was far from it — I like an academic, sweater vests, glasses, a pretentious little office—“ and the glare is back, as you laugh, the rideshare sparing him from you continuing this conversation, but you also didn’t get to see the slight smile on his lips as you slipped into the back of the car. 

“Just sleep on the bed,” you say for probably the thousandth time, but he only shakes his head, as he sits on the couch, combing out his black locks. Even freshly showered, he looks unfairly hot — a loose gray t-shirt with sweatpants, contacts switched to glasses, and now his hair brushed against his shoulders. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch — it was fine last night—“ 

“Your spinal cord would beg to differ,” and he looks unamused, as he struggles with his comb, “what are you doing?” 

“I can’t get this knot out of my hair, and I can’t get you out of my hair either,” he adds, as you roll your eyes, slipping off the bed and walking over. You ease the comb from his fingers, biting your lip at the brush of his fingers, “what are you—“ 

“It’s easier if someone else does it,” and he sighs, giving in, as your fingers undo the knot in his hair gently, “your hair is really smooth and fine, probably why it tangled so fast,” and he only hums in response, his body relaxing under your touch, as you comb through the rest of his hair. You bite back a smile, he’s almost like a cat, keening under your touch, “feels good?” You murmur. 

“Yeah, it does,” and you don’t want the moment to end, you want this excuse to touch him to remain, the first time you’ve been able to breach this wall between you two — and it’d be over in an instant, “I think that’s good,” he mutters. 

He lays his head back on the top of the couch to look up at you — pretty obsidian orbs stared back at you — and your heart squeezes. He was so close, within reach, and all you had to do was lean down, press your lips against his, and maybe you wouldn’t have to tiptoe anymore, maybe you wouldn’t have to hide from him, maybe you could be— 

“We should go to bed,” he sighs, the moment breaks, as he sits upright, adjusting his pillow on the couch beside him, “we have an early start,” 

“Don’t remind me,” you turn back to him, “but you’re right - we should go to bed—“ you grab his pillow, “on the bed,” 

“No—“ 

“Like you said, we’re both adults,” you tilt your head, as he purses his lips, “I think I can handle sleeping in bed beside you, just sleeping, we can even put a pillow between us,” and you add, “if I try anything in my sleep, you challenge me to a pillow fight, and push me off the bed,” 

He scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really can sleep on—“ and then you raise your eyebrows, eyes flicking to the hand on his neck. He sighs, “fine, but I really will push you off the bed, I’m a restless sleeper,” 

“Then it’s equal opportunity,” you grin, as you slip into your side of the bed, stretching. Suguru is slower to get in, taking his time and adjusting his pillow and blanket before he finally gets into bed, “good night,” 

“Good night,” he turns to face away from you as he sleeps and you do the same. 

But it wasn’t a good night. Not when you couldn’t fucking sleep. 

For someone so smart, you really were very stupid. The bed that seemed expansive and open yesterday now felt Tom Thumb tiny, every shift of your body felt like a ripple effect, as you’d feel the slight shift of Geto right beside you. He was so close — you swore you could nearly feel the heat radiate off of him, the weight of his body beside you felt far too close and way too far — a chasm you could never cross.

And it was close to driving you insane enough to follow your wants all the way down it. 

But you couldn’t — but you could look, stare into the void, without becoming part of it. 

You shift again to face him this time — how could the back of someone’s head be so beautiful? Jet black locks that you had combed yourself fanned out on his pillow. But you could spot the nape of his neck through the tresses, a lovely spot that you only wished you could lean over and bury your face in. Your eyes began to droop. 

Hypnos finally took pity. You could only sleep this way. Your eyes finally flutter shut — you should have known — you were always the most comfortable with him in your sight. 

Suguru knew that you had fallen asleep — because your soft breaths fell into a rhythm, the crinkle of your sheets had grown silent, and the loud thoughts that filled up your head had gone quiet. He was glad one of you could sleep. 

He surely wouldn’t get a wink tonight. 

This was certainly more comfortable than the couch, but at least he had slept on the couch. He would be lucky to get thirty minutes at this rate. This weekend had already been too much — and he felt his will to stay away from you slowly snapping, a few strands away from breaking away completely. 

When he had seen you with Toji — he didn’t think, he just acted. He could see you were uncomfortable, the way your body leaned away from him, the way your eyes flickered around the room, and the way you toyed with your glass. It was a simple choice, but what happens when the next person that flirts with you is someone you’re interested in? Would he have to stand by and simply let it happen? Watch as you’re able to date this person but not him simply because of his title? 

He was jealous. Not of Toji — but of the idea of you being with someone else — of your attention drifting from him, of you drifting from him. He turned to lay on his back, he really was fucked wasn’t he? 

He turns his head to look at you. It never helped that you were effortlessly adorable, even now as you slept. Lips parted, body curled up, your hair falling in your face yet again. His fingers tuck a strand behind your ear gently, and you shift, a quiet hum leaving your lips as you settle back into the arms of the sandman. 

How were you so close but so far? You were mere inches away but you might as well be across the country. Because he couldn’t touch you, he couldn’t hold you, he couldn’t kiss you. The kiss he shared with you haunted his dreams — a daydream wrapped up in the nightmare of reality. He couldn’t ask you to wait — wait for your degree to be completed so the two of you could date. It wouldn’t be fair to you, but what about this was fair? 

And he turns on his side to face you, his fingers brushing your cheek gently — maybe if he couldn’t be with you in reality, he could allow himself to dream, his eyes flutter shut. 

Just for a moment. 

And his unconscious allows it — allows him to dream of you. 

Dream of your face buried in the crook of his neck, your soft breaths warming his skin, his nose buried in your hair. Your fingers grasped at his shirt, your other hand thrown over his middle. Why was your scent so intoxicating? He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and you shift, your leg sliding around his waist, as you pressed closer, pulling a groan from his lips as your core grazes right against his morning…visitor. 

And you move again, nose brushing against his collarbone, his name on your lips, quietly whispered like a secret against his skin. It was perfect — you were perfect. 

But what if this wasn’t a dream? The back of his mind prods — but that’s not possible, he was home in bed, right? This wasn’t real. It was the same dream he always had, of waking up in your arms, a lazy morning spent together in bed, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the sheets becoming dappled in sunshine. 

No, there was no way this was real, he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, but even if it was, he thought as he drifted, he didn’t want to wake — not yet. 

A distinct buzz stirs you from your sleep. But you don't want to wake — you were far too comfortable. But the buzzing persists, so you reach blindly for your phone and to turn off the alarm. And settle back into bed, eyes still shut, as you find your way back onto your pillow — or what you thought was your pillow. 

Except pillows didn’t move, or have an arm they could wrap around you. 

Your eyes open, to find yourself entangled with someone else — your brow furrowing in confusion that melts away to silent horror. Professor Geto. 

So much for sticking to your sides. 

Fuck.  

You tried to extricate yourself to no avail, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his body, your legs entangled, aside from your leg thrown over his waist, you realize, a small squeak escaping your lips, as you try and fail to move away. Instead you brush up against something very…hard. 

You flush, cheeks burning so hot that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t wake from the heat of your skin against his alone. His morning wood was pressed right against you, nearly between your thighs — just like the last time it was  against you — why the fuck would you think about that now? You resisted the urge to press your legs together — lest you have another new problem, and a mess to deal with. 

You manage to only pull your head away, urging yourself up so that your faces are an inch or two apart now. His soft breaths warmed your lips, his brow relaxed, locks of black hair fell in front of his eyes. Your fingers reach and tuck the locks behind his ear, tips skimming his skin. And the arm around you almost seems to tighten, and you bite your lip, the comforting presence of his arms far too tempting to drag you into wanting — as if you ever left. Wanting was dangerous, because wanting can only ever lead to need, needing him was as foolish as it was to share a bed with the man you were in love with. 

But how foolish was it that you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away? It was okay right? Okay as long your lips didn’t touch, as long you didn’t follow this slope all the way down — it was treacherous to press forward, but why did you want to anyway?

Your eyes flutter shut again for a moment — and your eyes glanced at the morning sky — the sun had just breached the horizon. You could allow yourself a few minutes — even if you had to give up a lifetime with him. 

The blaring of your phone only seems to grow increasingly loud, as you give a small groan, rolling over to your phone again, slapping the screen to snooze it again. And your eyes flutter open a moment, lazily flickering over the screen — 8:45 AM. 

Your eyes close — before your mind fully wakes — 8:45 AM? 

“Fuck,” you shoot up to get up, a tangle of limbs,  jolting Geto awake, his eyes popping open, his arm instinctively grabbing you by the waist, and you land with an oomfph back onto the bed—wait, not the bed. 

Your hand pressed against his chest, your body against his, noses brushing, your eyes unable to tear away from the other — his eyes were even prettier this close — a dark brown, nearly black, with flecks of another color — purple? You can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat or his that’s racing with how close you are, chest to chest. And even as you try to shift, you make it worse by slipping, your hips rubbing against each other’s. 

Fuck. 

You both freeze for a moment, his eyes flickering to your lips and back, as yours does the same, before you both scramble apart. 

“We’re late. We’re really late,” you spring out of bed, grabbing random clothes from your suitcase, “I’m going to get ready, really fast,” you don’t even bother to look at his expression, and you almost wished your heart had shattered your ribcage, with how fucking hard it’s beating, if only that you wouldn’t have to spend another day in the conference with him. 

You sighed, as you brushed your teeth hurriedly while doing your hair — well maybe a lecture or presentation would take your mind off this morning. 

So that wasn’t a dream, Suguru was only glad you didn’t even glance at his face when you ran off, or you would have seen the lovely tomato red that graced his cheeks. He could still feel the warmth from your body, slowly receding, and he swore he could still feel you against him, your soft skin, your pretty lips against his neck, and your leg around his waist. 

Fuck. 

God, he had another fucking problem to deal with — as he shifted awkwardly, his morning wood up and erect with a tent that could put most large circus tents to shame. Fuck, he didn’t have time to take care of this — especially with you in the bathroom right now. 

But still, he pressed his inner palm to his lips, how was he going to make it through the rest of the conference with the feeling of your body still lingering in his mind. If the situation was different, the two of you would have woken up with smiles on your lips, spent the morning cuddling without a care, and probably a little more than that—

But the situation was the same, and his eyes slid to the bathroom door, so why was it that he still thinking about you? He wasn’t the type to dwell, he accepted things for what they were — he had his principles and his beliefs, and he stuck to them, unless proven otherwise. He was a man of guidelines, of rules—

So why were you the only person that ever made him want to throw every rule away? 

“We are going to be discussing ethical dilemmas faced in universities and how to approach them,” the lecturer begins, “can anyone tell us an example of one such dilemma?” 

You both had barely made it into a lecture — barely even speaking as you ran-walked into the conference — choosing a lecture at random, as the two of you ran a good fifteen minutes late. You both arrived, hiding your pants, as you both grabbed water bottles from the back, and sat down. 

And of course to make matters worse, your phone goes off, making the entire room turn to look at the two of you. You silence your phone, murmuring a quick sorry as the two of you take your seats. 

Could this possibly get worse? 

Your eyes glanced at him — it was already bad enough to begin with. Geto had barely spoken a word this morning, even as the two of arrived at the conference, the only words he spoke were to the attendant that parked his car. 

You tugged at the collar of your shirt, adjusting your clothes. And if that wasn’t enough, you were going to spend the day sweaty and disheveled. Meanwhile, you stole another glance at your professor — his skin flushed from running, button up not buttoned up all the way, glasses instead of contacts, and his hair in its usual bun, but a few strands were nearly coming loose — he still looked fucking delectable. But he wouldn’t meet your gaze, his body positioned to lean away from yours, his eyes fixed ahead. 

You held back your sigh as you focused on the presentation — you just needed to get through today — as the lecturer picked someone who raised their hand. 

“A student-teacher relationship is one such ethical problem faced in universities today,” and Geto nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly, as you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of this morning, “it presents several ethical problems — including the role the professor plays in the student’s education and future, their ability to provide praise or reprimand, and even grant recommendations gives them great power over their student. It leaves the student without much freedom in the relationship.”

Oh, what the fuck. 

The rest of the conference is spent in relative silence with a thick film of awkwardness perfectly overlayed. When you both finally return to the hotel room, your only consolation is that you’ll be leaving tomorrow. You toss your things onto the couch, “I’m going to wash up,” you tell him, and he only nods in reply, as you enter the bathroom and shut the door, back pressed against it and sliding down. 

Oh this is such a mess. You sigh, maybe a shower will help. 

It didn’t. You were still just as much of a mess as you were before. You sighed, as you stood in front of the sink, wiping your hair with a towel. This could be so simple if you both could be together — so easy. There would be no tension, no hurt feelings, no awkwardness — you could just be. But that’s not an option. So the only other option is to let him go. 

But you didn’t know how to begin to. 

Either way, hiding in the bathroom wouldn’t solve a thing — and you finally opened the door, “I’m done if you want to wash up,” he nods, sitting on the couch, reading a book. His glasses rested on the tip of his nose, lips pursed, and legs crossed. 

You walk over, grabbing your things from the couch and put some of your things away in your suitcase. But after all of that is done, you realize one thing is missing — your cellphone. 

“Shit,” you murmur under your breath, searching through your suit coat pockets, your pants pocket, anywhere that your phone might be. 

“What’s wrong?” Geto says, book in his lap, as he tilts his head. 

“Can’t find my phone,” you mumble, cheeks burning — god, it was already awkward enough, and now this? 

“Is it on ring?” You nod — your phone was usually on ring, sometimes to your detriment — you cringe at the memory in the lecture this morning, “I’ll call it,” 

He calls you — and you glance at his phone screen, your contact is just your name, no picture, nothing. You bite your lip, what were you expecting? A heart next to your name? And the sound of your phone ringing catches both of your attention. 

“It’s over here, somewhere,” he says, lifting up some of cushions of the couch, and reaching underneath into the creases, as you walk over — “I found—“ 

And you were so concerned about your contact information in his phone that you forgot about his contact information in your phone. 

The screen flashed with the image of him sleeping all lopsided on the couch from that first night, as you covered your mouth in both horror, but also to stifle your laugh. 

His eyes flicker to you, “When did you—“ and you reach for your phone, but he moves it away, “not until you answer my questions,” 

“This isn’t class, Professor, I want my phone—“ you reach for it again, and he’s holding it above your head, “oh real mature—“ 

“Like the picture you have of me as my contact picture?” He raises an eyebrow, a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “thought I should resort to my student’s level,”  

“Your T.A.,” you correct, as you reach for your phone again, but he’s using his height to his advantage, and he’s beginning to walk backwards, “come on, give it back—“ 

“Not until I change and delete that photo,” and he’s trying to hold your phone up to your face to unlock it, and you gasp. 

“Oh my god, give it back!” And you grab his hand, and he’s grabbing at the other, giggles leaving your lips, as he laughs too, as the two of you struggle for the phone, your fingers closing over it, and over his own fingers as well. 

And you realize how close you are to him. 

The two of you freeze a moment, laughter on your lips fading away to soft smiles, and his fingers squeeze yours lightly, as he passes you your phone back. But he doesn’t move away — and you don’t either. 

“Why did you let go?” and it seems like it’s a force out of your control that draws you together, no matter how much either of you try to let go. 

“Because I can’t help giving you what you want,” he murmurs, and the heat of his gaze melts your heart, as you drop your phone onto the couch, and reach for his hand again. 

And you lean closer, your other hand gently brushing against his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, “So if I ask for a kiss, will you give it to me?” You won’t close the gap anymore than you have — he needs to reach for you too, let himself give into gravity. 

He does, as his hand brushes against your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone, “will we stop at just a kiss?” He murmurs, leaning so close that your eyes want to flutter shut. 

