#just thinking about. other relationships too (all kinds) and how talking so much and believing when people say its ok but its not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tiza0925 · 2 months

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okok hear me out but Akaashi dating reader and she has a spit kink 👉🏻👈🏻 you don't have to write anything about it but i would love to hear about it from you! (i love your works sm 💗)

…i think you’ve just woken something inside me, anon 🫠

Intimate | 18+

Warnings/Tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, praise kink, jealous!reader, dom!Akaashi, raw sex, multiple orgasms, slight dumbification, squirting, pussy slapping, petnames, little bit of choking, overstimulation, creampie, spit kink ♡ SET IN A TIMELINE WHERE ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED-UP AND OVER 18

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You’re not a jealous person, you swear.

Your relationship with Akaashi is the most secure relationship you’ve ever been in—not once has he ever given you a reason to doubt him.

To not trust him.

He’s shown you nothing but respect, kindness—god, so much love and patience—ever since you two started dating.

But—

Your jaw ticks as you watch a random girl get a little too close to him—watching how she laughs a little too much and looks at him with stars in her eyes.

You can’t blame her, though—you look at him the same way—he’s good-looking and deserves to be appreciated for that.

But that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t get to you whenever you see other people do it.

Especially this particular girl who seems to refuse to leave his side ever since you two arrived at Kuroo’s house party.

Because apparently—she’s close with Bokuto.

Which means she knows Akaashi.

But you barely hear Akaashi talk about her so it’s either he doesn’t see her as close as she thinks they are—

Or he’s hiding something from you.

But that would be ridiculous—it’s Akaashi.

He wouldn’t.

Right?

You take a sip from your drink, then you turn to the person who’s currently talking to you—you think her name is Yachi—and you give her a slightly apologetic look as you walk away and straight towards him.

And the girl that’s seemingly too giddy with whatever Akaashi is saying.

It’s why you come up to his side with a small smile at the other girl, your arms around his waist, and Akaashi stops mid-sentence to look at you with a slightly concerned look—his one eyebrow raised as he asks in a soft murmur, “You okay?”

You hum, a small smile threatens to pull at your mouth as he wraps one arm around you, holding you closer, and you nod. “Just tired.”

He gives your waist a small squeeze, his voice a soft rumble against you. “Wanna go home then?”

You blink up at him, then you quickly glance at the girl that was talking to him—and you feel a slight bud of satisfaction in your chest when you notice how annoyed she looks—and you nod, blinking up at him all sweetly. “Please?”

You end up in the passenger seat of his car a few moments later—looking out the window—as he drives you two home.

It’s quiet—comfortably so—as you watch light posts and buildings until—

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

You hear him ask that, his voice calm and quiet, and your eyes widen with surprise as your heart flips.

You blink, turning to look at him—his eyes remaining on the road ahead—and you frown. “What?”

“Suddenly wanting to go home and hugging me like that,” Akaashi then turns his head a little to give you a look like he knows something. “What was that about?”

Oh.

Was it that obvious how you felt?

You blink.

Silent.

Then you swallow hard, playing dumb as you look away, murmuring, “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But then you hear him let loose a low, caustic laugh—as if he doesn’t believe you—and you feel his hand, heavy and large on your thigh, with the heat seeping through your pants and skin, as he gives it a small squeeze. “Alright.”

It’s how you end up with your face stuffed into a pillow, back arched, and ass out the moment you two arrive back home—

“Oh fuck—”

And you’re cumming around a thick cock with your moan getting muffled into the cushion.

“Look how well you take me,” His voice comes out a low drawl, sounding so nonchalant as if he isn’t fucking you deep into your cunt with a harsh grip around your waist—holding you in place as Akaashi makes you take all of him with your orgasm throbbing through you.

Your mind goes numb, and you whine when he drags his dick against your G-spot, overstimulating you.

“Keiji—fuck—please—”

But then he pulls out—leaving you empty and pulsing around nothing—causing a trickle of your juice to leak out, and you let out a sudden cry when Akaashi leaves a harsh slap against your wet pussy with his hand.

“Turn around.”

Fuck.

You listen almost immediately—moving to lay on your back, breathing heavily, and Akaashi smiles down at you from the bridge of his nose, admiring you for just a moment—

Then he’s hooking your legs over his shoulder—and your eyes grow wide when you feel the head of his cock slide over your drooling pussy, bumping your clit that has your head going dizzy, and then—

“Do you think she’d be able to take me as well as you do?”

Then he starts to ask that—in that taunting, calm voice of his—and your cheeks grow hot at the mere mention of that girl, jealousy pricking the edges of your vision and—

You whimper when he pushes his cock back inside you, filling you and making you feel so full as he rolls his hips against yours, building that sweet buzzing ache in your pussy again.

Akaashi watches the way your cunt swallows him so perfectly—his girth opening you up as you cream all over him—and he wets his lips, his smirk turning lecherous. “You think she’d look this pretty around my cock too, baby?”

He’s not blind.

He can pick up on the small signs of jealousy from you with just a small look, word—even the way you act.

He’s observant—and he clearly didn’t miss the way you were eyeing that girl from earlier.

You suck in a large breath, feeling him in your damn throat as he fucks you languidly, and your voice is breathy when you bite out a response. “Why don’t you go and find out for yourself then.”

Akaashi leans down and god—you sob out a moan when he nearly bends you in half, shoving his dick so deep into you that your entire body goes limp.

You’re practically shaking as his lips hover over yours, and his eyes—all half-lidded as he observes you—grow alight with something darker and amused as he hums lowly. “I don’t think I will.”

He pulls out, the tip of his dick catching your hole, then he immediately thrusts back in with one, harsh slap of his skin against yours—making you gasp as your juices gush out. “Nobody else can get messy like you do, baby.”

His smirk comes slow and syrupy, his hooded eyes observing you—how your eyes are glossy with tears threatening to spill out—and he goes to pull on your lower lip with his mouth, kissing you so achingly soft despite the harsh fucking. “Nobody else feels this tight around me.”

You moan against him, your arms numbly wrapping around his neck as you take his cock pushing in and out of you—your pussy swallowing him whole like it needs his dick in there.

It’s so fucking needy that even when you feel him digging into your lungs with his cock—you still want more of him, that swelling ache in your clit just begging for it.

And god—he gives it to you.

He fucks you with one hand coming to thumb your sensitive clit—rubbing it in slow circles with your juices coating it until you’re clenching around his cock, squeezing him and throbbing as you cum for a second time.

“Shit,” Akaashi groans, driving into you as his head gets foggy with lust, and heat overwhelms him as you make a mess on you both—clear liquid squirting out of your poor little pussy with every rock of his hips, and tears finally spill down your cheeks with oversensitivity.

“Don’t cry, angel,” Akaashi soothes you, his voice throaty and heavy, and his hand that was on your clit comes up to wipe your tears—spreading your fluids all over your face and getting you dirty as he calmly shushes you. “You asked for this.”

You know.

You just didn’t anticipate how intense Akaashi will be to make sure you know that you were being irrational for feeling jealous—to fuck you until you felt all loose and dumb from his dick that you can’t do or say anything but whimper and cry for him.

God—

You suck in small, gasping breaths as he slides his hand down until he’s rolling his thumb over your bottom lip, and—

And then his pupils grow wide and dark, there’s a small tick at the side of his lips that looks carnal, and your heart leaps into your throat as he forces your mouth open as he presses down onto your lip—your heart thundering in your ears as you watch with shiny eyes, unsure what he plans to do until—

Until he also opens his mouth as well, and your mind grows heady with submission with your tongue out for him, your pussy clenching him so fucking tight as he lets a small, pearly glob of his saliva string down onto your tongue.

And fuck—he lets out a low groan of approval, making your chest swell at how satisfied he looks as you please him.

“Swallow.” His voice is so deceptively soft.

But you listen and swallow.

With no hesitation.

And it should feel gross with him spitting in your mouth like that—making you feel like some whore under him—

But instead—it does things to you.

It makes things so much more fucking intimate.

You keep eye contact with him as your throat bobs with an obedient swallow, your body moving with every thrust of him inside you, and Akaashi can’t help but lean down to kiss you so deeply that you shudder against him—

“Such a good girl for me—shit,” His hand comes to the front of your neck, his calloused fingers wrapping around it and giving it a little squeeze, making you moan as you sloppily kiss him back, your vision growing blurry.

Then he leans back, hand still on your throat, and his chest rise and falls as he continues to fuck your abused pussy, your fluids making a mess, and he turns his head to brush his lips against your calf.

“I want you to cum on my cock again, love, you do it so well for me.”

Then he brings his other hand to press on your lower stomach, making you keen with a wet moan—and you feel so fucked out and dumb in the head as another orgasm steadily pulses through you.

“And say my name when you do, love,” Akaashi breathes out lowly, his dick in your guts as he pushes his hand down a little more, “Because nobody else gets to do that except you.”

More clear liquid gushes out of you, spraying and squirting all over him as your legs shake with another orgasm for that night—his name on your tongue, making his head spin as he fucks you through it.

And then he’s spurting out thick loads of his hot cum into your sore pussy, shoving it further into you with every push of his cock inside your walls—making sure you know that only you get to be marked like this by him.

end.

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 5 months

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❤ Yandere Teacher ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Teacher-Student dynamic; Non-Con.

Merry Christmas! 🎄💖

◾ Yandere!Teacher who immediately gets interested in you.

You don’t seem anything like most college girls, maybe because you don’t throw yourself at thim, batting your eyes at him and pushing your chest out in hopes of catching his attention, like many of your colleagues do.

He knows why they do it. He’s young and attractive, teaching in a college whose reputation is the definition of academic excellence.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who will personally organize the classroom layout, making sure you get the best seat in the house, which coincidentally happens to be right in front of his desk. That way he stays close to you, his eyes often drifting to you as he lectures the class.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that frequently interacts with you, asking if you wanna share an exercise's solution or requesting for you to read out loud a text.

Your reactions are the cutest, he thinks. The adorable way you get shy, sinking into your seat like you want to melt against it and disappear.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who wholeheartedly believes you to be a talented student, although your grades are mediocre. You are brain and beauty, the perfect combination.

Hence why he adds a few additional points to your grade, wanting to see that beautiful smile of yours instead of ugly disappointment,

◾ Yandere!Teacher that is fully aware of how wrong it is to have a crush on you - his student - but he can't stop himself from imagining how a relationship with you would look like. The way you’d hug him, pushing your warm lips against his, happy to see him.

He imagines romantic picnic dates, with you perched on his lap while feeding him strawberries.

And even worse is when his mind drifts to the two of you creating a small family together. He knows you’re both relatively young but he’s certain that together you could be the best of parents.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that stalks all of your social media, seeking for anything that could give him more insight on you. What are your hobbies, what type of movies do you like, do you post photos with your family or friends,...

In reality, he’s accidentally clicked one too many times on the like button, panicking before hastily removing it. You never mention it during the classes, but sometimes you give him a weird look.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that progressively grows frustrated with your lack of interest towards him. While most girls shamelessly throw themselves at him, you don’t. A distant expression and face ducked down as you take notes is all he gets from you.

Even when he accidentally bumps into you around campus, it's a struggle to get you to open-up as he tries to do small talk with you.

◾ Yandere!Teacher whose blood boils when catches you laughing and joking around with a guy.

He wants to drag you away from the asshole before punching a hole into his face, his imagination running dangerously wild as he imagines all the things he would do to the student, just for making you laugh like that.

But he doesn’t get mad at you. No, it’s not your fault. You have a kind heart, which automatically makes you naive - unable to see the other guy’s evil intentions.

He doesn’t care about you, he’s probably just thinking of ways to get inside your pants.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who invites you to stay a bit longer after class, in order to discuss some aspects of your individual project. He notices the nervous way you fiddle with your fingers, uneasy to be alone with him.

He doesn’t understand why. He loves you and he’s never been anything but kind towards you.

Your anxiety only increases when the older man places his hand on top of yours, starting to confess the ardent admiration he has for you and how much he thinks you’re gorgeous.

That he feels a special connection between the two of you, something very precious.

Despite his best attempts of convincing you that you are meant to be together, you’re too stubborn to accept it peacefully. You scream and shout like a crazy girl, scratching and pushing him as he tries to reason with you.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who ends up bending you on his table, pushing your cheek pressed against the cold surface as he forcefully fucks you, his lips passionately kissing every inch of exposed skin, inebriated on your sweet taste.

You cry and whimper, his scarf shoved inside your mouth as he punctures you with deep, sharp thrusts while whispering apologies in your ear.

He uses you as a flashlight, setting a fast pace as his cock bruises up your insides till your core is aching and desperate for him to finish already.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who didn’t mean to break you like this, your pitiful swollen face making him feel bad about what he did, but at least now you know about his feelings for you.

He’ll make it up for you when he takes you back to his apartment. A warm shower and a good night's sleep will improve your mood. He’ll persuade you to be with him, to accept him.

He knows he’ll be successful eventually and maybe after a few times of making love to you, you’ll also see his side.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x you #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #tw: noncon #tw.noncon #yandere concept #female reader #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines

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nereidprinc3ss · 2 months

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come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you.

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better.

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either.

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring.

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there.

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?”

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows.

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?”

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.”

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside.

“Nice, nice. What else?”

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.”

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening.

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.”

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself.

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.”

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.”

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.”

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice.

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.”

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better.

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.”

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry.

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.”

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless.

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.”

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart.

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.”

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again.

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle.

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life.

“Then I’m on my way.”

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime.

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?”

You shake your head and gasp a small sob.

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders.

His hand smooths over the back of your hair.

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear.

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.”

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight.

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?”

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.”

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.”

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea.

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave.

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.

At least, until he goes home.

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up.

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you.

“That among other things.”

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?”

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does.

“Okay.”

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

His lips pull into a melancholy smile.

“Anytime.”

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close.

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist.

“I can’t do that, honey.”

“Why not?”

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently.

“Because we’re not together anymore.”

“Why not?”

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is.

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down.

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.”

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.”

