#like just nice and calm and gentle and pretty

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓈𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓏𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You, reluctantly cracking your eyes open to the soft hush of morning light—and oh, what’s this? The bed feels suspiciously warm, suspiciously full, and suspiciously… crowded. That’s right. You’ve somehow ended up entangled in a heap of limbs and sheets.

Waking up beside The TKATB Men + Special Guests ! ! An experience. A blessing. A mild threat to your sanity. And depending on who’s next to you, it’s either blissful, chaotic, or something bordering on criminally hot.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

What happens when you wake up in their space, tangled in sheets that weren’t this messy when you first fell asleep?

Well, dearest readers… let’s just say: things get interesting.

There’s only one way to find out.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

You woke up in a nest of luxury—wrapped in dark blue and black silk sheets so soft, it felt like you were swaddled in a secret. Crowe’s room was a humble kind of rich: tidy, calm, and impossibly comforting, like it had been curated not just for sleep, but for rest.

Real, soul-deep rest. It even smelled like him—clean, warm, with just a touch of something expensive and masculine. You had been cocooned in it for hours, and honestly?

You would’ve stayed there forever if you didn’t have plans.

You stirred first, careful not to wake him. Somehow, what was supposed to be a simple sleepover had turned into more than that—it started with you missing him, due to a few missed visits, and Crowe insisting, “Just stay.” Which turned into two nights. Then four. Then it was like his place learned your name and asked if you’d like to live there.

Not that he minded. In fact, he looked like a man who’d decided the rest of the world could wait.

Because Crowe was… honestly a problem. 

A beautiful, infuriating, gentleman-shaped problem.

He slept curled toward your side, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other draped loosely over the space you’d just vacated. His dark brown skin seemed to glow faintly under the filtered morning light, lashes thick against his cheeks. 

His hair used to be in that single braid—his signature—was undone, lay across his chest, the end brushing his collarbone, a few loose strands half-heartedly tucked behind one ear. You couldn’t help but stare for a moment. How could someone be so devastatingly handsome and pretty at the same time? 

His face was sculpted but gentle, his lips relaxed in sleep, his brows smooth. Peaceful. You could’ve sworn even the sheets clung to him like they were in love.

It was unfair, really. Life was unfair.

So you got up—very, very slowly—and slipped into one of his black button-ups, drowning a little in the size and warmth of it. It had an absurd number of white buttons, which was both a stylistic choice and mildly excessive, but somehow made you feel wrapped in something that belonged. Something safe. Something his.

And since you couldn’t cook to save your life, and the last thing you wanted was to ruin his cathedral of a kitchen or wake him up with the horror-movie soundtrack of your culinary attempts, you ordered breakfast instead. You even found a bed tray like this was some kind of love drama where you knew your role—and played it well. 

You made everything look nice. Thought about plating. Napkin placement. Symmetry. He always did everything for you, without question, even when you asked him not to. Even when you begged him not to.

So this? This was just you trying to do a fraction in return.

When you returned to the bedroom, food in hand, the room still wrapped in that cool blue quiet, Crowe hadn’t moved much. One eye peeked open, that deep, ocean-blue irises glinting in the half-light. Sleepy. Heavy-lidded. Disoriented.

Then he smiled. The slow kind. The lazy, heart-melting kind that made you want to crawl right back into bed and never leave again.

“…You look better in that shirt than I do,” he murmured, voice thick and low and absolutely criminal in the morning.

You smiled softly as Crowe blinked himself further into consciousness, watching you set the breakfast tray beside him like you were delivering divine offerings. The moment his eyes landed on the arrangement—folded napkin, fresh fruit, flaky pastries, and his favorite overpriced tea you absolutely Googled just to get it right—he looked… stunned.

“You did this?” he asked, voice still sandpaper and velvet, deep and wrecked from sleep.

You nodded, a little smug. “Well… technically, a very nice delivery guy did most of the heavy lifting, but I curated the whole thing.”

Crowe blinked. Slowly. “You curated me breakfast?”

“I did. Because you always do everything for me, and I figured it’s my turn to do the bare minimum.” You winked, setting down his tea.

His expression melted—confused awe shifting into that dangerously affectionate look that made your knees go soft. He stared like you just offered him your soul in a silk box. “I can’t believe you actually— You woke up before me to do this?”

“I’m capable of effort, you know.”

“And crimes of fashion,” he added, eyes trailing down to his own shirt swallowing your frame. “That shirt has… twenty-three buttons.”

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned, tugging at the collar. “I almost died getting it on. Who needs that many buttons, Crowe? Are you afraid of the wind?”

He laughed—low, rich, entirely too hot for someone who hadn’t brushed their teeth yet. “It’s called style. And drama. You should try it.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready anyway? I mean, the student council must be foaming at the mouth without you.”

That was your first mistake.

His smile dropped the second the words left your mouth—like you just told him he had to do taxes and smile about it. He let out the most soul-weary groan imaginable, dragging a hand down his face with enough dramatics to win an award.

“Ugh. Don’t say that cursed phrase to me this early.”

“What, student council?” you teased.

He hissed like it physically injured him, eyes narrowing in theatrical betrayal. Before you could smirk again, he struck—swiftly curling his fingers around your wrist and tugging you back toward the bed like you weighed nothing. 

You let out a breathless little yelp as your balance tipped, and the next thing you knew, you were back in his arms, warm and tangled in those black silk sheets, wrapped up like you were the prize he refused to share with the world. His arms slid around your waist possessively, his head dropping against your torso like a man done. His braid tickled your side as he let out a sigh so content it melted straight into your ribs.

“Jericho,” you warned, tone flat, one brow raising as you carded your fingers through the dark strands falling over his cheek.

“Mmm?” he hummed against your skin, lips grazing the fabric of his shirt you were still drowning in.

You tensed slightly. “Don’t start.”

He didn’t answer—not in words. Just started peppering lazy, sleep-warm kisses across the curve of your waist. You froze, heart stumbling as his lips followed the line of your body with a tenderness that felt almost unfair.

"Jericho," you repeated, firmer this time.

He tilted his head up, eyes smoldering now under thick lashes, amusement dancing in the corners. “You say my name so sweet,” he murmured, fingers skimming the hem of the shirt—his shirt—as if debating whether to behave. 

“…I wonder if you could say it louder later on…”

Spoiler: he chose violence.

He shifted above you in one slow, fluid motion, pressing you back against the mattress with deliberate weight. His hand slid to the first button just above your chest, popping it open with almost sinful patience.

You inhaled sharply.

“Jericho,” you said again, a final warning.

But he was already lowering his head, lips brushing the newly revealed skin. His voice was low, wicked, and soaked in heat as he murmured, “The student council can wait.” Another button undone. Another slow kiss just beneath your collarbone.

“I want to take my time eating my breakfast.”

You gawked. “Oh my god.”

He laughed, soft and smug against your skin, as if this was normal behavior. 

Oh no. Oh hell no.

You were lowkey terrified.

But your heart was sprinting, your brain was short-circuiting, and your willpower had officially filed a resignation letter. This was your life now—trapped under a six-foot dark-skin demigod with bedhead, deep blue eyes, and absolutely zero intention of letting you function like a normal person ever again.

Honestly? You could live with that.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The first thing you registered—beyond the dull ache in your limbs and the soft cling of dried paint on your skin—was the weight. A heavy, inescapable warmth curled around your waist like a stubborn human blanket. You cracked one eye open.

Sol. Of course.

You were in Sol’s studio apartment, which, to be fair, had the vibe of someone halfway between genius and sleep-deprived chaos gremlin. Art supplies everywhere—half-open tubes of paint, crumpled sketch paper, an untouched energy drink from God knows when, and several brushes floating in what was definitely not a cup meant for rinsing. 

The morning light filtered in through the blinds in thin, golden slices, cutting across the cluttered room like strips of stage lighting over a still life in chaos. This wasn’t a bedroom—it was a living canvas. 

And you? Forever his muse.

The dim amber lighting gave everything a cinematic, hazy warmth, as if the clutter was intentional. A curated mess. Still, not dirty, just… lived in. Passionate. Unhinged, but with taste.

And there, tangled in those thin, paint-streaked bedsheets like a man possessed by sleep, was Sol.

You were stuck.

Flat on your back, his head firmly planted against your stomach like it was his personal pillow. His arms looped around your waist like he feared gravity would snatch you away. He was out cold—breathing deep, his face nuzzled into your borrowed band tee—thankfully given post-session, because the entire front of you probably resembled a living art exhibit right now. One long leg had somehow hooked over yours, locking you in like this was a hostage situation of the softest kind.

You shifted a little—your body mildly regretting everything that had happened last night in the name of artistic inspiration—but the moment you twitched, Sol groaned and held on tighter.

This man was over six feet of ink-stained dream logic and stubbornness, and you? You were his chosen teddy bear. There was no escape.

Your eyes drifted down to him. His black mullet hair, dyed with those signature green streaks, had long since escaped the half-up, half-down look he'd started the night with. Now it framed his face in soft, messy thirds—two thick locks had fallen loose on either side, lazily shoved behind one pierced ear. The rest spilled across your stomach and the sheets like he was a man who fell out of an art magazine.

And speaking of the piercings… you couldn’t help but notice them now. Like, really notice.

The way the dim light hit the black hoops of his spider bites, even if the double lip rings were removed for sleep. His ears were an aesthetic chaos of their own: a stud in the left lobe, two upper lobe piercings, and two helix rings tucked neatly in the cartilage. 

The right ear? Similar story. 

There was even one long bar that ran through his lower helix—sleek and dark, like a blade. You couldn’t figure out how he slept like this and didn’t impale himself in his sleep, but apparently he had the power of art student immunity and vibe protection on his side.

Your fingers twitched with the urge to brush a strand of hair from his face, to gently trace the sharp edges of his jaw, to cup his cheek and maybe see if his eyes—those gorgeous, rare central heterochromia eyes with fiery orange centers and crimson red outer rings—would flutter open and look at you like you were still his muse.

But he just sighed in his sleep, nuzzling closer.

“Clingy bastard,” you whispered to the ceiling, half-laughing, half-swooning. Honestly, you needed a two-hour shower, a gallon of body scrub, and possibly a week-long nap… but the way Sol was wrapped around you like his life depended on it?

Yeah. You could lie here a little longer. Maybe forever. BUTTTTTT--

Was it bad that your fingers were already halfway through his hair before your brain caught up with your actions? Probably. But he was asleep. Dead to the world, soft and warm against your stomach, and so wrapped around you that even trying to shift felt like you were disrespecting fate. You’d try to justify it later. Right now? 

You just… couldn’t help yourself.

Sol’s ears had always intrigued you. Covered in piercings and framed by messy black and green hair like a walking daydream from a punk magazine. So you reached up—tentative at first, gentle. Fingertips brushing the edge of his left ear, tracing the cool metal of one of the upper lobe studs.

He didn’t stir.

You went further. Thumb gliding over the smooth hoop of his helix ring, letting your fingers ghost along the trail of metal like a collector counting treasure. His skin was warm. He had so many piercings up close—you could count at least four on this ear alone, and your curiosity was starting to spiral. You brushed the tips again, just a little firmer this time.

And that’s when it happened.

A low, breathy moan escaped him. Barely audible, more sigh than sound. His body twitched slightly, the arm around your waist flexing tighter.

You froze.

His eyes opened. Slowly. Glazed with sleep and only halfway focused. “…The hell are you doing?” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep, warm enough to punch the breath out of your lungs.

You blinked. “Bored.”

Sol stared, dumbfounded, eyes narrowed, looking at like ‘what the fuck does that mean.’ So, of course, you have to answer better. 

“Okay, I was admiring your ears,” you added innocently. “You never told me how many piercings you actually have. You’ve got, what, like four just on the right one?”

His gaze narrowed, but the blush creeping over his cheeks betrayed him. “Ten on my ears, added together. … Four on the right, like you said, and six on the left side.”

“And the two lip ones,” you nodded, counting on your fingers. “So that’s, like, twelve total?”

Sol’s face darkened. 

That silence? Suspicious. Guilty, even. You squinted at him. “…Wait. Are there more?”

Sol exhaled hard, turning his head into your stomach like he was trying to disappear. “Please, no more, let me go back to sleep,” he groaned, dragging your name out like a curse.

You lifted an eyebrow. “What other ones, Sol?”

“Nope,” he muttered, pressing his face against you like a cat burying itself in a blanket. “You don’t actually care. You’re just trying to see them for the novelty. You’re not really interested.”

You gasped theatrically. “Is that your way of guilt-tripping me out of bed?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled.

You pouted, sitting up halfway in protest—only for him to yank you right back down. His arms rewrapped around your waist with sudden, lazy strength, pinning you again like gravity had picked a side.

“Fine,” he grumbled, cheeks pink now as he stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. “I’ll show you. Just stop looking at me like you’re about to launch a full investigation.”

You smirked, victorious. “So you were hiding something.”

“I didn’t hide it,” he muttered. “You just never asked about the one in my—”

He stopped.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “There’s one I can’t see?”

Sol groaned. “I swear to god, if you tell anyone…”

“You’re doomed,” you said, voice full of glee, already imagining the ways to tease him about this for eternity. “Completely doomed.”

He sighed again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Sol sat up slowly, muscles stretching under skin as he peeled off his oversized shirt. You blinked—once, twice—as your eyes caught the flash of silver gleaming against the dusky brown of his skin.

Wait.

Your gaze dropped, and there they were. Piercings. On his chest. Twin silver bars glinting across each nipple like some chaotic blend of punk rock and divine provocation.

You gawked, shamelessly. “You—wait. You have nipple piercings?”

He blinked at you, confused. “Yeah?”

Your face twisted in disbelief. “I thought that was just a thing for the girls in the itty-bitty committee.”

Sol choked on a laugh, a hand flying to his face to cover the smirk he was absolutely failing to hide. His cheeks turned a bright, endearing red. “You’ve been staring for like… five minutes. Say something before I die of embarrassment.”

“I’m just processing,” you said, eyes still glued to his chest. “I mean, they’re kinda hot?”

He huffed, shifting slightly. “You ever gonna stop looking or…?”

“…Do they hurt if I touch them?” you asked, curiosity dragging you deeper.

He leaned back on his hands, chest exposed, a slow smirk curving his lips despite the flush still warming his ears. “They’re healed. Had them for a while now. Wanna try?”

Oh. That tone? Dangerous.

You bit your lip, but couldn’t resist the grin tugging at your mouth. Crawling into his lap, you straddled his thighs, feeling the way his fingers instinctively gripped your waist, grounding you. Your gaze lowered again, zeroing in. The silver bars were stark against his skin, cool and clean and… really unfairly attractive, honestly.

With delicate fingers, you traced one, rubbing gently over the piercing, watching how he tensed under your touch. Sol inhaled sharply, a breathy moan slipping past his lips. His hands tightened at your sides, grounding you both. “Shit,” he muttered, eyes fluttering, “Keep going…”

You blinked up at him. “Don’t you have an art project to finish?”

He cracked one eye open, lazily. “Screw the project. I’ve got plenty of time. I’d rather have my muse work on me.”

Your lips twitched. “So this was the plan all along, huh?”

Sol chuckled, voice deep and low. “I mean… you’re the one still in my lap, babe.”

Touché.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

You woke up slowly. Not the jolting kind of wake-up—more like drifting back to consciousness through layers of warmth and softness that feel too perfect to be real.

The first thing you notice is the sheets.

Heavy. Warm. Impossibly smooth. They cling to your skin like they’re trying to convince you not to move, like they were designed to trap people in comfort. There’s a certain weight to them, the kind that tells you money was involved. High-thread-count Egyptian cotton, probably imported and washed in glacier water by monks.

These sheets don’t just cover you—they embrace you. Soft in a dangerous way. Like, if you stay here long enough, you’ll forget how to function without them.

And the mattress?

Dear god, the mattress.

It doesn’t creak. It doesn’t shift. It doesn’t even breathe wrong. It’s firm in a way that doesn’t feel punishing—just supportive. Like it looked into your soul, saw your back problems and emotional baggage, and whispered, I got you. It’s the kind of bed you could melt into and reemerge reborn. A mattress so precisely engineered it feels like the Swiss invented it just for people who cry when their posture’s corrected.

You sink in deeper without meaning to, half-wrapped in a blanket so plush it might qualify as a sentient being. Your skin slides against the sheets like you’re being tucked in by silk-clad angels on a PR contract. And you’re not even touching the other person in bed. That’s how big this thing is. California King? Please. This is Empire Emperor Eldritch-level.

You’re not home, obviously.

You’re in Geo’s bed. Which is very much shocking for several reasons. Mainly, Geo doesn’t just let people into his personal space. And yet here you are. Sleeping where he sleeps. Wrapped in a level of comfort so extreme it might count as psychological warfare.

The air smells like him—clean, sharp, expensive. Subtle cologne that clings to the fabric, mixed with the faintest metallic tang you can’t quite place. It’s sterile, precise, with undertones of don’t touch anything unless you’ve washed your hands twice.

The room is dark. The blackout curtains do their job a little too well, sealing out even the most determined ray of sunlight. You can’t hear the city. No cars. No footsteps. No ambient life. Just… peace. Wealthy, suffocating peace. And beside you, the slow, even rhythm of breath.

Of course. Geo. The broody and moody prince.

You shift your head on the pillow—God, the pillow. It cradles your skull like it was made for royalty recovering from emotional damage. Just firm enough not to smother, just soft enough to ruin every pillow you’ll ever sleep on after this.

Your eyes adjust to the dark.

He’s there. Still asleep.

Geo—cold, composed, borderline terrifying—looks, for once, completely still. His dark violet hair is tousled from sleep, a few strands curled messily over his brow. The elegant sharpness of his face softened by exhaustion, his mouth barely parted. It’s the most unguarded you’ve ever seen him. Quiet. Warm. Human.

You blink slowly.

You probably shouldn’t be awake right now. But you are.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

Again, which is insane, really—because Geo is not the type of person you imagine waking up beside. He’s too rigid. Too calculated. The kind of guy who schedules sleep like it’s a corporate meeting and probably sets alarms just to meditate before sunrise. His life runs on structure. 

You’ve seen the calendar on his wall—color-coded, hour-blocked, terrifying. Morning routine? Practically ceremonial. Open the window exactly eight inches. Inhale the morning air like a monk. Ten minutes of yoga, fifteen of meditation, one precisely brewed cup of green tea that probably cost more than your monthly groceries.