“Only one way to find out,” and his lips brush yours. And it’s not chaste like your first kiss was, no, his lips slide against yours, as his other hand slides to the back of your neck. He swallows your gasp eagerly, if the smirk you feel against your lips is anything to go off of. Your teeth graze against this bottom lip teasingly, drawing a small groan from the back of his throat. 

Neither of you couldn’t stop at one kiss, and you both knew that, even as your lips parted for a small breath of air, they found each other again — just as you both always did. Because you could never let him go — no matter how hard you tried. 

RING. RING. RING. 

And this time it isn’t an alarm. But rather his phone, flashing with a name that brings you crashing back to reality. 

The department head. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, as he parts from you, his warmth leaving all at once, as he grabs his phone, and turns away, “Hello? Yes, the conference is over. Everything went well. No, no, nothing out of the ordinary.” 

You stared at his back, this would always be the case wouldn’t it? Even as you crashed together, something would pull you apart, and neither of you could break the cycle. You take your phone from the couch, and crawl into bed, but you could start. 

You close your eyes, your fingers brushing against your lips for a moment. You needed to start — otherwise, you would just end up broken. 

And you don’t hear him hang up — or see him stare at your figure under the covers — and he would break along with you. 

Suguru didn’t know what to say the next morning — especially when it seemed couldn’t even bear to look at him, much less speak to him. You had busied yourself with packing, even before he had awoken. His back ached from the night he spent on the couch, he couldn’t fall asleep for far too long, and by the time he did, he kept sleeping — through his many alarms it seemed. 

And it wasn’t the couch that kept him awake. 

You both had the most lovely timing, didn’t you? He thought, as he combed his hair in the bathroom, the memory of your fingers running through his hair as you gently undid the knots in his locks still ever present — it seemed like any time you two wanted to act on your feelings, the universe was doing what it could to keep you apart. 

Was this fate versus free will? 

You both kept choosing each other — but fate kept pulling you apart. Did he have any control over his actions or did he have no control over his actions at all? Was it all predetermined by some force he couldn’t perceive? Some force intent on pulling you apart. 

He sighed, as his phone lights up with an email from the department head — department head position opened up in Jujutsu University: Kyoto — 

And so maybe he should let it. 

The next few weeks pass by far too quick. As your semester picks up, you stop attending Professor Geto’s classes, opting to send an email to let him know, and he replies back with a simple response — Ok. Please let me know when and if you are available to input the grades for the midterm paper. 

The rest of your T.A. work is done online and over email — and you do your best to keep busy, keep yourself occupied, and keep your thoughts from straying to him.

And you maybe succeed 10% of the time. It doesn’t help that your unconscious does not wish to cooperate since it seems that once you stopped seeing your professor during waking hours, he’s infiltrated your sleep — sneaking in and out by the time your eyes open. 

And then you’re left with the fragments of his touch, his voice, his kisses, and soft, loving words. 

Just as you always were it seemed. 

And before you know it, the end of the semester comes, and you find yourself in front of that same office door yet again. It felt like an eternal reoccurrence — stuck to repeat the same events again and again in an infinite loop. Was there any exit from this loop? 

You didn’t know — you knocked on his office door — but you could try. 

“Come in,” you do, entering his office to find him sitting at his desk, hair half up for once. And his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his head tilting at your stare, “see something interesting?” 

“Your hair—“ and your cheeks burn — so much for trying — “it’s different,” 

“Thought I’d try something different — my hair is growing out,” and you have to repress the want to curl a lock or his hair around your finger, “do you not like it?” 

You shake your head, “It looks nice, just different,”

And he hands you the papers he’s graded, “you can input those, I’m just finishing up a couple more, so if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit?” 

“Not at all,” a silence falls over between the two of you, the quiet scratch of his pen as he grades, the occasional ding of his e-mail breaking up the silence. You sneak a glance at him — ebony tresses brushing against his broad shoulders, his brow furrowed that you wished to run your fingers along to smooth his worries from his mind, pretty lips parted as he reads a sentence silently to himself. 

Fuck — no, no, you can’t do this. 

You busy yourself thumbing your way through the papers, spotting the familiar red scrawls littering these pages, as they once did yours. You were so pissed when you got your first paper back — indignant even — a whole Karen ready to speak to his supervisor. But when his honest criticism and blunt words rang true, you found yourself not only wanting to prove him wrong, but a want to be better. To earn his respect. And of course, later, you wanted to earn a little more than that. 

You bite back a chuckle, and here you still were — by his side. Except next semester you wouldn’t be his T.A. 

But you would still be a student. And he would still be a professor. 

But one other thing that hasn’t changed is how brutal the feedback is — you couldn’t help but feel bad for “Itadori Yuuji” — whoever that was. 

“What are you smiling about?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his head leaning against his palm, elbow resting on the desk. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but he looks unconvinced, “just thinking about our first time in this office,” and then your cheeks burn at the double meaning, “I mean our first office hours appointment—“ 

He waves you off, “I know what you meant,” a small chuckle in his cadence, as he continues to grade, “you certainly weren’t happy with me,” 

“No I wasn’t,” a small smile on your lips, “but it worked out in the end,” you add, “you got an amazing T.A. after all,” 

His eyes meet yours, “More than just that,” 

Why can’t you help but get pulled in time and time again? And why can’t you help but ask questions that will only hurt you in the end? 

He continues to grade when you finally speak, “What do you think would have happened if I didn’t end up being your T.A.?” 

And his pen stops, lips pursed, “We shouldn’t—“ 

“Why shouldn’t we?” you felt like a child demanding an answer from their parent. 

“We agreed—”

“I don’t remember an agreement-” 

“It was unspoken—” 

You scoff, crossing your arms, “You really are only a professor because an attorney would know that binding agreements can’t be unspoken,” he falls silent, his voice soft. 

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” his words are wrought with conflict, pain seeping into every syllable, “I don’t want to keep going down this road only to for you to get hurt in the end — I don’t want to jeopardize your future for something that might not last—” 

“But what if it does?” and he swallows thickly, “what if we can make it work? We’re both adults, we can be discreet—” 

“So discreet that we end up making out in my office?” he takes off his glasses only to run a hand down his face, a slight pink tinge on his cheeks, and you huff out a chuckle. 

“A little more discreet than that, we’ll lock the door next time,” it’s his turn to scoff, and you rise from your seat, lips curled, “close the lights, or maybe even kiss in a place that’s not on campus,” but he does the same, meeting you on the side of his desk, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently as if you’d shatter under his touch. 

“I don’t want to stand in the way of your career,” he says, his fingers finding your hand regardless, fingers interlacing, “I don’t want you to—” 

“It’s my choice, Suguru,” you murmur, as you lean against his warm palm, your fingers sliding against his palm and into his inky tresses, “don’t you owe me a choice, and a drink?” you add, and his lips curl in a knowing smile. 

“I do, if you’ll still have me,” and he’s leaning close, sucking the air from the room, and the logic from your minds, as his lips barely graze yours, “shouldn’t we lock the door?” 

“Fuck it,” and you pull him into a deep kiss that pulls a groan from his lips that makes your cunt ache, as he’s already pushing you into the lip of his desk, his hand sliding down to your waist. 

“Now who’s being unethical?” he murmurs, pressing eager kisses along your jaw, that makes you melt against him, your legs nearly jelly at this point, “what kind of example are you setting as a T.A.?” 

You bite back your moan as his lips find the soft spot of your neck, teeth grazing it far too fucking teasingly, “Well students learn by example,” and his hands are slipping under thighs to lift you so you’re sitting on his desk — you spread your legs for him in the dress that you’re in, pantyhose underneath, his heavy lidded gaze raking over your body, “and look at my professor staring at his T.A. so lustfully, even with a clear power dynamic—” 

And his fingers find your thighs again, squeezing, before his fingers dig into the sheer hose, tearing holes in it, drawing a gasp from your lips, “How’s that for a power dynamic, princess?” far too pleased, “don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs, “now just be a good girl and spread your legs for me,” he says, as he pulls away the ruined pantyhose, and he’s undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand — one, two, three — before your fingers take over, leaning to press kisses at each inch of exposed skin, until the shirt falls open. 

Then his lips find yours again, his silver tongue asking for you to part your lips and you do — as he extracts every want you have with his burning touch — his lips against yours, his large hands parting your thighs, his knee pressed against your twitching cunt — and only leaves your want for him behind, until it becomes a need. 

“Wonder what our students would think of you,” his fingers tease your inner thighs, drawing a whine from your lips, “wanting your professor to fuck you in his office instead of inputting their grades,” he whispers in your ear, as his fingers finally skim the wet patch of your underwear, “so wet f’me, already? Look I think you even soaked my slacks,” he tsks, as his thumb and forefinger find your chin and tilt it up, “what are you going to do about that?” 

“Suguru—please,” and he smiles as his finger starts to tease your puffy clit through your drenched panties, “don’t tease—” 

“How can I not when you’ve nothing but tease me with your existence?” he pulls the crotch of your underwear aside, “I’ll oblige my favorite student this time—but I won’t be so nice next time,” he adds, biting your bottom lip. 

RING. RING. RING. 

It was his fucking office phone. You groan, but his finger continues to sink into you, “Suguru—” 

“Let it ring,” his lips find yours in a bruising kiss as his finger deliciously sinks into you, “I have all I need right here,” he whispers, and you pull him back into a kiss by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, your hand sliding up and down his chest, while he worked a finger into your cunt, “so fucking wet f’me, so perfect,” 

And your hand flies back to support yourself as a second finger begins to sink into you — but your hand grazes his office phone, and the messages begin to play back.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mumble, as you reach blindly for the phone, only to knock it back, as he chuckles and reaches behind you, trying but failing to help — your noses brushing, and he smiles before kissing you again. 

Mr. Geto, sorry we missed each other, I was calling, hoping that you would still be in office for the day, but I must have just missed you. I wanted to call to offer you the job as department head at Jujutsu Tech University: Kyoto—

You freeze, your lips parting from his as you look up at him, his eyes wide as he stops the message from playing back any further — and the words settle over the mood like a sheet pulled over a dead body. 

And you’re the first to speak, always asking the questions that will hurt you in the end, “You’re moving to Kyoto?” 

✧ a/n: so i'm sorry for that ending hahah, i promise there will be a happy ending later on for these two. thank you to @gaylatteart and @laneysmusings for betaing and just being the best. also if i tagged you please comment / reblog because tagging on tumblr sucks, it takes very long.

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @bash1018, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala, @ashhlsstuff, @blue041803, @mwtsxri, @bblgumfairy, @sukunasleftkneecap, @xo-evangeline, @fiannee, @teatreeoilll, @chalametet, @ryukaver, @d1gitalbathh, @saga3ious, @seventhcinema, @satosugucide, @your-l0nely-star, @sokkasmoon, @deegausserr, @hyookka, @oggsyy, @littlebitb, @higuchislut, @ti-mame, @itoshisins, @cerene-dipity, @onionsoop, @sinlillith, @izzythenaive, @akvrae, @lalacute03, @rxndou, @c-themoon, @xxrag-d0llxx, @hqtoge, @sugarxlumps, @hopeluna, @actualdeemon,

[stxrslut]

guys I love babydaddy!rafe so here’s a thought for you…

calling him in the middle of the night, crying because you’re so tired and you can’t get comfortable and everything is hurting. he’s up in an instant, holding his phone in the crease of his neck as he pulls on his clothes, simultaneously trying to soothe you, “okay- okay I’m on my way kid, stop cryin’.”

him turning up at your door in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, rubbing at his eyes that are red from sleep. you just throw yourself right at him, clinging to his big frame.

he murmurs and brings a hand round to rub your back “you’re fine.” he chastises, but he doesn’t linger on it because he knows that you really are in a lot of discomfort. “you wanna let me in?”

you nod and take his hand, moving to sit on one of the kitchen stools while he begins to rummage in your cupboards, as has become nearly routine for you both.

“what’s goin’ on this time? you nauseous again?” he asks as he fills you a glass of water and brings it over to you, cupping the back of your head so as to help you drink some.

you nod to his question when you’re finished, “yeah… n’my legs are hurtin’ real bad.” a small pout is set on your lips as you speak. he nods and takes the hairtie off his wrist to pull your locks back and out of your face.

“and you’re feeling too hot right?” he questions, already knowing the answer by the sweat that’s sheened across your forehead. you just groan and lean into him. his lips are pursed in thought as he strokes your back absentmindedly.

“okay… think you can keep some food down?” he looks down at you, his hand on your back stilling for a moment as he waits for your answer.

“don’t think so… m’stomach is turnin’” you inform him and he nods, jaw ticking slightly, purely with frustration at the situation. you know he hates it when he can’t fix a problem.

“right, that’s fine.” he brings his hand from your back to rest on your growing bump. “little girl really isn’t givin’ you a break huh..” he chuckles quietly.

you giggle a little too “can tell she’s gonna be a handful when she’s born.”

“yeah,” Rafe laughs, “just like her mama…”

[tteokdoroki]

࣪𖤐๋࣭ — JOCK BF!YUUJI ENTRY #10. babies, lots of ‘em.

about. the all star jock has an intense breeding kink that leads him to confess the plans he has for he and his weird girlfriend’s future. ( 2.5K )

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, angst if you squint, characters aged up to 20s, breeding kink, unprotected sex, cum play, praise, jock bf!yuuji, weird girl + fem!reader - the brain rot continues !! inspired by @kweenkatsuki-fics recent yuuji thirsting hehe <3

“‘mma give you babies… lots of ‘em,” yuuji slurs, his hips ramming into yours at a bruising, unprecedented pace. 

beneath your shaky fingertips, the muscles of your boyfriend’s back ripple with his movements — his strength as he uses the headboard for leverage to fuck into your sloppy, sweltering heat of your sex. you’re flat on your back, his heavy and weighty body hanging over yours protectively while itadori traps you between the blazing heat in his chest and the sweaty bed sheets below. whenever yuuji gets in the mood like this, possessive and hungry for you ( and nobody else but you ), in the mood to keep you all to himself — you can’t help but succumb to each one of his touches and wet kisses. 

you can’t help the way your body trembles in the cage of his muscular arms while his abs ripple against your tummy and his pelvis tacks deliciously to your swollen clit. the bed creaks beneath the sloppy affair of your grinding bodies and somehow, within the mess of sex and love, your freehands link and squeeze to ground one another. “the way you’re suckin’ me in, god, honey,” yuuji coos, his words tickle the shell of your ear delicately, contrasting with the carnivorous way his deep brown eyes drink you in when he pulls back slightly to look at you, silver chain and dog tags dangling above your hot face, as if he’s picturing you nice and full of him and his seed. “so selfish, you don’t wanna let me pull out. you want this cum…yeah?” 

in that moment, you think you might cum, all because of the breathy whimpers from your lover that ghost over your dampened cupid’s bow ( wet from kisses ) — accompanied by the sensation of his hard-on bullying its way into your tight, quivering little hole. there’s a keen smile that spreads across yuuji’s plush lips when you nod your head ‘yes’ in response, you feel his excitement and desire for you deepen when the entire length of him twitches inside of you — pulsating as small spurts of precum begin to line your lewdly squelching walls.

“i knew you would, you’re such a good girl…and you’re all mine, how lucky am i? that you’re all. fucking. mine.” for a boy so sweet and gentlemanly outside of the bedroom, itadori is always sure to fuck you nasty and raw whilst making you feel like the most adored person on the planet. yuuji’s sailor-mouth-like praises are slurred and sinful, a tale tale sign that he’s already pussy drunk as he sheaths inch after inch within you. you can hardly blame him, not when your body adjusts to yuuji so perfectly — silken pussy stretching over the blue spiralling veins on his heavy cock. “mine to love, mine to fuck, mine to breed.” he tells you through seraphic gripes too.