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke.

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.”

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again.

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.”

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales.

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.”

When he kisses you, it feels like home.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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sargeant-bxrnes · 6 months

Text

the bet

—✮ summary: gojo and you make a bet. gojo assures he’ll be able to resist a whole month without sex, and you bet on the fact that he won’t be able to resist. may no nut november begin.

pairings: gojo x f!reader [established relationship]

contents & warnings: slight exhibitionism (consented shower peeking), teasing, explicit descriptions of female anatomy. | SMUT unprotected sex (don’t do this!), dirty talk, praise, sofa sex.

wc: 4.2k

my masterlist! | requests are OPEN!

"Who do you take me for?" Gojo questioned with a half dramatic, half genuine gasp, as his pale hand met his chest, feigning hurt.

"Oh, come on!" You can't help but giggle at his dramatics. "the only reason why you don't try to keep up with NNN is because your horny ass would NOT survive."

"I-" He shut his mouth, to open again a few seconds later. "for your information, I think No Nut November is stupid. Why would I restrain myself for a month just for funsies? That's why I don't do it. If I didn't find the idea stupid, I would definitely survive. Mhm."

"...Right." You nod your head softly, trying to hide an amused smile and narrowing your eyes at your boyfriend. "Absolutely, you can resist a whole month without an orgasm, completely feasible."

"You don't believe me, do you, baby?"

"Absolutely not."

"Alright, alright," he said, repositioning himself on the bed, leaning on his elbow as he draped his body across the bed, showing how 'relaxed' he was. "let's make a bet, then."

"A bet with the infamous Gojo?" You muse, also leaning down on the bed. "do tell, handsome."

"I bet that I can survive No Nut November," he said firmly, a confident smirk on his lips. "and by the looks of it, your bet will be on me, absolutely failing this dumbassery."

"Oh, sounds about right," you nod. "deal. What's in it for the winner?"

"That'll be decided when the bet's over," He says confidently. "at the end of November, when I win, of course."

"You're so confident about this, it's so cute.".

"Aw, and you're so confident you'll make me lose, it's adorable." He cooed back.

And with that, it was game on.

The first few days, you acted like normal, making sure to keep behaving like every other day. Gojo was doing just fine; sure, some kisses prolonged more than usual, but he was so determined to win that he forced himself to pull back before it turned into a make-out session.

By the time November 10 came around, Gojo had only been close to losing once, but other than that, he was showing impressive restraint—by avoiding long cuddle sessions or kissing for long periods of time—which could be counted as cheating since those things you used to do normally.

So, you decided to twist the rules a little bit too.

Knowing Gojo's schedule like the back of your hand, you waited the entire day to get in the shower, purposefully choosing to get under the warm stream around 10 minutes before he got home—you left the bathroom door ajar, also on purpose. You knew Satoru is nosy by nature, and he wouldn't resist taking a peek.

Like a damn Pavlovian effect, as soon as Gojo got home and heard the shower, he instinctively made his way to the bedroom, noticing the ajar bathroom door. He knew he shouldn't, not because you'd be uncomfortable—you two had been together long enough for nudity to not be an issue—but because he knew that as soon as he saw you naked, his hormones would act up.

But what kind of boyfriend would he be if he refused to delve into such a beautiful sight?

He walked closer to the ajar door and took a small peek at first. The first thing he saw was steam from the shower's temperature, but that wasn't much of an impediment for him to concentrate on what he wanted. Gojo's eyes quickly found your figure amidst all the steam. There you were, standing behind the glass door of the shower, in all your beautiful glory.

The water was cascading over you in a waterfall, covering your entire figure. You had your back to him, so he couldn't see your face, but he knew you were enjoying the bath, judging by your relaxed shoulders.

Satoru lost all decency and let his eyes travel down your body, your hair, your shoulders, and your beautiful back, which he loved to caress with his hands. His eyes went lower and lower, and he felt his body getting hot under the collar.

His eyes focused on your glistening ass... He swore he could see water droplets bouncing off that beautiful thing. It looked so damn delicious, it made him want to-

He forced his eyes to look somewhere else. Where? Your hair. He smiled as he saw how meticulous you were when washing it—so cute and adorable. And for a second, he regained control. However, you turned around a few inches to the right, and now your breasts were visible to him. His jaw dropped as he saw the water stream softly hitting your breasts, water droplets sliding down the valley he adored to kiss, oh... the way they followed a path to your little hardened nipples and—

His cock twitched.

Gojo closed his eyes and bit his tongue to contain a grunt. If he looked at you for one more second, he would strip and join you in the shower, and in no time, he would have you with your legs spread, bent over with your hands splayed against the wall as he drilled into your cunt.

Gojo cleared his throat and made his way out of the room, discreetly tugging the crotch of his pants so they wouldn't be so snug against his hard cock. He made his way to the kitchen and set about preparing some food to share with you, who’s showering with warm water touching your soft, naked body—fuck. Fuck. Gojo was losing it already.

While you hadn't seen his struggles, you knew him far too well to know his composure had started to crumble. You knew you were one step closer to winning this bet. Because, despite how proudly he claimed to be able to, Gojo Satoru will not be able to survive a whole month without nutting.

You let the teasing rest for a few days, making him believe you'd stopped. It was a calculated gesture. Sure, the shower peek could've been an innocent accident; maybe you hadn't meant to leave the door open, or maybe you didn't think he'd get home from work before you got out of the shower. Right.

ii.

5 days later, you played another one of your little teasing schemes.

Gojo was already lying down on the bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone, watching short clips of kikufuku mocha recipes, his absolute favourite dish. (Right after your pussy.)

You opened the bathroom door after doing your routine of handling your hair and applying cream all over your body and face. You walked out, turned off the bathroom lights, and made your way to the bed.

Gojo's eyes instinctively rose up to see you walk up to the bed, and then he turned back to his phone, but—hold up. Gojo did a double take, eyes travelling all over your frame, quickly noticing you seemed to be wearing nothing but an old t-shirt of his, which was sliding down your bare shoulder, the hem of it covering half of your thigh.

He gulped down to regain control of himself and opened the covers for you to slide right beside him, as always. You got under the warm covers and scooted close to him, your warm body fitting perfectly next to his tall one. Gojo dropped the covers and let his arm wrap around your body, his hand falling on your back. He softly caressed it both as an affectionate gesture and as a way to try and find your sleeping bra wings or the clasp, but all he felt under the palm of his hand was the fabric of the t-shirt and your soft skin. No bra.

He could work with that, absolutely. Yeah.

As every night, you cuddled up to him, your head on his chest and your arm draped over his torso as your fingertips softly caressed his sides, gliding up and down soothingly. Your leg, as always, also draped over him, falling comfortably between his legs. Gojo's arm held you tight and safely nestled against him, as he did all he could to avoid letting his hand wander down.

You got comfortable, making an inhuman effort to not smirk a little. It was hard to tell if he'd noticed or not, but the only piece of clothing you were currently wearing was his old shirt, nothing else—no panties, no bra.

At first, he didn't notice. But oh.

Not only could he feel your soft breasts against his chest through the thin fabric of the shirt, your hard nipples pressed against him. No, no. He also became hyper-aware of how warm your body was and the way it curved so beautifully and naturally. His hand moved in small circles down the small of your back, where, if he splayed his hand, he would be able to feel the waistband of your... Nope. There's no waistband.

You're naked, wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, the one he gave you after you two fucked for the first time in your newly shared apartment. That day, you two had been moving furniture and boxes around, and it ended up with him fucking you on the floor like two dogs in heat. He remembers giving it to you so you could cover up your body when the neighbors knocked on the door to welcome you both, and it has been your shirt ever since.

And knowing you're wearing it and nothing under it, just like that day... his cock twitched inside his pijama pants. He felt it, and so did you.

You couldn't help but smirk. Would this be the moment when he gave in?

"I uh-fuck..." Gojo rambled as his grip on your body tightened. "I'll turn off the lights now; I'm—yeah, it's late; it's time to sleep, baby."

"Hm yeah?" You cooed playfully as his free arm stretched to turn off the bedside lamp.

"Yeah," he assured, sucking in a breath as you cuddled up even closer to him. "g-good night, gorgeous."

"Aw, where's my good-night kiss?" You playfully teased him, pouting in the darkness.

Gojo let out the smallest little whimper before his hand blindly found your jaw, cupping it as he tilted your head up. His lips found yours in a short kiss, no short of desperation, before he pulled away and laid his head back on the pillow, clearing his throat to act casual, like nothing had happened, as if you couldn't feel the bulge in his PJ pants.

"You know, baby, you could just... give in and lose the bet." You offered softly, stopping the teasing to be genuine for a couple of seconds before dropping an absolutely filthy comment. "I'd definitely suck your cock then, y'know? For your effort. I'd even do a sloppy, as you like it."

"Fuck-" He hissed as his cock twitched again. "Shh, shut your pretty mouth, shush. Stop. G'night, sleep time. Love you."

Knowing when to stop, you stopped for the night, kissing his cheek softly before mumbling good night, and I love you back, and closing your eyes.

iii.

The very next day, you continued your teasing. The previous night he had almost lost his composure, and you weren't about to stop, not now.

After having a nice meal during his break, Gojo and you had decided to get some ice cream, since the weather was quite hot that day.

Unbelievably so, you had nothing but pure intentions at first.

You both sat at one of the tables at the back of the establishment, since Gojo preferred to eat at peace. While you were eating ice cream, Gojo was talking to you about one of the missions he had coming up, and you were listening to him attentively, letting him talk your ear off, to be honest, you loved the sound of his voice, so listening to him wasn't a bother.

It wasn't until he stopped mid-sentence while you licked your ice cream cone that you came up with your idea. Unbeknownst to him, Satoru had handed himself on a silver plate to you when he did that.

You nodded your head as he kept talking, genuinely listening to him talk while uttering the occasional 'mhm' and 'yeah?' to keep him talking. But on the other hand? You were teasing him. You licked your ice cream 'innocently' letting the cold treat coat your tongue before flicking it, and whenever a drop of ice cream slid down to the cone, you would lick it slowly, keeping eye contact with Gojo.

It didn't take more than 3 minutes for Satoru to start feeling his blood flowing south, you looked so innocent, like a good girlfriend, listening to him — But Gojo knew perfectly well what you were doing, the way you savored the ice cream, the way you licked the cone specifically... all Gojo could think about was how it felt when you did that on his cock, licking the drops of precum that slid down his length.

"So I was thinking of asking..." He trailed off as he saw you wrap your lips around the tip of the ice cream, the way the creamy goodness coated your lips, how your cheeks hollowed ever so subtly to let the ice cream melt in the warmth of your mouth.

"Yeah?" You asked innocently, removing your mouth from the ice cream and licking your lips clean.

"Of asking Nanami, you know? He's..." Gojo's eyes followed the drops of ice cream that now melted on your fingers, as it had began to drip down after you left it unattended. "he may not be the most cheerful but he-"

You licked the ice cream off your fingers as Gojo kept talking, keeping eye contact with him as you genuinely listened to him, but once again, he stopped mid-sentence, his throat going dry and his pants definitely getting tighter.

"What?" You dared ask, knowing exactly what was going on.

"Oh, you-" he took a sharp inhale, he knew what you were doing, and as much as his cock was screaming at him to grow up and accept the defeat so he could sink in your tight pussy, Gojo wouldn't budge. "never mind, as I was saying, Nanami is the man for the job."

"Mhm, I'm sure he is." You mused, going back to eating your ice cream.

However, before you could continue licking it, Gojo snatched the cone from you and stuffed the remaining ice cream into his mouth, he hissed, eyes immediately narrowing and his features scrunching up from the icy sensation, and with a grimace he swallowed the ice cream in one gulp.

"No more ice cream for you, you're a danger to my cock."

iv.

After that direct tease, you decided to act normal for several days, perhaps your boyfriend did have the will to fulfill No Nut November after all.

After a long day, you both found yourselves on the couch in your living room, watching a movie on TV. As it had become customary throughout your relationship with Satoru, you ended up cuddling with him.

You found yourself comfortably nestled on Gojo's lap. Your soft body pressed against his hard muscles, sending a pleasant tingle through your body. To be fair, you didn't intend to tease him or tempt him this time around; you just wanted some quality couch-time with your boyfriend.

However, as the movie progressed and your bodies grew more intimate due to their close proximity, something unexpected happened - a familiar stirring within Gojo began to rise up. It started small at first but quickly became impossible to ignore any longer.

"Fuck," muttered Gojo under his breath, trying desperately not to give into his urges. But it was clear that he wasn't going to make it without giving in soon enough.

"You okay?" You asked him softly, looking up at him from your comfortable position.

This time, no comment came from him, only actions. Gojo leant down to kiss you, and as soon as you reciprocated the kiss with the same intensity, he knew you wanted him as badly as he wanted you— you weren't insisting on him losing NNN just to gloat, no, no, you were needy, too, and it showed in the way you nearly ripped his shirt off his body.

Not wanting to pull his lips away from yours, Gojo's hands moved all over your body they stopped at your breast swiftly, his hands groping the soft globes in the least gentlemanly way, before moving his hands lower and lower.

Without warning or hesitation, Gojo swiftly hooked his fingers on the waistband of your shorts and panties at once, pulling them down your legs. You helped by raising your hips off his lap– soon your clothes were discarded somewhere out of sight. Satoru finally pulled back from your lips and grabbed a hold of his sweatpants, pulling the waistband low enough for his throbbing cock to be freed, it immediately sprang out, slapping against his pale abs, his tip was reddened by arousal, a few drops of precum were already accumulating at the tip.

And just as you were about to lean down to take his cock down your throat and give him the sloppy blowjob you promised, he took a hold of your hips and pulled you closer to him, nudging your leg up so you would straddle him. You quickly understood what he wanted and straddled him, hovering right over his cock– you were already so wet a few drops of your arousal dripped down to his tip, and he swore he could've busted right there.

He looked at you to confirm everything was okay, and as soon as you nodded, he slowly pulled you down on his cock, his tip nudging its way inside, slowly being sucked in by your cunt.

