Nerd Bakugou P!links (NSFW Do Not Open In Public!!)

You know how baby hair just does whatever it wants, sticking up in the wildest directions like it has no regard for the laws of physics? I just know Geto’s baby is coming out with a full head of thick, silky dark hair. No matter what hair type you have, his genes are winning, no question.

And oh my god, he’s so the type to do his babygirl’s hair every morning. He’d settle her on his lap, big hands incredibly gentle as he smooths down the unruly strands sticking up at odd angles. His touch would be so light, so careful, especially near her soft spot. It's truly a precious sight to see.

“Oh, is that cold? Daddy’s sorry,” he murmurs after spritzing just a little water, rubbing the tiniest circle on her head as if to soothe her. Tilting his head, thoughtful, his fingers ghosting over her silky strands. “Hmm, what should we do today, princess? Just a little clip? Maybe tiny pigtails?”

She doesn’t care, of course, just babbles happily, staring up at him with big, trusting eyes, reaching clumsily for his thick fingers. And he just chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, already so completely wrapped around her little finger.

God, he’s such a girl dad. It’s ridiculous.

Here is the TikTok link if you need it!

acidentally snooping on bf! katsuki's phone and seeing something... kinky.

you were just on katsuki’s phone, playing subway surfers. you honestly didn’t even remember because the moment you accidentally swiped to his notes app, your eyes landed on a particular note titled “shit to try w/ her” and curiosity got the best of you.

at first, you thought it was something mundane—maybe new date ideas, training routines, or even a new recipes. but as soon as you opened it, your face went hot.

because it was a list. a very detailed list of all the filthy things katsuki wanted to do to you. some of it was stuff you’d already done—rougher, filthier things that had you squeezing your thighs together just remembering them. but then there were the others. the things he clearly hadn’t brought up yet.

shit to try w/ her

- overstimulating her (worse than usual. she looks so pretty when she cries on my dick)

- mirror sex while making her watch (want her to see how fuckin’ pretty she looks fallin’ apart.)

- recording it (for us only).

- thigh riding while i just sit back and watch (bet she'd whine so fuckin pretty too)

- more praise. (she likes that. she gets all shy. cute as fuck.)

- see how many times i can make her come in a single night.

your eyes widened at that last one. oh.

you kept scrolling, your thighs pressing together involuntarily. you knew katsuki was a freak, but seeing it written out like this, with all the little notes and thoughts he’d clearly been holding onto—made your breath hitch.

this was… a lot. not that you were opposed to most of it, but the fact that katsuki was sitting on this list, keeping it to himself, planning? that was almost hotter than the list itself.

you were still staring at the screen when you heard the bathroom door open. before you could react, a shadow loomed over you.

“the fuck you doin’?” katsuki’s voice was gruff, but he sounded relaxed—like he was toweling off his hair as he walked into the room.

you scrambled to lock his phone, but it was too late. the second he saw the look on your face, the way you were gripping his phone like you’d just uncovered a government secret, his eyes narrowed.

“…what did you see?” his voice was cautious now, tinged with suspicion.

you slowly turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “me? what are you doing making a list of all the filthy things you wanna do to me?”

katsuki froze .a slow, deep flush crept up his neck, spreading to his ears. his jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he should snatch his phone away or act like nothing happened.

“…you weren’t supposed to see that.”

your smirk widened. “oh? and when was i supposed to?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “dunno. when i fuckin’ brought it up.”

you leaned in, voice teasing. “well, damn. didn’t know you had all these filthy little fantasies about me.”

“shut up,” katsuki sputtered, face burning, his hand swiping for the phone. he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “fuckin’ kill me.”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “y’know, all you had to do was ask, baby.”

his fingers dug into your waist, his jaw clenching. “don’t—”

“i can’t believe you wrote it all down,” you teased breathlessly. “you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

katsuki groaned, muffled against your neck. “i’m gonna kill you. you keep runnin’ that mouth, and i’ll start checkin’ shit off that list right now."

you bit your lip, feeling bolder. “you know… we could. cross something off the list.”

his eyes snapped to yours, darkening in an instant.