“ohmygod!” you squeal, voice ringing hoarsely in your throat. your cunt spills honey molasses and sweet nectar against your ravaged sexes, juices intertwining with the small pink tufts of yuuji’s happy trail as his bright red tip bears down harshly on your gummy g-spot — providing him with the lube he needs to make love to you properly. “baby…i c-can’t!” 

just as you moan out again, legs squeezing around your boyfriend’s slender waist — yuuji’s blushing face ducks into your neck, making quick work of marking up your skin…because if he looks at your face, the way your brows crease softly and your lips part in a gentle ‘o’, and sees the way it twists with mounting pleasure. he won’t be able to hold off for much longer, he’ll lose his mind and fuck you too hard for either of you to cope. he knows that you can take it, manage to take all of his seed and all of his love — but if yuuji snaps, he’ll be pounding into you until he’s shooting blanks. 

with your hands traversing upwards into yuuji’s sea of pink curls and over his smooth undercut, he reacts with his golden eyes rolling back into the dark depths of his skull — temporarily locking away your sunlight that brings warmth to your dorm. a familiar heat prickles underneath the surface of your skin like a thousand tiny needles as you pant out your words, pleading with bambi as you look up at yuuji. “i want your cum, yuuji, i want you to…hah… fill me up ‘n get me pregnant…” there’s a feeling painfully seated above your abdomen, a burning sensation of mounting pleasure like a wound desperate to be licked and soothed by itadori.

by grinding up against him, sticky clit smearing over his tense stomach and golden abs, you think that you might garner some relief — but you only feel teased and taunted when the jock pulls his cock from the snugness of your tight head to slap his milky cockhead against your pulsing mound proudly.

“don’t say it like that, fuck, baby,” yuuji all but groans, lashes fluttering at the slick sound your cunt makes with each love tap. beads of his precum ooze over you in another form of claim, glazing you in yuuji’s scent and taste. some of it even drips from your abused hole as it clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled by all that your boyfriend has to offer. “there’s so much… s’leaking out of you. gonna have to keep you on my dick always, give you all my babies.” the rose haired man can’t even hear himself speak, not over the sound of blood rushing through his ears — carrying sex crazed hormones. certainly not over your sweet sighs that form a melody with the pap, pap, pap of your pussy as he slowly sinks back into you — building up a steady rhythm to his thrusts, like an ocean’s regular tide.

yuuji can’t stop rambling, saying whatever lustful thought sits at the forefront of his mind. having you splayed out beneath him like this, your nipples pert against his firm chest and your breasts bouncing with every forceful lunge of his hips forward — it drives him up a wall. “gonna look so pretty ‘n round when you’re full of me. i’ll put a ring on it, make you my pretty wife — holy fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. you like it when i talk to you like that, huh?” the thick vein on the underside of his shaft presses deliciously up against pleasure spots that only yuuji knows about, never leaving you unsatisfied, not even for a moment as his body rocks passionately into yours.

tanned skin and hard muscle feel slippery underneath your trembling hands. you don’t know what to hold onto, don’t know how to ground yourself when you feel this good and yuuji’s cock skilfully dives into your sopping heat — promises of the future, a wedding and family hand in the humid air buzzing between you both but is best said by the way itadori’s body dsnces with your own, his arousal soaked signature lining your rippling walls.   

“need that so bad, yuuji! need you so bad… please fill me up, i want it inside.” you hiccup and demand, hardly able to speak through it all. the bed moans and groans just like you do, every time itadori’s dick pumps in and pulls out of your dripping, greedy hole — coated in a layer of foamy white. using your elbows as leverage, you work your hips down to meet yuuji in a slick and sensual dance, clenching at every inch of him that assails your insides until delight crackles over your hazy brain.  

“god, baby please…if you keep talking like that i’m gonna—“ yuuji whines from deep within his chest, the sound resonating through you and shooting straight down to your creamy cunt that clamps down on him, pulling little droplets of precum from his sensitive tip. 

your next words have the jock pounding into you with new vigour, desperate to give you everything that you want. “d-don’t pull out, yuuji. inside.” 

“ahh, okay,” he whimpers as his voice rises in pitch, brown eyes stinging with tears. his golden arms flex as they lift you by the apex of your thighs — dragging you back onto his cock and it’s unforgiving pace. itadori presses his forehead to yours, caramel eyes shining with tears that gleam in the afternoon sunlight breaking through the curtains of your dorm.  “okay, okay fuck. okay, oh god — h-honey, i’m…fuck! i-im cumming!” he stumbles over his every word, the pink haired jock’s entire world shattering into smaller glass fragments as he finally hits his peak. thick waves of white flood your womb, hot and viscous and lighting you up from the inside out. it coats your swollen pussy lips in an opaque layer that smears along your inner thighs, pouring endlessly from yuuji’s fat cock and breeder’s balls.

effectively breeding you. 

still humping at you relentlessly and not daring to leave you far behind, yuuji tacks two of his fingers to your clit and caresses it in smooth circles, searing his name into you forever. he never lets up, fucking his cum into your womb with languid thrusts — bulbous and mushroomed cockhead spurting his hot seet against your g-spot as it grazes the epicentre of your pleasure over and over again. yuuji holds you in his arms while your vision clears, replaced by only blinding flashes of white and accompanied by an empty scream rattling around in your throat. your arousal spurts out of you in generous and clear streams, nearly forcing yuuji’s cock from your tight, rippling walls — painting both you and him in your juices. 

your boyfriend can barely hold himself above you as you both finally come down, flopping onto you and trapping you against the sex soiled matress for cuddles. 

“we can’t have babies, yuuji,” you laugh happily, letting out a puff of air from deep within your chest once you’re finally able to catch your breath. “not right now, we’re too young and we’re still in college!”

“well duh, not right now…” he muses, kissing your jaw and your neck and every part of you that he’s marked up and bruised. “but like afterwards…yanno? a few years down the line when we both have jobs. i’m gonna be pro and you’ll be a sexy career woman. ‘n i’ll make so much money that you can take all the time off you want. make sure you’re nice and taken care of and—“ 

giggling, the sweet melodies of your laughter cut through your boyfriend’s wistful rambling. 

“what’s so funny?” 

“it’s just…you’ve really got this all planned out, huh?” you reach a hand up to cup itadori’s sweaty cheek, brushing a thumb over the rough scarring at the corner of his mouth. he leans into you, much like a cat seeking physical touch, and you scratch just under his chin. “you want to be with me for that long?” 

“i mean…yeah. i want you for the rest of my life. i thought that was obvious,” yuuji manages to say while you squish his cheeks and play about with his face, sounding a little dejected. “don’t you? … don’t you want that with me?” 

your smile drops as you shift to your elbows, immediately dead set on reassuring your usually confident boyfriend. “of course i want that with gou. i want everything with you, it’s just that…” you chew on your words, push them around the cavern of your mouth as it dries with nervousness. “it’s just that… i’m still so different to you, i’m still not…conventional by any means. so i just thought… by the time college was over you’d—“ 

“i’d get bored of you?” 

yuuji looks almost offended, his pink and kiss-swollen lips pushed forward into a pout and his dark brows drawn together in the centre of his forehead. falling back onto the sheets, one of his hands sink into the pillow supporting your head as you lay flat on your back — you feel it tremble with an emotion you can’t quite place on his face. is it anger? hurt? annoyance? either way, your heart hammers in your chest and crawls it’s way up your throat. you feel nauseous at the prospect of even upsetting yuuji — especially after the loving sex you’ve just had. 

a croak in your throat replaces your sweet voice, you’re not sure if it’s because of how you’d been previously screaming your boyfriend’s name or because of how nervous you’ve suddenly become. “y-yeah,” you say slowly. “that.” 

“how could you even think that?” yuuji breathes steadily, the corner of his mouth twitching into a frown but you can’t bare to look at him any longer — casting your gaze to the side. 

shaking your head, you blink back tears you hadn’t even known were there. “i don’t… i don’t know. forget it, pretend i never said anything.” 

itadori bends at the neck to reach you,  tutting into the air as it cools down and loses its feverish taste for lust. his nose bumps yours, the pair of them becoming neighbours while his breath coasts across your face almost comfortingly. 

“when i say i want you, i mean it. forever,”  he confesses, like a reflex, like the natural reflex that his brain has to make his heart beat. “i want you to be my wife after all this. you’re not just some college fling to me. i want to buy you a house, a big ring, keep you comfortable for the rest of my life. i decided on that when i first met you,” a calloused finger and thumb tilt your chin to the perfect angle, making you look at him, your gaze falling into a mahogany one belonging only to your doting partner. “i don't care how long it takes to prove this to you… but you’re the love of my life, so have a little faith in me. okay?”

yuuji takes your hand in his, placing your palm on the left side of his chest where the muscle keeping him alive races for you. the only girl in the room. the only girl in his worlds. his dog tags jingle at the movement but his eyes on you remain unwavering and so full of commitment. you’d be stupid not to believe him now.

“okay,” you affirm sweetly, tilting your head a little further in a silent ask. you want a kiss. “i love you, yuuji.” 

“and i love you right back,” he mumbles against your lips without skipping a beat, slotting your mouths together perfectly in a gentle chaste kiss. “now baby, please stop asking me to cum inside, you know i can’t help it and we can’t have babies just yet,” yuuji whines and collapses on top of you with a huff. 

“you’re the one who said you wanted to give me babies!” 

“and you’re the one who keeps feeding into my breeding kink, let’s not get it twisted here!”

and all throughout your playful bickering, yuuji stays nestled deep inside of you — keeping you plugged full. of both his cum and his love.  

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[thevillainswhore]

New Tricks

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead

What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular. 

Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.

Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky

Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne

Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗

These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them 😌 for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️

New Tricks Masterlist

I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door. 

“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time,  when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.  

Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck. 

The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again. 

Excellent, you inwardly sigh.

“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting  internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level.  “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.” 

Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck.  Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows. 

Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”

His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?” 

No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind. 

“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.” 

The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes. 

“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.” 

You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation. 

Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic. 

“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?” 

Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–” 

You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.

Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”

Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning. 

“What the shit–“ 

The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?” 

In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!” 

Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.” 

The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.  

The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all. 

And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?” 

Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids. 

“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”

Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed. 

“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.” 

It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone. 

You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?” 

You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“

“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over. 

Had he been listening that whole time? 

Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky  may have made was a burden you did not want to bear,  and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”

Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.” 

The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.  

With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.  

“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”

The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”

Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump. 

You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose.  “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”

With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off. 

Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips. 

Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door. 

With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”

Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.  

Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”

You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.  

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?” 

The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”

You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.” 

Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf. 

The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?” 

“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”

You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”

“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom. 

Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”

“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you. 

A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.  

The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence. 

Though, it is short lived. 

Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand. 

A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works. 

“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off. 

You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before… 

“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”

A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious. 

His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you. 

“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”

The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats. 

Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?” 

You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”

The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet. 

Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.

“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”

“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.  

Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company. 

This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence. 

Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone. 

“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content. 

“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”

“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets. 

“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.

The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.

“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.

Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.  

That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself. 

“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?” 

You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV. 

“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.” 

The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.” 

Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.” 

Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”

“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.” 

You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”

Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it. 

Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”  

Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”

“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!” 

He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?” 

“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.  

“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”

His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night. 

There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus. 

Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”  

Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing. 

“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”

“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”

“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”

A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.” 

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” 

His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face. 

Okay, you think privately, so what? 

Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt. 

If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”

“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”

Now that catches you off guard. 

Bucky… is a virgin? 

Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match. 

Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression. 

“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”

No other words come to mind. 

When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts. 

You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully. 

The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him. 

Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession. 

It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands,  and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty. 

From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer. 

Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past.  And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket. 

What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?

To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs. 

Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees. 

“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.  

The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical. 

You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.” 

“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting. 

You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”

He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“

“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”

“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.

“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”

You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.

“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through. 

Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek. 

This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance. 

You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.

He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”

“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap. 

That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth. 

There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves. 

Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face. 

“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.

There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek. 

“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.

Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”

The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes. 

Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.  

“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session. 

Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.  

You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.

“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension. 

A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time. 

Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.  

The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close. 

But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard. 

The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly. 

Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before. 

You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another. 

It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you. 

And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–” 

To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.  

Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries. 

You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.

The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss. 

You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move. 

Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous. 

It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”

Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”

Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.

“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.” 

You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin. 

The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet. 

The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt  — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.

Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.  

“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”

“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”

You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”

The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn. 

“Wha– Fuck!”

You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it. 

The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.

Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release. 

You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the  loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle. 

Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.

Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck. 

You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently. 

“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”

Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him. 

You can’t have that, though. 

Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go. 

It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in. 

You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?” 

Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.” 

“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.  

You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.” 

The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Something snaps within him. 

The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure. 

To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop. 

“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”

“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!” 

“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed. 

“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”

The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat. 

The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”

Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness. 

After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material. 

Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”

“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.

The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”

Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”

“But–” Bucky tries. 

“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”

His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”

The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces. 

It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”

You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands. 

And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair. 

You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.

“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.” 

You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only– 

“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala. 

“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”

But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?” 

That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes. 

You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”

Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away. 

With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”

The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky. 

“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”

“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”

You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”

The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall.  “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”

A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive. 

“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.” 

That meant only one person was responsible. 

Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.  

Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night. 

I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake. 

Love ya squirt, 

Your big bro.

“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.

P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x 

Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again. 

“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”

Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain. 

Part Two, Part Three

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

sometimes i long to eat you up ; ryōmen sukuna

synopsis; sukuna doesn’t tell you that he loves you. he cooks for you, instead.

word count; 6.0k

contents; ryōmen sukuna/reader, gn!reader, househusband!sukuna, no curses au, fluff fluff fluff!!, sukuna is Whipped bc i say so, (he bullies you a bit but he does so lovingly), lots of cooking and descriptions of food, implied reincarnation au if you reeaalllyyyyy squint (but feel free to ignore it if that’s not your thing!!), reader is a silly goose, sukuna vs human emotion (he loses), he’s ooc but he’s Free

a/n; >:3 is anyone shocked….. that’s right. ari is in fact capable of writing for characters who aren’t stsg….. this one has been in my wips for Many Months now but i finally finished it!! i just think being in a nice warm kitchen could fix him. (super cute dividers by @/enchanthings !!)

sukuna doesn’t tell you that he loves you.

throughout the years you've been together, it's something you've grown used to. words like love must feel foreign in his mouth; even more so when they slip into the air, voiced, manifested. 

discomforting, if the crease between his brows is anything to go by.

he only says it under certain conditions, little moments here and there, all of them memorable; a particularly sentimental midnight drive, that time you broke down sobbing into his chest after a rough day, the night he proposed. and so on.

little moments, precious moments, few and far between. that’s just how sukuna is; unaccustomed to being loved, even more unaccustomed to being in love. swallowing the words down, afraid of what could happen if he spoke them aloud, through more than a mere whisper. as if they could burn you.

you don’t mind, because you know him. and you know that he loves you, even if he doesn’t say it nearly as often as you do. 

sukuna shows his love for you in other ways. driving you wherever you need to be, holding you to his chest when you’re sleepy, watching reality shows with you even though he hates them. always watching over you, making sure you’re safe and happy, almost hunting for anything that could disturb your peace. you can feel that love, almost reach out and touch it; a hand on the small of your back guiding you through large crowds, a bouquet of camellias waiting for you on the kitchen table.

but, above all else — sukuna translates his boundless love into food. 

the sun rises outside the walls of your apartment, slow and steady, soft and hazy sunlight flitting through the windows of your kitchen. dyeing the open space in a golden glow, like something out of a summery daydream. 

as you rub the tender skin beneath your bleary eyes, your feet move you forward. slowly, groggily. stumbling towards your target.

sukuna doesn’t flinch when you wrap your arms around his waist, forehead bumping into his broad back, practically tackling him into a hug. he’s become attuned to the sound of your clumsy footsteps. he makes a tiny noise, acknowledging your presence, and that’s all. 

the low purr of the espresso machine buzzes in the air, and sukuna watches over the process, dutiful as ever. the same drawn out, thoughtful process he goes through every morning; picking out the coffee beans himself, grinding them into coffee grounds, and making a cup for you with his beloved, expensive coffee machine. making sure every setting is exactly as it should be.

it gives him peace of mind. and it needs to be perfect, in every possible way — so sukuna tries his best not to let you distract him.