"F-fuck, fuck, you're so tight." He nearly hissed, feeling the way your tight entrance slowly stretched to allow his cock in– it didn't matter how many times you two fucked, you were as tight as ever. "Oh my– fuck."

As soon as he felt your soft wetness envelop his cockhead, Gojo thrusted his hips forward into your waiting pussy. Your tight walls gripped him like velvet vice as he plunged deeper, and deeper. Gojo couldn't help the moan that escaped his lips as he felt you clamping down around his dick, as if your cunt wanted to keep it forever inside.

You whimpered in delight, your hand finding the back of his head, fingers tangling in his white hair as you bit your lip. "You feel so damn good baby, so big..."

Once he was fully sheathed, his lips returned to yours to kiss you desperately as he gave you time to adjust to his length, his thumb found your clit blindly, and he began to stroke it in small circles, making your soft walls tighten around his cock, enveloping his cock in your warmth.

Eventually, you began to ride him, your hand finding his chest as you began to move back and forth, lifting and lowering your hips with each movement, the sound of your thighs making contact with his, plus the squelching sound each time your greedy cunt sucked him in was definitely erotic— not to mention the sounds escaping from Satoru's mouth, you forced yourself to swallow your own moans to hear his, the way he moaned, grunted and even whimpered.

"Jus' like that baby, so, so good," he praised, his eyes threatening to roll back at the feeling of your warm walls around his shaft. "there we go, you're doing so good f'me, fuck– god damn, baby. Missed this pretty little thing so much."

Gojo's hands were holding your hips so tightly that they would probably leave marks, but you didn't care, the way he was moving your body with such ease, it was incredibly attractive, he was fucking you roughly, but needy, it was obvious he needed this, and by the way he was also lifting his hips to push his cock even deeper inside you, it was obvious.

"T-Toru," you moaned after a particular thrust of his, one of his cock veins had grazed against your g-spot so perfectly it felt like heaven– you tilted your hips and tried to replay the feeling as you bounced on his lap.

His cock was hitting in all the right places, and by that point you were chasing your orgasm, however, your plans were quickly interrupted when, with a grunt, Gojo wrapped his arms around you and pushed you down on the sofa.

He pulled his cock out a little to accommodate your leg, throwing it over his shoulder and leaning his body forward, exposing your pussy to him, his eyes watched hungrily as he thrust inside you again, your juices pooling in a translucent circle at the base of his cock. You couldn't help the moan of surprise and utter pleasure that left your lips as Gojo began to thrust, his hips moving with precision, rising a little to get a better angle, his cock grinding its way inside your tight cunt, its tip possibly touching your cervix.

"There we go, hm? So fuckin' good, your pussy is so fucking good f'me," he rambles, clearly too pussydrunk to stop the endless rambling. "oh god, you missed having your tight little cunt filled with my cock, didn't you? Hm, I can feel it baby, you're squeezin' me so tight."

With one hand braced against the couch armrest for leverage, Gojo began powering up into your body at a pace that left no room for hesitation or mercy. It wasn't long before sweat dripped down from his brow.

One hand kept holding your hips to keep you in place so your body wouldn't slide up with each thrust, the sound of his skin against yours was obscene, and you would be embarrassed by the wet sound of your pussy, but that seemed to please Gojo judging by the way he alternated his gaze between your face and your cunt.

Your back arched off the couch as he began to hit all the right spots, and upon seeing that, Gojo couldn't help himself, he leant down and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, his warm tongue swirling around the hardened bud before his lips sucked it gently— you squirmed in utter pleasure at the dual pleasure, but you nearly lost your composure when his hand left your hip and slid between your legs, finding your little clit and began circling it quickly.

"F-fuck, 'Toru, baby w- I– hmm," you couldn't even speak clearly, your eyes rolling back as he kept sucking your nipples, rubbing your clit and plunging deep inside your pussy, god bless his multitasking abilities.

At a sudden wave of pleasure, your legs threatened to close, but Gojo would not allow that. His hand left the couch armrest and came to hold the leg over his shoulder in place, he used the leverage and knelt down on the sofa, lifting your hips up slightly to keep fucking deep into you, his thumb still assaulting your clit relentlessly.

"Gojo I'm gonna– please, j-just like that." You managed to say clearly, as you felt his cock twitching intensely inside you, you could notice the telltale signs, his twitching cock, the way his eyes were glazing over and his thrusts got relentless– he was close.

"I know, I know," he coos in a rasp, his breath heavy as he keeps going. "that's it, that's it, cum for me pretty girl, yeah? Cum for me, gorgeous. You've been so good for me, let go baby."

As soon as that praise fell from his lips, combined with all the pleasure and stimulation he was giving you, you were a goner. Your cunt squeezed tight around his cock, milking it for all it was worth as a moan of his name left your lips, your whole body tensed and clenched in response to the overwhelming orgasm.

Now, Gojo is a simple man. The moment your pussy squeezed him so deliciously tight, he lost control of himself, he immediately followed your orgasm, his cock spurting ropes of white warmness that coated your insides.

His body felt nearly limp on top of yours, his cock still nestled inside your warm walls, his sweaty forehead meeting the clammy skin of your shoulder as he took deep breaths, pressing a kiss against your soft skin, he relaxed as he felt your fingers threading his messy hair.

"NNN was stupid anyway," he mumbled against your skin, making you giggle as you remembered that he'd lost the bet. "your pussy's too good for me to give up, even for a month."

You chuckled soflty, kissing his sweaty forehead. "I can't decide if I should feel flattered or offended."

"It was definitely a compliment," he assured playfully, nipping on your shoulder as he rose his body up, softly patting your thigh as he pulled out of you, a mix of his cum and yours dribbling out of your tight hole. "now, get on all fours f'me, princess, I'm not done with you yet."

"Oh?" You teased him, completely up for another round.

"Gonna make you cum as many times as you teased me this month," He promised as he took a hold of your hips and flipped you over, your body acting by muscle memory as you got on your hands and knees, face pressed against the sweaty material of the couch. “and believe me, I kept count.”

And just like that, you felt his cock slide back home.

It was going to be a long night.

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ineffable-romantics · 10 months

Text

Some thoughts on why and how I believe Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship would incorporate sex/why I do not read them as wholly asexual:

This is something I've seen the most discourse about in this fandom, and I've had a few thoughts of my own that I really wanted to expand upon in a full meta/character analysis post. I do understand that this can be a contentious topic, so first, let me clarify a few things:

First of all, this is going to be long. Tbh it probably won't be that organized either. I ramble and I'm not very good at editing, so just... you know. Be warned. (*Hi, it's me from 2 days after writing this; I'm really not kidding, it's LONG)

These are all my own thoughts. They might not be hot takes, because recently I've seen more than a few people come to the same conclusions on a lot of these points as I have. But I've also had these notes in my drafts for about a week and a half now, and have been continuously adding to it as things have occurred to me. This post is essentially just somewhere for me to collect the separate but related meta I've been kicking around in my head.

I fully respect anyone who does see and prefer an asexual reading of this relationship. These are my own thoughts and interpretations as someone who is not asexual. I am in the LGBT+ community, so while I do know a few things about the asexuality spectrum, I am by no means an expert.

This is NOT something I expect, need, or even necessarily want the show (or, God forbid, Neil's tumblr ask box) to address. Tonally, it's just not that kind of show. Newt and Anathema's sex scene was very much played for laughs, and it worked for that reason. If the show found a way to address it in a way that was both appropriate for the tone of the show and ultimately satisfying, then great! But there is so much more to this relationship than sex, and I didn't need a kiss to confirm their love, so I certainly don't need a sex scene. As immortal beings (as I assume they'll stay) there is so much of the rest of their lives we'll never get to see. You can headcanon them as asexual and potentially be right. I can headcanon them as not and be equally potentially right. Again, these are just a collection of my own thoughts, because I think the question of sexuality (or lack thereof) is just as interesting a facet of these characters as any other.

Note: Tbh I've been second-guessing this whole post and debated deleting the whole thing several times for being silly or unnecessary, bc I don't want anyone to think that this is the only thing I care about when it comes to this story/characters. But if nothing else, it's inspired me to write in a way that nothing has in a very long time, so I've decided it's worth continuing, if for no other reason than that.

This is going to be a mixed bag of textual reading, subtextual reading, and a full-on reach or two. It's been a while since I've been in an English class, but if my teachers expected me to find a deeper meaning behind blue curtains, you can expect me to read too deeply into the symbolism of a loaded rifle or an ox rib. (This is probably not what my professors had in mind when grading my literary analysis papers but oh well) My point is, if it feels like a reach, I'm as aware of it as you are. I am in no way saying that all (or even any) of my points made were deliberate on the part of Neil or the actors or the writers or the directors. I am no longer the delulu Apple Tree Yard child of my youth, I promise.

If anything said here is in any way offensive or hurtful to anyone in the asexual community, please do not hesitate to message me or comment and let me know exactly what it was. I promise you it is not my intention to do so, and am happy to clarify or outright edit anything that reads that way.

With all that being said, let's talk about why I think Crowley and Aziraphale would absolutely fuck nasty incorporate sex into their relationship.

Note: I am out of practice with essay writing, so I think I'll just go down the bullet points of notes I have been making, and expand on each as best I can

Food

Where better to start than with Aziraphale's introduction to Pleasures Of The Flesh? (Just a heads up, this entire post may feel very Aziraphale-heavy, and with good reason).

This might be the least hot take here. We've all seen the Job minisode. We've all seen That Scene.

Whether this was intentional or not, the symbolism here is off the charts. Eve was tempted by an apple. So why not go a similar route and tempt Aziraphale with another fruit, or cheese, or bread, or literally anything else for his first experience with food? Instead, we go with a huge, glistening slab of fresh meat that he proceeds to absolutely go feral upon, moaning and gasping into his meal while Crowley watches with what definitely doesn't look to be disgust or even satisfaction with a good temptation. There's surprise at the ferocity of Aziraphale's appetite, certainly. But ultimately he looks to be intensely fascinated by it, while the thunder crashes, the music crescendos, and the earth literally shakes around them.

(It's also interesting to note how very little it takes for Crowley to tempt him with the ox rib. One murmured suggestion, a bit of unwavering eye contact, and vavoom Aziraphale immediately meets him in the middle.)

Cut to Aziraphale devouring the rest of the meat with Crowley splayed back on a makeshift bed, drinking wine and continuing to watch him indulge through half-lidded eyes. Outside a thunderstorm rages while they're learning secrets about each other in warm flickering firelight. It's cosy, it's intimate, and if they'd thrown in a bearskin throw blanket, it might as well be a post-coital scene straight out of Game of Thrones.

The next time (chronologically) we see them discuss food is when Aziraphale "tempts" Crowley with oysters in Rome. So Crowley first tempts Aziraphale with meat and then Aziraphale tempts Crowley with what is widely regarded to be an aphrodisiac. Interesting.

And then chronologically after that, the Arrangement begins to form, which has always reeked of a friends with benefits situation. Just to throw that in there.

It's What Humans Do

In the very first episode, we're shown Gabriel's obvious disgust and bewilderment towards Aziraphale eating sushi, calling it "gross matter" and being proud of the fact that he does not sully his body with it. Aziraphale initially tries to defend his own enjoyment in it, before passing it off as something that humans do, as something he simply has to do in order to blend in (which we know very well is not the case).

He does this again in season 2, passing off Nina and Maggie being in love as "something humans do". But it isn't, is it? Angels are beings of love, and can sense it, and understand very well what it is... up to a point. Even romantic love is obviously within their wheelhouse, given what we now know happened between Gabriel and Beelzebub (we'll come back to them).

What the "humans do" that angels wouldn't understand is messy, physical forms of love.

But here's the thing: Aziraphale and Crowley love doing what the humans do. They love drinking, they (or at least Aziraphale) love eating. They love music. Crowley loves driving and sleeping and watching rom-coms and sitcoms. Aziraphale loves reading and doing magic and earning little licenses and certificates for achievement in his various hobbies. They love to playact at being human so much that they've stopped playacting and started building a genuinely human lifestyle for themselves and with each other.

Once together in an unambiguously romantic sense, why do we think they wouldn't also want to explore one of the most prominent, intimate, powerful human expressions of love and desire with each other?

Angels, Demons, & Asexuality

Here's where I really want to clarify that in no way do I mean that sex is necessary for a healthy, fulfilling, and loving romantic relationship, or that the lack of desire for sex makes you any less human. Asexuality is a sexuality as valid and human as any. What I would say is that it is definitely in the human minority compared to allosexuality.

Angels and demons, on the other hand, are predominately asexual. Sexless/genderless unless Making An Effort. (Which, btw, is a concept introduced as early as the original book; why even bring it up as a possibility? Why not keep angels/demons being sexless/asexual as a hard and fast rule, if not to open up the potential for later use? Chekhov's Effort, if you will. And isn't that something that Aziraphale in particular is shown to do time and time again? He makes an effort in French and driving and magic, doesn't he?)

And this is why I don't believe Aziraphale and Crowley necessarily need to be asexual, narratively. There is already a huge amount of ace rep within the angels and demons (and no, not just the horrible ones. Muriel also doesn't "drink the tea" and has no reason or desire thus far to Make An Effort, and there are certainly other angels and demons who aren't horrible like the archangels seem to be who likely wouldn't Make An Effort either).

The central conflict for Aziraphale and Crowley is that they are on their own side, the ones who went native, the ones who are so different in so many ways from their respective hives. It would make sense for them to also break away from traditional angel/demon asexuality.

I say "traditional angel/demon asexuality", because I would also like to note that I would absolutely not rule out demisexuality for either of them. This post is being written to as a response to people who specifically believe that they (like the rest of the angels/demons seem to be) would be sex-averse in a relationship, and that it wouldn't be a factor in their relationship. I could easily read them as demisexual, but I do think there would be no real way of verifying this, because they've never been able to form as close an emotional relationship with anyone else but each other. Certainly not in heaven, and I can't imagine they would be able to form that kind of attachment with any of the humans, who they love and emulate but ultimately regard as the separate species they are. So yes, they could either be allosexual or demisexual, in my opinion.