And if it’s the weekend? He works out. Not because he has to, but because “idle time dulls the edge.” Direct quote. So yes, waking up here—in his bed, next to him—should be unsettling. And yet…

It’s not. It’s because throughout this whole week was a war zone.

And not what you’re thinking—dirty minded, yeah I know you… 

Hours of archery training. Real training. 

The kind that made his muscles shake and his temper flare. Every missed shot seemed to dig into him deeper than the last, like failure was a personal insult. You stayed, of course. Even when he told you to go home. You pushed when he got sloppy. Took his sharp-tongued jabs like armor and threw back dry corrections without flinching.

He hates help.

But he lets you help.

By the time you made it back to his place, Geo was moving like a man fresh out of war. Silent. Jaw clenched. Walking like each step personally offended him. You tried to throw yourself face-first into his marshmallow-soft, cashmere-draped bed like any emotionally and physically drained sidekick would—but no. Of course not.

He stopped you with a look. Not a word. Just one of those glares. The kind that could curdle milk and crack glass. Then—whap—a towel and one of his old t-shirts smacked you dead in the face with all the tenderness of a slap. “No one dirty gets near my bed,” he said, voice flat and absolute, colder than his stainless steel water bottle collection. “Not even you.”

You didn’t argue.

Valid. Because, let’s be honest—who in their right mind does sleep in someone’s bed with outside clothes on? Especially hisbed? Geo, with his monogrammed linen, his clinically-aligned throw pillows, his probably imported mattress that cost more than your rent. 

You knew better.

So you did the walk of slight shame to the guest bathroom and promptly began one of the most unnecessarily complicated shower experiences of your life.

His shower… that demon. It had buttons. Screens. A dial. A sensor that blinked at you like it was judging your socioeconomic status. You stood there, towel-wrapped and spiritually defeated, too scared to ask Geo for help. That would’ve been social suicide. 

He would never let you live it down.

You figured it out eventually, after what felt like a mild psychotic break. And once the water hit—oh. It was like being baptized in a billionaire’s tears. The soap lathered like whipped silk, the conditioner smelled like wealth and emotional detachment. You took your sweet, luxurious time. Because when was the next time you’d get to use his stuff? 

Answer: probably never.

Let’s just say—it was a long night.

And now?

Now it’s morning. The room is still dim, blackout curtains in full effect, the air slightly chilled and scented faintly of cedarwood, bergamot, and expensive quiet.

And there he is. Geo. 

Lying face-down like the universe finally shut him off. One arm flung under the pillow, the other barely peeking from the sheets like he’s trying to ghost himself from reality. The covers are tangled around his waist, his t-shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned back and sharp hipbone.

You have to physically stop yourself from committing a felony-level stare.

Because Geo? Geo looks wrecked. Not in the tragic way. No, no—this is the elite, cinematic kind of wrecked. His long hair, normally bluish purple and perfectly tamed in that ridiculous precision bowl cut with the low ponytail? Ruined. The tie’s gone. Abandoned. His dark violet strands are everywhere. Messy, soft, cascading across his cheek like he slept through a typhoon and somehow made it fashion.

His bangs are a whole saga. One strand is stuck to his lip. Another is fanned across his lashes. It's giving tragic anime rival post-defeat—and you're into it.

You really shouldn’t be staring.

But you are. Because his face? That face that usually looks like it's judging your existence from ten miles away? It’s… soft. Not just relaxed—vulnerable. The perpetual scowl has melted into something quieter. His lips, full and usually pressed into a thin, annoyed line, are parted just slightly. His brows are smooth. The flush on his cheeks—either from sleep, heat, or residual pride damage—is maddeningly pretty.

He looks human.

Tired. Real. Like someone who ran himself into the ground, then collapsed mid-step. The kind of person who fights even sleep itself—and lost.

You keep staring.

Because there’s something painfully beautiful about seeing him, of all people, undone like this. Like all the hard edges melted. Like the armor cracked just enough to remind you he’s made of the same soft, breakable stuff as everyone else.

Even if he’d never admit it. And honestly? You’re down catastrophic.

You can’t help it. You glance at the bedside clock.

He slept in. By at least an hour.

That alone is enough to make you check the temperature of the room and quietly consider if the world’s ending outside. Maybe today, the sun won’t rise on schedule. Maybe Geo—the unshakable, unsmiling, prideful archer—finally needed a break.

You shift slightly, careful not to disturb the sheets too much. He doesn’t stir. Just breathes. Slow. Deep. At peace, for once.

And you realize you kind of like him like this.

Not perfect. Not performing. Just… existing.

You barely shift when you feel the mattress dip—subtle, like a sigh. Geo stirs beside you, groaning low in his throat like sleep had dragged him through a war zone and then left him for dead.

He sits up slowly, like he’s made of bruises and bad decisions, one arm bracing himself as the sheets slide off his shoulder. His hair is a disaster—long dark violet strands sticking out in every direction, the once-neat ponytail now a halfhearted knot somewhere near the back of his neck. A few pieces fall over his eyes, catching on his lashes. You don’t even try to pretend you’re not staring.

Then—those eyes. That aquamarine stare, foggy with sleep but still stupidly sharp, cut toward you.

“…You’re still here,” he rasps, voice hoarse and broken with sleep. Deep. Rough. Way too attractive for someone who probably hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet.

Your brain short-circuits for a full second.

“I—uh. Yeah.” You mumbled before adding, “Please don’t kick me out.”

He blinks. Just once. A slow, heavy-lidded thing. Then exhales through his nose like he’s too tired to summon sarcasm. His hand drags back through his hair, fingers catching in the mess. “My hair’s a damn mess, isn’t it?”

You nod, lips twitching. “Yeah… A disaster.”

Geo groans, low and ruined, dragging the word out like it personally offended him. “Ahh… fuck.”

It’s not even vulgar—it’s hot, coated in that wrecked, gravelly morning voice that sounds like it was marinated in sleep and frustration. Before you can process it, he flops back down like gravity filed a restraining order on his spine, surrendering entirely to the mattress.

And then—God help you—he shifts closer. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. His forehead finds your chest with a quiet thud, like that was exactly where he’d been aiming all along. There’s no asking for permission. No hesitation. Just the weight of him pressing in, settling against you with that casual kind of intimacy that knocks the air straight out of your lungs.

One arm snakes around your waist—possessive, lazy, final. Like, yes. 

You are now Geo’s human pillow. Deal with it.

And wow. Okay. You’re dying. Imploding, really. Internally combusting in real-time. Because this is Geo—Mr. I-have-a-schedule-for-my-soul. Mr. Sharp-eyes-and-judgmental-silence. And he is clinging to you. Like you're the one thing in this entire cold, brutal, flawlessly coordinated world that makes it tolerable to wake up.

He smells like expensive sleep and subtle cologne, like silk sheets and quiet privilege. His long hair is a mess, strands falling in loose, chaotic waves across your stomach and neck, tickling where it shouldn’t and making it impossible to think straight. 

You can feel his breath—warm and slow—where his cheek rests against you, and then he murmurs, half-asleep and muffled against your shirt:

“Don’t make me get up yet…”

You go still. Not because you’re nervous, but because your heart is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Geo, broody and impossible Geo, who lectures you on discipline and acts allergic to emotions, is holding onto you like you’re the last safe thing on earth. Like if he lets go, the world might crack open beneath him.

“…oh, right, your dad’s still out there,” you murmur, gently carding your fingers through the mess of his hair.

“Exactly,” he mumbles. “Give it fifteen. He’ll go on his stupid morning walk soon.”

You don’t ask why he doesn’t want to face him just yet. You just stay there. Let him breathe. Let him press closer.

“After that, we can make breakfast,” you offer.

He grunts. That’s a yes. 

“Well, maybe… fix your hair first?”

Another grunt. Less enthusiastic. And somehow, you understand. He’s exhausted. Not just in body—but in that deeper way. The kind of tired that no amount of rest can fix. So you stay.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe too hard. You just let him cling. You smile into his scalp. And if your hand drifts into his tangled hair and you press your cheek to the top of his head?

Well. You’ll both pretend it didn’t happen.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Hyugo’s place was exactly what you’d expect from someone who was more myth than man—barely lived in, suspiciously neat, and filled with strangely curated clutter. 

The kind of space that screamed I don’t live here; I just crash here when I need to not die of sleep deprivation.

Still, you found yourself spending more time here than at your own place lately. Something about your apartment felt… off. Or maybe you were just bored of your own four walls. Whatever the reason, you’d wandered into Hyugo’s world, and now you were curled up in his suspiciously stiff bed, waiting for the elusive, night-haunting man to finally show up.

The bed was all sharp corners and no give—military-grade firmness. You were starting to suspect he chose it on purpose, like some kind of self-imposed punishment to never get too cozy. It didn’t exactly scream “a sweet guy lives here,” but then again, Hyugo was full of contradictions. 

One minute, he was offering you cake with sparkly berry drizzle like a Disney prince in combat boots, and the next he was vanishing into the shadows without so much as a text back.

His apartment, though? Absolutely fanboy-coded. 

Posters lined the walls—classic noir detective flicks, sci-fi anthems, and a few vintage anime movie prints. His console collection was stacked neatly beside the TV, surrounded by limited-edition controller sets and at least three different Detective Conan DVDs. 

And the kitchen? Not a single spice in sight, but enough sweets to give Willy Wonka a sugar rush: fruit tarts, cream-filled pastries, and what looked suspiciously like a shrine to strawberries.

You’d sprawled across the bed with a sigh, dressed in one of his oversized hoodies, You stayed up longer than you meant to, thumbing through the endless scroll of social media nonsense—videos, memes, fan theories, rabbit holes that led nowhere.

The screen glowed in the darkness of Hyugo’s bedroom like a little portal to a world that, somehow, still felt more distant than the man you were actually sharing space with. 

Or not sharing, technically.

The sheets were cold beside you. Unsurprising. It wasn’t like Hyugo was known for being reliably present. He’d always been more phantom than person, flickering in and out of your days like some enigmatic glitch in reality. A shadow in a hoodie with too many secrets and a goddamn stash of berry parfaits in his fridge.

Eventually, the fatigue set in—eyes stinging, thumb cramping, brain buzzing from too much brightness. With a defeated sigh, you tucked your phone beneath the pillow and flopped onto your side.

The bed still smelled like him—sharp citrus and clean cotton—but that was all you got. No arm to curl against. No soft snore, no sleepy mumble of your name. Just you and the stiff mattress in a room that felt a little too empty. 

So, you slept.

When morning came, it was rude.

The blinds—half-closed as always—let in just enough sun to paint golden bars across the room, slicing the air with warmth and unwelcome awareness. You groaned and shifted, pulling the blanket up, eyes still crusty from sleep and your hair a mess of pillow friction. You stretched, spine cracking satisfyingly, and rolled over—

Still no Hyugo.

A familiar little twist of disappointment lodged itself in your chest. Not surprising. Not unexpected. But it stung anyway. You had this dumb, fleeting hope—maybe, just maybe, he would’ve shown up in the dead of night, kicked off his shoes, and crawled into bed like some cheesy, fanfiction-level plot convenience. You even left a space open for him, like a fool. But no. Reality had other plans.

You sighed and sat up, hair sticking up at odd angles. You reached for your phone. And yet… something felt off. Off enough that when you swung your legs off the bed and looked around—

There he was.

On the damn floor.

Face down, one arm thrown dramatically to the side like he had spontaneously collapsed mid–Family Guy cutaway gag. His teal hair was a disaster, strands sticking out in every direction like the aftermath of a high-speed chase. 

His bangs were matted to his cheek, and that ridiculous long rat-tail he refused to cut had curled awkwardly near his collar. The coat was halfway down his arms, one boot still clinging stubbornly to his foot, the other nowhere in sight. A lazy trail of crumbs framed his body like some ridiculous pastry chalk outline.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Are you serious?”

No answer, of course. Just light snoring and the occasional mumble. You sighed—long, low, and entirely defeated.

How did you not hear him come in? And why the hell is he sleeping on the floor like some tragically aesthetic raccoon?

You slid off the bed with the grace of a cat who had not, in fact, gotten a full eight hours. Padding over in your sleepwear, you crouched beside the body of your once-and-future cryptid, brushing a few strands of teal hair away from his cheek.

“Hyugo,” you muttered, poking his shoulder. No response.

You poked again, this time his cheek. He groaned, rolled onto his back with a sound like a dying alien, and blinked up at you, crimson eyes bleary and unfocused.

“…Bed’s too firm,” he slurred, voice hoarse with sleep.

You gave him a look. “You sleep on rooftops. You once fell asleep in a shopping cart.”

He yawned, the corners of his lips twitching. “And?”

Oh, he’s sassy too now? 

You swallowed the lump that rose uninvited. “You’re a menace.”

Before you could get up, his hand reached out—half-conscious but terrifyingly strong—and yanked you down. Not into a hug, no. Into a full-blown, koala-grip straddle. You found yourself awkwardly seated on his stomach, balancing as his arms locked tight around your waist.

“Mmph. Warm now,” he muttered against your shirt.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m tired,” he whispered. “You’re here. Floor’s fine.”

You just sighed, brushing your fingers gently through his hair, teasing that thick center bang back from his brow. The way his features softened in sleep made him look younger, more open, like the walls he so carefully maintained had been knocked down by pure exhaustion.

“…I didn’t think you were still here,” came that familiar soft voice.

You didn’t even open your eyes, only tilted your head toward the sound. “You didn’t think I’d vanish before breakfast, did you?”

A lazy chuckle vibrated against your chest. He’d shifted to lie beside you now, fully dressed—still somehow dignified in his disheveled chaos. One arm rested behind his head. The other hovered, hesitating like it wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

Typical Hyugo. Always almost.

But then he frowned, brows pinching like something troubled him. “Actually…” he muttered, “I did try to sleep in the bed with you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked sheepish. “You were kind of… dead center. I tried to move you over.”

“And?”

His ears turned pink. “You—uh. You woke up. Glared at me like I insulted your ancestors. Then told me to ‘get the fuck away’ and shoved a pillow in my face.”

You stared. “I… don’t remember that.”

“I know,” he muttered. “You were half-asleep. It was kind of impressive.”

Silence hung between you.

And then you sighed—deep, guilty. “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean it. I was just tired. And… maybe a little annoyed.”

He tilted his head. “Annoyed?”

You hesitated, then looked away. “I… guess I felt lonely. I stayed here thinking I’d have your attention, but you weren’t here. It just felt... off.”

Hyugo didn’t say anything right away, and for a breathless second, you thought maybe he’d dozed off again—curled around you like a worn hoodie someone refused to throw away. But then, as if a switch had flipped inside him, his arms tightened, drawing you in without hesitation, without permission, just need.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, and suddenly there were kisses. Rapid, butterfly-soft, peppered along your jawline, cheek, temple. The kind of affection that tried to say what words failed to.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice muffled against your skin, lips barely pulling away long enough to form the words. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

You tensed slightly, caught off guard by how earnest it sounded.

“It’s fine—” you began, brushing your fingers through the loose strands of his shaggy teal hair.

“Nope. No, it’s not,” he cut you off, gently but firmly. “I’m making it up to you.”

Another kiss. This one slower. Near the corner of your mouth. His voice softened further, but it still held that edge of stubbornness he always wielded when it came to you.

“I’m not leaving. Not unless you need me to.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The silence between you didn’t feel cold anymore—it was warm now, intimate. Like the world had slowed down just to give the two of you a moment.

“I don’t,” you said quietly, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. “Not this time.”

He smiled at that. That rare, almost bashful smile he only ever gave when he wasn’t sure he deserved the closeness, but was grateful for it anyway. He pulled you even tighter, curling into you like a cat that had finally found a sunbeam.

For a moment, you forgot about the crumbs, the stiff floor, the missing boot, and the strange liminal haze of early morning. You could’ve stayed like that forever. Or at least until his stomach inevitably growled loud enough to ruin the mood.

You tilted your head back and peeked at him through half-lidded eyes. His hair was disheveled from wind and sleep, strands catching the low, golden sunlight that leaked through the blinds. 

There was a smudge of city grit near his jawline—evidence of wherever he’d been that night—and a thin white bandage wrapped around his knuckles. A faint, purpling bruise bloomed under one cheekbone like the start of a storm cloud.

“You look like hell,” you muttered, voice filled with dry affection.

He cracked a smirk, still not lifting his head. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“I’m serious. When do you even sleep?”

He finally glanced up, red eyes finding yours. For a split second, something flickered in them. Not amusement. Not sarcasm. Something… hollow and fragile. Then it was gone.

“When you’re here,” he said, barely audible.

And you stilled.

Those words—“When you’re here”—weren’t dressed up in charm or wit. There was no playful gleam in his eye, no sly curl of his lips. Just truth. Quiet, raw, and heavy in a way that settled beneath your skin like something aching. Something long-held and quietly desperate.

Your breath caught for a moment. Your eyes dropped to his cheek again—the faint bruise blooming beneath delicate skin, soft and plum-dark. A smear of exhaustion clung to his features like a second skin, making his usually youthful face look just a touch older, worn from whatever invisible war he fought before coming home.

“…What happened last night?” you asked, voice hushed, as though saying it too loud might break the moment.

He shifted slightly beneath you, the shrug subtle but unmistakably dismissive. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You didn’t believe him. Not really. That wasn’t an answer—it was a deflection. You could’ve pressed him. Demanded to know who laid hands on him, why he looked like someone had dragged him through a back alley, why there was blood dried into the folds of his sleeve. But the truth lingered in the stillness between your bodies—he needed the silence more than he needed the interrogation.

So instead, you offered warmth.

You reached down, fingers brushing against the rough gauze wrapped around his knuckles, then laced your hand gently with his. His hand was cold, slightly stiff, but it curled around yours instinctively, like it was second nature. Like holding onto you was the one thing he didn’t have to think twice about.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice slow and dry, “for someone who says the bed’s too firm… you’ve really committed to the floor like it’s a luxury spa.”

A lazy chuckle ghosted past your neck, warm breath brushing your skin. “Only ‘cause you’re in it.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see it.

 “You’re such a little shit.”

“I missed you too,” he said simply, almost too quietly.

Then his arms tightened again, drawing you in with the kind of strength that didn’t bruise but didn’t allow escape either. He buried his face back into your shoulder like it was the only place in the world where his guard didn’t need to exist.