(he never quite succeeds.) 

a blissful little sigh slips from your lips, as you squeeze his waist. hands wandering, feeling him up, buzzing with the warmth the contact gives you. he’s always so cozy, like this. all you want is to smush your face into his plush chest.

but sukuna clicks his tongue, and places a palm on your forearm. keeping it still. his voice comes out raspy, excruciatingly deep. a gruff kind of tilt to it that makes you shiver.

”assaulting me first thing in the morning, are we?”

you’re a little too sleepy to respond, too out of it. still reeling with the hazy remnants of your deep sleep, stretching your limbs out groggily and making a little mrm sound that makes his lips twitch upwards. unwillingly, might he add.

the two of you do this every morning. it’s a ritual, of sorts, one that you need to function properly. he always makes you a morning cup of coffee, and you always cling to him through the process. he always huffs and puffs and clicks his tongue — but never once pushes you off.

all sukuna does is caress your arm, absentmindedly, where it rests around his midsection. still watching over the slow brew of the coffee. attentive.

you try not to disturb him too much, you do. because you know he loves this, deep down; the morning sunlight kissing up his nape, the sense of peace sinking into his bones. the feeling of your chest against his back, your fingers fiddling with the strings of his apron.

but eventually, you always give in to the temptation of speaking. of coaxing a response from that deep, raspy morning voice. so you part your lips.

”did you have nice dreams?” is murmured into his back, your cheek smooshed against the soft, dark fabric of his tight turtleneck.

sukuna hums. listening, always, even when he pretends to tune you out. then comes his response.

”i never dream.”

a moment passes.

you bite down on your lip — struggling to withhold a giggle. it doesn’t really work, but you tactfully pretend not to hear his displeased grumble. ”right,” you smile. ”my bad.”

a soft silence washes over you, once more. just for a couple of blissful moments, as you drowsily blink, and sukuna puts two ceramic cups on the counter. until you break it again.

”i think i dreamt of you.”

sukuna stills, for a moment. only barely, a brief twitch of his fingers; waiting. for tiny crumbs of love, ones you give out like candy, almost absentminded. like you don’t even have to try. 

ones he never fails to pick up, tuck into his pockets, chew between his teeth.

(sometimes, he envies how freely affection seems to spill from your lips.)

it’s touching, in a way. the idea that he never quite leaves your mind. that he’s there, always, even in your dreams. it’s… sweet. he supposes.

a little yawn leaves your lips, as you stretch your limbs out like a sleepy cat. ”you were a cashier at the mcdonalds i went to.”

…

a click of his tongue — his hand slipping from its position on your forearm. ”get out of my kitchen.”

and just like that, a burst of giggles bubble up inside your throat. muffled into the cotton of his sweater, a sound that makes his heart feel a little too big for his body.

”noooo…” you whine, nails digging into the fabric so he can’t shake you off. clinging to him tighter when he tries, no real intent behind it. ”’m sorry. don’t get mad!”

”i would never work there,” he scoffs. ”frankly, the thought is insulting.”

you quirk a brow. ”what kind of beef do you have with mcdonalds?” 

”don't ask me stupid questions,” he huffs, clicking his tongue, a bitter lilt to his voice. ”they don’t make food. it’s practically contaminated — poisonous. i don’t want you eating that plastic.”

(why would you want to, when you have him to make you anything you want?)

you bite down on your lip, trying to hide a smile. he sounds cute when he gets riled up. ”aw. i like it, though...”

a moment passes.

”alright, then.” his voice is controlled, hiding every single tinge of his carefully concealed frustration. he must have been an actor in a past life, to sound so effortlessly unperturbed. ”go buy yourself one of those cheap, awful, bland cappuccinos you love so much. i’ll pay.”

your lips twitch upward. he’s just being snarky, you know he is; but you still bundle up his sweater with your fists, and shake your head. ”i’m just kidding,” you purr, biting back another yawn. ”only want yours.”

sukuna stills. silent, once more. trying not to acknowledge how your words tug at his heartstrings, chew at the bones of his ribcage. something akin to pride sprouts in his chest, and it’s enough to get him to smooth his thumb over your knuckle again. content.

finally, the kitchen falls silent. only the low purring of the coffee machine to fill your ears, until that dwindles out too. a kind of peace settles in the air. something holy, sukuna thinks. 

something that makes him feel human.

he moves his hands delicately, tenderly. attentive, as he pours hot espresso into your cup, slowly and gracefully, a delicate rhythm to his steady hands. just thinking of how warm you feel, like this, how you touch him like he’s harmless, like he could do no wrong in your eyes. how your voice sounds so pretty in the wake of a new morning, when it’s just a little raspy, unguarded in a way that makes him feel like he’s cradling a wounded bird in his arms. something fragile and majestic. 

he pretends not to like the sound of it, the way it distracts him from his extensive brewing process; but sukuna thinks he’d do just about anything to hear it once more. absolutely anything.

”what are you thinking about, sukuna?”

”nothing,” he’s quick to hum. maybe a little too quick, but before you can question it, he scoffs. ”are you gonna cling to me all day, you little brat?”

”… can i?” 

sukuna clicks his tongue.

(he’s awfully lucky you don’t look up to see the cherry red tint of his pierced ears.)

three little words begin to crawl up his throat. he can feel them, ticklish, heavy, and gulps them down before they get too far. busying himself with the clinking of coffee cups and stirring of silver spoons. 

then he’s turning around, to face you properly. blowing a little on the cup, a fragrance of espresso spreading throughout the kitchen, blending with the flowers by the windowsill. he hands you a cup of coffee, made just the way you like it, glancing at your forehead; wondering if he should pair it with a kiss.

maybe later.

”careful. it’s hot,” he hums. then he’s turning around to prepare his own cup, while you murmur your thanks, squeezing at his waist affectionately. taking a sip of the bitter brew.

a warm cup of coffee, thoughtfully crafted, only to be passed into your awaiting hands. the same transaction you repeat every single morning. the same act, conveying the same sentiment; those three little unspoken words. 

you take another sip, and a smile blooms on your lips. 

your stomach is growling.

it’s been ten minutes since it started. ten minutes since you noticed the pit of hunger in your gut, growing more and more for every passing second; and you’re trying to ignore it, valiantly, sitting in your cubicle and mentally cursing yourself for being so scatterbrained.

how on earth could you forget your own lunch?

a pang of ache bubbles up in your stomach, and you curl into yourself. sitting on a not-so-comfy chair, doing your best to survive, staring at the clock on the wall and watching the minutes tick down. 

only twenty minutes left of your lunch break.

in hindsight, it was inevitable. inevitable that you’d burn yourself out, a bit, that it’d make you lose sleep, that your fatigued brain would eventually forget something so important. so fundamental to your peace of mind.

you need your lunch to focus properly — there’s no way in hell that you’ll make it through the work day otherwise. you could accept your fate and go buy a sandwich and a can of coffee, but…

(dammit.)

sukuna always makes your lunches himself. tailored to suit your tastes, to give you the nutrients and energy you need not to lose your mind or set the building on fire, with all the hours you spend staring into your computer screen and writing until your brain turns to mush. they’re always delicious, always lovingly made, and you think you might break down and cry if you have to settle for a cheap sandwich instead.

a sigh slips from your lips. your coworker shoots you a sympathetic glance, hearing yet another of your stomach’s agonized growls. she taps at your desk to get your attention, and you look up to meet her kind eyes.

”my offer still stands, you know?”

you give her a smile. ”no, it’s fine,” you murmur, rubbing the back of your neck. ”eating someone else’s handmade food just wouldn’t feel right…”

”he spoils you, huh?”

a huff. you pout a little, and she chuckles, going back to eating from her bento. it’s hard not to feel jealous. it’s even harder not to think of the bento still waiting for you in your fridge.

finally, you resign yourself to your tragic fate. putting both palms on your desk, ready to lift yourself up; doomed to survive on a cheaply made sandwich and a too-sweet can of coffee. it’s not ideal, not at all — but it is what it is.

if only you hadn’t forgotten it…

”you’re a klutz.”

something is placed directly in front of you. two boxes, stacked on top of each other, wrapped up in a pink cloth. tied neatly, smelling just slightly of food. tantalizing.

you raise your head.

sukuna has one eyebrow raised, a mild expression of disbelief painted on his face. unimpressed, as he gazes down at you, hair tousled and slicked back. wearing a leather jacket, black like the tattoos etched into his skin, on his face, a larger one running in streams of ink from his shoulder down to his forearm. you can see a tiny bit of it, crawling towards his collarbone. equally tantalizing.

a click of his tongue breaks you out of your silent stupor — unable to do anything but look at him. like he just fell out of the sky. 

”sukuna,” you sputter, finally, glancing down at the bento and then back up at him. ”you —”

”you’re lucky i noticed,” he cuts you off. ”almost didn't make it in time.” one glance at the clock on the wall, and he’s placing a can of peach tea on your desk; it’s still covered in condensation, his fingers leaving prints on the exterior. ”i should go. doubt your bosses will be very thrilled to have a motorcycle parked outside.”

”ah.” you fall silent. looking down at your lap with a weak smile, a little too ashamed for his liking. ”… sorry, ’kuna. i know you’re busy.”

he gazes down at you where you sit, slumped in your chair, bags beneath your weary eyes. an apologetic smile on your lips, just a little dejected. like you’re being scolded.

(his eyes soften.)

sukuna shakes his head. only slightly, by a hair, but enough to put you at ease — to let you know he isn’t upset, that grumpy is simply his default state. his voice shifts into a lower, softer tone. ”just don’t forget it next time.” 

then he flicks your forehead. gently, not enough force behind it to even sting. ”klutz,” he says, again, and you know it’s a term of endearment.

a smile sprouts on your lips. you sit up straight, eyes crinkling as you look at him, before falling down on the bento in front of you — practically drooling as you think about the meal you’re about to have.

”thank you,” you coo, a sweet grin on your lips. voice tingling with barely contained fondness, expression and posture brightening as you tap your feet beneath your desk. meeting his gaze. ”i love you.”

something smooths over sukuna’s face; something you can’t quite put your finger on. his lips are pursed, and his amber eyes simmer with something awfully fond. swirling like the spots of sunlight on the wall just behind him.

it’s brief, easy to miss — a single tug of his lips. the tiniest little smile.

his hand reaches out, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he brushes through your bangs; adjusting them. and you know it’s just an excuse to touch you, that he’d let himself be greedy and ruffle your hair if you weren’t in public. he doesn’t like having an audience, small as it may be.

(but he can’t really control himself, when it comes to you.)

”make sure to eat all of it,” he hums, glancing out the window, towards the motorcycle parked outside. ”i’ll come pick you up later.”

you smile, and sukuna leaves. elegant, even in the way he moves. collected and confident, languid, long legs and a broad back. the warmth of his palm on your head remains, as you wave after him with a cheery see you soon!

and it’s finally time. with an eager kind of giddiness, you begin to unwrap your bento — ignoring your still growling stomach, the jealous mutters of your coworker, the ticking of the clock on the wall. from outside the window comes a ray of sunshine, a streak of gold falling across the floorboards. it illuminates the contents of your lunch, and you swallow down a gulp.

the presentation is lovely, as always. the top layer carries a mouth-watering cutlet, a wide array of little vegetables, fresh and clean, while the bottom one has a couple perfectly formed onigiri. they’re awfully cute, shaped into little pandas, decorated with dried seaweed and sesame seeds. you pick one up, holding it in the light of the glittering sun seeping in through the window behind you — it’s so cute you almost don’t want to eat it at all.

”did he really make that..?” your coworker mumbles, still chewing on her own food. you’re too hungry to respond.

you fish out a tiny note, tucked between the boxes. that’s where he usually puts them. you don’t remember when it started, but you know he enjoys it; writing down little reminders or words of encouragement. his handwriting is beautiful, clear and concise. your eyes trail over every little word, every letter, the little scribble in the middle. it makes you smile.

you’ve been working hard lately. don’t overdo it. the company won’t fall apart if you slack off every once in a while. i lo we can watch that show you like when you get home.

a warmth spreads through your body, from the pit of your stomach down to the tips of your fingers; your heart constricting to make room for the love that blooms between your ribs. you barely even notice the wide smile on your lips, leaning forward to leave a little kiss on the paper. it’ll have to do, since he isn’t here to receive it himself.

and as you dig in, savouring every piece of food he made, you’re almost certain you can feel it. that burst of emotion he always tries to contain, the three little words that always sputter out on the tip of his tongue.

the cutlet is perfectly crispy, juicy on the inside, practically melting on your tongue. seasoned thoroughly, cooked to completion, so tasty it makes your mouth water. the onigiri are stuffed with a wide array of fillings, fluffy rice blending nicely together with the contents, little grains sticking to the corners of your mouth. and the veggies are cut into cute little star shapes, light and refreshing, balancing the meal and making you wolf everything down with a bright smile. 

there’s love, in this, in every meal he makes for you. there’s love in the way he’s picked out your favorite ingredients and seasonings, love in the way he’s put so much effort into the presentation alone. love, love, love. you can practically taste it on your tongue.

the peach tea tastes sweet and fruity, and you gulp it down eagerly, bento left empty. there are only five minutes left until you have to start working again — but you feel nowhere near as spent as before. you think of his hands, his eyes. his love.

god, you can’t wait to get home.

a soft, orange glow simmer in the kitchen, an atmosphere too sweet not to savour.

your dining room table is covered in a white cloth, burdened by the weight of one burning candle and an expensive vase; stuffed with camellias in all hues, jasmine buds and pretty bluebells, floral scent mingling with the cinnamon-like one of the scented candle. every inhale fills your senses with pure bliss. 

not to mention the food. 

you’re drooling. you’re sure of it. eyes darting from plate to plate, dish to dish, overwhelmed by the delicacies; trays of sushi, perfect cuts of salmon and tuna cushioned by soft rice, maki rolls stuffed with all your favorite toppings, plenty of soy sauce in tiny cups. fried shrimp, a golden colour, fluffy and crispy, and miso soup topped with garlic and cubes of tofu, steam rising from the ceramic bowls. and then, of course, his infamous dumplings, grilled on both sides — a perfect golden brown. 

all your favorites.

sukuna takes hold of a teapot, made of glass, stuffed with a blooming chrysanthemum. petals stretching out like rays of sunlight in the golden water. he pours it into two ceramic cups, and then promptly drags a chair out for you; a silent beckoning.

but all you can do is stare. 

”sukuna…”

he quirks a brow, meeting your astonished stare, eyes round and confused like a puppy’s; painfully cute. he could eat you up. ”what?”

you open your mouth, then close it again. silent, furrowing your brows as if in deep contemplation. ”our anniversary is in august, right?” something panicked smooths over your face. ”i didn’t forget?”

a sigh spills from his lips. ”don’t be dumb,” he clicks his tongue, glancing away for no more than a moment. ”we haven’t had much time to eat together, lately. that’s all.” 

(he missed you. he wanted to spoil you, a bit.

he could say it out loud; but he chooses not to.)

either way, he knows you get the message. because suddenly your eyes glimmer, and a full smile blooms on your pretty lips. you waste no time in plopping down on the seat in front of you, right across from sukuna. ”hehe. thank you, baby.”

he huffs. tiny, more of a shy little breath. ”alright, already. eat. before it gets cold.”

”okay, okay!” 

he watches as you grab your chopsticks, hungrily eyeing all the dishes on display. listening to his own heartbeat; thrumming, softly, just behind his ribs. pulsating like a fish gasping for air.