Then again, now that I think about it, Making An Effort itself could be a great metaphor for demisexuality, since they would be entirely sexless/asexual until they have enough of an emotional connection with someone to consciously manifest otherwise. Since the other angels and demons don't generally form those types of emotional connections with anyone, there hasn't been a precedent for it.

Except...

Brielzebub

We do have a precedent for it now, don't we? Gabriel and Beelzebub fell in love. They are a direct foil for Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, speedrunning right through their courtship and finding their happily ever after on the other side of things.

For being such a 1 to 1 comparison, it feels deliberate that they did not kiss. They held hands, they were gooey with each other, but they did not kiss. That feels like such a deliberate thing to omit when you know what's to come at the end of the episode between Crowley and Aziraphale.

And going back to the food = sex metaphor for a moment, let's notice how even as they fell in love over the years, even when pints and crisps were there on the table in front of them, they never felt the desire to reach out for them. They didn't need to. It's a date (love story) even if you aren't eating dinner (sleeping together).

Yes, I know Jim liked hot chocolate. No, I am not counting it because I don't consider Jim and Gabriel to be the same person with the same proclivities, and Jim was highly suggestible at the time anyway.

Gabriel and Brielzebub's big happily ever after moment (as of now) was one between two asexual supernatural beings. They did not need to kiss to drive the point home. They showed what Crowley and Aziraphale could have, if they would only acknowledge it.

Crowley & Aziraphale's Dissatisfaction

But they do have that already, don't they? If you really think about it, what do Gabriel and Beelzebub do with each other that Crowley and Aziraphale don't already? They hold hands, they spend time together, they create little rituals, they give gifts, they're visibly and verbally affectionate with each other, etc. They are more or less already in a romantic asexual marriage relationship with each other, aren't they?

And it doesn't seem to be enough for either of them.

At the beginning of the season, Crowley is immediately shown to be unsatisfied with the way things are. Obviously part of it comes from living in his car, but it seems to be more than that (especially since Aziraphale makes it clear that the bookshop is just as much Crowley's as his, implying that he could have been living there the whole time and is choosing not to, for some reason?). You could argue he's feeling unmoored without Hell telling him what to do, but isn't that what he wanted? Isn't that what he still wants, by the end of the season? All season long, he's never indicated the desire for a new job, or a new project. He stopped the apocalypse because he wanted the freedom to openly spend time with Aziraphale, to spend his time on Earth however he sees fit. Until Gabriel arrives, he has exactly that (minus a flat).

So where does the dissatisfaction come from? And if it represents anything to do with his relationship, what does he want out of it that he isn't getting already?

I think Crowley only really comes to the realisation of what he's missing when Nina names it for him, not only putting them in the category of romantic, but physical (outright asking if they are sleeping together). These two posts [1], [2] go into more detail about what I mean, but I think it really pushes him into acknowledging that their relationship is more human than either of them have stopped to consider, and what that might mean as far as everything a human relationship can entail.

After all, Nina and Maggie only advised that he should talk to Aziraphale, make clear his feelings. The decision to kiss him, to tip them over the edge from nonphysical to physical, that was all him. And no, kissing isn't sex, but I wonder how taboo even that might be in the kind of all-encompassing asexuality most angels seem to identify with. (If they're disgusted by food and drink, I can only imagine what they think of snogging, much less sex.)

Aziraphale doesn't have this moment of someone observing their relationship from the outside. He loves Crowley, and as of 1941 probably even knows he's in love with him in a way that Crowley doesn't understand yet. Which makes sense, since love is technically his job, he'd be more likely to recognise it for what it is.

However, Aziraphale's reference for romance and relationships is Jane Austen. It's chaste. It's dancing and dinner and doing sweet things for each other and roses and candles and handholding. He contextualises his love for Crowley in that soft fantasy sort of way, where it's there, it's obviously there, but it's neat and easy and unspoken. Not to quote Glee in this, the year of our lord 2023, but it's all very "the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets".

Someone should tell that to Aziraphale's face, then.

I'm not going to pretend I know what Michael Sheen's script notes were, but there were definitely some Choices™ made. Because yes, there were plenty of moments in both seasons with Aziraphale looking at Crowley in a sweet, loving, smitten way. And then there were moments that were yearning.

But yearning for what, exactly? All of those sappy Jane Austen tropes already apply to the two of them. So why are there moments where Aziraphale is looking Crowley up and down like the last eclair in the window and licking his lips and visibly exhaling like he's trying to get in control of himself (see: Bastille scene + Crowley telling Muriel to ask him if they have any other questions about love)? Why is Aziraphale not only unconcerned when Crowley shoves him bodily up against a wall in s1, but staring at his lips and a beat too late in noticing Sister Mary's arrival? Why are some of his lines so suggestive? I'm sorry, but the car ride after the church explosion might as well have been the beginning of a Pizza Man porn with a really weird Blitz theme. If even my mother picked up on that vibe, I can't imagine it wasn't intentional on part of both the dialogue and the delivery.

(This section may feel like more of a reach/joke, but I'm really only 20% joking. These are writers and actors who are EXTREMELY good at their jobs; they know what they were doing here.)

More importantly, I don't think Aziraphale is even aware that there is more to what he wants. He lives in the Jane Austen fantasy and it never even occurs to him that he might be interested in anything further. It never even occurs to him that, as an angel, there is anything further to be interested in in the first place. Until Crowley forces it to occur to him. Just like I believe Nina forced Crowley to confront the idea that romantic love is what he's been feeling all along, I believe Crowley forced Aziraphale to confront the idea that physical intimacy is something he's been wanting, without even realising.

Aziraphale's Hedonism

Expanding on Aziraphale for a moment. We talked about his relationship with food, but we all know that Aziraphale is defined by his love of things that Feel Good.

It isn't just that he and Crowley love human things. Aziraphale loves the best of the best, or at least his version of it. He doesn't just love food, he loves going to fancy restaurants. He doesn't just love clothes, he loves soft, cosy, warm, plush clothes, or shiny, flashy, bougie fashion. He loves the warmth of tea and cocoa, loves getting drunk, and sitting in a comfy chair in the sunlight. He doesn't just experience, he indulges.

Given the emphasis put on things that Aziraphale loves just because they Feel Good, it feels narratively strange to assume that he wouldn't enjoy the feeling of being touched, or that he wouldn't be willing to try it, at least once, with someone he cared very deeply for. And just like the ox rib, I think that once he gets the first taste of things, he would absolutely tip over into complete and utter self-indulgence.

Dancing

I also think that dancing could be construed as a huge metaphor here. After all, we're told flat-out that angels don't Dance. Except one.

I would argue that Aziraphale, in fact, Made An Effort to learn how to Dance. He threw himself into the gavotte with delight (at a Victorian gay club; noted) and worked hard to be good at it. He's chomping at the bit to Dance with Crowley, working up the nerve to ask him with undeniably romantic intent and eagerness. So, angels don't Dance... unless they Make An Effort to do so.

We are told that demons, on the other hand, do Dance, but not well. Makes sense, since they're the ones who would want to encourage a deadly sin like lust, but have as little understanding of human love and physical intimacy as the angels. Crowley, however, is shown to be an excellent dancer at the ball, especially in his compatibility with Aziraphale.

(But Aziraphale WandaVisioned the ball so everyone knew how to dance! Yes, he did. However, the rest of the brainwashing doesn't seem to affect Crowley in any way, and they did actually live through the time period where this sort of dancing was a social norm; I'd be surprised if he never needed to learn. After all, the demons can't spell either, and Crowley is at least functionally literate, as far as we know.)

As of today, it's also been confirmed that when Aziraphale asked Crowley to dance, Crowley replied with "you don't dance." Not "WE don't dance". So going along with the metaphor, Crowley is just now discovering that Dancing is something Aziraphale is interested in at all, much less with him, and not denying that he himself is interested in Dancing. In his defense, I believe he was asleep for a few years while Aziraphale was learning the gavotte, so he wasn't exactly aware of Aziraphale's hot girl summer.

Love Languages

I want to expand on that; Crowley and Aziraphale's compatibility. Specifically in regards to their individual love languages.

We all know Crowley's love language is Acts of Service. I don't think there's any debate there. He loves it, Aziraphale loves it, they're both aware of it, we're all aware of it, God and Satan are aware of it, no surprise there.

You may disagree with me, but I believe Aziraphale's love language is Physical Touch, for a number of reasons. One of which being his aforementioned hedonism. Aziraphale likes things that Feel Good, remember? He likes soft clothes, and well-worn books. Neil himself has said that they like holding hands. And any time he is taken by surprise (Brielzebub getting together, the wave of love in Tadfield, etc.) what is the first thing he does? Reaches out for Crowley. He stops him with a hand to the chest in the pub. He leads him by the hand to the dance floor. He guides him by the waist in the graveyard. He reaches out during the entire Brielzebub scene, whether he can reach Crowley or not. Despite his own turmoil, he grasps at Crowley's back during the kiss.

The one time Crowley reaches out for him (not counting the kiss yet; we'll get there), he is aggressively pushed against a wall (by someone he loves and trusts) with a complete and utter lack of concern (and perhaps some interest, depending on how you read it).

And when he isn't reaching out for anyone, or there isn't anyone to reach out to? Well, he's wringing his own hands together, squeezing his own fingers, as if to find that physical comfort in himself.

So. With that theory in mind, we have Aziraphale (Physical Touch) + Crowley (Acts of Service). Throw in 6000+ years of deep love, cherished companionship, and forcibly repressed longing, and there is a very real potential of this combination resulting in fierce sexual compatibility. Where Aziraphale would want to touch and be touched, to indulge in physical pleasure with someone he adores, in the same the way he indulges in every other fine thing in his life. And where Crowley would want to indulge him in return, to give him everything he wants, and to take pleasure in Aziraphale's pleasure, in the same way he enjoys watching him take joy in food everything else.

So Aziraphale is an angel who is insecure about his own less-than-holy desires, who would want to treat Crowley like a luxury to be touched and cherished and adored. And Crowley is a demon who has, over the millennia, been unhappy about how they've been forced to deny even their friendship with each other, who would want Aziraphale to feel comfortable and safe and encouraged to indulge in earthly delights. That sounds like a stunning recipe for sexual compatibility to me.

"You said 'trust me'" / "And you did"

Just like the Job minisode, the Blitz is RIFE with symbolism (intentional or otherwise). This one will be quick, but I did want to touch on it because I thought it was interesting. Maybe I'm reaching at this point, but I'm assuming you read the tin.

First of all, Crowley not wanting to admit to never firing a gun before; comes off as someone who very much does not want to admit to their crush that they're a virgin ("You must have done this lots of times!" / "Umm.... yyyyyeah.")

(You could make the argument that Aziraphale having a firearms license and a Derringer in a hollowed-out book is symbolic of him not being a virgin while Crowley is. I disagree, for reasons I'll go into later, but it's a valid reading. However, I see it more like keeping a condom in your wallet; it's there in case you need it, but the opportunity has not yet risen no pun intended.)

More importantly, the theme of this entire minisode is trust. We already know they trust each other with their lives against the rest of Heaven, Hell, and the world. But specifically, this is about the importance of having complete trust in your partner in a charged, physically vulnerable, intimate moment, where the only danger is between the two of you.

Aziraphale needs to believe Crowley would never hurt him if he can help it. Crowley needs to trust Aziraphale's unwavering blind faith in him. Frankly, it all feels very symbolic of two people deeply in love losing their respective virginities with each other.

The trick is a success, and they share an intimate candlelit dinner in which they reaffirm their faith in each other. Aziraphale also begins to voice his agreement with Crowley, that maybe Heaven's rules shouldn't have to be as black and white as they are, and that there are benefits to... blurring the lines, shades of grey, wink wink (at which point even my mom was like, whoa guys, this is a family show).

Btw also: Can we all agree how much it looked like Crowley was getting ready to get a lapdance in that one scene? You know the one.

Also also: "Aim for my mouth"? Come on.

The Birds & The Bees

Now that I think of it, there's also something to be said for the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale are both obviously familiar with where babies come from (how they're made and how they're born) while the other angels aren't.

Something something Aziraphale and Crowley fundamentally understand sex and reproduction in a way the other angels (and probably demons) very much do not, nor have any desire to.

Probably not important. Just thought it was worth mentioning.

The Kiss™ & Religious Trauma

The Kiss. Where to even begin?

This has definitely been the hardest one to start, because there is so much going on here that I definitely won't be able to cover it all, and will certainly miss a few things here and there.

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss afterwards is the most interesting to me. And I don't mean directly after, I don't mean the "I forgive you" part. I mean the way he touches his lips when Crowley is no longer in the room and he no longer needs to save face, when he is completely alone. Had it been directly after the kiss, it would have been rightfully read as horror, or disgust, a shield to discourage further action.

It's not. It isn't just a touch, it's a press. As desperate and angry and unexpected and imperfect as the kiss had been, Aziraphale is pressing it into himself, recreating the feeling as best he can. Beneath all the poor timing and shock and hurt from their fight and fallout, I think it's fair to say that it was something he enjoyed. Something he doesn't think he should enjoy, something that Feels Good that he only allows himself to indulge in when completely alone.

Remember, Aziraphale's idea of love is Jane Austen and gentleness and courtship and fantasy. If he'd ever even considered kissing an option, it might have been gentle pecks, cheek kisses, forehead kiss, hand kisses. Soft, safe, chaste affection.

Crowley's kiss turns all of that on its head. He introduces physical intimacy in a very real, very messy, very human way that I don't think Aziraphale ever even considered could apply to them. Considering what other angels are like and what they look down on, even Aziraphale's Jane Austen fantasies probably would have been considered taboo.

So for their first kiss to be rough and desperate and passionate in the way it was, of course he was confused and in shock. It was deeply physical, and as overwhelming and awful as it was in the moment, it Felt Good. Enough that he grasped at Crowley and kissed back, if only just for a moment, before stopping himself. Enough that he actively pressed it into his lips afterwards, in private, to remember.