“…get on the bed.”

and then, without another word, he crushed his lips against yours and, well—you did end up checking something off that list that night. particularly, the last one.

you lost count somewhere after the third orgasm, but katsuki didn’t. oh no, he kept track. every time your body seized up, every time you sobbed his name, every time you gasped that you couldn’t take anymore—he whispered the number into your ear like a reminder.

“four,” he’d growled, dragging his thumb over your swollen clit. “look at you, fuckin’ cryin’ for me.”

“five,” he rasped later, his grip on your thighs tightening when you tried to squirm away. “told ya you could give me more.”

by the last one, your body was boneless, your voice gone, and your mind a hazy blur of pleasure. katsuki finally relented, collapsing beside you and pulling you into his chest.

you felt his lips press against your temple, his breathing uneven as he whispered, “fuckin’ champ.”

the morning after, you were sprawled across katsuki’s chest, his arm draped lazily around your waist as the sun peeked through the curtains. your entire body ached in the best way possible.

you groaned softly, shifting to get more comfortable, and his chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare back. "you alive?"

"barely," you mumbled into his chest. "my legs hate you."

he chuckled, the sound vibrating beneath your cheek. "told ya you could take it."

you huffed a laugh, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. his crimson eyes were soft in the morning light, the usual sharpness replaced with warmth—and just a hint of smug pride.

“well, i didn’t know you were gonna go for the damn world record,” you teased. “how many times was it?”

his smirk deepened. “seven.”

your jaw dropped. “seven?”

“mhm,” he squeezed your waist. “you were real fuckin’ cute, too. cryin’, beggin’, squeezin’ me like that. thought you were gonna pass out on number six.”

your cheeks burned. “oh my god, stop.”

“why? can’t handle hearin’ how fuckin’ pretty you were last night?”

you covered your face with your hands, groaning. but katsuki was having none of it—he pried your hands away and pinned them to the mattress, leaning down until his lips brushed yours.

“seven,” he repeated against your mouth, grinning when you squirmed beneath him. “and next time? we’re goin’ for eight.”

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

XMAS DINNER GOES WRONG – 정우영

⋆ synopsis. it seems like your husband can’t keep it in his pants, not even on a fucking christmas dinner with his family. but, as the lovely wifey you are, you gotta give him some relief, right?

pairing. husband! jung wooyoung & fem! reader.

wc. 3,2k

warnings. smut (mdni!), suggestive language, cussing, almost!! getting caught by wooyoung’s mom (oops), pet names (love, babe, my wife, pretty girl & more), nipple play, wooyoung sucks your entire skin (neck, collarbone, tits and the list can continue…), teasing, wooyoung tears your panties to shreds heh, not dirty—NASTY TALK, begging, yn at some point says “stop” but it’s bc she’s far too blissed out; not bc she actually wanted him to stop, this is alllll consensual!!, unprotected sex, praise ofc, squirting, gut-wrenching fluff in the end ‘cause love him too much.

nic’s notes ⋆ first ff of the xmas event yes sir !! i felt some shit writing this istg (๑/////๑ " )

you know holidays, right?

the perfect opportunity for the entire family to gather and celebrate achievements, blessings, and thousands and thousands of other things. cousins, nephews, aunts, uncles, and even great-grandparents were reunited in that cold and windy winter night. an entire feast was splayed on the table for everyone’s delightfulness, different kinds of foods and smells mixing and creating a delicious, toe-curling experience for anyone’s nostrils.

the hours you had spent shopping for every ingredient for each dish, cutting the vegetables, cooking everything to the exact, perfect point and term really paid off once your and your husband’s family were brought together at the large, dark oak table to celebrate your very first holiday — both families now joined together as one.