”gosh. when did you even do all this?” you ask, soaking in the intimate atmosphere, as he runs an absent hand through his hair. still smelling lightly of coconut oil from the shower he took.

”when you were away.” he reaches for the cup in front of him, tracing the tips of his fingers against the ceramic. ”jin helped. not with the cooking, obviously, but…” he raises it to his lips before taking a sip. ”the ambience. i suppose.”

a hum. you raise your hand, reaching for the bouquet of flowers. ”did he bring these, too?”

a curt nod is all you get.

it’s enough to have your lips raising up into a smile; fingertips brushing against the petals, pink and yellow, cupping the flowers like they’re made of glass. ”no wonder. do you know what bluebells symbolize?”

sukuna stills. he meets your gaze, eyes trailing towards your knuckles, your fingers, how they blend together with the petals. how he could almost mistake them for stalks. he leans back in his chair, and mutters under his breath;

”why else would i ask him to buy them?”

you blink. not in surprise, but realization — the sweet kind, like a splash of citrus blooming on your tongue. 

(he’s always been a bit of a sap, hasn’t he.)

”… that’s true,” your lips split into a sheepish smile, hoping he won’t feel the heat of your cheeks from this distance. ”they’re pretty. thank you.”

another little furrow of his brows. ”enough of that,” comes a sigh. ”if you really want to thank me, make sure the food doesn’t go to waste.”

you stifle a giggle, reaching for the bowl of miso soup. following his advice.

sukuna watches you dig in with a certain look in his eyes, something alert and attentive, soft in the corners. resting his chin on the heel of his palm, waiting patiently for the little blissful sighs to start spilling from your lips. wallowing in the finely crafted atmosphere, pleasant scents and soft lighting, the air brimming with something tender and raw.

he spent all day preparing this. planning out every single meal, waiting for jin to arrive with the scented candles and flowers, leaving his homemade ice cream in the freezer for later. cleaning the kitchen until not a single speck of dust remained. cathartic, to immerse himself into cooking for you, cutting tofu and vegetables into little cubes and slices, fiddling with the temperature settings and watching blue flames lick at the stove like hungry snakes. gutting the fish he bought fresh from the market, dipping large shrimps into boiling oil.

there’s something powerful about it, something he can’t quite put his finger on. something that makes him feel at ease. and it’s tender — the act of creation, of feeding someone you care for. he didn’t appreciate that part of the process until you came into his life. he didn’t truly love cooking, either.

(he doubts he’ll ever tell you, but he won’t ever stop being grateful for that.)

you continue to eat, sipping from the soup, dipping sushi into soy sauce, munching at the tempura, humming happily to yourself. you look so pleased, so content, like the cat that got the cream. 

sukuna watches. his eyes stay glued to your fingers, the way you hold your chopsticks, the grain of rice that sticks to the corner of your lip after a particularly big bite. his ears stay keen, intent on picking up on every little joyous hum behind your teeth. even while eating, he’s feeding off your reactions; every expression you bless him with. he fell in love with the way you eat many years ago.

”so good,” you moan, closing your eyes in pure bliss, and he has to take a sip of his tea to cover the smug smile on his face.

”make sure to finish what’s on your plate,” is all he says, but the honeyed note in his voice gives his satisfaction away. pleased by your approval. ”i made dessert, too.”

at that, your eyes light up even further, swirling with something excited and sweet, and he fails to hold back an amused little huff.

the evening continues. you eat your fill, warm soup and fried food and sugary ice cream, and promptly fall asleep on the couch in the middle of a romcom he only watches for your commentary. snoozing on his shoulder, all tuckered out. always so sleepy after eating. 

he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, the tips of his fingers gliding across your soft skin. he spares a moment to admire you, under the soft glow of the living room lights — unable to shake away that greedy vein beneath his skin. if it was possible, he’d admire you forever; but there’s no way you’d ever sit still for so long. 

so he carries you to bed. big, strong, tattooed arms, lifting you up with ease, like a baby bird in the maw of a rottweiler. handling you with the utmost care, tucking you under the covers, leaning forward to press a single kiss between your brows —

and then you smile.

…

sukuna stills. he watches you, watches you, watches you, every single miniscule motion of your facial features. 

then he pinches your cheek.

”owww!”

your eyes flutter open, flashing with betrayal, and sukuna only gives you that signature click of his tongue. ”did you really think you could trick me so easily?”

”i did! you carried me here!” your lips fall into a petulant frown, as you scramble to sit up straight against the fluffy pillows. he only rolls his eyes.

”i wanted to appease you,” he says, and you almost fall for it because it’s not quite a lie. ”such a brat. can’t even walk on your own, huh?”

”well, pardon me for wanting my sweet fiancé to hold me.”

”i hold you all the time.”

”it’s not the same,” you sigh, two little shakes of your head. ”whatever. you wouldn't get it.”

sukuna quirks a brow, but doesn’t push it. instead, he releases the slightest exhale, eyes blooming with amusement, his palm finding its way to your tousled hair. smoothing down your skull.

”go back to sleep,” he beckons, softly, almost hypnotically. his voice is at its most tender when it’s late at night; a little too exhausted to sharpen his syllables properly. ”i’ll hold you later.”

”… you’re not joining me?” you ask, eyes filling with confusion, and he feels a slight tug at his heart — a little string that ties him to you. 

”i need to plan next week’s meals,” he mutters, watching as you furrow your brows, meeting his gaze with a pair of disappointed puppy dog eyes. 

you know he’s weak to them.

”don’t pout,” he scoffs, looking away for the briefest little moment. weak. ”i'll do it quickly.”

”you always say that,” comes a heavy sigh. you bundle up the covers with your fists, shooting him a bitter little glance. ”but it always takes forever.”

”don’t complain,” he tuts. tilting his head, pink locks falling across his forehead, his maroon eyes. ”haven’t i pampered you enough tonight?”

at that, you fall silent. still pouting.

he tries not to feel bad. he wants to sleep with you; but he can’t. sunday nights are for meal planning. they have been since you first moved in together, and he’s not planning to put a fork in the road of his carefully nurtured routine anytime soon. he needs to make sure you eat balanced meals, get all the vitamins you need — it’s practically life and death.

still, it itches at him. the way you gnaw at your bottom lip, curl in on yourself. you look sleepy and disappointed, and the bed looks empty, which only makes you look smaller in comparison. you look small and lonely and sad.

(it makes him wish he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole; keep you tucked between his ribs, where you'll be warm and safe. but he brushes the thought away.) 

for a moment, he’s entirely still. then his pinkie twitches, beckoning him to you. there it goes, again, that invisible string. he takes a step forward, crouching down to meet you at eye level. 

”sorry,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. the word feels foreign on his tongue, but he swallows the discomfort. ”i’ll hurry. you have my word.”

you blink.

then you’re smiling, again. flipping onto your side, sluggishly, just to face him fully. ”’kay.” you reach out for his hand. ”don’t complain if i’m knocked out when you get back, though.”

he looks at your intertwined fingers. brushing his thumb across your skin, a hum buzzing in his throat. affectionate, despite his teasing. ”i wont have to listen to your nightly tangents, then.”

”you love my nightly tangents!”

a snort pushes past his lips. ”sure,” he smirks, ever so slightly, snarky enough to make it sound like a lie. because he does love them. 

he loves hearing your voice turn delirious, all sleepy and dreamy with fatigue, loves your stupid questions and even stupider answers. he loves being kept awake on nights when he feels too stiff to sleep, when he knows he’s going to have that dream again; a dream of crumbling buildings and burning flesh, of moonlight on asphalt and blood underneath a young boy’s fingernails. 

a dream where he looks at you and feels nothing but apathy — far more grueling than any of the bloodshed. 

(you chase those ghosts away, ground him back to a sweetened life. one that smells of cinnamon and sunlight and ripe fruit.)

sukuna does love your nightly tangents. but you don’t need to know that, so he doesn’t say it. he keeps it locked behind his teeth, under his tongue. 

he squeezes your palm. 

and then he’s rising to his feet. you follow him with your eyes, blinking drowsily, cheek smooshed against the soft mattress. he resists an uncharacteristic coo.

”g’night, honey,” you muster up a sweetened grin, teeth shining like stars. ”don’t stay up too late, okay?”

he hums; a silent i won’t. there are some things he won’t speak aloud, because he knows you’ll hear them anyway. 

”pleasant sleep,” he murmurs, raising a hand up to card through his hair. blinking away the fatigue — until a soft bout of laughter spills from out your throat.

”pleasant sleep?” you echo, grin teetering on something mischievous; a sleepy snort pushing past your lips. ”what are you, a fucking vampire?”

sukuna blinks.

then he’s clicking his tongue, that familiar sound, and pushing your face into the fluffy pillow on your bed — muffling your little giggles. gentle, his large palm on the back of your head. affectionate.

”behave,” he tuts, but he’s grinning. your giggles don’t fade away, even when he’s turning on his heel and walking out of your bedroom. 

”sweet dreams, count dracula!” 

he throws a glance over his shoulder, meeting your crinkled eyes. ”you’re not getting any breakfast tomorrow.”

ignoring your muffled, distressed whine, sukuna hides a fond smile behind his palm. biting down on his bottom lip to keep it at bay — absently deciding on what to make for your breakfast tomorrow. pancakes or waffles? maybe he’ll skip the vanilla ice cream, this time. just to teach you a lesson.

when he returns, half an hour later, you’re fast asleep. curled up under the covers, drool slipping down your bottom lip. he tucks you into his neck, and mouths the words into your ear — three little words, always those same little words, never quite spoken in more than a whisper, as if he fears his voice would break under their pressure.

but his breath fans against the shell of your ear, and you absently nuzzle into your arms. as if you understand. that silent language between you.

he wonders if you realize how much you mean to him.

sukuna doesn’t tell you that he loves you, but you know. you know, because it’s in everything he does.

you know that he loves you because he actually allows you into his kitchen, when anyone else would be chased out with a pitchfork. because he doesn’t push you away when you wrap your arms around his waist, over his cream-coloured apron, even though you know it distracts him while he’s cooking dinner — only ever clicking his tongue or making a noise of disapproval, placing a palm over your forearm. muttering little harmless grumbles of it’s like you want to get first degree oil burns.

you know that he loves you because you’re always the first to taste his food, without fail, the first person he goes to when he tries a new recipe. and you appreciate it, even when you joke about how honoured you are to test your king’s meals for poison. he quirks a brow and threatens to take the food away, sure, but then there’s always that one flicker of amusement in the amber of his eyes. 

you know because he grills his dumplings extra on both sides, just how you like it, because he forms his onigiri into pandas just to see you smile. because he knows how to make your perfect cup of coffee by heart, and refuses to use anything less than an absurdly expensive coffee machine, beans he grinded into powder with his own two hands. 

because he believes you deserve nothing but the best, nothing less than the finest delicacies this world has to offer. wholeheartedly.

you know that he loves you because it’s there. you can feel it, in every stolen glance, every slight smile when you finally dig in. you can feel it in the way the cutlet melts on your tongue, the way the bitter espresso runs down your throat, the warmth that blossoms in your chest when you catch him watching you with the faintest glimmer of a content smile. 

a silent declaration, a hymn you can always hear if you strain your ears enough —

i love you, i love you, i love you.

[sexlapis]

[◉°] … toji & y/n being a couple for 10 minutes straight pt.3

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ｡˚ 𓂋 ❄﹒✦﹒✿ ˚

꩜ actor!toji x actress!reader

⤷ synopsis : just toji & reader being idiots in luv…

꩜ content : crazy fans, very mild physical violence (toji pushing ppl lol), toji being a little ooc again. this is really not as wack as the warnings are making it sound.

- a/n : loads of people seem to be enjoying this & i enjoy making them, so here you go! :D

. . . part 1, part 2, part 4

masterlists

౨ৎ first clip

(recorded by your fansite) - you & toji are at the airport and it is packed. there are fans swarming you, practically suffocating you & toji, along with paparazzi taking pictures of you, flashing lights in your face. your bodyguards are literally at war trying to guard you and you have to cling onto toji’s arm to even get past the sea of people.

all of a sudden one fan somehow gets way too close, and grabs a hold of your shirt, trying to drag you towards him. you jerk forward and without even hesitating, toji just grabs the face of the crazy fan and pushes him away like it’s nothing, causing a domino effect having other fans falling over as well.

toji puts an arm around you and guides you to check your tickets, ignoring all the chaos he caused behind him.

(this got a lot of mixed reactions, some people siding with toji saying he was just protecting you & others criticising him for his rash actions that could’ve caused people to get injured 💀)

౨ৎ second clip

you & toji were doing a video for WIRED, taking part in their popular series, “Web’s Most Searched Questions” about yourselves.

“okay third question..” you say, and peel off the paper. “are _____ and toji..dating?”

you & toji look at the camera and then at each other, faces hot and you’re both awkwardly smiling before looking at the camera again. you & toji speak. “yeah, i dunno.” “nooo idea.” “literally no clue whatsoever.” “why even ask that like-like we’d know the answer?”

you peel the next question and it’s even worse. “are _____ and toji having- A BABY?!” you shout and cover your face laughing, both in shock and amusement. “what?!”

toji just facepalms, hiding his pink cheeks and sighs tiredly. “christ…”

౨ৎ third clip

you’re at a press conference for the series you and toji are in, all the cast members are gathered on a long table with microphones but it’s a pretty informal gathering and the fans are being very interactive with the cast!

a crew members hands the microphone to a fan who has a question. “hi! hi, i’m sarah and uhm..i have a question for toji. and _____ too! do you think that your characters have a chance of..like..getting together? like romantically-?”

“yeah we’re getting together,” toji responds bluntly, reeling in the loud cheers from the crowd & he decides to add fuel to the fire. “and we’re gonna have a make-out scene too.”

the audiences goes crazy with applause and whistles, while you pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head in embarrassment as the cast look to see your reaction.

then the director of the show pitches in, holding her finger up. “just to clarify, we did not discuss this..”

there’s a chorus of laughs and sad ‘awws’ among the pool of fans which only makes you giggle. you didn’t even know what to say to toji’s brashness.

gojo chimes in with his loud mouth while everyone is still buzzing from toji’s unexpected words. “talking about kisses and stuff like. this guy’s just saying what he wants to hear!”

everyone starts creasing up again and you & toji lean your heads to look at each other on opposing ends of the table, and he just smirks at you while you just shake your head and try not to look so obvious..

౨ৎ fourth clip

vogue did a video with you getting ready for a fashion show you were invited to, by the designer herself.

the makeup artists had just finished your shimmery, fairy-like makeup and now the stylists were accessorising you with jewellery and fixing your hair.

“yeah i really like how the hair is done,” you say, referring to the baby pink ribbon tied cutely around your bun. “it’s really cute! and the dress is just so-”

the door to the dressing room opens and toji pokes his head in, the camera zooming in on him. “‘ya done yet?”

“toji?” you ask, exasperated. “toji get out! we’re not finished yet..”

toji looks you up and down in confusion. “ya look done to me. we gotta leave in like-”

“toji i am clearly not finished. we have to go through which jewellery looks the best with the neckline of the dress and..my whole look altogether so it doesn’t drown me out! and then we have to pick the correct shoes and make sure i’m comfortable with them and that they look pretty but also don’t take attention away from the dress. and then for the perfume-”

“yeah, yeah, alright, i get it.” toji totes. “but we have to be there in 30 minutes so-”

“oh toji’.” you sigh, looking in the mirror while the stylist fuss around you. “it’s okay if we’re late. i’m the main event. the designer invented me personally. they won’t even start the show if i’m not there. it’ll be fine, trust me.”

toji looks at you for a moment and then simply shrugs, nodding and accepting your words.

౨ৎ fifth clip

“so yeah, this is the book i’m reading.” you hold up ‘pride & prejudice’ to the camera for your fans to see. you were on a livestream, which you don’t usually do, and many fans were watching. “i just love this book. the characters are-”

loud, thudding footsteps can be heard in the background and you pause. a deep, clearly a man’s voice can be heard and then a shirtless toji walks into frame (as identified by his tattoos bc his face is not on camera). he reaches out of frame.