I adore how Neil has decided to evolve these characters past the first book/season. More so in this season, Aziraphale and Crowley have both become such interesting allegories for queer people on either side of the spectrum of toxic religion. Aziraphale in particular obviously, because he is the side that so desperately wants to believe, to make a difference, and to unlearn all of the propaganda he's been fed over such a long time. Just like so much of organised religion, there is so much that he is told, time and time again, that he should not want, that he is silly or stupid or outright wrong for wanting. It reminds me so much of the severe Catholic guilt one might feel for wanting/engaging in sex for the first time, and the stigma of being queer layered on top of that.

What is so critical to Aziraphale's character is that he goes on wanting, and more than that, actively pursues. He was convinced to go up against Heaven and Hell and stop all of Armageddon because he wanted to go on listening to music and eating lunch and reading books and enjoying the simple company of the person he cares most deeply for, even if that person is supposed to be the enemy.

All this to say that if angels are as generally asexual/sex-averse as I believe them to be, narratively speaking, it would make sense for Aziraphale to be singular in that regard as well. Mirroring his first experience with food, it would make sense for Crowley to be the one to first introduce this new messy, physical, human dynamic between them, for Aziraphale to hesitate (obviously we are at the Hesitation phase at the moment), and then (eventually) for him to dive in wholeheartedly, to absolutely glut himself on this new thing that Feels Good. It would make sense for his character development to show him overcoming his metaphorical Catholic guilt and pursuing the sexual intimacy most (if not all) of the other angels would scorn.

(I can't help but remember that plot idea Neil described from the unwritten sequel, with Aziraphale in a hotel room trying to watch a full porno by way of the free 2-minute teaser clips so he wasn't technically sinning by paying for it. I so hope this is used in season 3, because gosh, I wonder why Aziraphale would suddenly be so interested in observing human physical intimacy after 6,000 years. Lonely and doing a little surreptitious research there, angel?)

Crowley, on the other hand, is the queer person who has broken free from his toxic religion. He prides himself on being his own person, on their his own side. He doesn't have the hang-ups Aziraphale does. He doesn't worry that he's going to be judged or cast aside for wanting things he's not supposed to. So it only makes sense for him to be the first one to suggest/initiate physical intimacy. It makes sense for him to be the one who "goes too fast" (another fantastic example of this dynamic beginning as early as s1; what is that conversation in the car meant to represent, if not Aziraphale being overwhelmed by the intensity of their relationship, and his fear of succumbing to it when he believes he shouldn't? It's also interesting that this is the first conversation to take place in Soho, just after watching Aziraphale realise he's caught feelings for a demon, with the red glow of lust serving as the backdrop).

Do I think the kiss in and of itself was sexual? No. I think it was a passionate and devastating last-ditch effort on Crowley's part to convey the way he feels for Aziraphale. Not just that he loves him, but that he loves him in the most human way possible. But I do think that the kiss represents how they can move forward from here, and what they might want to explore with each other once they feel free enough to do so.

In Conclusion

I am sure, deep in my bones (unless we are explicitly told otherwise), that this was both of their first kisses no, I'm not counting the gavotte, and that neither of them have ever thought to do anything else physical with the humans while they have been on Earth. Like I said before, they adore the human race and lifestyle in general, but ultimately view them as a separate species altogether, and they seem mostly happy to keep to themselves and each other, unless otherwise necessary. I just can't see either of them being drawn enough to a human to pursue anything close to sex. If Crowley in particular has had anything to do with sex in the context of temptations, I'm positive he would be inciting lust amongst the humans themselves, not involving himself directly. At least not that directly.

So, like every other human experience they've had on Earth, sex is something new that they could explore together, just the two of them, on their own side. A deeply intimate, tangible declaration of their love and everything they've gone through to earn it. A visceral finger to give both Heaven and Hell. A renewed appreciation for their corporations and for each other's. A enjoyable method for immortal beings to simply pass the time in each other's company. A new and exciting way to Feel Good, and all the variations that come with it.

You might agree with this post, or you might not. Whether this is something that is ever addressed or not, it doesn't matter to me. This is a brilliant love story either way, and I genuinely feel so privileged to witness it.

But I just can't find it in myself to imagine, given everything we know about these two characters, that sex isn't an experience they would both consume with wholehearted enthusiasm, curiosity, and profound, ineffable adoration.

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Bonus feature: the very silly notes I made to myself that inspired this post

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belovedcloud · 2 months

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The Better Man | Best Friend! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Notes: It's been a while since I've actually written something. Been having the biggest brainrot over Leon Kennedy so enjoy. :)

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-> PT.2

WC: 1.2K ik it's short

CW: Cheating (reader gets cheated on, not by Leon), soft dom Leon, porn with barely any plot, little bit of overstimulation, petnames (sweetheart, pretty girl), oral.

Something you didn't expect to see when returning home to your boyfriend was to see another woman beneath him. Was it worth it to toss away a relationship just for some pussy? To your ex, yes. So here you are, outside of Leon's apartment, God knows at what hour. Faint knocking echoed down the hallway as you waited for Leon to open the door, I mean it was nearly 2 am... Would he even be awake to see you tonight? Your thoughts were soon swept aside as you hear keys jingling on the other side of the door. Quickly, you wipe your teary eyes as you see Leon open the door.

"Y/N?" He mumbled with a confused tone as he saw you stood in front of him. Turning his head to check the clock hanging on the wall, the hands of the clock displaying 1:55 am. "What are you doing her-" His words came to a stop as he saw a tear stream down your face. "My boyfriend.. well, not boyfriend anymore I guess" Y/N hushed out before wiping her face, "He cheated on me, and I'm sorry for coming to you at such a late hour but you're the only person who I know that woul-" Leon's fingers made her jump as she felt him tap her shoulder. "Don't be sorry, come here.." He whispered as he embraced her. A newfound warmth spread all over your body as you felt his arms tighten.

Leon slowly lead you to his couch, trying to calm down your sobs into his chest for a few minutes as you spill out what you saw on that same evening. Soon enough, no more tears flooded your face and you could see Leon's expression. Nothing but kind. He got up and after a few minutes he came back with a few snacks and drinks. It was his best attempt to cheer you up - it worked.

"I can't believe I even dated him, you even told me how much of an asshole he was." Y/N sighed as she took another sip of her drink. A slight grin spread on Leon's face as she shit-talked about her ex. "He never deserved you y'know, you up him in both looks and personality." He said as he took a pretzel from the bag, snickering at his own comment. The next 30 minutes was just you and Leon bad mouthing your ex and how he acted. Even in bed.

"He couldn't even last like 2 minutes! He sucked at it and didn't even really bother with aftercare. Unless you call a quick kiss on the lips and turning around aftercare." She scoffed, holding onto a bag of chips. "You're serious?" Leon asked looking at her with a teasing expression. "No he was a sex god." She said sarcastically as she placed a chip in her mouth. Leon couldn't help but look at her with doting eyes. A rush of nervousness spread in your system as you caught Leon staring at you like that. "L-leon?" You tried to snap him back but he wouldn't turn away, only giving you a teasing grin as he replayed your conversation in his head. "I'm glad you left him.." He sighed softly before putting his arm on the armrest. "You really deserve someone better who would actually treat you right, I mean who wouldn't want to be their best for you? Especially in bed.." He mumbled the last part.

"Someone like you..?" You hushed out your question but Leon turned his head to your question immediately. "I-I can't do that to you. I mean I don't want to ruin our friendship because of what I wan-" You cut him off after hearing him spew out nonsense. "Leon. I want you too y'know?"

You didn't think this would lead to Leon slowly parting your legs after gently taking off your panties to see your soaked cunt. "God.. You're so pretty for me sweetheart.." His fingers slowly rubbing up and down your folds, eliciting pornographic moans from your throat. Who knew your best friend would be the better man in bed than your ex? The thoughts of your ex slowly dissipated as you felt a warm sensation cover over your pussy. Leon's mouth. He couldn't help but taste you as a deep groan left his throat, your sweetness making his eyes roll back as he tongued at your folds. His eyelids slightly opened as he looked at you as he swirled his tongue. You were beautiful as he ate you out, in fact you were like a goddess. Moans and groans clashed against each other as the room was filled with wet sounds from Leon slowly fingering your pussy and licking your clit. Your fingers waving through his locks - slightly tugging at his hair as he drowned himself in your juices. "L-leon! 'm close oh f-fuck.." Her voice trembled as Leon continued to his hearts content, groaning out a few praises as he felt you tighten around his fingers. "You're taking it so well baby. So proud of you.." "Can't wait to see you do this on my cock.. you're so fuck.. gorgeous."

A coil slowly started to tighten in your stomach as you felt the stimulation of Leon's fingers curling into that sweet spot along with the quick sucks and swipes on your clit. "C'mon baby.. give it to me." He groaned as he rutted himself into the couch, his sweatpants feeling tight as he felt himself throb whilst devouring your sweet little cunt. "'m cumming! Leon!" Was all you could blabber out as the coil snapped and you felt yourself shake in Leon's grasp. His tongue still lapping at your clit, slightly overstimulating you as you felt your thighs tremble. Leon's fingers still continuing to curl inside of you as he licked up your cum, slowly putting his fingers in his mouth after cleaning the mess. "So fucking sweet for me." He kissed your inner thighs as he pulled himself up from between your legs.

Panting and sweating, you wearily lift up your head that was previously buried into the pillow, looking at him as you saw your slick on his chin. A slight smile appearing on your face. "What's so funny?" He looked at you confused with a grin on his face. "Nothing.." You snickered out as you saw his disheveled hair. Laughter slowly died down and you tugged on his sweatpants, looking at him with pleading eyes.

"Tonight's about you" He said as he kissed your neck, a slight whimper coming out of your mouth as you felt him bite down on you. "I wanna make you feel good too..." You murmured as you tugged on his shirt. Leon couldn't help but laugh slightly as he lifted himself up from your neck and looked into your eyes. "Yeah? You wanna make me feel good?" He teased as his hands slowly rode up your shirt, unclasping your bra and tossing it to the side. The pads of his fingers teasing your buds whilst his lips connected onto yours. A passionate kiss coming from both of you. You slowly break away, still determined to make him feel good - he can't help but accept the offer. He picks you up, a small yelp erupting from your throat as he takes you to his room.

"Can't say no to you, pretty girl.."

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pls don't steal my work :p

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil #best friend leon kennedy

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danveration · 4 months

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Darling, angel, sweetheart

Parings: Valentino x female!reader

Summary: You’re not in the “mood” but Valentino, being who he is, tries to coax you into having sex. And it’s hard to resist him. !THIS IS SMUT!

Warnings: Nsfw themes, 18+, dub/con, manipulation, k*lling, smoking, being taking advantage of, virginity mention, power imbalance, forced blowjobs, p in v sex, creampie, missionary position, neck biting, kissing/making out/french kissing, slight innocent reader, reader having a stuffed animal, cuddling, sleeping

A/N: UMMMM? FIRST SMUT FIC IVE EVER WRITTEN. KINDA NERVOUS!!! SORRY IF ITS ALL OVER THE PLACE 😭😭😭

You and Valentino had a complicated relationship. You wouldn’t say you’re “together” per-say, but you wouldn’t say that you aren’t. He makes it aware that he sleeps with other people from time to time, and that he actively flirts with people. But he promises that it’s only for business. To get more costumers and porn stars, to up his reputation.

You don’t live with him but you’re over at his place more than you are at your own house. He likes it when you’re always around him. Holding his hand, sitting in his lap, or under his desk while he’s in meetings or doing paper work, etc. You’re drawn to him like a moth is at light, which is ironic. He loves you, so much so that it doesn’t matter what he does in his spare time.. because he does always come back to you in the end. He loves you and you love him back.

You’re more of a shy, innocent, naïve thing. Valentino noticed that right away when meeting you. You were a virgin before he met you, but obviously not anymore. He took that from you the first night be met you. Though you’d never think you’d lose your virginity at such a fast pace.. there is just something about him that made you cave in. May it be his flirty nature, or his gentle touches.. whatever it is, you’re a fool for it.

———————————————————————

You’re currently laying in his bed, yawning and clutching into your stuffie. Today was a long day, all you want to do is cuddle up to Val and go to sleep.

You’re impatiently waiting for him to come in the room. You remember him mentioning how he has to shoot extra long tonight. He sounded frustrated about it, cursing under his breath.

You’re just about to doze off when Valentino bursts into the room loudly, the door hitting the back of the wall when he comes in, making you jump in fear.

“Fucking BITCHES!” He yells, his accent coming through. Slamming the door closed, he goes to light his cigarette while mumbling curse words under his breath.

He’s wearing his heart glasses, his red hat with the black and white feather, a black dress shirt that’s mostly un-buttoned with his gold chain, and white pants with a gold heart belt.

You’re looking at him concerned, you’ve never seen him lash out like this before. He’s always been kind and sweet. Little do you know he only wanted you to see that part of him, not wanting to scare you away too quickly. He’s done things you’ve not noticed, like that one time where a man was hitting on you in front of him. He said you were taken and then proceeded to bring you to the other room, telling you to wait there while he makes a phone call. Which in reality, he went back to that man and shot him in the head. Coming back to tell you it went well and that he loves you.

“Val?” You speak out, looking up at him.

He whips his head over to you and breathes out.

“Sorry you had to see that, sweetface. Just some fuckers who think they can talk back to me. Me! Can you believe that?” He says, shaking his head.

He looks away from you and sighs.

“It doesn’t matter though, does it? They’re dead now so there’s no need to stress.” He laughs.

You know he does bad things, even though he tries to hide it. You’re not blind. But you still like him nonetheless.

He stretches and moans, bending his head back and shifting his arms. He looks back at you and smiles.

“Hi, sweetface. How’re you feeling, hm? All tired and ready for bed?” He asks.

“Mhm, I’m feeling good, just sleepy.” You answer.

“Ah good, good. Let me join you.” He walks over to you, with a glint in his eye.