nothing could go wrong. the chatting flew as calm and joyful as spring water, sharing experiences and old memories pleasingly, smiles spread like the most enchanting disease—as well as the wholesome ambience, and everything was accompanied by a delightful meal, the well-deserved five star bonus of the evening.

so, if everything was meant to go perfectly, then why the hell was your husband staring at you with the most explicit, sluttiest “fuck me” eyes you’ve ever seen?

wooyoung sat in front of you, his two cousins sitting each on his sides. his plate was rather full, and that had an explanation: he was far too gone and busy burying heart-shaped daggers into your eyes while his hand cupped his cheek, head tilting to his right — his tongue glided over his dry bottom lip every now and then. you’d bet that none of his thoughts were in the bible. ‘cause fuck, even his younger brother would guess that something’s odd about him. that that’s not the usual behavior of his dear older brother.

“yn? darling?” the voice of wooyoung’s mother dragged out quickly of your insulation bubble. her tilted head clearly showed that she had been trying to talk to you for a while. a soft, warming hue of red struck your cheekbones.

as you gyrated your head to meet her worried gaze, you replied. “yes! mrs. jung, ‘m sorry. what were you saying?”

“are you doing fine, sweetie? you were gone for a bit.” she stared at you intently, genuinely worried about her daughter in-law. oh that woman was almost a fallen angel—if not one. if only she knew it was his own son who was to blame—the very last person she’d suspect, and oh, how deliciously ironic that was.

the figure of your husband’s shit-eating grin could be seen out of the corner of your eye—a sight that ignited a fiery rage within you, yet one you couldn’t help but savor, lingering on the view as long as possible before responding to your sweet mother-in-law. “oh, it was nothing. i’m prolly just zoning out because of how tired i am. y’ know, spending the entire day in the kitchen was exhausting.” the cherry on top of the excuse was the little, innocent giggle you emitted by the end. the woman gave you the most pitiful, yet endearing look. she lifted her arm, indicating with her open palm the white stairs, the reflection of the christmas-decorated banister lighting up her eyes.

“oh, sweetheart. you should go rest, it’s pretty late after all.” her gesture softened your heart, chest clenching a bit.

this woman was going to be the death of you! … uhm, never mind. first place is taken by wooyoung, who seems quite excited with the idea of going upstairs with you, by the way. take a guess at what his mind is scheming.

you shook your hands in front of your chest, quickly denying the opportunity. “thank you really, but i’m okay. i’ll just go wash my face.” you excused yourself, hovering your leg over the other and getting yourself up. “maybe that way i can wake up completely.” ending with a little giggle, you started walking towards the staircase when suddenly, the voice of your dear husband rang inside your ears.

“excuse me. i’ll go help my wife.” his foxy eyes curved into crescent moons, and his lips stretched wide, forming an upward line. oh fuck, you were done for.

“oh yes, i was about to ask you to do the same. please, son.” she stated, nodding approvingly. oh what a gentleman she had raised.

you resumed your steps quickly, arriving to the second floor in less than you expected. you turned your head, only to be met with an empty corridor. thank goodness he hadn’t gotten there yet.

or so you thought. ‘cause when you refocused your attention to your front, a pair of arms grabbed you by your waist and swung you around the air in a swift motion as he dragged you to an empty room. the last sound heard in the corridor was the slam of a closing door.

your breathless body was pinned against a cold wall, trapped between two quite familiar, tanned arms. simultaneously, your disoriented irises tried to adjust to the darkness of the room and focus on the feverish, hungry eyes standing in front of you.

“wh… what the fuck was that.” you muttered as the remains of your breath flew away. wooyoung seemed enchanted by your current state though.

“heeey, don’t curse at me like that.” his gentle, cocky voice penetrated your mind like a bullet. knuckles crept up the sides of your exposed arms, providing soothing strokes — goosebumps prickled to life in response. he opened his warm palms and reached to your also bare shoulder, massaging them. “after all, ’m jus’ here to help you.” he pulled his secret weapon and started making out with your neck, licking your flesh like a starving man and spreading wet kisses all over it.