“sorry, jus’ forgot my shirt.”

he puts his shirt on, not even realising what he just did in front of 50,000 people and walks out of the room

it all happened so fast, you sit with your jaw open like a fish, holding your now forgotten book in your hand while the chat goes wild, spamming questions of “who is that?” “is that toji?” “you and toji are together?” in a frantic, chaotic fashion.

you just look at the camera and reach forward, abruptly ending the live. fans did not stop talking about this moment for months and they most certainly did not believe you when you said toji was just at your house for a little ‘visit’.

౨ৎ

tag list: @tiredslepz | @hayatslife | @shxyxyxxxx | @snowprincesa1 | @laylasbunbunny | @mimiemie

a/n: yk how hard it is to think of ideas for this omg 😭💔

[miniimight]

❝ CAN WE LEAVE ? ❞ feeling overstimulated at an event, you ask him to take you home

with deku, bakugou, todoroki ( pro heroes )

notes something short while i work on requests ! they are open so shoot me an ask with whatever scenario want me to write ! <3

it was so loud. it was too bright. and the music's vibration grated on your sanity with every rhythmic thump. there were too many people—too many bodies, so many conversations, and shit it was so hot. you felt as if you were floating, in a woozy state as you made your way over to your boyfriend, who was chatting with a couple friends.

IZUKU

at your hushed whisper, izuku immediately honed into your expression and body language. his eyebrows creased in concern as he guided the both of you to a corner. "what's wrong, love?"

you pursed your lips. "there's just... there's a lot of..." you sighed, unsure of how to phrase it.

he leaned into you, blocking you from the party scene behind him. "it's okay, sweetheart, we don't have to stay if you don't wanna." he read your mind and you couldn't be more grateful.

tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as your head pounded. "izuku..." you whined, massaging your temples.

deku shushed you and pulled you into his chest, helping you walk out of the venue. "let's go home."

"thanks..."

"no need to thank me." he smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead as he hoisted you up and into his arms. "i was over it a while ago."

you giggled and he flashed a goofy smile.

he took you to your side of the car before climbing in himself, turning down the radio and resting a loving hand on your thigh. "rest up."

you laughed softly. "if i sleep, i might not get up, even when we get home. you'd have to carry me."

he looked at you playfully, a smirk on his lips. "it's cute how you think that'd be a problem for me, love." he pat your thigh as if that was a done deal, pulling out into the road.

the comfortable silence lulled you to sleep.

BAKUGO

"home?" he asked.

you nodded shyly.

he stood up and said a brash goodbye to his friends, lacing your hand in his as he pulled you through the crowd. once you were both far away enough from the party, you heard each other loud and clear.

"how long did you wait?" he mused as he fished in his pockets for keys.

"what?" you furrowed your eyebrows.

"how long did you wait to tell me?" he gave you a pointed look. you looked away and pursed your lips.

"you were having fun with your friends, and i really didn't want to cut it short..." you mumbled, your eyes stinging.

he opened your car door for you, leaning over the car as he watched you buckle your seatbelt. you stared up at him with glossy eyes and he softened, brushing his thumb over your cheek. the silence was welcomed as your eyes fluttered shut.

"don't be an idiot." he murmured. "just tell me the second you feel uncomfortable, 'kay?"

you leaned into his hands with a smile. "i will."

he smiled and shut your door, slipping into the driver's seat. he took your hand in his again, kissing your knuckles as he sped off.

TODOROKI

"now?" he cocked his head to the side. "are you not enjoying the party?"

your eyes squeezed shut as you shook your head, the movement alone making you feel dizzy.

"okay." he set his drink down. "okay, we can leave."

"thanks..." you followed him, unsure of his feelings at the moment. he opened your car door and closed it shut once you were inside, walking to the front of the car. you saw him out the windshield picking up a call, pacing slightly as he conversed.

you grew more nervous by the minute, wondering if you should've just grinned and gotten through it. he was having a good time catching up with his friends, after all.

finally, he sat in the driver's seat, sighing as he leaned back. you watched him with concern and a little bit of guilt.

"i'm sorry, i... we can go back if you want. really." you said.

he looked at you incredulously, his expression reading utter confusion. "but... i thought you weren't enjoying it?"

"well, i—" you stammered, collecting your thoughts. "you were having a great time with your friends and i should've thought of that before i asked to leave."

he shook his head and leaned towards you. "i'm just as tired as you are, darling." he smiled. "to be honest, i'm glad you asked to leave."

"who were you on call with?" you let curiosity get the better of you.

"midoriya, he was just concerned about you." he buckled his seatbelt and brought the car to life. he cast you a little smirk. "i'm afraid you're not very good at hiding your expressions, love."

your face heated as you turned back to face the windshield. he laughed softly, "it's alright. we both aren't."

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[zephyrchama]

(obey me!) moments where they fall in love with you all over again

---01

It’s dinner, and you’re talking about mundane things that happened during your day. You saw a cool bird, got some gum stuck on your shoe, and bought a new flavor of toothpaste to try. Everyone is listening intently. If only they would pay this much attention in class.

Lucifer knows the way his brothers look at you all too well. It’s a look full of respect, admiration, and fondness. It’s a look that’s often reflected on his own face when in your presence. At first he never really understood why you put up with his siblings, as the option to ignore them and be on your way was always there. Yet you continue to make time for them anyway. How unusual.

Moments like these where everyone is together and you don’t treat them as the Seven Rulers of Hell, you just treat them as your dear friends and family. That’s what makes Lucifer soft. He tries to imagine a long future of things staying just like this.

---02

Mammon’s hesitant to lend anybody money, even you. It takes a few minutes to butter him up and fluff his ego before he relents. At last, he hands you the crispest bill in his wallet. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he kids, knowing full well he’d do just that if he was in your shoes.

He’s curious what you plan to buy. It never dawns on him that you have no intention of spending the cash. Half an hour later, he finds it on his desk. The exact same bill, now creased and folded neatly into an origami bird.

He picks it up to wiggle the little paper wings, entranced, then looks around frantically and catches your eye. A playful smile graces your face and tugs at his heartstrings.

---03

Leviathan is not typically one to make mistakes when it comes to anime. But even he’s not perfect.

He had it set in his mind that the new show premiered at 6:00pm, which left plenty of time to prepare the ultimate solo viewing party after school. He was humming quietly to himself when you walked over. “Isn’t your show starting soon?”

You specifically took an interest in his hobbies. You remembered that it started at 16:00 (four o’clock), not 6:00. Leviathan wondered, how could he make such a egregious mistake? You were the one who dashed back to the House of Lamentation at full speed by his side. When your human stamina started failing, he unconsciously picked you up so you’d both make it in time. You made it with two minutes to spare.

Sweaty and out of breath, still in uniform, you were able to watch the premiere together. It wasn’t until after credits rolled, you went elsewhere, and the live reactions on social media started calming down that Levi realized what a big deal this was to him. What a big deal you were to him.

---04

Satan wasn’t expecting you to be spacing out in his favorite armchair. He had plans to read in it that evening, and considered asking you politely to move. But the way the lamp light shines on your skin, the thoughtful expression on your face while pondering ideas unknown. The way your lips part ever so slightly and your eyes gaze off into nothing. It captivates him. You look like a painting. His breath gets caught in his throat, and in clearing it he manages to break your trance.

“Oh, hey. Welcome home, I didn’t realize you were there.”

You go to get out of the chair, but Satan insists you stay. It doesn’t look right without you anymore. He doesn’t feel right without you anymore.

---05

Asmodeus does not have wardrobe malfunctions often. His outfits are of the highest quality and a lot of care goes into putting them on. Still, things happen.

When his fans rush forward out of nowhere, sometimes they are successful in tearing his clothes. A fistful of shirt here, a mouthful of pants-leg there. Being in the center of a lust-fueled stampede can make even the most collected people lose their minds, but you are steadfast. You shout at the rabid demons, shaming them for their disrespect. You believe you can chase them off all on your own, not knowing that the Avatar of Lust behind you is exuding a killer aura and warning his fans to back off with a powerful glare.

As you sloppily stitch up what remains of his shirt so he can walk home without the incident repeating, Asmodeus is smiling from ear to ear. You’re so focused on genuinely helping that you don’t even notice the bedroom eyes he’s flashing. The scene of you waving your arms and trying to chase off a pack of demons as if they were stray pigeons is permanently ingrained in his memory. Just as your existence is ingrained in his soul.

---06

Beelzebub knows what he likes. He knows what will catch his interest and is pleasantly surprised when a new one crops up.

One thing he likes is you. Another is food. Both are in the cafeteria. He piles a tray high with carbs and goes looking for you at lunch time, finding you seated in the middle of a long table at the edge of the room. He calls your name.

It’s unexpected, the way you quickly swing your head up mid-bite. Your cheeks are full and noodles dangle from your mouth, sauce dripping back onto your plate. Your eyes light up as you look at him from below. It makes him stop in his tracks, causing several shorter demons to walk into him. Such a simple action, yet so profound. You hurriedly chew and offer him a seat while Beelzebub powers through his emotions. He takes a seat across from you to offer a napkin, wondering when he’ll see that face again.

---07

It’s late, far past everyone’s bedtime. Yet Belphegor forgot to tell you something during the day and decided now would be a great time. When you don’t respond to the quiet knocks at your door, he lets himself inside. Your sleeping figure looks too comforting to resist and he gets the brilliant idea to crawl into bed with you to whisper in your ear.

The problem is, as soon as he lifts the covers, you fart. It’s loud. You don’t move an inch, remaining fast asleep and ignorant of what just happened.

Belphegor freezes in his tracks to process it, but is soon doubled over on the futon laughing. The vibrations wake you. You sleepily open your eyes to see who is in hysterics and ask the obvious: “what?”

Belphegor is laughing too hard to tell you. He doesn’t want to tell you. It’s too priceless. You groggily smack him with a spare pillow and it makes him laugh harder. While he loves to look at you, that week it becomes difficult for him to meet your eyes without erupting into a fit of giggles.

[gayhoediaz]

"I - I'm sorry for showing up at your station in the middle of the night, I - I should have called, but I knew you had a shift, and I-"

"Didn't want to do this over the phone," Tommy guesses gently, watching as Evan nods, face flickering with recognition.

"...or in a text or something, yeah," he confirms - then he clears his throat, frowning at the ground for a moment. "Look, I - I know that - that maybe I should just... walk away, and - and take no for an answer, and I - I will," he says, and when their eyes meet again, Evan's are glossy with emotion - even from ten feet away. "I promise."

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling gently as he waits for Evan to gather his thoughts.

"I know I fucked up by going all... bro-dude on you on our first date," he says, trailing off with a self-deprecating, sad chuckle. Tommy swallows, forcing his feet to stay glued to the concrete flooring. "And you don't wanna deal with that, I get it, I know that you probably didn't sign up for... all of this," he continues - and somehow Tommy has a sinking feeling that he's not only referring to his newly discovered bisexuality. "Didn't sign up for someone who is just... so new at this-"

"-that's not it," Tommy can't help but interrupt - the same way he can't help but take one step closer - and then one more. "Evan, I don't have a problem with being the first man you're with, it just seemed as if you weren't sure that you wanted a man at all, and that's the thing that I'm not sure that I-"

"I - I know that," Evan interrupts him right back, his voice growing thicker, tears seemingly dangerously close to passing his waterline as he takes half a step closer to Tommy, his hands in front of him, frustratingly grasping the air as if the words he wants to say will be somewhere in there. "That's what I came here to say - look, my entire life, I've just been... searching for something, you know? Something that felt right, someplace where I could... belong," he says, forehead decorated with a deep line of frustration. "And then I found it."

"Firefighting," Tommy guesses - and the crease evens out - just a little bit - as the corner of Evan's mouth twitches up.

"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah - and I thought that was it. And - and then I realized that I still felt... wrong? And I - I felt stupid, you know?" he says, tapping the pads of his index and middle finger to his own temple. "'Cause I have a job that I love, people that I love - and I spent so long trying to find the thing that was missing, and I just - I - I had no idea what it was..." he says - and then he straightens up a little bit, swallowing. "...and then you kissed me," he concludes.

Tommy feels himself melt.

This goddamn kid is going to be the death of him, isn't he?

"...and it was like..." Evan brings his hands up in front of himself again, mimicking something like an explosion - but the sound effect he chooses isn't an explosion. It's a sharp, unmistakable, loud exhale.

"That was it," Tommy hums, allowing himself a few steps closer. Evan's eyes remain on his own as he moves, trailing him every single step of the way.

"That was it," Evan confirms. "So if you think that I - that I'm somehow gonna - gonna change my mind, or - or run away, or freak out, or decide that I don't like men, that's never gonna happen," he shakes his head. "I'm - I'm a lot, I know that, I've always been a lot, I don't think I totally know how to be anything different, but Tommy, I am... I'm very, very bi. I like men. And I like y-"

Tommy finds a gentle grasp on his chin, guiding him into a kiss.

Shut up, is what the kiss says. You have me. I'm yours. I got you.

[byuntrash101]

the better friend

f!reader x san x mingi ft ateez smut | mdni 7.3k a good friend lets a friend watch but a better friend lets him join nsfw tags under the cut

idol!au, dom bf!san, switch simp!mingi (rengoku hair mingi because im weak for him), a teeny tiny bit of plot, san is an evil genius in this, biting, marking, exhibitionism/voyeurism (mingi peeping at reader and san), sensory deprivation (blindfold), suspicion of dubcon but it's cleared out, masturbation (m), oral (m), fingering (f), threesome with sangi, unprotected sex (don't do that kids), praises and degradation (good girl, darling, princess... but also slut, whore, etc), lots of begging, so. much. teasing, kitty slaps <33333 (san is the kitty slapper™), finger sucking (f & m), ruined orgasm (f), dumbification (reader and mingi are fucked stupid), sloppy seconds, cum play (lots of cum), multiple orgasms (f & m), overstimulation (m), facial (f), a bit of spit kink, squirting, lowkey wholesome ending (we love to see it)

this a sequel to the good friend but it can be read as a stand alone. you just have to know san and reader have been dating for a long time and mingi has been simping for reader for almost as long.

a/n: i really went all in tbh. i dont know what happened but like. this fic is filthy and I LOVE IT. also consider this our collective manifestation prayer circle to achieve barricade tickets for the upcoming tour <3

ateez masterlist | navigation

Usually you wouldn’t watch the concert from the crowd. San said it would be too distracting to see you in the pit of faces along with the cheering crowd of entranced fans. Moreover, he could perform any song for you whenever you wanted, you simply had to ask. But you always argued it wasn’t the same looking from backstage because the angle was all wrong and the sound wasn’t as clear. And for the private concerts, they didn’t have the sparkly outfits and San didn’t have the same drive, the same aura he had on stage.

“Even with the best will in the world I can't cheer as loud and stroke your ego as good as a crowd of tens of thousands of Atinys chanting your name in unisson.” 

San only sighed. All those points were indeed valid. And he had to admit defeat.

“Just this once, ok?” and you practically jumped in his arms and kissed him all over his pretty face which traded the deep creases between his straight brows and the pout for an amused smile on his lips. “But you gotta promise me to blend in” he said sternly, momentarily getting out of the array of kisses to make sure he got his point across. You nodded firmly.

“Don’t worry too much about it Sannie~”  you said before hugging him again. 

“Yeah…” he said and you felt his cheek lifting against yours once more. An idea blossomed within him.

***

The concert was insane. You were so glad you had finally convinced your performer boyfriend. Being there in the crowd felt so much different from backstage. There you could cheer and enjoy the show in a way that was so much more intense and raw. You screamed and chanted and sang. You did everything. Yeosang even waved at you and you waved back. But it all felt and looked like a normal fan to idol interaction. So you were doing a pretty good job at keeping your promise to your boyfriend.