He looks at you seductively, eyeing you up and down. While you on the other hand, are looking at your stuffie with tired eyes.

“Baby.” He says to you.

You perk up and look at him.

“Hm?” You say.

He feels himself get hard. It was a long day today and he needs some relief. Who better to give him that than his best girl? He closes his eyes and breathes in, then opening his eyes and looking down at you.

“I need your help with something. You think you can help me, baby?” He says in a mischievous tone.

You’re just so sleepy that you mumble, “What is it?”

“Well, my love. I’m feeling a bit pent up.” He answers you with a smile, his red eyes glowing through his glasses.

You look up at him with a frown.

“Val, I’m just tired. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?” You ask him.

Valentino’s brows go down and he answers you in an angry tone.

“Darling, angel, sweetheart. Out of alll these other bitches, I choose you to fuck. And you refuse me? Do you know how fast I can get a replacement of you? I can go down the hall and fuck the first person I see and they’d be thankful!” He yells at you.

You didn’t expect him to react this way. Maybe it’s just the long day getting to him. You shrink under his words, looking down.

“I’m sorry, Valentino.” You mumble.

He squints his eyes at you, crossing his arms over his body.

“Better be. Now, what do you say?” He asks you.

You’re pretty tired but you don’t exactly have a choice.

“I guess I can help..” You answer, still looking down.

“Ah, good! Good girl.” He says, walking over to the side you’re laying on. Standing beside you as you’re laying down, he tells you to look up at him.

Sitting up on the bed, you look up and make eye contact with him.

“See how hard and aching I am for you?” He says, gesturing towards his clothed cock that’s straining his pants.

You look down and see his cock imprint, outlining his white pants. Against your will, you feel yourself throb.

“V-val. I don’t-“ You say.

“Shhh, angel.” He interrupts you.

He puts his cigarette down on the side table and goes take your small hand and press it on his clothed cock.

It’s warm and you can feel it throbbing. You go to pull your hand away, your cheeks reddening.

He holds your hand tighter and forces it there.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks you seductively.

This is usually how sex with Val goes. You aren’t feeling it but he makes you feel it. You never thought it was wrong, it’s just.. you changing your mind with time.

“Mhm.. I feel it.” You answer him, blushing.

“Fuuck.” He moans as he grinds into your hand for a few minutes.

“God damn it.” He bites his lip and removes your hand to unbuckle his belt.

You look down at his big hands as they swiftly take his belt off. His hard cock springs out, as he almost never wears underwear. The only time is does is when he wears revealing outfits.

He takes your chin in one of his hands and makes you look up at him again.

“Suck it.” He whispers.

You whimper and look ahead, his cock facing you.

Giving it a lick on the tip, Valentino grunts.

“I can’t fucking take this.” He says, taking your head with his hands and forcing your mouth to take his whole cock.

Gagging, you try to pull back but Val just keeps your head there and starts thrusting into you.

“F-fucking take it.” He says, slightly smiling.

You’re whimpering and moaning, trying to breathe through your nose.

He lets go of your head, pushing you back. You gasp for air and Val laughs at you.

“We’re gonna have to work on throat training.” He comments.

You whimper.

“Val I-“

“Take off your fucking clothes.” He commands you, as he starts stroking his cock with one hand.

You move to take them off, listening to his command. After you’re fully naked, you look at him for guidance on what to do next.

“Goood girl.” He smiles at you, tilting his head.

He tells you to lay down on your back as he gets on top of you. After doing so, he starts kissing you.

Val was the one who taught you french kissing. You never really knew the whole point of it before him. It just seemed awkward. Swishing your tongue around in someone’s mouth. But after him, you understand how it’s so appealing.

He reaches his hand down to touch you, seeing how wet you are.

“Mmm, there you go.” He says as he feels you dripping on his hand.

He rubs his cock onto your pussy, collecting juices onto his tip.

“My favourite toy.” He mumbles.

You whimper as your tummy starts to hurt from being so turned on. Val laughs at you and whispers into your ear, “I’m going to fucking wreak you.”

He slides his cock into you slowly, hissing at how tight and wet you are.

You moan at how good he makes you feel. He always feels so full inside of you.

He looks at you and starts thrusting harder.

“F-fuck sakes.” He says. “You’re gripping me so tight.”

He holds onto your shoulders as he roughly pounds into you over and over and over again.

Each time, your body shakes and you let out a whimper.

“V-Valentino.” You moan.

“Yes, baby. Say my fucking name.” He growls.

You clench around him and he starts going faster.

After a little while of beating your pussy with his cock, his thrusts start to get sloppier. At that exact time, you feel yourself getting close.

“V-Val, I- I’m-“ You stutter out.

“Y-Yeah I know. I can feel it, fuck. I’m close too, baby. I’m so fucking close.” He says, going in and out of you. “You’re such a good toy for me, you know that? Suuch a good girl. Such a good fucking girl.” He grunts.

“Val.. I- I’m gonna-“

“Me too, god. I’m gonna cum inside this pussy. All inside of you.” He thrusts into you one more time and then he goes as deeply as he can into you, letting out all is cum deep inside you.

You come at that exact same time, immediately as you feel his warm seed inside you. You feel claimed by him, physically and emotionally.

He thrusts once more, letting it all out inside you.

He bites your neck, kissing it after doing so.

You feel the tiredness from before hit you like a wave.

He positions himself to look at you, smirking.

“Tired?” He asks.

“Mm.” You mumble.

He pulls out of you slowly and looks down, his cum dripping out of you. He licks his lips at the sight.

Looking back up, he decides that he is also tired now and says, “I guess we can sleep now, ma chérie.”

You blink slowly at him, your eyelids feeling heavy.

“Sleep time?” You mumble.

“Sleep time, my love.” He lays next to you, putting the covers over him and you.

He sees your stuffie on the other side of the bed and reaches for it, handing it to you.

“I think you forgot someone.” He says with amusement in his voice.

He will admit, he has a soft spot for you. Just don’t tell anyone, especially the other VVV’s, they’ll probably tease him about it.

You smile and grab the stuffie. But right now, all you want to do is cuddle him.

“Val?” You say with a questionable tone.

“Hm?” He says tiredly.

“Can.. Can we cuddle, please?” You ask.

He smiles at that and says, “Such a silly question. Of course, sweetheart. Come here.”

You climb onto him, and nuzzle into his chest. You feel like his. His cum dripping out of your hole still, your mind completely full of him.

He wraps all his arms around you, holding you loosely.

“G’night, Val.” You whisper into his neck.

“Goodnight, my little love.” He responds.

674 notes · View notes

catopoliscat · 2 months

Text

next time / kento nanami/fem!reader.

who would have thought that kento nanami was a virgin? not you. not after this long. perhaps he was saving himself for someone. perhaps he was waiting for you.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab reader. penetrative sex. alcohol. dry humping. virgin!nanami. mutual pining. friends to lovers. creampie (wrap it kids). unprotected sex. touch-starved!nanami. canon!verse. you've known nanami since school. tinges of angst. nanami wanted you bad lmao. it's love babey. reader has experience. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever. wc: 7.7k. a/n: i kind of fear nanami's a little ooc here lmao, but i've spent too long on this so fuck it we ball he deserves this

also how mad would you be if i said this was set a week before shibuya arc be honest

mdni.

You’re a bottle and half of zinfandel deep when Nanami tells you.

Although you’re both a little warm, tipsy perhaps, you didn’t think either of you were quite drunk enough for this conversation just yet. It was a regular occurrence for the two of you to share a drink on a Friday, or a bottle in more pressing times.

There were more bottles than glasses, lately.

It was just two old friends, catching up. Talking. Complaining--usually about Satoru. Often you’d reminisce on easier times. Warm summers in the Jujutsu High courtyard, the cold tin of a soda in your hands, a bottle of water in his. Quiet talks of dreams and eventualities. Ignoring the gaping absence of a third at between you.

Tonight though, you’re not sure when the topic had changed. Somewhere between the last dregs of the first bottle and the beginning of the second, the conversation had grown more sombre than usual. Talk of love and relationships always seemed to make the air heavier around the two of you, for different reasons. A stark air of loneliness that not even the most tart of white wine could overpower.

You had offhandedly mentioned turning down one of the windows you had met on your last mission. He had been younger than you, still full of life where the holes in yourself had long since emptied it out. You had shaken your head, flattered, but tired. There were better options for a man like him, still full of hope and vitality, a whole life ahead of him… when you knew any day yours could be cut deftly short.

You had told yourself it had little to do with the fact that the man’s bright smile had reminded you of another, so many years ago.

In the quiet of Nanami’s living room, swirling the last drops of your wine in your glass, you had mentioned that you had no real desire for relationships anymore. Other than sex, of course, but only sexual. A temporary release, one of the few you had left. Nameless faces and hurried touches. Sometimes clinical, sometimes primal. Always quick, and never the same person twice.

You know?

To which Nanami had replied, “No.”

Misunderstanding the gravity of what he was saying, you had raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing at your lips. “Not one for one-night stands?”

It occurs to you distantly that you don’t know a lot about Nanami’s romantic life. Close as you two were, or so you liked to believe, he had never really mentioned it. And you had never asked.

Nanami had shook his head in response to your question, and you had nodded. It aligned with his character, you thought. As cold and stoic as he liked to act, you couldn’t imagine a world where he would use and discard someone. He felt too much, cared too much. He would love too much too, if given the chance. If he gave himself the chance.

In your musings, you had almost missed what he had murmured next.

“I’ve never had sex at all.”

Kento Nanami. A virgin.

The confession has your lips parting, your eyes blinking. Once, then twice, akin to an owl. You glance down at your wine glass for a moment, as if it had been the slightly smeared glass that had been speaking to you instead, and not the esteemed stoic sorcerer you had known for the better part of ten years.

You look over at Nanami on the couch, but he’s staring at the carpet, his expression contemplative, almost pensive. His brows are drawn taut, a small knit on his forehead. His lips are drawn into a thin line, a slight crease in his chin. There was a specific emotion dancing in his eyes. You almost dared to use the word vulnerable.

It seems… ridiculous. Nanami? Attractive as he was? Kind, considerate, hard-working, to a degree. A woman’s dream. In another life, perhaps your dream too.

Had it not been for Nanami’s serious demeanour, and the fact that ‘joke’ and ‘Nanami’ rarely went together in the same sentence, you might have thought he was pulling your leg. A joke between friends.

But he wasn’t. He very clearly wasn’t.

“That’s… fine,” you finally say after a small moment, fearing you had let the silence linger too long. “There’s no rush for these things.”

Nanami’s hum is short and clipped. Gruff, almost. He still refuses to meet your eye for now, and you make no move to change that. You get the distinct feeling that this newfound vulnerability doesn’t stem from him never having sex, but rather, the reason why he’s denied himself - because you know for a fact it has little to do with opportunity.

You had lost track of how many women you had watched Nanami turn down, clipped and short, yet always polite.

The silence is heavy between you. In the other room, you can hear the hum of his refrigerator, the buzz of the bulbs in the lights. Nanami’s apartment has always been quiet, but this silence feels suffocating. Paired with the wine, your head feels thick, your tongue thicker.

A few moments pass, and as the revelation of his virginity settles into your stomach like seltzer water, you realise… it makes sense. Nanami wasn’t the type to use someone for sex, even if eager. He’d only have sex with someone he was in love with. Someone he trusted at the very least.

And Nanami, as he had told you and a few others before, refused to entertain the thought of love whilst he was a sorcerer. No one with two working brain cells needed to ask why. He wasn’t alone in that choice, either.

You toy with the stem of your wineglass whilst you toy with a reoccurring thought in your mind, one that you entertained often, but had yet to voice aloud.

“You shouldn’t keep depriving yourself, Kento,” you say quietly. The use of his first name, rarely used in your adulthood, garners you a glance from him. It’s a small sign that you’re taking this seriously.

“I’m not deprived of anything.”

You scoff at that, small and quiet. “You deprive yourself of a lot, apart from pain,” you drawl, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table. Like always, the wine and Nanami’s masochistic tendencies have your tongue loosening more than it should. “I understand not wanting to have sex with anyone you’re not in a committed relationship with. It’s kind of… admirable, and definitely you.” You fold your arms across your chest, fixing him with a stare that he still refuses to meet head-on. “But why deny yourself the chance of love?”

In the back of your mind somewhere is a voice chanting ‘hypocrite’, but you ignore it. Nanami, however, does not.

He finally turns his head to face you, the lines underneath his eyes seemingly heavier in the dim light of his apartment. An eyebrow arches. “And meaningless sex is different?”

You scoff again, louder this time. “It’s not meaningless just because I don’t love my partner.”

“Or even know their name?”

You raise a sharp eyebrow, your own lips now pressing into a thin line. A part of you wants to retort, to snap, but you remember the vulnerability in his face from a few moments ago, and you just about hold your tongue.

With an exhale, you grab the half-empty wine bottle off of the coffee table instead and gesture for Nanami to hold out his glass. He does, and the glug of the wine fills the space between you.

“You ever thought about it?” You ask, filling up your own glass. In your peripheral, you see him sit quietly for a moment before he nods his head.

“I’m only human.”

You hum. “You should experience it,” you add. You swirl the wine in your glass once before bringing it up to your lips. “Even once. Even if it means nothing.”

With one glance, you can tell immediately that the idea doesn’t sit right with him. It was easy to forget sometimes how rigid and traditional he could be. Formalities that few seemed to care about these days. Always on the things you least expected.

“I couldn’t,” Nanami replies, shaking his head.

Oddly, you feel the desire to insist. Days of a sorcerer were short, and getting shorter every year. Younger than yourself and Nanami had already died long before they would ever have the opportunity to touch another, kiss another; to feel the warmth of a body against your own. They would never know what that distinct pleasure was like, even if they desperately wanted to. Time was infinite to the young, until it wasn’t.

It occurs to you quickly that you’re thinking of Haibara, and everything you and Nanami had experienced that he never would.