You let him.

Not because he asked. Not because you felt obligated. But because, in that strange moment—curled up on a carpet sprinkled with pastry crumbs, light spilling in from the slats of cheap blinds, the city beyond his windows still half-asleep—there was nowhere else you’d rather be. His heartbeat was slow under your palm, a steady thrum of life and tension and something unspoken.

And maybe you weren’t the kind to play house or cling to romantic daydreams. Maybe cuddling on the floor wasn’t your usual script.

But with Hyugo?

With Hyugo, it fit—this messy, half-awake intimacy laced with sugar dust and unsaid things. He sighed, body relaxing a little under your weight. “Stay like this… a bit longer.” 

Your lips twitched into something soft. “Only if you promise not to pass out with food in your hand next time.”

“No promises,” he mumbled, voice already heavy with sleep.

Such a little shit frfr.

✑ 𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓁

Dear lord.

You honestly deserved an award—or at least a gold medal—for managing to pin this walking, talking ball of golden retriever energy down into an actual bed.

Deryl was never still. Ever.

If he wasn’t sprinting across a football field or lifting absurd weights, he was pacing around his room like it was a cage and he was some kind of restless lion hopped up on sugar and testosterone.

The fact that he invited you over to ‘hang out and chill’ was a miracle in itself. Apparently, the football coach had finally granted him a rare moment of freedom, and instead of partying or sleeping—like a sane person), he wanted to spend it with you. That should’ve been flattering—and it kind of was—but good god, it was also exhausting.

From the second you stepped foot in his place, it was like walking into the eye of a hurricane. He barely gave you time to sit down before he was tugging you by the hand to show you everything. His room. His signed football. The dumb little trophy from third grade he pretended wasn’t a big deal but kept on display anyway. 

He talked nonstop, words tumbling over themselves in that typical Deryl fashion—grinning, excited, animated like he’d swallowed the sun.

You tried to keep up, really. You even humored him when he insisted on doing impromptu push-ups while holding a full conversation with you.

But eventually, you crashed. Not like, passed out—but emotionally, spiritually, mentally—done. The guy was just... too much. So you did the only reasonable thing left: you wrestled him onto the bed.

It took effort. A lot of effort. 

The man was built like a truck and fought like a child being dragged away from a bouncy castle. But eventually—after a brief scuffle that probably looked a little too playful for your liking—you managed to get him horizontal, arms flailing, laughter bubbling from his chest.

“Damn,” he panted, hair tousled, eyes bright with the kind of joy that made your chest feel tight. “You really wanted me down, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless. “You’re not allowed to move for at least ten minutes. That’s a law now.”

He grinned like you’d just given him the greatest challenge in existence. “Ten minutes? I don’t know if I can survive that.”

“You will survive, Deryl. Consider it a recovery period.”

“Recovery from what?”

“From being you.”

He laughed, head falling back against the pillow, arms spread like he was about to make a snow angel in the mattress. “Fair.”

Finally—finally—he lay still. The room quieted for the first time all evening, and you took a seat beside him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. He was still buzzing with energy—you could feel it under his skin—but he was making an effort for you. Trying to be still. Present.

His gaze flicked over to yours, warm and stupidly sincere. “Hey,” he said, voice a little softer, “I really am glad you came over.”

You raised a brow. “Even though I basically tackled you into submission?”

He chuckled. “Especially because of that. No one else gets me to chill out like you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile, despite yourself. “That’s because I’m the only one brave enough to try.”

“You’re not wrong.”

It should’ve been a peaceful moment.

Deryl’s hand had found yours with that ridiculously casual charm he always carried—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fingers laced, warm skin, a lazy thumb sweeping circles across your knuckles. His grin softened into something quieter, something almost domestic, like this was the kind of thing he could do every night without a second thought.

For a split second, he actually looked still.

But you knew better.

Just as your brain dared to entertain the delusion—maybe he’s calming down, maybe this golden retriever finally burned through all his zoomies for the day—he sat up. Sat up. Like a bolt of lightning just recharged him.

“So I was thinking,” he began, voice way too energetic for someone who should be deep into REM sleep, “we play just one game—Monsters & Mayhem—you’ll love it, there’s strategy, and traps, and dice, and I get to be a werewolf warlock again—”

You blinked, dead-eyed. “…I thought you were going to rest.”

“I am! This is rest! Board games are relaxing!” He was already halfway off the bed, dragging out the board from under his desk like a kid unwrapping a present on Christmas morning.

You just sat there. Exhausted. Physically, mentally, spiritually done. Your spine was folding in on itself like a haunted Victorian child in need of soup. But Deryl—Deryl was on his knees, organizing little plastic figurines and muttering strategy rules to himself, bouncing slightly where he sat. Fully locked in. Eyes sparkling.

You tried.

You tried to be patient.

“Deryl, I really—”

“I’m telling you, the game only takes an hour, maybe two! Depends on how intense the boss phase is, but I’m already setting it up so—”

“Deryl—”

“Okay, pick a character card! You strike me as someone who’d be an elf rogue, right? No wait—you’d hate that—hold on—”

You snapped.

You didn’t mean to. But it came out, loud and unfiltered, fueled by sleep deprivation and the haunting echo of dice rattling in a box:

“DERYL, I WANNA GO TO BED.”

The silence that followed was biblical.

He froze mid-setup, a die hovering in his hand like it was afraid to fall. His mouth hung open a little. His eyes—wide, hazel-green, full of innocence and genuine confusion, blinked once. Twice.

“…Oh.” His voice was very small.

You collapsed back onto the bed dramatically, limbs splayed like a martyr. “I love you, but if you roll one more die, I will launch myself out the nearest window and haunt your locker.”

Deryl was quiet. Thoughtful. Then slowly—very slowly—he put the die down and padded over to the bed, sitting at the edge like a kicked puppy.

“…What if I said I had a candy that helps with sleep?”

Your eyes cracked open slowly, your vision still hazy with sleep, and immediately narrowed in suspicion. “…Candy?”

Deryl sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, proudly holding up the small, half-crinkled wrapper of the capsule you’d handed him the night before. His face practically glowed with naive delight, cheeks slightly puffed, tousled blond hair flopping in every direction.

“Yeah! That thing you gave me last night? The candy? It made me so sleepy. That stuff’s magical.”

You just stared.

“…Oh my God,” you whispered, horrified and impressed in equal measure. “You actually ate it.”

He blinked at you, eyes wide and honest. “Why wouldn’t I? You said it was strawberry-flavored and ‘good for my energy levels.’”

Right. Energy levels. That was one way to frame melatonin.

To be fair—you had warned him.

Not in words, of course. But through your thoroughly drained expression, your drooping posture, and your complete and utter refusal to play Monsters & Mayhem at midnight. He didn’t pick up on any of it. Of course not. So, really, you had no choice but to lovingly sedate the human golden retriever using candy-wrapped sleep hormones.

And yeah. That’s how the night ended.

Surprisingly effective.

When you woke up the next morning—well, more like afternoon—you felt oddly refreshed. Limbs loose. Mind clear. The blanket tangled but intact. Except for one issue:

You couldn’t breathe.

There were roughly 210 pounds of human sunshine sprawled across your body like a furnace set to maximum heat, wrapped in limbs and pure, unbothered audacity.

Deryl was completely draped over you, face smushed lazily into the crook of your neck. His breath tickled your collarbone, slow and steady, mouth half-open as he snored soft and low—like a purring engine buried in muscle. His skin was warm against yours, dark and smooth beneath the golden morning light filtering through the blinds, a faint sheen of sleep still clinging to him like dew.

His hair—dark brown, thick, and coiled in lazy curls—was flattened on one side, tousled and unruly from tossing around. The sides of his head were neatly shaved, which only made the bedhead up top more dramatic. You could feel the faint scrape of his stubble against your shoulder, rough and unintentional, but somehow comforting. 

One of his broad arms was slung heavy over your waist, the other flopped uselessly off the side of the bed. His legs were tangled messily with yours, practically pinning you down, and despite being entirely unconscious, he radiated heat and smug peace like someone who had absolutely no intention of moving.

You squirmed, trying to shift your hips. No luck. Just more snoring.

“Deryl,” you groaned. “Get off.” Nothing.

He muttered something unintelligible into your skin—probably gibberish—and clung tighter, like you were the mattress itself. “Mmm… five more minutes…”

“It’s one in the afternoon, you overgrown golden retriever,” you hissed, jabbing his side with what little leverage you had. “You are literally suffocating me.”

He let out a deep, groggy moan—like a dying beast—and cracked one bleary eye open. His bright green gaze peeked out from beneath thick, dark lashes, slightly unfocused and glazed with sleep. His full lips parted as he spoke, voice hoarse and low. “You’re so dramatic…”

Still, with the grace of a defeated walrus, he finally rolled off you and onto his back, groaning all the way. His arm flopped across his own stomach, curls falling over his forehead, mouth still half-open in a dopey, content expression.

You sucked in a grateful breath, like someone who had just escaped being flattened by a mattress-sized sandbag.

“Oh, thank God,” you gasped. “You were crushing me.”

Deryl, eyes still closed, grinned into the pillow with zero shame. “You’re soft. Like a human pillow. I regret nothing.”

“You should,” you muttered, glaring at him.

But he just chuckled faintly and burrowed deeper into the sheets—his dark skin glowing softly against the white bedding, stubble catching the light, muscles relaxed and at ease.

Even half-asleep and disheveled, he looked frustratingly good. Like he’d just stepped out of a dream—one that snored, hogged the bed, and refused to let you breathe properly.

You hated how fond you were of him in moments like this.

Even if he had nearly killed you with affection.

Silence stretched between you for a beat, peaceful and golden in the post-nap lull. Then, without even opening his eyes, Deryl asked, “So… what do you wanna do today?”

You blinked, still recovering. “I was gonna rest. Maybe nap again. Eat something.”

He yawned. “Might do my usual workout. Make a smoothie. Maybe chill.”

You made a noncommittal noise. “Sounds like a plan.”

“…Wanna work out with me?”

Your head snapped toward him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” he asked, suddenly more awake. “It doesn’t have to be hardcore—we could do yoga! Like couple’s yoga. Or plank challenges. Or—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I said no.”

He rolled onto his back and pulled the full might of his pouty face: big, round eyes, slightly jutted bottom lip, messy hair and all. The kind of face that should be outlawed. “Pleeease?”

You stared at him, expression flat. Then sighed. Loud. Long. Suffering.

“…Fine. Yoga. That’s it.”

“Yessss!” he cheered, throwing both arms in the air and almost rolling off the bed in the process.

So much for a chill day.

You should’ve known better than to trust the chaos incarnate.

✑ 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓉

Sleeping over at Brittney’s place was less of a choice and more of a declaration of war you quietly lost.

You could’ve done literally anything else with your night. Catch up on studying (God knew you needed to). Work on that essay you'd been avoiding like the plague. Rewatch that one show where the characters actually made sense. Hell, even organizing your sock drawer sounded like a more productive use of time. But no. 

Because Brittney—Queen of Ultimatums, Dictator of Plans, and Menace in Lip Gloss—had decided otherwise.

The chaos started during a regular hangout with your group. Everyone was winding down, casual conversations bubbling like background noise. Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, Brittney looked straight at you and dropped the bomb with that infamous smirk.

“You and me are having a sleepover tonight. Just us.”

You blinked. “Uh, what—”

“I already decided,” she said, tone breezy, as if she hadn’t just hijacked your evening like a scene-stealer in a teen drama.

You scrambled to backpedal, coming up with the most reasonable excuse: “I have to study. I’ve got an exam next week and I haven’t done—”

“Boo,” she interrupted, eyes gleaming as she slowly drew an invisible line through the air. “Cross out you.”

You stared at her.

She stared back. Intense. Unblinking. The kind of stare that made your soul step outside your body and reconsider all your life choices.

You broke first. With a sigh worthy of an Oscar, you rolled your eyes and muttered, “What time?”

She smiled like she’d just won a bet with the devil. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

And then—because Brittney was never content with just winning—she had the nerve to give you a slow once-over, eyes flicking down your body with shameless interest.

“Wear something cute, 'kay?”

You stood there, mildly stunned, internally screaming.

Jesus. My God.

As promised—on the dot, like she had alarms wired into her bones—Brittney showed up outside your place at exactly eight. Her car pulled up sleek and smooth, the bass of her playlist thumping low in the background like it had its own attitude. You stepped outside in your basic sleepover getup: a quarter-sleeve top, pajama pants, and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Nothing fancy. 

You were keeping it simple—mostly to spite her, just a little.

She leaned out the driver’s side window with her usual razor-sharp grin. “Cutie,” she greeted, like it was a title she’d already knighted you with.

You slid into the passenger seat, grumbling something incoherent under your breath while tossing your bag into the back. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was beaming, sunglasses pushed up into her honey-blonde waves even though the sun had already dipped under the horizon. Because of course she was extra like that.

The drive to her place was filled with casual banter, her curated playlist of Y2K bops, and her dramatic commentary on every passing car. You didn’t even realize how quickly time flew until you were standing at her front door, bag in hand, and she was already dragging you inside like you lived there.

Her house was quiet—eerily so. She casually mentioned her parents were out of town for the weekend, which basically translated to: zero supervision, unlimited chaos.

The evening kicked off lowkey. A couple of microwaved snacks, the two of you stretched out on her plush living room floor surrounded by an army of throw pillows and a comforter stolen from her bed. She’d already queued up a nostalgic lineup of early 2000s rom-coms—everything from Legally Blonde to Jennifer’s Body. 

Brittney had no shame in living her Paris Hilton-era fantasy.

At some point, she got bored of just watching movies and decided you were her canvas for the night.

You tried to protest. Really, you did. But Brittney was already pulling out her makeup case before you could say “pass.” She sat cross-legged in front of you, legs brushing yours, with an evil little glint in her eyes.

“Hold still,” she ordered, already dabbing concealer under your eyes. “If you mess this up, I swear I’ll glue rhinestones to your eyelids.”

You suffered through it with only mild complaints. Her concentration was oddly soothing, and her hands were surprisingly gentle as she applied everything with an expert’s precision. She finished with a proud little flourish and turned your face toward her mirror.

“Damn,” she said, smug. “I outdid myself.”

You had to admit… it didn’t look half bad. Which only made it worse.

But she wasn’t done.

“Feet up,” she said next, holding a bottle of baby pink polish like it was a threat. “I’m doing your nails, too.”

“You’re unhinged.”

“And you’re lucky.”

You rolled your eyes but complied, and soon you were both giggling over the ridiculousness of it all—your toes painted, your face fully beat, and the faint glow of movie light flickering across the room. Time slipped by without you realizing it.

Somewhere between the third film and the final coat of nail polish drying, the mood shifted—calmer, quieter. More intimate. You were both lounging against the couch now, her head tilted against your shoulder, mascara-streaked lashes fluttering closed every few seconds.

For someone who'd forced you into this, she looked damn peaceful.

And you… Weirdly, didn’t mind it.

Not that you’d ever admit that aloud.

When you finally cracked your eyes open, it was like waking up inside a fever dream. Britney’s room was...a lot. 

Hot pink reigned supreme—walls, pillows, LED lights that softly bathed the room in a rosy glow. Zebra print was splashed across throw blankets, chair cushions, and even her fuzzy rug like some kind of kitschy jungle rebellion. The floor was scattered with open fashion magazines, mostly featuring Japanese gyaru style queens and Harajuku icons in glossy poses. 

A mirror near the vanity was half-covered in sticky notes and lip prints. Her massive makeup collection gleamed in its tiered organizer, every drawer labeled with sparkly gel pen.

It was clean—technically. Just... chaotically organized. 

Like a tornado had passed through Sephora and left her to sort through the glittering debris with her own system. And somehow, she always knew where everything was. You wouldn’t dare move a single thing or she'd hex you.

She hadn’t even taken off her makeup.

Her deep blue eyes remained closed beneath feathery, false lashes—miraculously still intact despite the pillow abuse. A tiny beauty mark rested elegantly beneath her right eye. Her eyelids were dusted with a pink and blue gradient—bubblegum shimmer at the center, icy blue smoked at the edges. Her lips, glossed in a creamy pink, had faded slightly but still looked kissably obnoxious.

Her blonde hair was down. Even in sleep, her look screamed curated chaos. Her nails—manicured to perfection��alternated between cotton candy pink and electric blue, complete with rhinestones that glinted under the fairy lights.

You blinked, dazed, your limbs a little numb from the weight of her.

“…Brit.” You called.

She didn’t stir. Just let out a soft, contented sigh and curled closer, pressing her nose into the crook of your neck. You debated whether to move, but decided it wasn’t worth the energy. You were trapped in pastel hell, and honestly? It was kind of warm.

Eventually, you reached for your phone on the nightstand and blinked at the time. Late morning—more like early afternoon. Neither of you seemed in any rush to move, and there wasn’t much planned anyway. 

You could hit the mall, maybe dig through some thrift shops for vintage gems or accessories. Or you could both just stay in, doomscroll Pinterest for outfit inspo while half-watching some messy influencer apology videos. 

There was always some juicy drama in the fashion world, or on campus, or in her DMs. A yawn escaped you, and Britney groaned softly, eyes fluttering but not quite waking.

“Brittney.” You called again.

Britney stirred with the subtle grace of a cat sunbathing in a window—stretching slowly, fingers curling against your side before one of her legs slid further over yours, anchoring you in place like she sensed you were considering escape. 

Her blonde hair, once tied up in that obnoxiously perfect ponytail, had come loose sometime during the night and now spilled around her shoulders in a soft, tousled cascade of gold and candy-colored streaks. It framed her face like some ethereal dream girl version of chaos incarnate.

You watched her lashes flutter as she squinted one eye open, bleary but sharp enough to notice the phone in your hand. She groaned dramatically, voice a sleepy rasp laced with velvet and attitude.

“Ugh… no phones in bed,” she mumbled, fingers finding your wrist and tugging it gently back down. “I’m not done being warm yet.”

“You’re literally clinging to me like a space heater,” you muttered, though you didn’t pull away. “And it’s past noon.”

Her lips curled into a sleepy, mischievous smile. “Then consider it brunch-in-bed cuddles. With a side of me.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny grin tugging at your lips. “You are so full of yourself.”