Speaking of the devil, that man captivated you. His aura on stage was unparalleled. His moves were sharp, his eyes focussed, his voice powerful and stable. He was incredibly professional. 

He perfectly conveyed every emotion of each act so perfectly. His delivery carried out sorrow and depth throughout the emotional songs and his moves inspired power and aplomb during the upbeat and energetic ones.

The fact that he still manages to surprise you every time with his talent and drive is incredible in itself. You were there every step of the way of his journey. You met a kid with a dream and now you stood in front of a man with passion. 

And what a man he was. You couldn’t get enough of him, enough of the way he moved so effortlessly on stage, enough of the way his presence filled the venue entirely. You couldn't take your eyes off him. The way the tight black sleeveless top hugged his frame, how his broad shoulders moved and accompanied every beat, how the sweat rolled off his temples and neck to get soaked by the black fabric, how his prominent muscles flexed and relaxed, the way the light bounced off his glossy bronzed skin. 

He was born to be on this stage of that you were convinced without the shadow of a doubt. 

But curiously when you weren’t eyeing your boyfriend like candy you found your eyes weirdly gravitating toward another member… Mingi. Well, no it wasn’t that weird, after all Mingi was your friend, a very good friend. Yeah it was only normal that you wanted to witness him in his element too. 

A friend cheering for a friend. 

Everything was perfectly normal. Everything? Even the thrill you felt when he delivered powerful and incisive rap verses with that low voice that was his signature? Even the tingle you felt in your guts when you saw him perfectly execute the body waves? Even the heat rushing to your chest and face when you saw the way his flexible hips rolled and thrusted? Even the unquenchable thirst you felt when you noticed the way his lips rounded up around the water bottle as he threw his head back and swallowed in big gulps, droplets of sweat running down the column of his throat and dripping at the soaked ends of the bright orange and red hair? Yes! Normal! Everything. Just normal…

But what was it, that you felt your eyes locked with his and you noticed he was also watching you. A fleeting second that seemed to last for a lifetime, hung in between the tensed and humid air. A second that silenced the crowd around you. And as quick as your eyes met his, the contact was broken. 

San once again smirked.

And the show went on.

***

When the show ended you waited a little for the venue to empty. Some people were still hanging around chatting excitedly about the fresh core memories they had made or taking selfies to ensure the memories stayed vivid for a long time. But you managed to sneak behind the barricades unnoticed. 

You found the members exchanging and laughing at some minor unnoticed mistakes that happened that you didn’t even catch.

“Y/n-ah!!” Wooyoung was the first one to notice you. And he wrapped his arms around your nape lovingly. “How was the show? Did you like it? Who was the most handsome back there? Was it me? Don’t say San or I will get mad! It was me, wasn’t it?”

You only laughed returning his warm embrace.

“You’re lucky Mingi isn’t here when you get this handsy with y/n” Yunho remarked, crossing his arms on his chest. You and Yeosang were the only ones that appeared remotely confused by the statement. 

“You mean San?” Yeosang asked, in an attempt to clear out the confusion but Yunho only shook his head.

“San doesn’t mind it as much.” Yunho added.

“Mingi is the one that only tolerates San being all touchy touchy with y/n” Seonghwa said, as he was removing his mic pack from his back pocket. 

You were still very much perplexed but when you went back to look at Yeosang he was just nodding knowingly in approbation. You decided to not pay more attention to the strange exchange because you only wanted to congratulate San.

“Speaking of my wonderful boyfriend. Any idea where he’s hiding?” 

Hongjoong shrugged as he looked around. 

“San and Mingi already went back to the dressing rooms, I think” Jongho said. 

“Thanks big baby” you said, ruffling his hair and fleeing instantly while you heard him complain about it in the distance. 

Once you reached the hall of individual dressing rooms you rushed to San’s door ready to barge in before you heard a muffled conversation coming from the other side. You couldn’t make much of what was being said but you recognized the voices without a doubt. You decided to knock before letting yourself in carefully.

“Oh! y/n, baby” San rushed to you as soon as you entered while Mingi stood there and gave you a silent nod and an awkward half smile (the signature business smile as Yunho liked to call it). You returned the smile, perfectly mirroring Mingi’s awkwardness. “So how was the show?” San continued paying no mind to Mingi anymore, solely focussing on you.

“I’m gonna get going” Mingi said, somewhat hurriedly before walking past you and heading towards the door. Before closing it he exchanged a knowing glance with San who returned it with a nod, you tried to decipher the unreadable expression on your boyfriend’s face but to no avail. And your tall fire haired friend disappeared promptly behind the door. Something felt strange about the whole ordeal but you couldn't pinpoint it. 

But after the tension you felt looking at Mingi during the concert you didn’t have it in you to bring it up, to bring him up. You wanted to focus on your boyfriend. That was the best thing to do… for everyone.

“So~ baby ~. Did you enjoy yourself?” San asked and he snaked his strong arm around your waist, his skin still had a light sheen of sweat about it.

“You were incredible!!” you said enthusiastically, trying your best to get rid of the outlandish feeling and the lingering guilt.

“Was I, huh? Really?” he said, curious to hear more. You knew how much San liked to be praised so you went on.

“You’re the performer of the century! Your voice was so good like baby your mic was ON!” San nestled his face in the crook of your neck.

“Go on” he said as he was planting soft kisses on your skin. His hands were now roaming your body sliding up your arms and down your spine to the small of your back and up again. He was really enjoying the praises, so much so that the atmosphere shifted again to feel a little heavier, a subtle change that you picked up on right away. After dating San for so long you knew him all too well to not know what the soft touches and gentle kisses on your neck meant. So you matched his energy. What better way to chase away Mingi’s memory than to let your boyfriend fuck you stupid until you could only remember his name and the way his cock felt inside you?

“Yes. You looked so focussed and you looked so good.'' Another kiss and another, slower, lingering, warm. “I couldn't take my eyes off you” you felt him smirk against your skin. That was a lie. He knew that but somehow that lighted a fire in him. And he threw a look to the ajar door of the dressing room.

“Fuck you smell so good baby” San huffed pushing his hardening cock onto your hip and you bit your lip to repress a moan. “It was so hard not to look at you while you were down in the pit” He breathed against your skin. “I wanted to make you step on that stage and take you right there.” He pushed his cock with more intent onto you. “I wanted everyone to see you. I wanted everyone to know what a good little slut you can be for me” This time the kiss had more teeth, you felt him bite onto your neck. “Can you imagine? All those eyes on you?” 

This mere vision had you moaning and throwing your head back. In a flash your brain played it like a movie for you: you, sprawled out onto the stage, being a good girl for your boyfriend. Your face flushed and your folds glistening with need. While he pushed into you under the roars of the crowd. Under their gaze. Under his gaze. Mingi looking at you being fucked full of cock and cum. Mingi looking at you… The thought sent a wave of arousal through your guts and you felt your panties becoming uncomfortably wet.

“Fuck” San complained in a short breath, his rumbling voice bringing you back. “I want you so fucking bad” the urgency that laced his low voice made the carnal confession that much more real. The sexual tension was almost palpable.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you said teasingly, pressing your thigh up his groin and you felt him melt into the skin of your neck with a small gasp. You smirked, satisfied.

“Fuck baby you’re so so bad” he teased and extended his hand to the clothing rack of gaudy and studded stage outfits that was next to you. “I want us to play today” his fingers interlaced with a silk scarf that you believed belonged to one of Yunho’s fits from a previous stage. “What about a little sensory deprivation play? What do you say baby?” He asked, holding the makeshift blindfold. 

You thought of it for a second. Any other time you would have jumped on the occasion but now… your goal was precisely to look at San to forget… well everything else. There’s really no telling what your imagination will run to if your eyes aren’t able to only take in the figure of your boyfriend. And that scared you a little bit. San sensed it right away.

“You know you can trust me right?” you knew that much of course you could trust him. But could you trust yourself?  

“I know what you like, baby don’t worry. Let’s try something new, okay?”

“Okay” you finally exhaled.

***

Mingi didn’t know what he was still doing there. Hunched over and peeping through the small gap of the door like a creep. He should go, he should have gone a long time ago. That was just a crazy idea. What kind of friend just agrees when he’s asked to watch his friend and his girlfriend (who also happened to be his crush) fuck? He should have declined and left but no. He said yes. And he didn’t even think twice, didn't even question it. He just blurted yes like a pathetic simp that’s been waiting for the occasion forever. (That was true unfortunately but Mingi wasn’t ready to admit that to himself). Now San probably thought he was a weird fucking pervert. A fucking freak. But he wasn't…right? Right! Yeah, of course he wasn’t! So he should leave… He should leave like now. But he couldn't.

He couldn’t when he saw your face change as San buried his face into your neck. He loved the way your eyes changed when he saw San roll his hips against yours. The whole aura about you changed, your gaze darkened but also your voice. It became lower, more sultry. He couldn’t make out what you two were saying but he didn’t have to because the non verbal language was more than enough to understand the simple primal interaction that was happening between you two. 

You were about to fuck…

When San grabbed Yunho’s silk scarf and held it to you. Mingi felt your hesitation but then an instant later San was carefully tying the silk ribbon at the back of your head. Not too tight just enough to keep you from seeing anything. And just like that in a second it was dark.

Mingi watched his friend guiding you to the vanity and you giggled playfully as his large hands snaked to your thighs and grabbed your ass to hoist you up the furniture, pushing the makeup products in the process, one lipstick rolling off the surface and on the ground. Neither of you both even realized and Mingi couldn’t care less especially now that San’s hand left your hip to turn around and signal Mingi to enter back into the room. 

His heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. Was he really about to do that? Yeah of course he was. Because his body was moving on its own, feeling the irrepressible pull, the inexplicable magnetism he felt for you from that very first day in Gang-nam. 

San’s hand moved to his lips to signal his tall friend not to make any noise. And as if he was floating Mingi found himself holding his breath and standing to your side ogling you hungrily as San focussed back on you. His hand leaving his lips to ride your skirt up your hips and revealing the black lace panties.

“Did you know we were going to do that?” your boyfriend asked and you didn’t need to see to know about the shit eating grin on his face. “Is it why you wore such easy-access clothes?”

You gasped and bit your lip. You couldn't see but you could feel. San’s warm hands on your thigh rose goosebumps on your skin. The heightened sensations made more arousal pool in your panties.

“Answer me, baby” San said, low voice taking on a commanding tone before suddenly pulling on your blouse, popping open every single one of your snap buttons and just like that your black lace bra was also on display.

And Mingi thought he was going to explode. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, he had to clench his fist so hard and only the dull pain in his palms kept him from gasping at the breathtaking view. How fucking beautiful could you be? 

San grabbed a fist full of your breasts kneading them roughly through your undergarment to urge an answer out of you 

“Yes!” you hurriedly replied. Arching your back into his touch. “I wore this skirt and blouse because I know how much you like to rip them off” 

“Good girl”

You heard your boyfriend hum in satisfaction and what you didn't hear was Mingi biting down on his lip so hard he could have drawn blood. But he couldn’t do otherwise when San’s fingers hooked themselves on the waist band of the lace and dragged the article of clothing along your thighs until it hung loosely on one of your ankles.

“Show me everything” San said in a breath, harshly tugging on your bra as your breasts jumped out and spilled to each side of your chest.

Mingi repressed a strangled gasp in the back of his throat as his dripping cock strained against the tight concert attire. 

“I said everything baby” San said and you knew exactly what he meant. Slowly you spread your legs to let the vanity light shine right onto your heat as everything remained dark on your part. 

Mingi felt like his brain was going to give out as your body was revealed. Your perfect breasts and hardened nipples and of course your dripping core. Long strings of slick linked your hole to the skin of your inner thighs. Mingi felt dizzy at the sight.

“Good girl” San praised again. “You always get wet so easily don't you?” he chuckled while you fought the urge to touch yourself. “Good little slut” he praised again, his hands dipping between your thighs and aiming right away for your clit. 

You pushed your hips onto his touch and moaned as he circled your bundle of nerves exactly how you liked it. 

“Fuck Sannie” you whined. “More please” 

“Want your cute little cunt finger fucked?” San cooed with his honey toned voice. And you nodded enthusiastically. But that only earned you a sharp slap on your exposed center. The wet clap resounded in the empty room. It seemed amplified for you. You moaned loudly at the stinging feeling, the delicious and unexpected pain made your legs tense up and shake slightly.

“You’re wearing a blindfold, not a gagball, princess. Use your words” San said sternly landing another slap on your swollen clit before gently circling it again.

“Y-yess!! Yes!!! P-please. Want your fingers inside” you replied in a strangle moaned, your hips uncontrollably following San’s every move.

Mingi’s jaw dropped to the floor he never knew you’d enjoyed such things, he never knew you’d enjoy the harsh tone of voice and the pain but there was no doubt you were actually loving every single second of this. Mingi was certain of it when he saw the way your cunt reacted to each little slap, the way you quivered, the way you rolled your hips into San’s hand, the pleasured moans that cascaded from your lips. Mingi couldn't take it anymore and without even realizing it he found himself palming his hard and leaking cock through his pants. 

“Good girl” San praised right before pushing two fingers inside your tight heat, curling them right into your sweet spot. You felt your concerns melt right away as you felt the two digits permeate you. The familiar feeling of the ring on his index made your mind go blank at the pleasure you felt radiating from your very core.

“F-fuck.. Sa-annie…” you breathed out with difficulty.

“Shhh. That’s it baby. I got you” San cooed, laying his other hand on your thigh, stroking it lightly. “You’re so good baby. You take my fingers so well”

The praises were setting your mind and body on fire, and you were giving in to the brazier. You moaned louder as San was pumping in and out of your cunt more rapidly, dragging out the wet squelching sounds that bounced off the walls and came back to your ears.

And Mingi’s too. He was completely entranced by the way your cunt was sucking in San’s fingers. You were so eager for them, your pussy clenching and throbbing around them every time he pulled out and welcoming them back when he pushed back in creating more thick and clear slick to gush out of your hungry little hole, the pull of arousal soon forming a small puddle in San’s palm. Mingi couldn’t think anymore, he could only rub his painfully hard cock as the wet precum stain became visible through his pants. 

“Baby are you going to cum?” San asked, his other hand leaving your thigh to lay flat on your stomach and drawing quick circles on your clit with his thumb.

“Yesss” you said through gritted teeth. But as you felt the familiar build up almost reach the peak it went away. San withdrew his fingers and took them out of your poor confused little cunt. Leaving you there to clench around nothing and whines slipped from your lips at the sudden loss of the fullness.

“You’re so greedy today” San said before slapping your eager little cunt again. You moaned and shook under him, fighting the urge to close your legs. “I’m not done playing with you”

San started to rub your clit again with his thumb with one hand while he lifted the other slick coated one to his tall friend. He wanted to chuckle but fought against it when Mingi looked back at him with puzzled puppy eyes. So he approached his hand closer to his face and mouthed “taste her”.

Mingi’s brain had given up a long time ago, so he was moving only on instincts when he opened his mouth and licked around his friend's digits as silently as possible. That was a dream come true never in a lifetime he would have hoped to taste you like this. Ever. You tasted so sweet and sinful, the velvety nectar slided on his tongue so smoothly and his eyes rolled back as he solely focused on your taste on his tongue and your alluring scent floating to his nose. 

Fuck that was what San had the pleasure of tasting everytime he found himself between your legs. If only he could taste more. Without even thinking Mingi wrapped both his hands around his friend’s wrist pushing his hand further into his mouth and sucked avidly on the cum coated finger and back to the pool of arousal that had gathered in his palm.