Something must show in your expression because Nanami raises an eyebrow at you. You swallow, before setting your glass back down on the coffee table with a dull clink. You look at him, your face surprisingly collected and casual for what you’re about to ask.

“What about me?”

Nanami’s questioning look only deepens for a moment, before something passes by his eyes. His lips part, his version of a falter. You know he knows what you’re implying, but still, he asks, “…what about you?”

“What if we had sex?” You say without hesitation. “You know me. You trust me.”

Nanami falters further. He straightens in his seat, his glass resting on his thigh, the thick muscle straining against his slacks. His whole body is thick with a tension you usually only see before a fight with a particularly highly graded curse. A vein protrudes from his neck.

His eyes flick between your face and your own glass, clearly wondering if it is time to call this night done, but you rise from your seat before he can, taking a small step toward the couch he’s sitting on.

You sit down next to him, a little closer than you usually might. He doesn’t move away. Your thigh brushes against his, and this close, you can hear his breath hitch in response.

“I’m not going to push this any further, Kento,” you say quietly, “but I’m letting you know it’s an option.”

Although you and Kento were hardly affectionate with one another like most friends, you decided to take a chance tonight. You had already taken several, what was one more?

Reaching out, you take his glass from his hand and set it next to yours on the coffee table. Hesitating only a moment, you place your hand on top of his, your fingers curling around until your fingertips touch his palm.

His hand is stiff and warm underneath your own. The bones and knuckles press against your skin.

Something in the back of your mind is wondering why you’re pushing this at all. Would it matter if Nanami died without experiencing the pleasures of the body, really? Would the world stop turning for either of you? You know if Nanami really wanted to, if he felt the want, the desire - then he could leave this apartment right now and find someone willing, someone other than you. He could have done so years ago, during those few years he had masqueraded as a normal human being with a nine-to-five.

You were risking a friendship over… what? The implied hopes and dreams of a dead fifteen-year-old? Haibara was dead. It didn’t matter to him whether Nanami experienced the things he never could.

Nanami’s gaze flickers between your eyes for a moment, and this close, you can see the faint traces of the wine staining his lips. Your gaze must linger for a touch too long because his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. The pink skin glistens with the faint glimmer of his saliva.

When you look up, you see his eyes trained on your own lips, before they quickly flick back up to meet your eyes.

“We’re friends,” he murmurs, his voice low, slightly thick.

“And we always will be,” you reply.

He glances down at your hands. Somewhere between your own thoughts and Nanami’s reiteration of your friendship, your hands had interlocked, fingers intertwined like vines. He was gripping your hand a little too tightly to be comfortable, but you didn’t flinch.

You’re not sure whether it had been your subconscious doing, or his.

“I… can’t,” Nanami mutters finally, closing his eyes for a moment. “Not like this. Not… now.”

Something clenches in your heart at his rejection, although you had expected it. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s denying you, or himself.

You smile softly nonetheless and nod. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me,” you say quietly, going to pull your hand from his grip and give him some space.

Only he doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly.

Your eyes flick between his hand and his eyes, still trained on your face. You raise an eyebrow, your lips parting to speak, but he beats you to it.

“But I’d like to kiss you.”

Something resembling a very quiet ‘uh’ pushes past your lips in a long exhale.

You’re not sure why the idea of kissing him felt more… intimate than the fact that you had offered your body to him only seconds prior. You’re not sure why there’s a prickle of heat at the back of your neck or your lips burn with a sudden need.

“Nanam-“

As if remembering himself, he shakes his head slightly, blinking away whatever stupor had just possessed him. He looks away, his grip on your hand loosening, but not quite pulling away.

“I… don’t know why I said that,” he mumbles. “You should go-“

Your free hand is already gripping his chin, turning his face toward yours a little too sharply. A subtle grunt leaves his throat as he looks at you, his gaze foggier than usual. From the wine, you, or the whole situation? Who knows.

Fingers against his neck, feeling the quickened thrum of his pulse, your thumb brushes against his chin, pulling the skin until his lips naturally part. You feel Nanami’s shaky exhale against your lips as you lean forward, warmth breath mingling with yours, the scent of wine heavy on the air.

You close the distance slowly, giving him time to stop this, to pull or push away. To draw an end to this nonsense before it went any further.

Instead of pulling back or pushing you away, he closes the gap so quickly your noses almost bump together.

The first press of his lips against you feels hurried and unsure. It’s off-center slightly, barely hitting the corner of your mouth, but Nanami is quick to correct it. He slots his lips against yours more firmly the second time, his lips parting to capture yours fully. You feel a rush of air against your cheek as he exhales through his nose.

The kiss is unhurried, curious almost, yet there’s a subtle urgency in it that surprises you. Your free hand moves from his chin to his jaw, fingertips softly caressing the sharp curve of it. The sound and feel of his sigh against your lips makes you shiver, and you become enamoured with it.

Enamoured with him.

You part your lips further, your tongue swiping against his bottom lip, finally tasting the remnants of the wine that you had spotted earlier. An odd sound builds at the back of his throat before his mouth parts too, his tongue brushing against yours.

Something changes quickly then. His hand, larger than you ever really noticed, cups the back of your neck, his calloused thumb pressing against your jaw, drawing you closer. Your other hands, still intertwined, seem to tighten around one another like a snake's coils. The wet smacks of your lips grow louder in the quiet of his apartment, just about overriding the sound of increasingly ragged breaths, borderline panting.

Your head feels thick. Dizzy. The kiss is indulgent, almost sloppy now. Nanami’s tongue is in your mouth, exploring every crevice, tasting you with an eagerness you hadn’t thought he was capable of. Every time you brush your tongue against his, your taste buds wetly sliding against his own, a small sound rumbles in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and grumble.

After a moment that feels like an eternity too short, you pull back slightly, just enough to see his eyes as you open yours. Nanami denies you this, however, because when you open your eyes, his are still closed, almost scrunched. A faint frown tugs at his brow.

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. The heat of his skin against yours feels searing, your noses softly brushing against one another’s. He sighs deeply, as if pulled from the back of his chest. It almost sounds like defeat.

“Kento-“

“I want you,” he breathes out, and your voice almost hitches as you feel rather than hear his voice. It’s a deep, husky sound, more rumble than syllable. But there’s a crack in his tone belying a raw vulnerability that you weren’t familiar with. Not from him.

His eyes finally open, looking up at you from underneath his brow. His hazel eyes are almost black, you realise, the familiar colour you’ve always admired swallowed up by a sea of coal. You wonder if yours are the same.

He’s trembling too. You can feel his fingertips shake where they press against the nape of your neck.

“I thought you didn’t want… this,” you murmur. ‘Sex’ suddenly feels too…

“I changed my mind,” he replies, a touch too quickly for you to believe that he was thinking clearly.

But God, did you want him too. You want him so fucking bad it almost makes you ache. Your feelings toward Nanami had always been friendly, respectful. He had been your closest friend, your ally, your confidant. You had been through so much together. You liked him, every part.

And somewhere along the way, between the four years apart as he pursued a different life and the first time you had hugged him when he finally returned, Gojo grinning over his shoulder… you think, that like had changed to love.

It quickly occurs to you that you weren’t pushing Nanami to experience sex for fear of him missing out. That was you. You were scared of missing out on him.

It’s that revelation that makes you pull back slightly, and Nanami’s eyes widen a little, some of the hazy fog clearing. His hand slides from the back of your neck, falling limply against the couch next to your thigh.

“I… I shouldn’t have put you in this position,” you mutter, glancing away, staring at the two wine glasses on the coffee table before looking back at him. “It’s your choice. Your first time should be on your terms, not because I think you’re missing out or depriving yourself.”

You go to remove your hand from his, but once again, his grip tightens, but there’s a tenderness to it this time. A gentle squeeze, almost begging you not to go. Not yet.

He looks serious now, staring at you squarely, as if about to deliver a mission report, and its the first familiar expression you’ve seen on his face thus far. He swallows thickly, the only thing belying his hesitation.

“I said I couldn’t have a one-night stand.”

You frown. “And th-“

“I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.”

Some of the breath flees your lungs as you look at him. His lips are still pink and slightly swollen from kissing, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the wine and your touch. You become distinctly aware of the scent of his cologne, faded but warm from his skin. It’s soft, smoky almost. You have the urge to bury his nose in the crook of his neck and breathe.

You know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to ask. You know what he wants because you want it too. You realise you’ve wanted it for a long damn time.

Words fail you. They feel… inadequate to describe what you’re feeling, what you desire, what you’ve always desired buried down underneath the guilt and trauma.

But you still can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. Not here. Not yet.

And neither can he.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, all you know is that your lips are pressed against his and he moans into your mouth as if something had finally let go. It’s like a cork had finally been released, a lifetime of pent-up feelings pouring out in one gush.

His hand is back at the nape of your neck, holding you tightly this time, unwilling to let go. His lips part more readily with every press, his tongue seeking yours with a pinpoint determination. You skip his jaw this time altogether, aiming straight for his hair that you’ve been dying to touch since… you don’t know when.

The hand that had been holding yours hostage finally releases, only so his fingers can brush against your waist. His fingers brush against your ribs through your clothes, tugging you closer until you’re rising up onto your knees on the couch just to oblige. He’s tilting back, his broad shoulders bumping against the couch cushions behind him - and it’s only distantly you register it’s because you’re pushing him back against it.

Something shouts at you in the back of your mind to take your time, to savour this, to savour him. You may want each other badly, but this is Nanami’s first time. It should be done carefully, respectfully, the way he would treat you if this position had been reversed.

But then Nanami’s hand has moved from your waist to your thigh, blindly grabbing it as he pulls it over his lap. Before you know it, you’re straddling his hips with a huff against his lips, and something like a sharp, pained groan leaves his lips.

You pull away from his lips with a ragged breath, concern knitting your brow until you realise what the cause of his groan was.

Straddling him, you can feel the pulse of his desire underneath you, the hard ridge of the bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core through your own clothes. One hand is grabbing your hip tightly, almost too tight, as his forehead rests against your shoulder. The other hand is on your thigh, his thumb digging into the plush flesh there.

His breathing is ragged, extremely so. Hot puffs fall against your skin. You weave your fingers through his hair softly, and you watch with reverence as a strong shudder rolls down his spine in response.

“We can stop, if you’d like,” you murmur against his ear, going to rise up on your knees to give him a little breathing room.

“Don’t,” he grunts, the grip on your hip and thigh quickly stopping you. He exhales again, a shaky sound as he keeps his forehead stamped against your shoulder. His voice emerges again, barely audible, slightly pained. “...I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your grip in his hair tightens in response. In a flood, memories of him rush through your mind. A thousand different glances, subtle touches, small clues. Even in school, the way he would linger, a touch closer every time Suguru or Satoru would appear. The hand at the bottom of your back in a restaurant. The way he would lean in to hear you in a crowded place.

The way his arms had tightened around you when he had returned after four years away. I missed you too, almost inaudible against your ear.

Nanami didn’t want a one-night stand. What was the point of sex at all, if it wasn’t with you?

The thought has you rolling your hips down against his before you can stop yourself, feeling the firm length of his cock grind against your core. A moan leaves your lips, and something guttural leaves his.

The hand on your thigh moves up to your other hip, pulling you down tighter against him as if he could slide inside you right now. “Don’t tease,” he hisses between clenched teeth. He turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against your neck. He leaves a searing, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point. “Not now, not after this long.”

“You think you’re the only one who waited?” You pant as you grind again, firmer this time. His hips buck against yours in response, a muffled groan leaving his lips, imprinted against your neck. You can feel his cock throb against you, twitching against the fabric that separates you.

“…you wanted this too?” He breathes out after a moment.

You nod, though you doubt he can see it from the way his face is buried against the crook of your neck. “Since you came back. Since you hugged me back and said you missed me.”

His hands move from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear for a single slither of space to be left between you two. His hips jut up against you once again, a ragged breath leaving his lips. It seems the idea of you wanting him for so long the same as he had the same effect on him as it had on you. If not more.

He holds you a little tighter, running the sharp point of his nose along your throat as he tilts his head up. Finally, finally, he breaks free of your neck to look up at you, lips parted, eyes almost desperate.

With a thick swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, he goes to say something but falters, and murmurs your name instead. His dark eyes flick between your eyes and your lips. His cock twitches underneath you.

“Please,” is all he can croak out, and the moan that almost leaves your lips would have been primal.

You nod your head, giving his shoulders a small squeeze, pushing him back slightly. He seems reluctant to let go, but finally relents after a little insistence, reclining back against the couch. His arms unwind and his hands drop to your hips. He looks up at you, clearly waiting for your lead.

You sit back slightly on his parted thighs, the muscles firm and supportive underneath you. Letting your hands fall from his shoulders, you drag your fingertips slowly down over the expanse of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his wrinkled shirt. As your fingers skate over his abdomen, you feel the muscles flex and roll. Nanami looks at you readily.

“We should do this properly,” you murmur, your eyes trained on the lower buttons of his shirt, near the waistband of his slacks. “In a bed.”

Nanami, to your surprise, shakes his head quickly, giving your hips a small squeeze. “We’ve waited long enough.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t disagree. Despite the need, the ache, the pulse of your own core, you can’t help but think of if the positions were reversed. The image of candles, roses and soft music fills your mind, Nanami’s guiding hands and murmured praises. It would be slow and romantic. Perfect.

“Nanami,” you breathe out, almost chastising. With the way his cock is pressing against you, you have no doubt he’s not thinking clearly right now; the thought of having what he had wanted for so long within his grasp clouding rational thought.

He shakes his head again, a lock of his mussed hair tickling his brow. “Next time.” He shifts, sliding down the couch a little more and spreading his thighs - and in turn, spreading yours. He grips your hips tighter, pulling you a little closer until you’re seated right on top of him. “Next time,” he repeats in a groan. “We’ll go slow. I’ll explore every inch of you, taste you. Now, I just want…” He exhales an unsteady breath, sounding like your name. “I just want you.”