“And yet, you still let me do your nails and fall asleep in my arms.” She cracked both eyes open now, her voice lower, playful. “Which, might I say, is very girlfriend behavior.”

You snorted, turning your head slightly. “Don’t push it.”

She pouted, inching closer—her breath warm against your jaw. “But you’re so cozy,” she said, practically whining. “And cute. I mean, look at you—bedhead and everything. You could at least let me kiss your forehead or something before you go tearing me away from my beauty sleep.”

“You weren’t asleep.”

“Details,” she said, brushing her nose against yours, her manicured fingers now tracing lazy little hearts against your side. The glint of rhinestones on her nails sparkled under the soft fairy lights strung across the ceiling, catching your eye every few seconds like a spell.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she beat you to it, pressing a kiss to your temple with all the gentleness of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, “Don’t you wanna stay in bed with me a little longer? Or…” she drew the word out, trailing her fingertips down your arm, “I could do that contouring trick I saw on TikTok. The one that makes your cheekbones look criminal.”

“Brit,” you said flatly, though your voice came out softer than intended.

She blinked up at you, putting on the most pitifully sweet expression she could muster. “Pleeease? I promise to let you study after. Maybe. Kind of. Probably not. But at least you’ll look hot while procrastinating.”

You buried your face into the pillow with a groan, defeated. “Fine. But if you pull out glitter again, I swear—”

“I make no promises,” she sang, already grabbing for her makeup bag like it was Christmas morning.

And honestly… you let her.

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒:

I honestly had way too much fun writing this. 

That said—just a heads-up—what you’ve read so far MIGHT (Because I would know I'm simply unpredictable when dealing with myself so much) be the last time I do parts on Brittney and Deryl.

There’s still so much bouncing around in my head, and it gets sofrustrating because my dumbass keeps forgetting stuff unless I force myself to sit down and write it all out.

But anyway, chaos and memory lapses aside, I really enjoyed crafting this chapter—especially the parts with Geo, Crowe, and Brittney.

Ugh. I’m such a simp for those three now, it’s ridiculous.

[mulloey]

heyy congrats on your 2k 💗 could i request Jaehyun with 113 + 126

perfect girl

jaehyun + daddy kink/ddlg + anal

part of my 2k event

warnings: daddy kink, anal, unprotected sex, dirty talk (he gets NASTY), praise/degradation, ddlg themes but there’s no ageplay. they just like to play up her innocence a lot. they are weird and freaky so be warned.

this is all consensual and negotiated off-screen. hate is deleted and blocked.

You’re lucky to have met Jaehyun, truly. He’s the only person who’s ever truly got you, ever truly understood what you are and what you need. Understood exactly how to handle you. How to care for you.

You didn’t even have to ask him; no, from the start Jaehyun just knew. Took on that role right away, without thought or discussion, like he’d been waiting for it. For the right person to come along and unlock that side of him.

You certainly had been.

His hands are gentle on your waist; fingers stroking small, soothing patterns without pressure. He’s not saying anything; hasn’t in a few minutes. Sometimes, you’ve found, he prefers to simply admire. Observe.

“Beautiful,” he says, finally. “My perfect little baby, aren’t you?”

The look in his eyes is so soft and tender that you almost forget that he’s still balls deep inside your pussy. Until he moves, just a little, and the rush of need flickers again; lights up and takes off with nowhere to go.

You’re so full, so desperate, that it physically hurts.

Dick pressing against your cervix; hips connected; skin on skin. And he’s not fucking moving. It’s agony. It’s torture. It’s exactly how he likes you.

“Daddy,” you whimper. “Please.”

“Hmm?” There’s a lilt to his voice, hands moving up and down your sides, that you’re more than familiar with by now. Teasing. Toying.

Jaehyun, you’ve discovered, likes to see you squirm.

“What is it, honey?” He coos. “You’ve already got my dick nice and deep in that little pussy. What more could you need?”

“More,” you mumble. “Daddy. Need more.”

He makes a noise of understanding, as if he hadn’t known all this time; as if he wasn’t asking simply for his own amusement. “Need me to fuck you?” He grins. “Not enough to be stuffed full? You need to be fucked dumb too?”

“Please.”

“Oh honey,” he says. “You know I can’t say no to you. Daddy’s best girl.”

Relief floods and you let yourself reach for him; grabbing at him with tiny shaking hands, pulling him closer, deeper inside you. He allows you a few small seconds of believing you’re going to get what you want before he pulls back, sliding out of you at an agonisingly slow pace. The emptiness hits you like freezing water; sudden, painful, visceral. There’s something in the air now, as you wait for his next move, that feels…

“Daddy,” you whisper. “I—”

He doesn’t let you finish, just shushes you quietly, gently until your protests die down. His hand moves downwards, rubbing soft, teasing circles around your holes, thumbing at the sensitive skin between them with an intention you can’t quite place. It’s wet now, you notice; sticky and cold with a substance you recognise from the early days of your relationship before your pussy had adjusted to him. The strawberry scent that fills the air makes your stomach twist with excitement. “Daddy knows sweetheart, don’t worry,” he says. “Greedy baby needs both holes filled to keep her calm. Daddy understands.”

You pause, uncertain, realisation creeping. “Both?”

He doesn’t answer—just watches silently as it finally hits; as your brows crease, lips parted, eyes wide and innocent until that pretty little blush creeps up your neck and you’re squirming and writhing beneath him again. “Daddy, are you…you wanna…”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

It’s such an obvious question that it takes you a moment to even think of how to answer. “Of course.”

“Good girl,” he says. “You know daddy always takes care of you. Will you let me teach you something new, baby?”

“Something new?”

His finger moves down, softly, and brushes over your asshole. The sensation makes you jump, squealing in surprise and a sensation you’ve never really explored. You always had something of an interest in anal—or rather, in knowing that every inch and crevice of your body had been taken and claimed and touched by Jaehyun—but it was scary too, the idea of putting something inside, so neither of you pushed it any further.

Until now, apparently.

His finger presses in just a little, enough to breach the ring of muscle but not quite enough to feel…intruding. Still the sensation, new and foreign and thrilling, makes you gasp, tensing around his finger. He smiles. “Tiny girl,” he mumbles. “Daddy’s gonna break you, honey. Show you how good girls take dick. You want that?”

Yes, yes, you want that; want to be good, to please him, to feel him in the deepest, most forbidden parts of you. You wonder if it will feel like losing your virginity to him all over again—if he’ll have to hold you down, coaxing and encouraging you through it like the very first time. You’re dizzy with desire to find out. “I want it,” you whisper. “Please.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles. “My little princess, letting me use all her little holes like a perfect whore. Open up for me.”

He pushes in a little deeper and you hiss at the stretch; the intrusion that even one, smaller finger causes. Your hands reach for him instinctively, curling around his forearm, nails pressing against his skin. He doesn’t mind, though, never has; from the very first time he unraveled you like this he’s worn the marks you leave behind with a bursting pride.

“How does that feel, baby?” He asks. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” you whimper. “It’s—ngh, daddy’s hands are big. Hard to- to take.”

“Oh, I know,” he coos. “My brave girl, taking it for me. Tiny little hole sucking me in like this. You can take more, can’t you?”

You nod plainly; dumbly, really, when it’s so obviously not a question. Daddy doesn’t ask you questions like that; doesn’t ask if you like or want or need something. Daddy tells you what you like. What you want. What you need. Because daddy knows not just the world but you better than you ever could.

The next finger pushes in with a little effort, then the third; the feeling of being stuffed with his fingers, especially in there, is thrilling and overwhelming and nowhere near enough. “Daddy,” you whine. “More, please.”

“Greedy girl,” he says, but when his dick is hard and leaking against his stomach again it’s hard to really feel chided. “Only just opened you up and you already need my dick, you’re insatiable.”

You just whine again, staring up at him with desperate eyes. He looks like his arousal is bordering on painful. “God you’re gone,” he mutters. “Nothing in there, is there? Nothing going on in that little head except getting fucked. Dirty baby.”

“Daddy,” you moan again.

“I know.” He pulls his fingers out, quickly like he’s ripping a bandaid; he doesn’t give you much time to whine or protest the emptiness before his dick is pressed against your rim, rock hard and leaking precum and lathered in lube. “Easy now,” he says. “Hold onto me, I’ve got you.”

By the time he’s halfway in you feel like you’re going to black out; never in your life have you felt so impossible stretched, so split open or so desperate to be broken further. In your tight asshole, still virginal and uncorrupted even where every other part of you had been defiled, you feel the extent of exactly how big Jaehyun is for the first time in a while. He’s massive; thick and long and pulsing with a need to fuck you open. You feel the restraint in his posture, see it on his face; forcing himself to go slowly, to take it easy on you like he knows he needs to. He can’t afford to damage a sweet, rare little gem like you.

“Oh my God,” he hisses. “Baby. You’re fucking clenching. What a good girl. Daddy’s almost there, baby, almost inside. Keep being good for me.”

He groans, loud and strangled as he pushes in the rest of the way; you feel when he bottoms out, when the tension in his body finally breaks and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for his entire life. “How does that feel?”

“So good, daddy,” you moan. “Please, I—”

“I know,” he soothes, gentle. “I feel it too. Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, baby. Gonna break this little asshole in so it’s nice and ready whenever I want it. Hold onto me, honey.”

He starts slowly, of course; light, gentle thrusts that barely register above the stretch that already overwhelms you. His brows are furrowed, face contorted in focus, in restraint as he slowly picks up the pace.

It’s dizzying; unbearable in the best way; you can’t help but, tears flowing freely at the stretch and the pleasure and the feeling of Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun. Everywhere. Possessing you completely, from the outside in. You know he feels it too; the feeling of impossible closeness that you’ve never felt before. Of your body surrendering to him, sucking him in like it’s been begging for it. He looks crazed. Awe-struck. In love.

“Look at you,” he coos. His breaths are short and shallow now but the authority and care in his voice never wavers. “Taking daddy’s dick in your ass like you were made for it. Feels good?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Daddy—fuck, it feels so good.”

“I know,” he says. “I know it does, baby. Made for this, weren’t you?”

You nod, crying out again with an especially hard thrust and he chuckles. “I know you were,” he hums. “I don’t think you were ever meant to have your pussy fucked, baby. Daddy should’ve been in here all along, don’t you think?”

You definitely think that; but then again, when you’re fucked out and desperate like this Jaehyun could say pretty much anything and you’d be sobbing your agreement like you do now. He knows that full well; you both do. And you love it—love the power he has over you in this moment; the way he has you clinging to every nasty filthy word that comes from his mouth like it’s your saviour.

“I know,” he grunts. “Not enough to get your pussy stuffed, is it? That’s for sweet, innocent little girls. But you’re a pervert, aren’t you, honey? A nasty, dick-crazed little pervert. Baby sluts like you need their little assholes filled to keep them calm and pliant.”

You’re sobbing his name, over and over, like you’re begging for an absolution that you pray never comes. Every time you say it he goes harder, deeper; tightens his grip on your hips just a little more. You’ve never seen him like this, to this extreme. You’re not sure you could ever live without it now.

He pulls your legs up and wraps them around his waist, licking you both in place. He slows down for a second, trying to catch his breath and leans down to press a kiss against your flushed, sweat-covered forehead.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your ass from now on,” he says. He moves slowly, leisurely, like he’s savouring the feeling of you, the sight of you so spent and submissive beneath him. “Split it open on my cock before I even think about fucking your pussy. My little anal princess, sounds nice?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. He smiles, speeding up a little, chasing sensation. “Wanna—daddy, ah. Wanna.”

“Good,” he says. “Little set of holes doesn’t have a choice anyway. Clench around me, baby. Daddy’s gonna come right here and you’re not gonna let a drop of it go to waste, you hear me?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Yeah, I won’t.”

You don’t. You never do. Even when he fucks you over the table the next day, one hand in your hair and the other stuffed in your pussy as he stretches your asshole out on his cock, you don’t miss a single drop.

You could you, though, when he’s so quick to slide in the pretty pink plug that now sits so snugly between your cheeks?

[sylluvschoso]

bad choso!

cw: afab reader, dubcon, choso is metaphorically described as a puppy but he's biologically human, somnophilia, maybe slightly toxic?, choso is the goodest boy, there's no sex education in tengen's barrier

word count: 738

author's note: me writing choso as doing fucked up shit just to defend him for said shit... anywho i couldn't get this out of my head at 2am so i NEEDED to write it down lolz

------------------------------------------

The worst part of dating a cursed womb is having to teach him right and wrong when it comes to things that only humans know about.

It's almost like adopting a puppy. His desires and instincts have to be curbed to fit the mold of how he should be, and it's your job to teach him how to be good.

Unfortunately, this means that Choso usually has to make these mistakes beforehand, so he can then learn that he was being bad. Similarly to all of the people that he killed in Shibuya, it wasn't until after it happened that he learned about morality and what it really means to be human.

Sexually, things can become pretty dubious. Choso is laying awake in bed as you're sleeping soundly beside him; soft, plush legs on full display, pretty face so calm with your mouth slightly open. You've left food on the table again and expect your new puppy to just know not to steal it! You've given him permission to have the treats before... how is he supposed to know that it's not okay right now?

He's not trying to be bad, he's really not. He kisses your shoulders and rubs your hips with his big hands. He does all of the things you taught him, making sure to get you nice and wet with his tongue and work you open with his fingers. He's being so careful to be good, taking such extra care not to hurt you.

His eyes roll back into his head as he slips into you, soft and warm and so inviting. He did everything he was supposed to, so when you sleepily stir, your voice thick with sleep as you utter out, "Cho?" of course your puppy's ears perked up, so happy that you're finally awake because there's nothing he loves more than your attention!

But when you fully come to and your voice rings out, disgusted and upset, "Choso, what the fuck are you doing?" you must as well have just kicked your puppy. His eyes widen as he flinches back. "I- I-" his deep voice starts but can't seem to find the words. He's unsure as to what he did wrong.

"Choso?! While I'm sleeping?? What are you doing?" You seem closed off, almost fearful of him as you cover yourself up with the sheets.

Choso chews on his lip so hard that it might bleed, eyebrows furrowed, tears brimming in his pretty eyelashes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

You sigh deeply, exasperation wearing off as you see how sorry your pretty puppy really is. He really didn't know any better. Of course there weren't lessons in consent during his 150 years locked away from society. Despite how emotionally mature and intelligent he is, there's no way he could've known this. Your gaze softens as you reach a hand out towards his face. "I'm sorry Cho, I didn't mean to get mad at you. It's just not okay to do things like that while I'm sleeping."

He continues to chew on his lip, committing the new rule to memory. He nods and looks up at you. Your puppy, tail between his legs, slowly wagging while he tries to figure out if he's still in trouble. Silently asking if he's still a good boy.

You huff out a small laugh as you reach forward to kiss him slowly. His relief is palpable, his entire body relaxing into your touch. You glance down at his cute flushed dick and you become aware of just how gentle and sweet Choso was with you while you were asleep, you can tell by how wet you are and the lack of pain that he did his best to prep you just like he was taught.

Choso really tries so hard to be a good boy, and good boys deserve treats. You lay back and spread your legs for him again, "Well, I'm awake now," you tease with a grin.

[kuronarnze]

Hihiiii aiiikaaa, I LOVE LOVE YOUR WORKS SMMM can i request a oneshot where the reader and shidou is like painting eachother nails and like SHIDOU IS SURPRISINGLY CALM AND GENTLE AND AWWWWW idk i just love shidou TYSMMMM HAVE ANNICE DAAYYU

- 😈

a/n: HIHII ANONN, omg tysmmm ilysm, this request is SOOO CUTE OMG, you ARE so REAL i love shidou sm too, i hope you have a nice day too !THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING ENJOY THE ONESHOT 😈🫶

Shidou Ryusei x Reader !

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

"Pretty Colors, Pretty You"

The scent of your vanilla-scented lotion filled the room as you leaned back on the couch, legs stretched across Shidou Ryusei’s lap. The usual chaos in his voice was missing today—no wild grins or sudden yelling. Just calm, slow breaths and the soft lofi music playing in the background.

He dipped the tiny brush into the pastel pink polish you'd chosen, his brow furrowed in the kind of focused silence you rarely saw from him.

"You know," you said with a smile, "I kind of expected you to be all over the place doing this. Maybe flicking paint everywhere."

"Yeah, well," Ryusei muttered, not looking up, "you're not ‘everyone,’ are you?"

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip.

"Besides," he continued, carefully stroking the polish onto your nail, "I don’t wanna mess this up. Your hands are too pretty for that."

You watched him as he painted—gently holding your fingers, pink eyes narrowed in concentration. His pinkie had a smudge of mint green on it from when you painted his nails earlier. He hadn’t wiped it off. Said it looked cool.

“You’re really calm today,” you whispered.

Ryusei finally looked up, meeting your gaze with a softness you didn’t expect.

“‘Cause being around you calms me down,” he said simply.

No teasing. No smirk.

Just truth.

Your breath caught.

He blinked, then grinned a little, more relaxed now. “Besides, this is nice. Painting nails, you next to me. I like this version of us.”

“You mean the domestic version?”

“Nah,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I mean the version where I get to love you soft and quiet… not just loud and wild.”

The blush burned on your cheeks as he brought your fingers to his lips, kissing the back of your hand—careful not to smudge the drying polish.

“Don’t move,” he murmured. “You’ll mess up my masterpiece.”

You weren’t sure if he meant your nails or the moment—but either way, you didn’t dare move.

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

Thank you sm for reading THIS WAS SO CUTE oh my gosh, feel free to request more ! I hope you have a nice day 🫶💗

[deoidesign]

Finished a commission for @kenneduck!

This was a lot of fun, thank you so much!!!

[invinciblerodent]

I don't really have time to play him more than like an hour every few days, but man, Marcus really is insufferably pretty. Half the time, I've got my finger glued to the screenshot button, lol.

His personality is slowly taking shape in my head too: so far, he's been a far kinder, more emotional person than the broody, analytical scholar I thought he was going to be (I'm leaning into the "arcane grief councilor, magic is not just engineering but also psychology/philosophy" angle a bit more, so he's approaching all from a place of emotion and analysis), and his softness is a choice that comes from a place of rigorous, painful self-awareness.