“Yeah that’s it” San praised as he circled your clit slowly, offering some kind of relief to the painfully swollen nub. But the praise was more for Mingi than for you. He smirked as he saw his friend devour your essence as if he was a parched man and the smirk only grew wider when he took back his hand and Mingi opened his eyes back looking at him with a glazed over stare. At that moment San knew his friend was done for.

“Here Princess” San said, extending to you his hand that was now coated in your own slick and Mingi’s spit. You instinctively welcomed the wet fingers into your mouth wrapping your lips around them and sucking them avidly. “How does it taste?”

“Sho- hmph… goodjf” you struggled to reply not wanting to let go of your boyfriend’s fingers.

Mingi was absolutely mesmerized by the way you were so eagerly sucking San’s fingers. Mixing your cum, your spit but also his own. His cock throbbed at the thought of cutting the middleman that was San’s hand and just lean down to kiss you. Lapping at your lips for entrance and diving into you, body and soul. He wanted it all.

“Such a good girl for me” San praised taking his fingers back, not without a quiet whine from your end and a repressed moan from Mingi. 

But the disappointment was short lived when you heard your boyfriend fidgeting with his pants and you knew what was coming up next. You prompted yourself on your elbow and spread your legs wider. San chuckled while Mingi cursed silently.

You were dying to see what San was doing. You wanted to see how he kicked off the pants and took his raging hard cock in hand to pump his fist a couple of times around it. You wanted to see him between your thighs as he rubbed his tip on your wets folds. You arched your back into him again, urging him to fill you up full of his cock.

“Fuck you’re so impatient, baby” He growled as he pushed his tip inside you earning a cry from you. “Is that what you wanted?" he huffed, his eyebrows meeting on his forehead as he felt the vice grip of your pussy around him. Even after a thousand times you still felt so good. So wet and tight for him.

“Y-yess! Oh fuck i- yes thank you Sannieee” you were barely able to say as you felt your cunt stretch around San’s girth. You lifted your face as if you could see him splitting you in two. You’d always liked to see him fill you up but sadly you couldn’t.

But Mingi, on the other hand, could see it all.

Mingi couldn’t help it anymore he pulled his pants and boxers down midthigh just enough to take his hard and leaking cock out. He didn’t take the time to undress. He didn’t have the time he needed to stroke his cock at the exact same pace as San was fucking you. 

Said pace was slow and deep. San liked to start out like that, he liked to drive you mad. You felt every inch of him leisurely pushing his thick cock inside until it touched the deepest part of you only to pull out just as slowly, enjoying the way your cunt gripped around him desperate to ever let him go. You were whimpering, whining and squirming. You were going crazy and you weren't the only one.

Mingi was struggling just as much as you were, his balled fist tightly wrapped around his aching length languidly going up and down. He was struggling to keep the hellishly slow pace, struggling to not stroke his fat cock faster but he had to if he wanted to maintain the illusion that it was him inside of you.

At some point San felt merciful and started to go faster. Not for you really he enjoyed to torture you way too much but it was more for Mingi, he noticed his tall friend pinching his lips into a thin line, sharp eyes shutting close and eyebrow digging a deep crease on his forehead. San enjoyed the anguish but he also enjoyed seeing the relief spread on his friends face when he finally fucked you harder. Your cunt became even tighter around San and he found himself moaning rhythmically along with you every time he pushed his thick cock inside you. While Mingi’s eyes didn't once leave your throbbing pretty pussy gushing out more and more translucent slick.

San gradually picked the pace to the point he was soon smashing his hips into you. Making your breasts jump with each powerful thrust. The fact that you couldn’t see your boyfriend makes you feel him that much more. You felt his strong and calloused hands on your thigh and waist and you felt his cock perfectly splitting you in two to this hellish rhythm that made you forget about anything else. Including your surroundings. You were no longer able to keep your voice down. Everything felt too strong, too good to be able to mask the loud moans of pleasure into small, controlled little whimpers. 

“F-fuck you’re really enjoying your…self” San struggled to say. “Aren’t you?”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer anything back. You could only let your tongue loll out of your mouth while you moaned incoherent words.

Mingi’s eyes kept on darting between your swollen cunt and your fucked out face. He just knew that underneath the silk blindfold you were rolling your eyes. And that made his cock twitch in his hold, more precum oozing out the tip, at this point it was practically dripping onto the tiled floor.

“Fuck why are you being so fucking loud for?” San asked with a scoff. “Want people to hear you?”

“Sa-nnie” you complained but you did not become quieter for that much.

“Ohh. I get it” San said in a sarcastic tone, slowing down again. That had you squirming when you felt the tight feeling in your core slowly fading away.

“N-no, p-please Sannie, nooo” you begged shaking your hips, trying to fuck yourself back on your boyfriend’s cock to find the same rhythm.

“You want people to know what kind of good whore you are”

“Yes, yesss. Exactly-fu-... Sannie please.” You would have agreed to anything he was saying to have him fuck you exactly like he was a second ago.

“Maybe you even want my members to hear you” San said with a smirk. “Especially Mingi I bet”.

At the mention of the name you stopped moving around, your brain flooding with the images of Mingi body rolling and dancing.

“Oh you just became tighter baby.” San said with a smirk. “So you do want him to see you” San said, fucking you even slower now. 

“Pleaseeee” you said in a breath.

“I bet you wished it was him fucking you right now” San said eventually completely pulling out of you.

“Noo… P-please” you whined quietly your throbbing cunt clenching around nothing, begging for more attention.

For the first time Mingi peeled his eyes off you to look at his friend only to be met with San’s wicked smirk. San’s smirk grew wider when he saw his fiery haired friend look back at him with big round terrified eyes. He knew Mingi was panicking right now; he couldn’t even touch his cock anymore. Poor weeping thing just waited there ignored while it continued leaking more precum.

“Say it, Princess” San insisted. “Be honest with me. Be honest with yourself” San cooed, leaning over you to whisper in your ear before leaving his place between your legs and gesturing to Mingi to take his place. 

For a second Mingi was completely frozen to the side. He didn’t know how to act. His brain was almost melting out his ears and he was in complete overdrive. But he shook his head and took a silent step in your direction then a second one and found himself right between your spread legs. He could have cum with just that, just looking at you from that angle just knowing that he could take you right there. But he waited. Immobile. 

“If you want more cock. You’ll have to say it baby” San cooed again in your ear and you faced a dilemma.

You didn’t know if you could really voice out your secret fantasy that way. San never struck you to be the jealous kind but still… he required you to say that and in this second, on the brink of your orgasm, your brain only soaked in sin and lust you couldn’t think of anything else than to be rammed again. You pictured Mingi again in your mind, you imagined what he would feel like inside you, what he would sound like, what he would look like. Fuck… you did want that.

“I-I wish it was Mingi fucking me right now” you said hesitantly but pushing your hips up, spreading your legs even further pushing your soaked and desperate little cunt in the air. 

“Good girl” San whispered, satisfied and gave a nod to Mingi.

Mingi’s heart was about to burst out of chest. The frantic muscle was rattling against his ribs and jumping in his throat then diving back in the pit of his stomach. He was all over the place. He couldn't believe it. He couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t believe he heard you say that. Saying out loud you wished another man was inside you instead of your boyfriend. And not any man. Him. 

You wanted him.

His hands were shaking when he grabbed the base of his cock, twitching as he approached it slowly from your core while you grew more and more impatient. 

“Pleaseee” you whined again. “I said it…. now please give me cock” you pleaded. 

As soon as Mingi’s tip touched your entrance you went completely silent and Mingi struggled to do too. When he pushed himself inside you he could have passed out. You were so welcoming, so warm, so tight, so wet. So good. Oh so fucking good. He progressed inside you very slowly earning a long stretched out moan from your end. He couldn't believe he was the one making you feel this way. He was the one pulling those beautiful sounds out of your lips. When he bottomed out he swore he had died and went to heaven. There was no other explanation. The way he felt could only be explained by faith. God was a woman. And that woman was you.

Fuck he needed more of this. He needed to feel you more, to hear you more, to see you more. He wanted it all.

He started to pump himself in and out of you faster, his hand struggling to find a place to settle, finally opting to grab the edge of the vanity. Avoiding direct contact with you, fearing you would recognize him. Rapidly he found himself fucking you (and himself) senseless, rutting his hips like a dog while San watched with a little satisfied smirk, thick cock in hand stroking lazily. 

Your mouth went agape. It felt so good, so fucking good to be finally fucked that deep that rough, exactly how you wanted, the tight feeling in your gut rapidly building up again. But it also felt different. The angle was different. It felt like San’s dick wasn’t hitting the same spot as usual, it also felt slightly curved upwards. And longer. And what about the hands, the touches? San always holds you at the waist, always stuffs his fingers in your mouth? Why wasn't he touching you?

In a flash you ripped the blind fold off your eyes and opened them. At first the bright lights of the vanity behind you blinded you for a short second. The first thing you saw was the tuft of dampened fiery orange hair. Then your vision cleared out and you saw Mingi right between your legs, sharp brows deeply furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line and smashing himself into you at an unbelievable pace. 

The shock you felt tightened your stomach and you came on the spot.

To see Mingi fucking you this hard, take so much pleasure with it and struggling to keep quiet while he fucked you secretly. You didn’t need anything more. 

“F-fuc- Min-gi” you whined as your legs tensed up and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your mouth agape.

“Y-y/n” Mingi whispered, his hands flying to your hips at that very second you opened your eyes, the many rings on his fingers digging into your skin and without a doubt marking you for the next couple of days. His strong grip grounding you into the vanity to fuck you deeper, faster, better.

You creamed around his cock, your back arched up, your pretty moans and your cunt fluttering around him took Mingi right with you to cloud 9. He couldn’t stop his hips from ramming into you while he delivered scorching hot ropes of thick cum right into your avid little hole. Spasming and twitching. To him it felt like your pussy was trying to milk him dry as he moaned your name a thousand times while bent over you until his hips became sloppy and he eventually came to a stop.

“Awww.” San said as he looked at the both of you disheveled and out of breath, both coming down from your highs. “You both came looking at each other. That's cute” But then he wrapped his hands around your jaw to turn your head to him. “But that made me a little jealous. Don't you think you need to make it up to me, darling?”

Mingi pulled out, out of breath you felt the hot cum running down your pussy and dripping onto the floor. San placed his hand on Mingi’s shoulder and he switched places to join your side.

“Look at that?” San said, crouching down, inspecting your twitching little pussy. “Eventhough you were just fucked full of cum I can tell you want more, baby”

You nodded frantically at the idea of being filled up again.

“Please yes”

San pushed his cock inside you with ease. Mingi’s load providing the perfect lube.

“I slide right in, baby. ” San grunted. After all this teasing he found himself to be closer to his breaking point then he anticipated. “You got her nice and lubed up for me, man.” He sent a cheeky wink to Mingi.

You were just right back down from cumming a short while ago but you found yourself moaning loud for your boyfriend’s cock. It felt so good and soon you were begging him to fuck you harder.

“Please Sannie faster” you said.

“Of course princess I’ll fuck Mingi’s cum right back into your hole he said with a smirk to his friend before smashing himself in. He too was moaning like you were both alone not having a care in the world of what could have been happening outside the dressing room. And soon enough Mingi was hard again.

“Baby, your new boyfriend needs help over there.” San said between moans, drawing your attention back on Mingi again, as he was standing there idle, painful cock laying heavy in his balled fist.

“Please Mingi let me suck your cock” you asked looking right back up at him as your body was jolted up with San’s every move. You didn’t even let Mingi think about it for a second. Your lips instinctively found his beet red tip and you rounded your mouth around it. 

He tasted too good, you relished in the strong flavour and aroma of his cum mixed with your own nectar. It tasted sinful but oh so fucking right. This taste and the way his cock smoothly glided in your tongue made your mind go completely blank. Your tongue focussing on his tip between every come and go around his shaft to collect the precious salty precum you earned along with every grunt, every pant, every whimper from the tall man. You couldn’t have enough of it and you kept on sucking his cock. Relentlessly trying to get another load out of him.

Mingi felt so fucking sensitive right after cumming but it also felt so good.  His strong hand flew to your hair as he grabbed a big fistfull. Instinctively pulling on it to keep you from gobbling up his cock that still felt very sensitive, his moans went up in pitch with overstimulation.

“You’re a real fucking whore for his cock, arent you, Angel?” San asked as he landed a sharp and unexpected slap on your cunt. Making you pop Mingi out of your mouth to look back at your boyfriend again. The delicious sting made you arch your back.

“A-again pleaseee” you said through gritted teeth as San smirked and made your wish come true, slapping your eager little cunt again, making you clench around him harder, making him falter ever so slightly.

Mingi was now pumping his cock over your face, you heard as clear as day the squelching sounds of his spit and cum coating his cock as he stroked it right over you.

San was rubbing tight circles on your swollen reddened clit and ramming into you with all his might. You knew you weren’t going to last long.

“Sannie I’m gonna c-” another sharp slap landed onto your sensitive clit, making you cry out a whimper.

“Not yet, whore. Make your new boyfriend cum first”. San nodded his head in Mingi’s direction.

You were so far gone, mind, body and soul only filled with cock that you didn’t even catch how San referred to Mingi. You were ready to do anything for your boyfriend to finally let you cum so you turned your attention  back to Mingi.

“Please Mingi give me your cum, pleasepleaseplease. Want your cum all over my face.”

Mingi didn’t need more. It flipped a switch inside him to see you spread open by San’s cock but getting your undivided attention to beg for his cum like it was the most precious substance on earth. 

“Fuck y/n” he said in a strangled moan. “Want my cum huh?” the grip on your hair tightened, making the veins of his forearm pop.

“Yes yes yes yes yes pleaseplease” 

“Fuck you’re so good to me. Fuckkkkk… Y/n I love you” he confessed in a breath right before letting out thick ropes of cum that split your face in two from chin to forehead. “I love you I love you I love you” he chanted, both his heart and body finally letting out what he’s been holding back for years. The pleasure made his head spin, more cum crashing onto your nose and lips which you licked hurriedly to get the chance to taste him again.

“Good girl” San said, picking up the pace as he never stopped fucking into you. “You’re so pretty with all this cum on you. Your pretty pussy full of cum and your pretty fucking face too” he said his thrusts becoming sloppier.

“Want another load, Princess?” he asked strong shoulders bulging out as he gripped your waist tighter, bruising your skin and joining Mingi’s ring marks. 

“Yes please cum inside sannie” you whined throwing your head back “Please I want your c-hmppph” your words caught in your throat when Mingi started to rub circles on your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. “Fuckkk” you cried.

“P-please… more… c-cum” you said, your brain completely tuning out to let your primal instinct take the lead. 

“Fuck baby I’m so close San said. 

“Me too.. I-” right at this moment Mingi lightly slapped your pussy and it was the last straw. You were pushed over the edge and Mingi continued to give little fast slaps to your sensitive clit, making you shake as your cum gushed out of you in translucent and powerful streams.

“Fuckkk I’m c-cumming” San said as he delivered more cum inside your hole, joining Mingi’s and mixing together. You completely lost your mind on the feeling of how full you felt while San was pumping another big load into you and Mingi was repeatedly slapping your pretty pussy then switching to quick circles again that gradually slowed down to a stop.

When San pulled out he looked at you with a warm smile that made his eyes into crescents.

“Isn’t she pretty like this?” he asked Mingi, who was looking at you with just as much love.

“Yeah, she is” he breathed out while you gradually came back to your senses.

“Should we make it official?” San asked peeling his eyes off you to look at his friend. 

“What?” Mingi asked, clueless.

“Well the three of us are together now.” San said before turning his attention to you again “Isn't that right, darling?” and you nodded.

“Well Mingi, next time if you want to confess in the middle of a fuck how about you take me out on a date before cumming on my face?” You said scraping the cum on your cheeks into your mouth and sucking on your fingers and San chuckled but Mingi protested looking affronted.

“Hey! You asked me to!”

a/n: i had so much fun writing this i hope you liked reading my babes <3

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