Your fingers linger near his shirt's lower button, and one of Nanami’s hands unclasps itself from your hip to gently grasp your wrist. He guides your fingertips to the belt buckle, the metal cool against your hot fingers.

You meet his eyes once more, and his gaze is a paradox of firmness and vulnerability. He’s nervous, you think, but ready. Almost desperately so.

Without another word, your other hand reaches down to join your other one, and your fingers are surprisingly deft as you slide the leather through the metal. Nanami watches your hands with rapt attention until the belt is loose. Your fingers slide over the metal button of his slacks, and you don’t check in this time. You pop it open before sliding his zipper down, the crackle of the metal teeth as loud as a gunshot between you.

A small sigh of what you think is relief leaves his lips as the fabric parts, giving you a small glimpse of the dark boxers underneath, straining over his cock. A small wet patch blooms at the top, wear his tip would be, and a shudder runs through you.

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his underwear, lingering for a moment. You look up at him at the same time he looks up at you. Without a sound, Nanami lifts his hips and you rise up to your knees.

With a few firm tugs, you manage to inch his slacks and boxers down enough to free him. A small huff leaves his lips as the cooler air of the apartment hits his overheated flesh, and you watch in rapt attention as his cock twitches, the flushed tip glistening already.

It’s longer than you expected. Thicker too. Uncut. A prominent vein runs up the underside of it, and you have the sudden urge to follow it with your finger, or your tongue.

Nanami shifts underneath you, and you realise you’ve been staring a touch too long.

You pull your eyes away from his cock to meet his eyes, and his breathing seemed to have quickened. Anticipation is making him stiff, almost antsy, a rare sight on a man you’ve rarely ever seen anything of other than composed.

It’s endearing.

Reaching down, you satisfy your own urge and run your fingertip up his shaft, following the vein, feeling it pulse steadily to the rhythm of his heart. Nanami’s hips twitch, his eyelids fluttering. Dark eyelashes tickle his cheeks.

When you curl your fingers around him, gripping him firmly at the base, his eyes shoot open, snapping to the sight of him in your palm. You give him one pull upwards, and a bead of pre-cum wells in the divot of his slit.

“Fuck,” comes out in a very quiet, gruff choke. Your eyebrows rise in surprise, a small smile on your lips. Nanami didn’t always curse, and especially not like that.

“Language, Nanami,” you tease, and his eyes flick up to you, something indignant and impatient in his eyes. You usually weren’t one to tease, and he wasn’t one to be teased.

You continue to stroke him slowly for a moment, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive tip. You fingers quickly become tacky, the glide of your hand more fluid, until the lewd wet noise starts to rise to the same level as Nanami’s breathing. He grunts with every upward stroke, his hips twitching underneath you. Had it not been for your weight on top of him, you get the distinct feeling he’d be bucking up into your palm a little more eagerly. His head falls back against the couch, lips parted, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he relaxes more into the sensation.

It occurs to you that you’ve seldom seen Nanami this relaxed.

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” you ask, “with me on top?”

He nods but doesn’t open his eyes. His hands run up from your hips to your waist, a soft caress. “It’ll be… easier for me- hah-“ Another choked groan leaves his lips as you give the head of his cock a small squeeze, and Nanami’s hand flies to your wrist in a blink, stopping you from making another move.

You feel his cock throbbing in your grasp, and Nanami’s straight-up panting now, his eyes slightly wild as he tilts his head up to look at you. It’s an arousing reality to know that you had just pushed Nanami dangerously close to the edge without even meaning to.

“I won’t last,” he murmurs, looking up at you, his eyes shining.

You realise quickly that he’s actually asking a question. Are you sure?

“This time,” you reply with a small smile. With his hand still around your wrist, you give his cock another squeeze, and he grits his teeth, that vein in his neck protruding once more. You can see the taut muscles in his abdomen flexing from where his shirt has bunched up.

As much as the idea of making Nanami cum, right here, right now, appeals to you, you relent for now. You’d love nothing more than to watch him spill into your palm, to see the euphoria and bliss play out on his face… but that was for another time. The next time, perhaps.

You release his cock, letting it fall back against his lower stomach with a dull smack, making him hiss through his teeth. Leaning forward, you brush your lips against his throat, nipping at the skin softly.

You guide his hands to the waistband of your own bottoms, and he wastes little time in following your unspoken order. The press of your lips against his throat clearly distracts him, but he manages to pull down your clothes enough to leave you in your underwear. You kick them off the sofa haphazardly, not leaving his neck for a single moment.

He catches you off guard when his hand immediately dives for your sex, cupping your heat through the dampened fabric. You stutter against his neck, gripping onto his shoulders for support in response.

Your eyelids close, goosebumps erupting across your skin as you feel just how wet you are. “Nanami,” you gasp.

“Kento,” he whispers quickly. Once, then twice, he rubs his palm along your clothed pussy, something guttural building in the back of his throat as you buck down into his touch. “You’re… so wet.”

The wet spot on the fabric clings tightly to your folds, doing very little to dampen the sensation of his touch. His fingers are exploratory, a tentativeness that belies his lack of experience with this, but his touch, the fact it’s him, here and now, makes up for it all.

You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed a touch such as this. Not like this.

Despite toying with Nanami’s cock until he almost burst, hypocritical impatience gets the better of you, and you remove your hand from his shoulders to tug down your own underwear, kicking it off to join the growing pile on the floor. Bare from the waist down, Nanami’s eyes roam over the exposed skin almost hungrily.

Both calloused hands run up your thighs, pressing into the soft flesh slightly. You see his hand move for your pussy once more, but your fingers are curling back around his cock again before he can distract you.

Next time, keep parroting in your mind. Next time you can both endure hours of foreplay; touching, kissing, tasting, the whole nine yards. You promise to make him cry out before he even sinks inside you, to run your tongue along every inch of his skin until you’re sick of the taste of him. You’d know he’d do the same.

But you two had waited long enough.

Gripping the base of his cock again, you brush it up against your heat, your own slick smearing across him. Nanami’s eyes almost roll back into his head, but he closes his lids before you witness it. You’re faring little better, the mere sensation of having him against you like this, the tip of his cock rubbing up against your clit sending you dizzy. You angle your hips, and just feeling the thick head press against the tight, slick ring of muscle is enough for a moan to already tumble past your lips.

Something flickers in Nanami’s gaze as he opens his eyes again, honing in on the sight of you braced above him like this. He grips your hips, his touch light, merely supporting you for now. You look back once into his eyes, and go to check in just once more, but he leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s little more than teeth and raw need.

His lips pressed against yours, you sink down, the wider head of his cock slipping inside you. Your lips part in a soundless gasp against his mouth, swallowing the ragged groan that leaves his throat. The stretch is slightly more than you’re prepared for. Distantly, you think, skipping foreplay wasn’t the wisest idea, but desperation, need, pushes you forward regardless.

So you sink down further, inch by inch, and as he slides deeper and deeper, his grip on your hips grows tighter and tighter, until the force of his fingers dulls the ache of his cock kissing your cervix.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as you finally bottom out, hips sitting on top of his. You realise you’re breathless, and that cowgirl might not have been the best position for taking someone of his size. Certainly not in one go, like you just had.

Nanami is fairing no better. His mouth is agape, his biceps trembling where he clings to you. He seems dazed, winded, panting into your mouth as his arms wind against you. He pulls you forward, and you both moan as his cock seems to slide just that little bit deeper.

You’re dizzy, strained, stretched out far more than you can ever remember being before. Your eyes are scrunched closed, your forehead knocking against his. Everything feels distant and muffled. It takes you a moment to realise Nanami’s muttering something repeatedly in fragmented gasps.

When you open your eyes, he’s looking at you almost panicked, his eyebrows knitted upward. His teeth are bared, gritted - and it’s now you notice that you’re clenching around him so tight that you’re not sure if you’re causing him more discomfort than pleasure.

You swallow thickly, trying to catch your breath. You’re flushed, prickly heat blooming across your chest and neck. You shift a little, and something pained rumbles from the back of Nanami’s chest in response.

“Do you want me to stop or-“

“Don’t,” he grunts, his fingers shaking against your back. “Don’t move.”

The throb of his cock inside you is insistent, and it takes everything in you not to clench tighter around him in response. You know he’s close, dangerously close, and as much as you want to rise up on your knees and slam yourself down on his cock until he’s begging you to stop, you clench your jaw and relax.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, kissing his skin softly; small pecks and affectionate touches. He shivers, and his cock still pulses, but slowly, muscle by muscle, he relaxes too, ragged pants dissolving into hot, muted breaths. His arms around you loosen, holding now, not gripping.

“Tell me when you want me to move,” you whisper against his ear, pressing a small kiss to the lobe.

He nods, brushing his cheek against yours with a soft sigh. His hand moves from your back upward, until he cups the back of your head, drawing your lips back to his. It’s a soft kiss, loving; slow and sensual slides of wet skin mingling with gentle exhales. Before you know it, and before he says, you’re rolling your hips greedily, just grinding against him for now.

A guttural sound leaves his lips. His forehead feels hot and sticky pressed against yours like this, a strand of his hair tickling your cheek.

You feel his thighs shift, widening as far as the slacks still around his thighs can allow, feet planted more firmly into the carpet. The first roll of his hips is disjointed, off rhythm with your own, but the slight drag of his cock against your walls has you moaning brokenly. The second roll, a little more confident, has you pressing your hips down to meet it, and your back arches like a cat.

“Fuck yes,” you moan, your voice thick and throaty. You moan his name, wait for the third shallow thrust, and meet it. “You feel so fucking good.”

He looks up at you like you hung the stars, his eyes widening at the sound of his name tumbling past your lips like a fractured halo. He loses his rhythm, but you soon pick it back up for him, starting to use your thighs to slide more eagerly down his cock. It’s still shallow, Nanami’s arms around your waist preventing you from really going for it, but you’re unwilling to part from the closeness for now.

You bounce a few inches at a time, the dull clap of your hips and the lewd squelch of your hot cunt wrapped tight around him filling the air of the apartment. With each bounce, a grunt pushes out from his chest, hot breath fanning across your face.

Nanami, though inexperienced, starts to let his body guide him. His hips buck up to meet you more confidently, and the growing force of his movements has you keening, fingernails biting into his shoulders.

You look square into his hooded eyes, breath mingling, and see the flush across his skin, his lips glistening with saliva. You moan again, higher pitched this time, and Nanami’s next thrust has you jolting up a little, nose bumping against his. You clench around him again, and his brow knits together.

“S-Shit,” he pants, his hips starting to jolt more readily, pushing a little too forcefully into you, quickly losing his rhythm. “I’m not… I’m not going to last…” His movements quicken, grow more erratic, and you’re not even sure he realises. “… you’re so fucking… tight.”

The last part is little more than a throaty whisper, his voice cracking. You stop meeting his thrusts and instead, widen your stance, tighten your core, and let him take what he needs. The movement, though small, isn’t lost on him, and he looks up at you, emotion swimming heavily in his dark gaze.

He thrusts up grow more erratic, sloppier, something like a grunt leaving his mouth with every dull thwap of his hips against your ass. His arms tighten around you, fingertips pressing into your skin. A groan, a hiss, and a swallow. The couch creaks and strains.

“N-Next time - hah - next time… I want t-to feel you cum around me,” he pants, his arms starting to shake. “I’ll give you everything, anything, fuck, I-I’ll keep going until… until… God-“

He’s barely pulling out now, a mere inch is all he’s moving, the head of his cock bullying against the soft spot right next to your cervix. Choked, high-pitch moans are the only sounds you can make, and you distantly note you’ve never sounded like before. Not ever.

You’re getting there, you realise. Not quite close, and definitely not as close as him, but the way his cock fits inside you, the slap of his hips against you, the way he’s looking at you… it’s pushing you there fast.

But it’s not quite enough.

“I’m close,” he gasps. “I… where…”

“Inside,” you reply without hesitation. Something passes by his eyes, a small flicker of concern, perhaps, swimming in the sea of lust and arousal. You try to find your bearings enough to tell him it’s okay, you wouldn’t have taken him inside if you weren’t protected-

-but then his cock is twitching inside you, and Nanami is shaking, shaking underneath you, his thighs jolting, nearly bucking you off his lap altogether.

With one last slam of his hips against you, buried as deep as he could possibly ago, a long, primal groan leaves him. It’s deep, visceral, easily mistaken for something pained - and it might be the most divine fucking sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

He buries his face against your throat as his hips buck involuntarily a few times, and you shiver as you feel that familiar warmth bloom inside you. He’s giving you everything, or what feels like it. Your pussy flutters around him, and his fingertips press into you so tight you wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises.

His heart is hammering against your chest, the thump pounding even in your own chest. Ragged pants and a heavy quiet settles over the living room. His cock continues to twitch inside you, growing weaker with every thud of his heart.

Nanami doesn’t pull his head from your throat for a long while, his nose pressing into your skin as he pants against you.

After a moment, he finally swallows. “… I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I… I should have made you-“

“Shut up,” you murmur against his warm hair, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and his shampoo. He seems to get the picture, of what you were trying to say. He always did. “Next time,” you add anyway, just to be sure.

He lifts his head from your skin, looking up at you blearily. You smile fondly as you see his face again, the harsh lines on his brow and his eyes smoother now, no longer creased as they always seemed to be. He looks… so much younger, you think, like this. Relaxed. Sated.

You brush some of his sweaty hair out of his face, and his eyelids flutter at the brief contact. He seems exhausted, you think.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs as he looks up at you. “I don’t want this to…” His palm moves against your back, sliding down your spine. “I want you. Properly. I always have.” He swallows. “Always.”

Your eyes soften. He looks at you expectantly, almost vulnerably.

“You have me,” you murmur in reply, finally. “Properly.”

A small smile tugs at his lips, and it’s warmer than you’ve ever seen before. Genuine. Light. It’s as if a decade of weight lifts from his broad shoulders, if only briefly.

He pulls you close once more, his lips pressing against yours softly, lovingly, and the world seems to fade away.

For now, of course.

masterlist.

#nanami x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #kento nanami x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami #kento nanami

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