In his head, so far Marcus is kind of the king of compartmentalization: he's constantly picking through his own thoughts and feelings and slotting them away into neatly labeled boxes, while choosing which ones he'll let himself feel (and chastising himself for the rest), which then also translates to him being very cautious, guarded... maybe even somewhat cynical. He's keeping his distance in general (as one would probably expect from someone who has never much experienced a warm, emotionally fulfilling environment, and has not really been outside of an academic setting much).

I'm thinking that his personal arc is going to be based around his unspoken suspicions continuing to be confirmed over and over again in the worst ways, causing him to sort of recede more and more into himself, but it'll be the others daring to let their feelings be felt (with Neve forgiving him, and Bellara both relying on him in his field of expertise and dragging him out into the light with her exuberance) that's going to create some much-needed balance in the end.

I like to think that where Ver embodied the moniker of "Rook" from a place of strength and forthrightness (acting as Solas' foil in that way, as a leader), Marcus embodies it more from a literal sense: from being stuck, in the highest room of that (ivory) tower.

He's... probably more like Solas than either of them would like to admit, really.

[screampied]

toji realizes he’s in love with you when he lets you shave his face for the first time,

he’s got the biggest grump of a scowl plastered on his naturally crooked lips. as he’s glowering, he’s also trying to prevent himself from smiling because you looked so cute. your touch with him was gentle—like it always was. after you wiped his face with a dampened face towel, you rub your hands against the lower part of his jaw. “soooo,” you utter, breaking the dead silence as he’s just peering down at you. “tell me ‘bout your day, toji.”

with the palms of your hands tenderly caressing against his chiseled jawline—you smear every part of his chin and cheekbones with shaving cream. even the secluded areas underneath his nose. as you do so, toji tchs. “day was fine, baby. ‘n i told ya i can shave myself.”

“i know i know,” you hum, creating a circular motion with your hands before gently making sure every sector near the lower part of his face was lathered with nice frothy amounts of shaving cream. “wowww, you’ve got such soft skin. skin routine when?”

“ugh, y’er insufferable,” he rolls his eyes. although, his skin was surprisingly clear. toji only had a bit of a stubble, hardly any facial hair but it was growing the more he aged. you took it upon yourself to ask to help him shave and he said yes, not realizing how much he’d soon grow to like it. the feeling of your delicate, warm hands rubbing against his face was somewhat . . soothing. with a deep, heaving sigh, toji’s hooded jade eyes meet yours. he spots your pout and his shoulders lower. “alright fine, i’ll teach you one day. only if ya stop poutin'..”

with a cheeky grin, your little pout falters and you smile. “okay,” and you wait for about a good three minutes to allow the spumous cream to souse everywhere on his pores. it takes a while—and as you wait, you take a moment to stare at his features. toji was definitely easy on the eyes up close. naturally long black lashes of his flicker as he returns your loving gaze, and he avoids eye contact for a moment. perhaps you were making him a bit . . nervous. darkened eyebrows of his arch into an almost sheepish raise while he watches your adorable curious simper stretch further. “don’t be so stiff, what are you, nervous?”

“not nervous. jus’ don’t want ya to cut my face off.” he grumbles in a hoarse tone, ogling intently at you opening the bathroom cabinet for his razor. “you know what y’er doin’ right? i’d like ‘ta keep my face.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic,” and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. toji’s got a growing smirk tugging against his lips as he gawks you carefully start to shave in the exact sectors of where his facial hair resides. you did lots and lots of research—he knew this because he caught you reading various wikiHow articles on how to shave a guy’s face correctly. toji would never in a million years tell you, but he found that fact entirely adorable. you made sure you knew how to avoid burns and razor bumps. as you’re fixated on his chin, you mumble, “you’ll keep your pretty face, don’t cry.”

“aw, think ‘m pretty?” toji says, and you see the playful glint in his eyes. he’s easing up a bit, and he acknowledges that you were right. right about his stiffness, he was a bit tense. shoulders raised and all, but now—as of late, he’s starting to calm down a bit the more you talk to him. “i’d prefer the term 'handsome' but that works too, i guess.”

you deadpan, continuing your trail against his face—the razor sings out a shrieking tiiiing the more you gingerly shave with soft, gentle strokes.

it’s somewhat relaxing with the way the edges of the instrument adapts to the chiseled contours on his face. the foam starts to come off within each downward stroke and you’re very slow and precise. “okay, don’t be cocky,” you titter, and he feels his heart flutter a bit at how you’re just so dedicated. you’re so focused that your tongue briefly sticks out of your mouth, trying to make sure you do it perfectly. you tried your hardest not to cut him—you were so careful and that simple detail alone could have been enough for him to propose. “you should let me do this more. ‘s kinda fun.”

“eh. maybe,” toji shrugs, his voice coming out in a rough rasp. he doesn’t even realize it but his expressions significantly soften. he was only this way around you. to him, the thought of that was kind of scary. after you start to edge with the precision trimmer and reach underneath his nose and chin, you wrap it up. successfully discarding all of the foamy cream from his face, spotting his now clean jawline, you break away to rinse off the now grubby blades in the sink. “all done?”

“wait— don’t look yet,” you gasp, preventing him from gazing at himself in the mirror. “i still have to do the uh . . what’s it called again?”

toji snickers. “aftershave, baby.”

“aftershave,” you repeat. “right right,” and you’re so cute, kneeling down towards the wooden cabinet directly underneath the sink. you take out the mini bottle, pouring a nice goopy amount into your palm. you let toji wash his face with cold water first, patting it dry, and then you start to bedaub the facial balm in all the sensitive areas against his skin. he adores the mushy texture of your hands making contact with his face as each second passes. toji’s eyeing you, an almost grunt leaving his lips as a thumb of yours gently tickles against his infamous scar. the scar that slants itself near the right side of his lip. “thereee we go,” you give him a soft smile, the aromatic scent of tea tree oil setting against your nostrils. up close, his pores were now all so clear and you stare in awe for a bit at just how charming he was. the moisture that lays against his skin feels a lot more smooth. you grow silent for a moment before your own face softens. “okayyy, ‘m done.”

toji finally glances into the mirror, seeing his freshly new spotless face and he sees your proud toothy grin in the mirror’s reflection behind him. he cranes his neck to the side, feeling the once rough texture of his jawline now soft. he then lets off a tiny exhale. “looks good. y’er a natural,” and he turns to face you, he’s pondering on what to say. oh, your eyes sparkled with such admiration from his praise that it was just adorable. “thank you, sweetheart. for y’know . . takin’ care of me. y’er really . . sweet.”

and with that, his lips inch down to press a warm kiss against the crown of your head. your heart immediately swarms up with a frantic school of butterflies and so does his. toji prepares speak again and it’s an almost inaudible mumble. you could barely even register what he said at first because it was so hushed, but toji gruffs in a low tone. “i … love you..”

“h- huh?”

scoffing, he hides the burning embarrassed flush against his face by pulling you into his broad chest. you giggle at how he just abruptly snatches you close into his warm body before he slings a beefy arm around you. “i said, let’s uh.. do our skin care together later t’night.”

“awww i love you too toj—”

“oh my god, s-shut up..”

[reddesertcolbs]

Can’t stop thinking about riding Simon’s face. So here’s this:

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

TW: Oral (female receiving), pet names, swear words.

//

“You want me to what?” You chuckle softly, cheeks warming at your boyfriend’s request when you glance up at him from your cuddled position on the bed, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Sit on my face.” Simon grumbles with a shrug, his signature smirk on his face as he gently brushes your bare back with his fingertips.

“You want me to sit on your face?” You repeat, cheeks warming even more at his bluntness.

“Did I stutter?” He rolls his eyes, his smirk still evident on his lips as he pulls you onto his lap from the bed with his beefy arms, your legs straddling his wide hips.

You giggle as he manhandles you, your hands resting on his bare chest, fumbling with his dog tags as you glance down at him with a shy smile.

“Don’t get shy on me now, darling.” He smiles fondly, his hand moving from your hip to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You trust me?”

“Of course,” You murmur, nodding your head along with your words as he cups the side of your jaw and brings your lips to his for a gentle kiss before patting your arse cheeks with a grin.

“Up you get.” He pats his chest, giving your thigh a reassuring squeeze as he guides your movements, moaning deeply at the sight of your bare core near his lips. “So fucking pretty. I’m so lucky.”

You giggle softly, cheeks flooding at his vulgarity as you attempt to calm your heart rate with nerves, your hands resting on the headboard for support as you hover above his lips.

“You just let me do the work.” He murmurs, pressing open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, his large hands moving to curl around your arse cheeks, encouraging you to lower yourself. “I’ve got you. Just enjoy it, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, nodding gently as you follow his lead, lowering your hips as he grunts with pleasure. He tugs your hips even closer to his mouth and immediately gets to work, swiping his tongue through your folds, gathering up your juices as if it’s honey.

You moan softly when he flicks his tongue against your clit, eyes locking with his as you peer down at him. Your fingertips curl around the headboard a little more as the pleasure begins to build nicely in the pit of your stomach.

He groans with delight at the taste of you. Flicking his tongue to your clit and taking his time, almost as if he’s trying to remember every taste, sound and movement you make. “Tastes so fucking good, baby. So fucking sweet.”

His movements pick up, the need and desire to make you feel as good as possible kicking in. His hands get rougher, - palming over your arse cheeks and the back of your thighs. His actions encouraging you to rock your hips against him, earning soft hitches and moans from your pretty lips.

Your hand moves to tangle in his blonde hair, tugging with pleasure when his tongue explores you, flicking and sucking in all the right spots. Pulling out the pleasure from within with every swirl of his tongue.

“Gonna cum, Si.” You gasp, your hips moving against his mouth, unable to stop the urge to get more. Your fingers tugging a little harder in his scalp, earning a grunt of approval from him.

“That’s my girl.” He praises, his words muffled as continues to abuse your clit with his tongue, flicking expertly as his large hands palm the back of your thighs possessively, squeezing and supporting your movements against him. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

His words were all you needed to allow the knot to snap, your hips twitching when your orgasm washes through you. Your head tilted back as you chant his name like a song.

Simon doesn’t let up, continuing to suck and flick onto your clit as he rides out your high, grunting with ecstasy as he watches you come undone.

It feels like hours when his movements slow, eventually coming to a stop when he presses a satisfied kiss to your inner thigh. His hands smoothing over your soft skin, bringing you back to him.

You pant, breathing heavy as you glance down to him, grinning when you see his pleased grin on his lips.

“Did you enjoy that?” He quizzes, his grin widening because he already knows your answer, continuing to explore your skin softly with his hands.

“Yes,” You giggle, rolling your eyes with feigned annoyance at his smugness. “It was nice.”

“Good,” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, leaning back against the pillow to have a better look at you, taking in your blissed out appearance. “You can sit on my face anytime, pretty girl.”

[st6rrrs]

Bunny! Reader thinks rafes to big!

BUNNY! READER MOOD BOARD

P link

"not right now...rafey" you say pouting up at him as he stares at you confused

it was about 7:30pm, you and rafe were sitting on his balcony to his room, just enjoying the nice breeze as the sun begin to set.

"What the hell do you mean, not right now?" he groans rubbing his buzzed hair

"not right now." you huff whirling your hair with your finger and avoiding eye contact

"What are you on your period? ‘Cause you’re really starting to piss me off." his tone shifts. "you never turn me down?"

"no! im not...its just" you stammer your voice shaking slightly.

You fidget nervously as rafe stares at you impatiently

"your too big." you squeal covering your face with your hands and laying your head on his lap embarrassed.

"Too big?" he repeated a cocky smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

you knew he would be like this.

“Well I don’t know” he teased "Maybe you're just too tight, huh?" he chuckled as his hands moving up and down on your body.

you whine embarrassed again and cover your ears.

"everytime we fuck i feel like your suffocating my dick ya know?" he yanks your hand away from your ear and whispers that.

"Stop it, Rafe!" you whine as your face burns with embarrassment

you feel his laughter vibrating through his body.

your voice barely above a whisper. "

You're just so… big, and it hurts." you whimper sitting up now looking at him with your pretty, wide doe eyes.

"Maybe we just need to work on… stretching you out a bit yea?" he suggests his voice full of cocky confidence.

"ahh this isn't helping!" you moan into the bed below "it hurts"

you were on your hands and knees as rafe was behind you

"Ah come on baby relax your squeezing me." Rafe says as he pushes himself deeper into you.

you whine in frustration

"Ow, Rafe, stop! Just stop for a second" your voice high pitched and frustrated.

you were someone who rarely ever gets mad, you were the softest so this shocked rafe a bit.

Rafe pauses and looks at you with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"You're not going to break, baby," he says rubbing your head

you take a deep breath and try to calm down

Rafe's expression softens and he leans down to kiss you gently.

"I'll go slow okay? I'll make it feel good I promise." He starts to move again his thrusts slow and gentle.

you feel yourself start to relax and it doesn't hurt as much.

"Oh, Rafe," you moan "That feels…really good."

Rafe starts to move a little faster.. his thrusts still gentle but more insistent.

you feel yourself getting more and more turned on

"Rafe oh my god" you whimper, your voice rising. "I'm going to...I'm going to cum rafey..." the wave of pleasure crashes over you and you let out a little squeal.

you huff in exhausted and fall off your hands onto you stomach but rafe grips your hips, holding you in place as he pounds into you. His fingers are digging deep into your skin

As Rafe's cock thrusts deeper into you, you feel a sudden jolt of sensation as he hits your cervix.

you gasp as Rafe's cock rubs against your cervix. it hurts but it feels so gooddd

Suddenly he's crying out

his voice a loud groan of pleasure as he cums inside you. you can feel his hot seed spilling into you, filling you up with a warm, sticky sensation.

his hips jerking as he rides out the wave of his orgasm.

He's collapsed beside you.

Rafe's voice is low and husky

"You just needed to be stretched out, baby," he says "You were a little tight but I knew I could loosen you up."

“Don’t be embarrassed baby” he whispered his voice smooth almost teasing.

“You’re cute when you’re shy”

[wild-jackalope]

First time having sex is awkward!

pairing :: Virgin!Megumi x Virgin!Reader

warning :: college/university AU, awkward sex, safe sex (finally), lingerie stuff, fingering, slight overstim, very soft, would you hate me if I said this wasn’t rly proof read, need this out of my drafts asap

note :: very inspired by @sonotpattismith fic Hold Me And Explore Me, here’s the link!

For the years you’ve been friends with Megumi you’ve never ever known him to discuss a single intimate topic. For the five months you’ve been in a relationship with him, that fact never changed.

Megumi was a prude, basically.

It wasn’t as though you were one to spill secrets about your personal moments either. Occasionally you’d let the odd story slip when drunk (mainly letting loose some poor experiences being felt up during your younger years of dating), but other than that, you kept your mouth shut.

So when Maki asked you a completely out of pocket question, both you and your boyfriend turned to ice.

“Have the two of you even fucked yet?”

No. Of course you haven’t. You hadn’t even come close! Despite the air being thickened by everyone’s collective drunkenness, you felt a small part of you would resent Maki for the rest of your life after putting you in this situation.

Your jaw slacked open and you took in a breath. The truth lilting on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t ask personal questions like that.” Megumi cut, to everyone’s collective disappointment, they groaned. Somewhat tipsy himself, Megumi still had the clarity to get the others off your scent and thankfully his harsh words had sent them on another chatting spree devoid of your sex life.

Maki, keen gaze still locked on both you and Megumi, muttered a swift. “Guess you haven’t put that set to use, huh.” Before taking a sip of her vodka mix.

You flushed immediately, embarrassment mixing with the warm alcohol in your bloodstream, coating your cheeks a deep plum colour. Mortification filling your wide eyes, you glanced at Megumi who held an unbothered expression, one of boredom and calm.

But for a split second, his dark blues swiped over you and you caught the slightest hint of curiosity in his narrow gaze. What set?

You snapped your head forward, neck aching from the whiplash.

The ‘set’ Maki was referring to, was bought during a shopping trip Nobara invited both of you to. She needed a refill on her skincare items, Maki needed a new set of sports bras and you needed an excuse to leave your dorm room.

Maki’s chosen store was the closest, so the three of you headed there first. Inside, your eyes caught on the walls covered with expensive underwear made of lace and silk hanging on thin mannequins.

“I should get a new bra, too, my favourites are getting worn out.” Nobara mumbled, looking at the odd racks assembled by colour and size.

A particularly captivating bodysuit grabbed your attention; a smooth ivory piece decorated with straps and shining gemstones, having tuffs of silk peak out of the sides like a skirt and wings. The shiny fabric called to rest comfortably against your skin. It was the most expensive, being shown off at the front of the store to lure young women who wanted to wrap their pretty bodies and show off to their boyfriends. Just like you.

“That one’s too cutesy.” Nobara uttered, following your tranced gaze. “Lingerie is a scam anyway, truth is men don’t even care. They just take it off.”

That was right, Nobara had had sex. Unlike you.

“Would you… help me pick something nice out?” You asked, a gentle and shy invitation.

Despite her previous slander of lingerie, her cheeks glowed in excitement. “Sure. For you and Fushiguro, right?”

“I guess so.” You kindly but nervously replied. Nobara lead you deeper into the store, coming to a back wall with more designs, all notably darker with plenty more lace.

She gazed over the options. “What do you usually like to wear?” She asked.

“I don’t know— nothing?” You responded, awkward hand lifting to fiddle with a purple bralet.

Nobara side eyed you, giving a suspicious look before she asked— much too casually. “First time?”

“Yes.” You nodded, the fabric of the bralet suddenly becoming very interesting!

“First time with Fushiguro, or?” Her trail lilted delicately, hopefully displaying herself as a safe person to spill your secrets to.

“First, first time.” You uttered quietly.

In a quick swish, Nobara grabbed your shoulders and pulled you to her. “Seriously?” She asked.

“Yes, seriously. Is it hard to believe?” You frowned, too mortified for her questioning.

She nodded. “Yes! You’re a total catch.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve never done anything.” You added, hands defensively rising to your chest. “I’ve been in relationships before, I’ve—” you lowered your voice. “I’ve fooled around.”

“Oh I bet you have.” She added, grin replacing her surprised gape.

“Stop it, you’re so embarrassing.” You pushed against her shoulder, freeing yourself from her death grip.

“Okay, first set, first set.” Mind now back to the mission, she returned to the racks of bras and thongs. “You should have something simple, but sexy. Black, too.”

“Why black?” Plenty of other colours filled the store.

“Fushiguro likes dark things, so he’ll like black on you.” The sensible explanation left her with a shrug.

Would that really be the case? Would Megumi look at your body being cupped by expensive black fabric and yearn for you? You could hardly imagine it. Megumi was never eager for anything, he was the type of guy to react to things with tame calmness. Would he blush? Reach to touch you? Kiss you?

Nobara handed you a neat, black matching bra and thong. “Go try this on.” She instructed, offering you an encouraging smile.

Face to face with your lewdly dressed body and flushed expression in the dressing room only made your anxiousness grow. Nobara had picked a beautiful set, a nicely patterned lace bra broken up by thick black straps pushed up your boobs, coined by a gemstone hanging off the middle. Small ripples of black sheer peaked from the supportive boning, similarly decorating the thin black straps curving around your hips holding up the lacy thong which too, had a gemstone hanging off the centre.

Fuck, Nobara had good taste.

But despite the fact you bought the matching underwear a month ago, nothing came of it. You’d worn it every single time you saw Megumi; a casual date at the park, an afternoon out at the movies, a night in lounging around. Just in case, you had thought, just in case something happens.

And because you wore them everytime you saw Megumi, they clung to your body now, at the very party Maki judged you for not having shown them off yet.

You sipped at your bitter alcohol mix, avoiding both the stares of your boyfriend and your friend. Nobara’s chanting became a welcome distraction, telling Yuji to ‘drink drink drink!’ Down his can of rum. Everyone cheered at his final gulp, including you.

Megumi, however, remained silent.

When the night came to a tired end (at about two in the morning), Megumi and yourself walked to your dorm in a sobering stumbled.

Arms around his neck, you brought Megumi into the plush bed with you, planting messy kisses along his hairline and laughing about the mischief of the night. “Itadori is going to be so hungover.” You muttered.

“Hm.” He thoughtlessly replied, craning his head so your lips made contact with his instead. He leaned over you, slowly letting his body sink into yours and sandwiching you between the bed and him.

In these moments of privacy you felt closest to Megumi. He’d unabashedly pull you in, kiss you and hold you tight.

You hummed against his lips, bringing your hands up to rake your nails through his hair, a trick you knew would immediately cause him to go soft against you, and he did, waist falling between your legs and hands twitching against your sides. He groaned softly and you wished you could record the sound and add it to a private playlist.

Chasing the mild heat in your abdomen, you furthered the kisses shared, moving into making out instead of peppery pecks. He followed you, daring to nip at your bottom lip (a habit he’d picked up from the one time you did it to him).

Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling his warmth in closer. That shift was what made both your clothed sexes connect. Jolted by the feeling, Megumi slipped from your lips to your ear, whispering a breathy command.

“Show me your set.”

He wasn’t even quite sure what he was asking, but he had an idea, a lewd idea. He knew he needed to know what Maki was talking about, what she knew about his girlfriend that he didn’t.

You gulped, an audible squeak catching in your throat. “You really want to see?” You asked.

He nodded silently, watching your every move as you hesitantly lifted your shirt up and over your head. His narrow eyes grew wide at the sight of your tits cupped by the stunning black garment. You hid in the pillow behind you, digging half your face into the plush at his bewildered expression.

Megumi’s hand had already began moving without him thinking. In what seemed like slow motion, his large palm came to fit around your boob. His thumb rubbed over the soft lace and because of its thin fabric, you gasped as it tickled your sensitive middle.

The noise sobered Megumi from his drunk, tranced state and he pulled his hand away like it had acted on its own free will. He sat up, eyes concentrated on your flushed, messy figure. Fuck, he was so in love with you it hurt.

“I should go.” He uttered softly, pressing a curt kiss to your head.

“What? But—” You babbled something, voice cracking.

“This isn’t a good time, it’s late, you’re drunk.” He reassured your rejection with another kiss.

“You won’t stay?” You asked, leaving you as more of a plea.

“Not tonight.” He finished. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You were then left empty and cold, and despite wrapping yourself in layers of blankets, you felt as naked as ever. The question what was wrong with you? Pulling you into a drunkenly tear filled sleep.

The next morning, the barking of your third alarm pulled you from your slumber. You smacked at the screen of your phone, lifting your now throbbing head from the sweet embrace of your pillow.

Almost immediately Megumi’s rejection of you last night reminded you why your eyes were so crusty with dried tears. However, you didn’t have much time to linger on it, already being late for your morning lecture.

Lunch was when you saw Megumi next. You were reading over your papers in the yard with a furrowed brow, your phone to your ear.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” You asked.

“I mean I don’t know! You’ve know Fushiguro pretty much the same amount of time I have, why don’t you know if he’s had sex?” Nobara snapped back, voice slightly fuzzy through your phone. “Oh, let’s not forget the fact you’re also his girlfriend!”

“I know, I just— ugh. Why is this so complicated?” You huffed.

“It really isn’t, girl. You’re just making it complicated.” She added back, unfiltered judgment in her tone.

“I know, I know.” You were weak before her unwavering moral superiority.

“Talk to him. Neither of you did anything wrong, he was probably still drunk and didn’t want to show you he had whisky dick or maybe he is a virgin and was just too nervous to fuck you.” You wondered for a brief moment who Nobara was around that could hear her talk about your (lack of) sex life.

“I doubt it.” You murmured. Finally your eyes caught the tall shadow that was Megumi and you fiddle to catch your phone as it dropped from your hand. “I gotta go, he’s here. Bye!”

One hand deep in his pocket and the other carrying a bag bloated with book, Megumi walked to you, standing tall over your sitting self.

“Nobara?” He asked, head jutting towards your phone.

“Yup, she uh— just won’t stop calling me.” You breathily laughed, stupidly covering the fact you had been the one calling her nonstop.

His careful eyes surveyed you, immediately grabbing something was amiss. “Hungover?”

Lord knew you weren’t going to bring up last night if he didn’t. You’d rather let it die in the past. “I was this morning, but I’m alright now.” You offered a kind, but forced smile. “You okay?” You returned, gazing up at him.

With the baggy top you’d hurriedly put on this morning, Megumi could see past the collar, eyes catching the familiar black bra. You were so rushed this morning, you didn’t have time to change it. His heart squeezed painfully, hand twitching as it recalled the feeling of the fabric. The same hand that fucked his dick until he came thinking of you once he was alone. Fuck, he was pathetic. “I’m fine.” He gritted. Even through the drunk haze of the prior night, that memory of you below him was as clear as day in his mind.

“You’ve got baseball this afternoon, right? Do you want to come over afterwards?” You asked.

“I can, why?” So you could show him more of your gorgeous body?

“Just to hangout, n’ chat.” You added, as casually as possible. Technically you weren’t lying.

“I’ll come.” He assured. His hands lifted to touch you, but Megumi decided better, shoving it back into his pocket. “Will I see you at practice?”

“I’ll be there.” You smiled.

You’d watched Megumi play baseball since he was young, having been one of his biggest supporters (besides Gojo, of course) since you two became friends. You’d love to watch him play, sitting on a nearby bench with a book to read or your computer to finish an assignment.

Megumi had never admitted it out loud, but before each swing of his bat, he’d gaze out into the empty audience chairs to catch a glimpse of you. You were always there, always looking at him.

It never failed to make his heart swell, even after the two of you began dating, seeing you sit there just for him was the kind of loyalty that made Megumi obsessed with you.

Today, though, it seemed Megumi had more on his mind than he usually did. It was so obvious in the way he played. He was distracted.

On the walk back to your dorm, you could tell he was clearly unimpressed by himself.

Once inside, you excused yourself to the bathroom just to freshen up.

Reflecting from your mirror like a ghost haunting you, hung your cleanly washed thong. Now dry and ready to be worn. Maybe, just maybe, finally ready to be seen. The old habit still clawed you, just in case, you thought, just in case something happens.

You slipped out of the bathroom, a sudden nervousness taking you. “Hey, can we talk?” You asked, finding a seat next to Megumi on your bed.

His furrowed expression disappeared the moment he heard your tone and his eyes lifted to you expectantly. You inhaled.

“I’ve got to tell you something.” You stated, voice wavering despite your desire to sound sure.

“Yeah?”

“I’m a virgin.” You finally uttered.

“Oh, okay.” You could hear in his voice, the slightest hint of bewilderment. Mostly at the suddenness.

“I’ve never had a dick in me, okay? So I’m nervous.” You let the words out like Megumi had you tied up, forcing a confession out of you. A tight pause filled the air as you let the weight of your secret fill the room.

“Why are you so embarrassed? It’s not like I’ve had sex, either.” Megumi’s narrow eyes squinted at his furrowed brow. His cheeks tinted pink, clearly out of his comfort zone to admit this.

“You haven’t?” You felt free of an imaginary weight that lifted from your chest.

“Yes? You’ve been my only girlfriend, I assumed you would’ve just guessed.”

“So nothing? No hookups or anything?”

“Not my thing.”

Your chest bubbled with a freeing excitement. You’d have to thank Nobara later and let her know she’s the goddess of advice. “Thank God, I was so worried.” You exhaled.

“Worried?” His hand came to grasp your arm. Had he seriously done something to make you worry?

“When you left last night, I thought I did something wrong or—”

Fuck. Of course. “No, you didn’t.” He squeezed your arm. He was just an idiot, a drunk, horny idiot. “It was the alcohol, I didn’t think it was a good idea. You didn’t do anything. You were perfect.” His eyes avoided you, cheeks growing darker.

Was he embarrassed? You kissed his jaw, eagerly planting a peck free of doubt.

The kiss seemed to break him from his mumbling as he adjusted your aim, pulling your chin up and kissing your lips. He kissed you again, and you could feel it in his affection too, an excitement to explore you, be the first to learn your body.

To reach his lips better, you moved to straddle Megumi, planting yourself on his lap and letting yourself be enveloped by his affection.

He pulled you down with him as his back fell into the mattress and as you rocked on his lap, you felt the line of his dick through his pants.

Then reality hit you. You two were going to do it. You sat up, blinking at the boy beneath you.

“…Hey.” You peeped, a stupid joking tone wrapping your words.

“Hey.” Megumi replied, his own words threaded with dull awkwardness.

“Do you.. come here often?” You continued, hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

He exhaled sharply, amused. “I do.”

“Same.” You nodded slowly. Another flustered moment of silence passed over you.

Megumi’s mind seemed clouded and unbothered by the pause, eyes becoming focused on your shirt. You could guess what he was thinking about.

“I’m wearing it again.” You muttered. His eyes flickered to you, holding an intense gaze you’d only seen him have in serious situations of concentration. “Do you want to see?”

His jaw clenched, and he nodded once. “Yes.”

You offered your shirt to him, prompting him to be the one to take it off you. His thick hands took the fabric, slowly pulling it up and over your head. His eyes caught on the black set again. Now, his gaze weakened, still tense but clouded by a soft desire.

Finally letting in to what he really wanted to do to you the previous night, Megumi sat up, cradling your abdomen to keep you stilled on top of him as he pressed a kiss to the skin that spilled out of your bra. He lightly sucked, no doubt hoping to leave a red mark.

“Megumi.” You softly murmured. The sound pricked his ears like a melody. He continued, more driven kissing and sucking up until he reached your collar bone and cheek.

Face just below your own, Megumi gazed up at you with his usually bored eyes, but currently they were anything but, holding a softness for you that could only be explained away by love. Riddle in the blue of his irises held the deep specks of lust. You wanted more, wanted to see his eyes flutter from pleasure.

Megumi’s thoughts similarly danced along the same trail as your own but despite his somewhat tame expression they were nasty compared to your own. Mostly, they lingered south. His fingers hooked the sides of your pants.

“I want to see the bottom pair.” He murmured, fierce eyes pinning you to his command.

“O-Okay.” You shyly huffed, moving back so Megumi could undress you with more ease. His eyes lingered on your own as he slid off your bottoms, like a boy closing his eyes as he opened his birthday gift so he could be more surprised by the reveal of it fully unwrapped in front of him. As much as you wanted to shy from his gaze, you couldn’t.

Finally your pants were off, tossed off the bed with your shirt. You watched his gaze flicker to your thong, and you shivered at the exposure. He leaned in, hands resting on your knees in an attempt to let you know he wanted them open, you didn’t comply, far too embarrassed. “Pretty.” He muttered. The swarm of butterflies in your stomach fluttered uncontrollably.

One of his hands snaked down your thigh, coming to grasp the gemstone hanging from the front strap. He twisted it between his thumb and index finger, and you badly wished it he’d play with your clit like that.

Then, his hand dragged over the lace fabric, so dangerously close to your bundle of nerves that your legs creaked opened on pure instinct. Megumi huffed at your bodies desire to be touched, taking the moment of weakness to slip himself between your legs.

Lower now, his fingers dared to slide over your clit. You gasped and his hand stunted.

“Feel okay?” He breathed, lust kissed eyes glowering at you. Don’t make him stop, not yet. Not when he was finally able to feel you.

“Feels good.” You murmured. Megumi’s jaw slacked and he panted a suppressed grunt at your pathetic words. Almost immediately he continued the motion, familiarising himself with what spots of your cunt would made you hiccup and your tummy twitch. “M-Megumi.” You whined with no real purpose behind your plea.

Hot, it was becoming too hot. He left your pussy for a second, pulling off his shirt and tossing it like he had your pants. Your cheeks blazed at his thin but muscled body. You’d only ever caught sight of his abs on a windy day, never had you seen his bare chest before. His skin was so smooth and light, your fingers begged to memories each curve and bump.

He closed the space between you, coming to press messy pecks on your lips whilst his hand returned to your cunt. Your hands rested against his thudding chest, letting yourself fall into the bedding.

“I can feel your heart beat.” You huffed, somewhat excited by the rapid pace. “Nervous?” You asked, a teasing prod.

“Eager.” He corrected, collecting your lips in another kiss.

His ring and index calmly slid up and down, the tips of his fingers daring over the patch of wet forming around your sex. You wanted to do the same, wanted so desperately to feel more of his body, but your nails stilled, dug into his chest waiting for some kind of permission you couldn’t even ask for.

And Megumi, the utter mind reader, took your wrist with his free hand and led you on a trail down his abdomen. He must’ve felt your hesitancy and made the move for you, that, or he was desperate to feel your hands wander over his body.

And your featherlight fingers curved over the dips of his abs. In reaction to your sweet touch, you felt his rubbing become messy and he pressed hard against your clit. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping against his tight stomach and his jaw clenched tight, swallowing a grunt.

“More, Megs, please.” You blurted, hole dripping and utterly prepped for whatever Megumi wanted to stuff inside you.

He remained somewhat levelheaded, thinking that if he fucked you now, he’d cum too quick and this would be all over. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you unsatisfied. So despite his aching cock, his fingers dipped under your thong and circled your weeping cunt. He was going to savour every single second.

Slowly, he pushed past the rings of your wet chasm. And fuck. His fingers and dick must’ve been connected, because he could’ve sworn he felt the ghost of your inside around him just like they were around his fingers.

His cock twitched, leaking a fat blob of precum. “Shit.” The way your pussy jumped at his curse didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh God— Megumi, hng.” Your legs weakened, turning to jelly at the feeling of his warm fingers pressing against your tight, sensitive walls. Megumi’s two digits were thicker and rugged from gripping a bat all his life, the perfect size and texture against your trembling insides and otherworldly compared to your own.

“Good?” He asked.

“Yea— mhm.” Your eyes fluttered shut, hands hesitating over Megumi’s torso until they gripped his tensed arms.

His mouth hung open, too distracted by massaging your insides to dedicate his lips to you. Hot pants filled your mouth as you desperately kissed him, each breath of his slowly filling with grunts to the symphony of your whines. Each moan from you battered his dick, making it pulse painfully for you.

His fingers chased your twitching hips, pushing in deeper each time you squirmed from the sensation. Until the tips of his fingers slid against the spongey sweet spot inside of you that was hidden in the curve of your chasm.

“Right there!” You squealed, the hight of your voice surprising both of you. “Curl your fingers— Mh! just like that.”

He did so, pushing his digits against the sweet spot, lightly pressing and smoothing over the area. You trembled beneath him, clinging to his body like he was your life support.

Megumi loved every second of it, watching your body contort from just his fingers. He just wanted to watch you like this, utterly drunk on pleasure, for forever.

He wanted to make cum so badly it was driving him mad.

“Ohh, please don’t stop.” How could he? Your pussy had just begun clenching around him so gorgeously, tightening like the building orgasm inside you.

Megumi had only realised you’d cum after you yelped his name and your walls sucked on his fingers, trying to milk them of cum. He wanted so badly to feel the sensation around his cock.

“Hng— thank you, thank you.” You babbled embarrassingly, kissing along Megumi’s throat.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, the lack of you around his dick, uncomfortably he palmed his boxers, trying to adjusted his blood filled cock.

The trance of afterglow seemed to subside as you gazed over Megumi’s frustration. Although you were undone, you still craved more of him inside your fuzzy chasm. “More?” You asked, an invitation.

Megumi nodded, thanking the heavens you weren’t done with him. His hand dug into the wallet in his pant pocket, digging out a condom. He pulled it out, half pruned fingers covered in your slick attempting to tear it open.

It was like you’d been slapped in the face with the curt realisation that he had prepared for this. Just as you went to buy lingerie, Megumi had gone and bought condoms. He must’ve thought it could’ve happened at any moment to keep one in his wallet.

He brought the wrapper to his teeth, being frustrated with his inability to open it and tore it open with his clenched teeth. You sucked in a breath at his flimsy eagerness.

The bashfulness that came with revealing himself seemed to skip Megumi’s mind, as he pulled down his baggy pants to let his leaking cock free of the fabric.

Your eyes shot up to the ceiling, needing to look elsewhere as you heard him slide on the plastic birth control. From the glimpse you did catch you could tell he was thin and long. Your attention dived back down once you left a gentle hand rest on your hip, his thumb rubbing over the bone.

His eyes, once you met them, held a simple question; are you ready?

You nodded, closing your eyelids and bracing for his length. However the feeling never came, only his lips as they trailed from your tummy, over your bra and up to your lips.

Your hands cradled his head, nails dragging across his scalp and he grunted. This felt familiar, the feeling of his body softening against yours as you pressed simple kisses onto one another’s lips. Through the intimacy, you felt Megumi readjust, pulling your underwear to the side and lining his tip against your sopping sex.

Closer now, you hugged him through the stress. He slowly sunk into you, the plastic of the condom feeling cool against your hot insides. “Fuck.” He hissed, nipping at your bottom lip.

You sobbed, letting the sensation of being filled by your boyfriend feed your mouth with curses.

He entered slowly, just as much for you as it was for him. His face, flushed red and eyes fluttering in pleasure. You not far from the same, mouth agape with lewd noises spewing out.

He bottomed out when your hips met, taking a brief minute to calm your collective gasps. You gazed down, drowsily taking in the enrapturing sight of you two being connected. Megumi moaned weakly at your smitten stare, feeling himself fall apart from inside you.

“S’okay?” He asked.

“Y-Yes, you can move.” You permitted desperately.

He drawled his hips out carefully, rolling inwards again. Your insides still buzzed from his fingers, raw and sensitive to his filling cock. He could feel you spasm around him, forcing friction when he desperately needed you to be still so he didn’t cum prematurely.

Another breathless curse left him as his length dived back into you. “Oh fuck— I love you.” You gaped at the words, wondering suddenly was that the first time he’s ever said that?

He rolled his hips again, breaking up your quick declaration. “Love— mh— you.”

He cradled you, pulling your body in with his unlikely strength as he fucked you gently. You’d never felt so close to another person before, having him so deep within you, filling your body with pleasure.

Megumi had lost most of his composure, becoming a vocal mess as he humped into your heavenly insides.

“So tight.” He uttered into your skin. “S’perfect.” He kissed your skin, sucking hard hickies into your chest and neck.

“Mnh— love you, hng.” You repeated, too cock drunk to babble anything else.

Messier now, his hip rolls became somewhat frantic, chasing the building mountain of his orgasm. “S-Shit— I’m gonna cum.” The statement rolled off his tongue in a pathetic whine, another crack from his usual composure.

“Don’t s-stop! Please, Gumi ahh.” You were already being worked to your second orgasm, you couldn’t bare to be emptied of him before you reached your high. Your legs wrapped around him, keeping Megumi in.

“Ngh— fffuck.” He plowed harder now, his cock tip perfectly fucking against your sweet spot. Suddenly his tame thrusts became a stuttering mess as he muffled your name into your shoulder.

You could feel him orgasm, feel his cock jerk, feel his cum bloat the tip of the condom inside you.

Noticing him slow, you rolled your hips, desperately fucking yourself onto his mid-orgasm dick.

His hands smack at your sides, attempting you to pull you off his overstimulated dick.

“Almost almost almost—” You pleaded.

With what he had left in him, Megumi took your hips and helped you grind yourself on his cock. He bit your shoulder, muffling the pained moans leaving him.

“Fuck!” You squeaked, his dick slid over your g-spot again, finally bringing you to your spine tingling orgasm. Your insides spasmed around Megumi’s dick, and he whined at the feeling, growing painfully hard again.

Your body went limp, as did the tight hold you had on Megumi. Both your bodies sat panting, utterly fucked out and glistening with sweat.

Raising from you, Megumi looked over your flushed, messy state, his cock still warm fitted inside you. He savoured the sight, thinking that if he could take a photo of this, he’d keep it in his wallet.

“We should shower.” He murmured, painting kisses along your shoulder.

“Mhm, okay.” You nodded.

Fuzzy insides retracting as Megumi slipped from you, you sighed longingly, whilst he grunted, disappointed he couldn’t live inside you.

You groggily sat up, kissing him before attempting to move off the bed but Megumi kept you back, hooking a finger around the strap of your bra.

“How much was the set?” He asked.

“Uhm, not much, Nobara helped me pay for it so—”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

The heat that had just left your cheeks suddenly returned.

[cherriicou]

thinking ab fratboy! joshua who literally chokes on his drink when you asked him politely to take your v-card.

‘come on,' your hands grip harder on his hair, lips swollen and cheeks flushed from the rough kisses. he cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing against your bottom lip with a smirk, 'baby, you're not ready,' his sweet voice only haunts you more, thighs squeezing against his. you're straddling his lap so cutely, skirt riding up your ass while one of his hands holds onto your waist for you not to move.

you whine and throw your head back playfully, 'am too,' your little pout makes him smile in awe. you were such a pretty girl. one he'd always notice in his classes, but felt you were too good for him. yet, here you were perched so nicely on his lap, begging him to fuck you.

'just the tip,' he groans into your mouth, your soft pleas making it so much harder to deny your wants. 'you and me both know that won't last,' you smile against his lips as you grind harder on him. both his hands land on your waist as he lays you down on your back. he makes sure a soft pillow is there for your head then places small kisses all the way down to your cunt :3

he takes off his stained pants from both your wetness and his, fully showing you his hard length. a breathy gasp leaves your lips, eyes shaking when you see him get closer to you while spreading his pre-cum all over his cock. 'ready?' he asks softly, locking eyes with you to make sure you were okay. you nod, eyes moving from him to his cock that's rubbing against your folds. both of you moan as he enters just the tip inside.

'fuck,' the small stretch was killing you, 'so perfect,' you moan at his praise. with one hand grabbing onto the sheet, 'do it,' you plead. he smiles calmly, hands placed back on your hips, staring straight at your face as it slowly starts to scrunch cutely. he was fucking big, too big. he's stretching you out completely now, 'shua!,' you yell, hand grabbing onto his forearm.

'want me to st-.' you shake your head immediately, no. 'more, please,' and that is all it takes for him to lose all the self-control he had. he continues to slowly push his length into your pussy, 'fucking taking me so well,' oh, you were definitely his now. he wasn't ever going to let anyone take his precious girl away from him. those thoughts only growing while you scream his name out loud. you are just a mess beneath him, begging for him to go harder on your already sensitive cunt :<

he gets closer to your face, pounding ruthlessly now like a madman. his sweat starts dripping on your neck as he groans near your ear while pushing himself deeper into your cervix, and you're loving this. it's so perfect how his gentle aura is now gone and he's whispering the dirtiest things in your ear; calling you his, saying how tight your cunt is, how he's going to use you all the time now, how your body was made to be fucked by him. it's all driving your body crazy.

'cumming, shua,' you grab onto his shoulder, biting into his soft skin. you can't see him but he's enjoying the fuck out of this, he loves how needy you're body is to him now, so all he does to respond is latch his mouth on your nipple, still riling himself into you. and you feel yourself come undone, your pussy clenching hard on his cock and it feels so good. 'aw my baby finished,' he coos into your neck, letting you and your body calm down from its first release.

you breathe in and out, your cunt is so sensitive as he stays still in you until you feel his hands snake around your torso, 'joshua!,' you're now laying on your stomach then pulled closer to where your back is arched and your ass is perfectly aligned for his cock to slip into your pussy, 'but i'm not done with you.'

author's note; hey guys! quick little imagine bc im studying for finals and older bf!svt is gonna be on a very short hold :< i do read all of your requests and trust me i will be doing all members hehe... thank you for all the recent support, it encourages me a lot! p.s. this is not proofread, so excuse any mistakes :0

also been thinking about dino and shua a lot lately.... wtf is going on with them, they've been giving me strokes.

[sloaneispunk]

“friend or foe”

soft!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when frontman joined the games, he thought it was solely to see gihun fail, but his intentions shifted when a certain player number 455 caught his attention…

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part one

after the first round of voting, half of the room was left speechless, how could majority have voted to stay? the games were inhumane and above the top, was the money worth it anymore?

you headed up back to your bed where you could see everything clearer. the ‘o’s cheering loudly while the ‘x’s stood still as the air hung heavily upon them. then, you saw the player that had caused the majority to overule the ‘x’s… player 001.

he was a tall middle aged man with astonishing features. his hair somehow still styled neatly on his head, leaving only a few strands out of place. his lips curled into a small smirk as he walked past the crowd and seemingly back towards the bunk beds.

you must have been staring for too long because 001 suddenly halted, causing you to lean further down to see what had caused him to stop in his tracks. suddenly, his head snapped up, looking right up at you with that same expression on his face.

‘shit’ you cursed as you threw yourself back onto the bed, back hitting the cold mattress within seconds.

suddenly, a face appeared at the side of your bed, causing you to let out a scream as your hands flew to your mouth, shufflig towards the other end of the bed.

“hi there.”

there he stood, right there at the other end of your bed. player 001’s brown eyes looked so innocently into your own, he now had a bigger, more geniune smile on his face as he waited for a reply.

“you scared me.” you breathed out, still not moving from the edge.

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to. i noticed you were alone earlier, i hope you don’t mind if i join you since we’re both by ourselves in here.” 001 said with a calm and gentle voice.

“uh.. yeah-”

“i apologise if i’m being too pushy, i just thought a young, pretty girl like you being here alone could be risky. i wanted to make sure that you were alright.” he interrupted. “my name is young-il.”

he stretched out his hand towards you, waiting for your hand in to shake his.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you.” you replied, still skeptical, but nevertheless you showed your appreciation with a handshake.

oh, right then and there. with your hand in his, the frontman in disguise was heating up. he craved so much more then merely your hand in his. he wanted to touch every part of you, leaving nothing that he had not savoured.

he was brought back into reality when you pulled your hand back, staring at him, waiting for the charismatic man to say yet another inviting sentence to draw you in more.

“i’m afraid i didn’t notice you during the first game.” young-il said.

you shifted on the bed, moving towards the headrest as you beckoned him to the empty space in front of you which he gladly complied.

“during red light, green light?” you asked and he nodded. “i was at the front, guess i didn’t want to take the risk of lagging behind.”

“you must have completed the game pretty fast then.” he stated.

“i had a few minutes left, i spent it trying to help those who were falling behind.” you shrugged.

there it was. that kindess, that compassion. it was exactly what he was looking for. right now he was the big bad wolf licking his lips as he sat watching his prey.

“you have a kind heart, y/n. how did a girl like you end up in this place?”

“just mixed around with the wrong people i guess, i plan to start a new when i get out of here.” you said, full of hope, making him grin.

the two of you spent the night talking, getting closer with every hour that passed. the more young-il talked to you, the more he felt the need to dive deeper, there was so much he wanted, no, needed to know about you. all he needed was time to earn your trust and he would have everything in his control. when you had fallen asleep, young-il checked the surroundings, ensuring that everyone was fast asleep before he walked up towards the masked guards.

“make sure every single one of you nutjobs get this message. whatever you do, do not hurt player 455. if i find a single scratch on her, i will kill you all myself. is that clear?” young-il whispered but was still somehow stern enough for the guards to be taken aback with fear.

things were starting to change with the frontman’s plan, but he could adapt to change right?

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part two

the next day you were awoken by the cheerful song being played on the speakers.

“good sleep? you dosed off halfway during our talk last night.” young-il, chuckled, sitting on the edge of your bed, extending his hand out for you to take.

“were you here all night? my god, you should’ve went back to your bed! you didn’t sleep?!” you scolded as you took his hand.

he let out a laugh and helped you onto your feet.

“it’s no worries, y/n, i wasn’t tired.”

“so you watched me like a creep while i slept?”

“i- y-yeah, no! i mean n-no-”

“i’m kidding.” you cut the poor man off, “thank you.”

“yeah, of course.” he replied. “c’mon, let’s see what game we’re playing today.”

“ladies and gentleman, please follow in an orderly fashion to your next game.”

as you and young-il followed the crowd into the colorful, long, windy staircase.

“what if the next game is difficult, young-il?” you asked, following behind as he kept you close even when walking.

“hey, it’s okay, nothing will happen to us. i’ll make sure of it.” he smiled, pausing in his steps momentarily for you to walk beside him.

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part three

when you entered the room, you realised it was much smaller than the room for ‘red light, green light’. this one however, had two large rainbow circles on the floor and 5 tables spaced equally around.

“this game will be played in groups of 5, the game will commence in 10 minutes.”

your eyes shot to young-il. before you could say anything, 3 men came up to you and young-il. “hey man, would you want to join our group?”

3 men stood behind young-il, player 390, player 388 and player 456.

“why not? me and y/n can-”

“oh… we were looking for a team of men.. i’m sorry but your friend can’t join us.” player 390 interrupted.

“no.” young-il said sternly. he wasted no time arguing and instead took your hand and walked away.

after searching for other groups that would take you both in, you realised it was useless. no one really wanted a girl in their group and you couldn’t blame them. you stopped and sighed, causing young-il to turn around.

“young-il, it’s useless. you should join them. i’ll find others, we don’t have time.” you sighed, beckoning him to leave before time ran out for the both of you.

“no. i can’t garuntee your safety that way.”

“you don’t have to. it’ll be fine i’ll see you when the game is over.”

“c’mon, y/n i-”

“miss?” a voice said from behind you. “we need one more person for our team, would you want to join us?”

it was a sweet old lady, behind her stood 2 girls, player 120 and player 095.

“mom did you find someone?” a man jogged towards the old woman. “oh great, okay just in time.”

“come dear, who says women can’t win this stupid game.” she grumbled, taking your hand and leading you towards her group.

“i’ll be fine.” you smiled, leaving young-il standing alone with worry in his eyes. with much hesistation, young-il let you go, joining the team of men without you.

“you, hey! come join us! let’s win this!” player 456 cheered, inviting young-il back into the group.

“time is up, please sit down in your groups… this is a six legged race where you will have to complete 5 mini games individually while being chained to each other. the games played will be ddakji, flying stone, gonggi, spinning top and jegi. please order yourself in which you will be playing the games in.”

a sense of unease set in in young-il. he searched the room to find you. even if he was worried, he couldn’t show it on the outside, it would be too risky for you and for him. he remained calm as he scanned the room for you, eyes eventually landing on your face from across the room.

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part four

“we’re lucky we have many girls in this team! which games are you familiar with?” the old lady asked, looking at you.

“oh i’m not really sure, why don’t you guys pick first?” you replied embarrassed, an awkward smile plastered on your face.

as the others discussed which game they were going to play you looked around, searching for young-il once more. when you finally spotted him at the far end, you gave him a small smile and a wave, seeing how he was already looking at you.

“so i’ll play ddakji, your son will play flying stone, ma’am you’ll play gongi, ms 455 will play spinning top and ms 120 you will play jengi. is that alright?” player 095 said, looking around for approval from the group.

when the game started, your team was the first. you took your place on the rainbow with your team, all equally as nervous as you were.

“hey we’re gonna be okay, we’ll win easily.” you said offering a smile to the team.

“yes! we can do it ladies! oh and you too son.” the old lady said.

a gunshot fired in the air, indicating the start of the game.

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!” every grunted in synchronicity, moving rather quickly to the first station.

the other players were up on their feet, following around the circle as they cheered.

1. ddakji

player 095 closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

piak!

the sound of the paper slapping on the ground echoed through the room, she opened her eyes and looked down. it flipped.

“first try! let’s go!” player 120 cheered.

“pass”

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!”

2. flying stone

“son, just imagine. that rock is the face of the dealer that screwed you over.” the old lady said to her son making the rest of you snicker.

“you son of a bitch! give me my money back!” the man yelled as he threw the rock. without even trying, he managed to hit the other rock down.

“pass”

“holy shit! you did it!” you exclaimed. “let’s go! quick!” you exclaimed practically jumping in place.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

3. gonggi

“come, come! sit down everyone, i need to concentrate.” the old lady said.

she picked up the first few pieces with ease, but couldn’t catch the last one causing her to start over.

that must have struck a nerve because every try after that was not a sucess.

“mom. you said you played gonggi with bullets in the korean war, you can do it.” her son said. “picture it as dad’s face-”

“you imbecile!” she yelled as she picked all the pieces up again, putting them down and picking them up once more with ease.

“pass”

4. spinning top

young-il cheered like the rest, maybe even more. he was holding his breath with every step you took. even as the frontman, he wasn’t sure why he was anxious for a player like you to win. it was very unlike him but he had to admit it felt good.

he watched as you coiled the rope around the spinning top. he could see your hands shaking as everyone’s eyes burned holes into you.

with two minutes left on the clock you trusted your instincts and drew your hand back, carefully flicking your wrist. the spinning top flew through the air, with a soft bang it landed on the ground, spinning perfectly.

“pass”

“she did it!” young-il shouted, causing a roar of cheers to erupt as your team moved towards the last and final game.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

5. jegi

“can everyone look away? i just need some concentration.” player 120 asked. everyone including your team turned to look away, even with the time left, you were shaking with fear. one wrong move and you could leave this game as easy as you came in.

everyone remained quiet as you listened for the sound of the shoe and jegi coming into contact.

“one.”

“two.”

“three.”

“four.”

“five.”

“oh! we did it! that was five!” the old woman shouted.

you looked up seeing the guard makinga circle up with his arms.

“pass”

“let’s go! let’s go!”

with that, your team was let go. relief overwhelmed you as you passed the finish line. as the guards unchained your legs, you turned to the crowd finding young-il easily.

you offered him a smile and a little wave, making him do the same.

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part five

when it was young-il’s turn his team took place at the start of the line.

“well, it’s a little sad that we don’t have an audience.” player 390 sighed.

“no, it’s good. we don’t have distractions.” player 388 replied.

throughout the game, there was one thing on young-il’s mind, getting back to you. he couldn’t wait for another of your late night conversations. the stupid smile you had when he cracked a horrible joke.

he knew that the game was designed so that there couldn’t be many mistakes made each round. when he joined it was merely for the thrill of it, also the fact that he wanted to see player 456 suffer. but now he knew he had to play the games thoroughly and right, he knew he had to do this to keep his promise to endure your safety.

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part six

you waited anxiously on your bed as more groups came in, but not young-il. it was nerve wrecking, with every group that came in, somehow the number of player became lesser. it was made clear that not everyone was made to pass.

a few minutes later, the metal door swung open again.

the final group walked in, player 456, player 388, player 390, another player you hadn’t seen before player 222 and young-il.

young-il didn’t waste any time, he jogged back to your bed, seeing your smile widen as he came close. before he had the chance to say anything, you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your hands around his neck tightly as he bent down onto your bed.

“oh my god, you did it! i was so scared, i-i was so worried-”

“hey, it’s okay. it’s okay, i was worried sick too.” he chuckled, taking a seat beside you on the bed.

“i thought the team didn’t want a girl? how did she manage to get in?” you asked, pointing to player 222 who was now with the rest, talking and laughing.

“she was heavily pregnant. we didn’t have a choice, i’m so sorry they didn’t take you in.” he apologised as you shook your head.

“it’s okay, i understand. don’t worry. i’m just glad you made it.” you said, leaning so close that you could feel his bodyheat.

“you know… when i was playing the spinningtop, i couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you did it in one try!”

“of course, an old man like you comparing yourself to me?” you gasped sarcastically, making him laugh.

“yea right, come on says the one who’s almost lying on me.”

you jerked back, you hadn’t even noticed.

“i’m so sorry, are you uncomfortable? i can mov-”

“hey, i’m playing around. come back, you can do whatever you want. i’m just a makeshift pillow for you.”

you sneered and laid your head on his shoulder, legs tangled together on the bed as you could feel the rhythm of his breathing match yours.

“thank you, young-il.” you whispered, your hand finding his, squeezing it to show your appreciation.

young-il looked down to your hand in his and raised it to his lips, giving it a gentle peck. “anytime, y/n.”

whethere he liked it or not, the game had hit a big obstacle. as the frontman he needed to balance between running the games and keeping it safe for you, and preventing player 456 from infiltrating.

even so, he knew the dangers of the next game. ‘mingle’ was one set out to kill, his plans were all falling apart. frontman realised that keeping you came with a cost, and it was one he was willing to pay.

[sushiyuzu]

cute yapper

warning: fluff + comfort — soft!sylus admiring you while you yap. like, a lot 🗣🤍

a/n: tysm for the cute request, dear anon! i apologize if it’s short for you but i hope you like it as much as i do <3

anon’s request / link: click here

you’re talking, and, well, it’s a lot.

words just keep coming out, one after another, and you can’t help it. you’re talking about everything—how your day went, a cute cat you saw on the way here, some new recipe you want to try, or that funny story from when you were little. it all feels so exciting to you, like you just have to tell someone.

and, of course, that someone is sylus.

he’s sitting there with his usual calm, cool look, his red eyes watching you. he doesn’t say much, just a soft nod here and there, maybe a small smile if you’re lucky.

it’s hard to tell sometimes if he’s really listening or if he’s just being polite. he’s so quiet, and it makes you wonder if you’re being too much, if he’s just letting you talk because he doesn’t want to be rude.

you pause for a moment, glancing at him. he’s looking at you, but his face doesn’t give much away. that only makes you more nervous. “...and, well, maybe i’m just boring you,” you mumble, voice getting softer as you look down at your hands. “sorry, i guess i’ve just been talking too much...”

you stop talking completely, a little embarrassed now. your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, and the silence between you feels heavy, like maybe he’s relieved you finally stopped.

then, after a moment, he moves closer, and you can feel his warmth next to you. his voice is low, soft, and it catches you off guard. “why did you stop?”

you look up, eyes wide, surprised by the question. “oh... um, i just thought maybe you weren’t really listening. i didn’t want to bother you.”

he lets out a small chuckle, like he finds something you said a little funny but in a nice way. “i was listening,” he says, his tone serious but also gentle. “i was listening to every word.”

you can’t help but blink in surprise. “really? but... i thought...”

he reaches over, his fingers brushing a strand of hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. his touch is soft, and you can feel a warmth spreading across your cheeks. “yes, really,” he murmurs. “i think it’s cute. you’re just so... so pretty when you talk. your face lights up, and your eyes sparkle. i could listen to you talk all day.”

he says it so calmly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but his gaze is warm and deep, like he means every word. you feel your heart start to race, a mix of joy and shyness making you fidget in your seat.

“so... you really don’t mind? you actually like it?” you ask, just to be sure, your voice coming out a little softer than before.

he nods, and his hand moves to rest on yours, his thumb gently tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “of course i like it. i love it, actually. you’re so full of life when you talk about the things you care about. it’s... beautiful.”

oh, the man that you are.

his words make your cheeks feel even warmer, and you feel a shy smile tugging at your lips. you take a deep breath, feeling a rush of happiness that’s hard to put into words. “thank you, sylus,” you whisper, your heart feeling full.

and then, before you know it, you’re talking again. your words are coming out even faster, even happier than before. you tell him all the little details, even the silliest ones that you used to hold back. it’s like a flood of everything you’ve wanted to share, and for the first time, you don’t worry about holding back.

sylus just watches you, his eyes soft and his expression calm, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips, and he’s nodding along, letting you know he’s right there with you. every now and then, he’ll lean closer, his hand still warm on yours, or he’ll give a soft chuckle when you say something funny. it’s like he’s completely focused on you, and only you.

then, as you keep talking, he leans forward even more, so close that you can feel his breath on your shoulder. before you can even process it, he presses a gentle peck there, playful but soft, then followed by a slow, open-mouth warm kiss. the sensation sends a small shiver through you, and you pause, surprised.

you feel his arms slide around you, holding you close as he murmurs, “don’t stop, okay? keep talking. i love hearing your voice.”

you nod, feeling a mix of excitement and comfort as you settle into his hold. you keep talking, feeling safe, warm, and wanted. for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re too much, or that your words are a burden. instead, you feel like every word matters, like every story you share with him is special, and he’s there to hear it all.

and you absolutely love him for that.

always.

[sadiesdoll]

BEEN TOO LONG.

pregnant!reader x sevika. | sevika makes you feel good after making u wait so long. ♡ (mdni ♡)

contains: soft!dom sevika, thigh riding, gentle praise kink, crying during sex, mentions of body image issues.

a/n: this could be read as a part 3 for sevika with a breeding kink. ♡ | 2 | but it’s not an official continuation.

Enjoy ♡

You hesitate in front of her. One knee on the couch cushion. One trembling hand braced against her chest.

You're already flushed from the heat of her gaze-hooded, half-lidded, lazily focused on you like she's watching something sacred.

"You sure?" you whisper, not even meeting her eyes. Your fingers are curled in the fabric of her tank top like it's your lifeline.

She nods once. "Only if you want it, mama."

That name—mama—it makes your thighs clench. You've hated your body these past few months. You've hated feeling bloated, heavy, alien in your own skin. But when she says it, it sounds like reverence. Like worship.

She helps you straddle her, one massive hand guiding your hips down until your soaked panties kiss the hard muscle of her thigh.

She doesn't press. Doesn't grind you down.

Just holds you there, warm and grounded, her other hand resting under your belly to steady the weight you've been carrying alone.

"I got you," she murmurs, low and calm, like the ocean at midnight. "Take your time."

You start slow. So slow. Rocking your hips in tiny, tentative motions.

It's not like before—you're softer, everything's more sensitive. Even the drag of her sweatpants against your panties has you gasping. It's not even friction—it's just... presence. Pressure. A reminder that someone sees you. Still wants you.

Your hands grip her shoulders, trembling.

Her voice is low and steady. "That's it, baby. Go nice and easy. Doesn't have to be pretty."

You shiver.

Your breath catches on a particularly good pass of her thigh against your clit, and you let out a soft, broken whine.

"Shit," Sevika whispers. "Make that sound again."

You do. Louder this time. Grinding a little harder now, the motions deeper, slower. The need building so gradually it aches.

Her hands never leave your body. One holding your hips in place. One splayed over your belly, thumb tracing slow circles while she kisses your jaw.

"You're doin' so good for me," she murmurs.

"Look at you. Didn't even know how bad you needed this, huh?"

You shake your head, eyes wet. "I missed this. Missed you."

Sevika leans in, her forehead pressed against yours, the tiniest smile playing on her lips.

"You didn't lose me," she says. "You never lost me, sweetheart."

Your hips stutter. You're close, but not in a rushing way—in that slow, soul-deep ache kind of way. You're so overwhelmed you don't even notice the tears until Sevika brushes them away with her knuckles.

"You gonna cum for me like this?" she whispers. "Just from ridin' my thigh? Look how good you're makin' yourself feel."

Your moans grow wetter, messier— punctuated by choked breaths and tiny gasps. Your hips are grinding in tighter circles now, Sevika flexing her thigh ever so slightly to meet you halfway.

"Come on, pretty thing," she murmurs.

"Take your time. I'll hold you through it."

You bury your face in her neck, gripping her tighter, thighs trembling.

You whisper it, barely audible through a cracked sob of a moan.

"Sev... it's been so long... I didn't know I needed this so bad. I missed feeling good.”

She hums softly and shifts just enough to wrap her arm tighter around your waist, cradling you like she's done this a hundred times.

"I know, baby," she murmurs, her lips brushing your hair. "I know. You've been holdin' it all in, huh?"

“Mhm.” 

You nod frantically against her skin, grinding down again with a tiny whimper you try to muffle in her neck.

Her hand slides up your spine, fingers soothing as she cups the back of your head.

"You're okay," she says. "You don't gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Let yourself feel it. You deserve this."

You let out another shaky gasp, hips rolling deeper now, and she lets you ride it—lets you chase what you've needed for months.

Her voice stays low and steady, grounding you through the flood.

"Let me take care of you, mama," she whispers. "I got you."

And then—

It hits you slow. Like honey. Like a wave you didn't see coming until you were already swallowed by it. Your hips seize up. Your breath catches. You grind through it, slow and needy, riding it out until you collapse against her chest with a soft cry, soaked through, body trembling from the release.

Sevika doesn't say a word. Just wraps her arms around you, holding you like she's afraid you'll float away. One hand under your belly. The other stroking your spine.

"You did perfect," she says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "So fuckin' proud of you."

You fall asleep like that. In her lap. Skin flushed. Panties soaked. Her arms around you. Her voice in your ear. And a warmth in your chest that makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—you're still the same you she fell in love with.

this is so soft I might cry

criticism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

thank you for reading! ♡

[fairsweetlonging]

time travel au where liu qingge and shen qingqiu (yuan) end up accidentally traveling a decade back in time before luo binghe was amitted to qing jing peak and before shen qingqiu had his qi deviation, but after their generation has risen to peak lords.

which means, shen yuan realizes quickly, as they're accosted by said peak lords, that he will have to face shen jiu.

as they're being cleared for demonic energy and the likes, mu qingfang of course instantly detects the poison without a cure eating away at shen yuan's meridians. liu qingge pulls a copy of the treatment plan out of his sleeve (shen yuan blushes a bit, did liu qingge always keep that on hand?), and just like in the current timeline, they agree to keep it under wraps.

shen jiu tries various times to get a moment alone with shen yuan, but he never quite manages because liu qingge is there, who is also... nice?? to him?? for some reason?? shen jiu gets a bit flustered at the solemn politeness and skitters off.

it comes out pretty quickly that shen yuan has "memory loss", and thus can't remember anything that's currently taking place in this time. shen yuan expects scorn, hatred and disdain from shen jiu, expects to be grabbed and interrogated, to arouse suspicion.

but shen jiu looks....... sad???

being transported here threw shen yuan's qi off-balance (even liu qingge had to sit down, which means it's bad), and his cultivation is already so unstable, so when the peak lords are all squabbling and arguing and threatening and raising their voice, he can feel his body shut down. he sees yue qingyuan start to move towards him, which, knowing the future yue qingyuan, he really isn't up for right now—but before the sect leader can get to him someone else is at his back, transferring him qi, holding him up gently by his shoulders, then coaxing him up, leading him outside

shen yuan's been fed qi by every peak lord at least once. he doesn't recognize this one. that means it can only be one person.

he looks up. it's shen jiu.

and it's bizarre, getting fussed over by the scum villain, having gentle hands run along his back, his hair, that clear, soothing voice calming him down. and somehow shen jiu knows exactly what to do?? somehow it works perfectly on him?? it's almost as if shen jiu has known him his whole—

oh.

bodies, like homes, hold memories, even if the original occupants are no longer there. it's the milestone marks on the doorpost that chart a child's growth, blurry photographs faded by time, scuffed floors from well-walked paths, and tiny holes in the walls where pictures once hung.

shen jiu takes him to the bamboo house, pours him tea, and asks, calmly, what he remembers from their childhood.

it's not his childhood, so shen yuan doesn't actually remember anything, but the body he's in does. the memories it holds are emotional rather than visual; he remembers being alone, scared, and hungry. he remembers anger, pain. a dark room. loud voices. he remembers his heart skipping a beat when heavy boots stomp his way. the sound of a whip.

he doesn't have to lie. the memories aren't his own, and they're from long ago, which means shen jiu has them too. and, he supposes, this is his only chance to find out what really happened.

but shen jiu doesn't say anything about it. he just nods and stares, intensely. then he asks shen yuan if he remembers yue qingyuan. shen yuan says no, he doesn't. the conversation takes a very strange turn after that. shen yuan can't help but feel a little queasy when shen jiu asks him if yue qingyuan has taken advantage of his memory loss.

"has he come into your home? has he brought you gifts, sweets? does he invite you for tea? did you accept?"

he has. shen yuan doesn't know why that would be a problem, the sect leader has been nothing but kind and helpful and patient. and generous, too.

when he says yes shen jiu looks furious.

liu qingge (his one) comes to pick him up, and his time with shen jiu is cut short. somewhere he's glad, cuddling into liu qingge's back as he holds him while they fly. he feels a little bad for yue qingyuan, knowing he's probably caused a big fight, but it doesn't sit right with him. he wishes he knew what happened.

.

liu qingge, meanwhile, is having the time of his life fighting himself. it's good practice!

[simplygojo]

Pussydrunk ⸺ Choso Kamo

author's note ⸺ Saw some crazy Choso art this morning and I know that the world can always use more Choso smut...so enjoy. Also yes-he does thank you for your pussy... pairing ⸺ Choso Kamo x reader teaser ⸺ '"You let out a breathy laugh and tilted your head slightly at him, “You’re thanking me? For letting you eat me out?” Choso gave you a goofy little grin, his face still buried in your legs as he responds with exaggerated sincerity. “Of course..."' content ⸺ 18+ SMUT, MDNI, pussydrunk choso, he is OBSESSED, cunnilingus, shy emo boy turned feral, oral sex (reader recv.), choso is such a nice boy he thanks u for ur pussy, he lovesss to eat you out but let a guy have hobbies!! overstimulation, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions || fic image artist ||

Choso is perfect. Too perfect—really. 

Your sweet, soft-spoken, emo boyfriend who always knows exactly what you need. The one who texts you to remind you to drink water, gets you your favourite snacks even when you don’t ask, and holds your hand like it’s the most sacred thing in the world. 

He’s calm, attentive, and gentle—everything anyone could want in a partner.

But there’s something about him—a hidden streak that surfaces only when you’re alone.

And only when he’s between your legs.

It’s almost comical how the man who blushes when you tease him in public—who can’t take compliments without fumbling for words, turns into someone so utterly unrestrained when he’s got his face buried in your cunt. 

Your shy, sweet Choso becomes something else entirely. Feral. Hungry. Completely pussydrunk.

It’s not just a casual thing for him—it’s a fixation, a need. 

The way his pupils blow wide whenever you start to undress or the way his hands unconsciously flex when you shift your legs apart? He’s thinking about it. How soft you’d feel, how warm and wet and impossibly sweet? Yep, he’s thinking about it…and he never tries to hide it.

It starts so innocently every time, just like it had tonight, his long fingers brushing your thighs as he kisses your inner knees. 

He whispers something tender, something like, “You’re so beautiful,” as his lips trace paths closer to where you’re desperate for him.

His words always make your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, he’s dipping his head lower, brushing his nose along the seam of your panties. 

You let out a quiet gasp, hips twitching when his tongue flicks out to trace the damp fabric.

“Already wet for me,” he says, and there’s something darker in his tone now—a hint of what’s to come. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband, sliding your underwear down your legs with deliberate slowness, and his breath catches when you’re finally bare before him.

Then the first taste hits his tongue, and that’s it—Choso’s gone.

Your thighs barely get the chance to press around his head before his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, so he can bury his face in your pretty cunt.

The first press of his tongue against your folds makes your back arch off the bed. 

Choso groaned like he’s the one being pleasured, and the sound vibrated against you, drawing a soft cry from your lips. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer, and he buries his face in you like a man starved.

He alternates between teasing your clit with quick flicks of his tongue and plunging it back inside you, each movement pulling a new, breathless whimper from your lips.

The soft squelch of his mouth working on you made your thighs twitch, but Choso didn’t stop. 

If anything, he groans louder, the sound reverberating through your core as his tongue dips back down to your entrance. He licks into you slowly, savouring the way you tighten around the soft, wet muscle.

You try to push him back once you’re trembling, overstimulated from his relentless attention, but Choso isn’t having it.

“Just once more,” he breathed against your skin, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. They’re glassy, unfocused—completely drunk on you. “Please, baby. Can’t stop. You taste so good.”

And how could you say no to that? To the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters? He is just so damn pretty. I–

His hands roam your thighs, holding them open as he devours you, sucking your clit between his lips and humming with satisfaction every time you cry out. 

When your fingers thread into his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss, he only doubles down, tongue thrusting into your heat like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath. His lips and chin are coated in your arousal as he looks up at you with his dark hooded eyes—absolutely pussydrunk.

He looked wrecked—flushed cheeks, mussed hair, chest heaving like he’s the one who just came—and yet, he’s still leaning forward, nuzzled against your thigh, leaving lazy kisses like he can’t help himself.

“You okay?” You’d ask, voice shaky, and his lips curl into a sheepish smile as he rests his cheek on your leg.

“More than okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just above your knee. “You’re perfect. Thank you for letting me do this baby..”

You let out a breathy laugh and tilted your head slightly at him, “You’re thanking me? For letting you eat me out?” 

Choso gave you a goofy little grin, his face still buried in your legs as he responded with exaggerated sincerity. “Of course. You’re like... a goddess, and I’m just the humble servant here, living the dream.”

You snort at his attempt to be dramatic, your hands running through his messy, dark hair. “Well, I’m glad to know you’re really living right now.”

He peeks up at you, giving you a wink that’s way too cocky for his usual shy self. 

“Absolutely. You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says, and you can’t help but giggle at its ridiculousness.

“Choso, you’re so extra sometimes.” You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’re enjoying it.

His lips curl into a grin again as he presses another kiss against your inner thigh. “What can I say? I don’t hold back. I’m committed, you know?”

You gave him a raised eyebrow. “Committed, huh? To eating me out?”

Choso nods earnestly. “Yes, baby. To you. This is my true calling.” He lets out a dramatic sigh and presses his face against your leg again like he’s contemplating his life choices.

You laugh out loud at his melodramatic antics, but before you can make another joke, he dives back in, his tongue moving expertly against your clit with a series of teasing strokes. 

And that is how you and your cutie-emo-pussydrunk man spent the next few hours…