“help me? how are you helping me like this?” you uttered as your breath hitched, head leaning to the side at the right angle to give him enough space.

wooyoung sucked that sensitive spot that always made your eyes roll to the very back of your head, dragging a whine out of you successfully. his chuckle and victorious smirk didn’t go unseen by your already blissed-out self. he leaned back a little to admire you. just for a bit, palms not leaving their place. “you’ll know when we’re done.” his hands moved in a swift motion, arms wrapping around your thighs and shoulders, lifting you effortlessly in a princess carry. “for now, just shut up and enjoy it, hm?”

“w-wooyoung—you know we can’t do this now— angh!” your anxious, flustered self made a futile attempt to reason with wooyoung, hoping he’d remember that both your families were gathered downstairs for a fucking christmas dinner—while he, entirely unbothered, seemed more than eager to spend the evening thoroughly ruining you in the bed just one floor above. and that was clearly shown when he threw you to the bed as if you were the lightest feather and immediately crawled to you.

“c’mon, love. i just wanna help you stay awake” his gravelly voice purred gift next to your ear as his taunting hands played with the sides of your dress, fingertips aching and itching to rip it off you.

he had you underneath him, completely flustered and nervous. he knew you were really anxious about the dinner—you’d spent a whole hour straight ranting about how nerve-wracking the preparations were, only to end up feeling physically ill from the overwhelming surge of dopamine flooding your system. but your reddened cheeks were smiling at him and your plump lips were whispering nasty things to him. holy fuck, how couldn’t he be tempted?

he needed to be balls deep in you. now.

his skillful tongue found home in your neck and collarbone, sucking cute love bites all over. but, your body was still tense, too uneasy at the thought of the possible scenario of someone entering the room and catching the two of you in such a compromising position.

“b-babe, please—hmph”

in a sultry tone, he muttered, “already begging. so fucking cute.” a smirk was drawn on his lips before his hands reached to your cleavage and popped your tits out of your low-cut dress. “y’ want me to fuck you? ‘s that what it is?”

before you could even think of an answer, he dived right into your breasts, licking your sensitive nipples as though they were his favorite toy — because they absolutely were.

god, the incessant thoughts that ran through your head and his tongue lapping around your buds were too much. everything was starting to be too much, and he hadn’t even taken your clothes off. with heightened sensitivity, your lips fell open and a beautiful, sweet melody of your moans and whimpers escaped through them — a delightful melody for your husband’s ears.

impatient hands stripped you of your glittery dress, leaving you with nothing but your black, thin panties. wooyoung took a moment for himself — well, more accurately for you, to admire and revel in your beauty as he should. a rush of blood surged to his cock, making it throb even harder than before. he was no more than a man, overwhelmed by desire. “you’re fucking irresistible, y’ know that?” he started down to where your and his crotch connected, brows furrowing when he saw your clothed pussy. “i think it’s time for this to go.”

a sharp rrrrrip! bounced through the walls and brought your attention. “woo did you just—?!” you followed the movement of his hands, which discarded the shreds of black fabric to the floor. “that was my—! hahh” and his thumb flew right to your already swollen clit, stimulating it with circling motions.

“why’re you whining when you know i’ll buy you ten more pairs,” he whispered as he soaked in the unsteady shiftiness of your body — and for that, he posed a strong yet harmless grip on your waist. his fat thumb worked nonstop over your bud, sending sparks right to it. your body jolted upward at the feeling of his middle and index fingers tracing soft lines up your pink folds. the sight of your walls clenching and relaxing around nothing spun him. “ooh, what a greedy wifey i got.” he chuckled under his breath, gaze stuck to his home — and i mean your cunt. “sooo desperate for my fingers, huh?”

at this point, any sense or unsteady thought had already vanished away, completely replaced by a selfish state of mind. you wanted him to finger you, fuck you, drive you insane. and you wanted it right fucking now. and so you mewled, “god, please just do something.”

“got the name wrong, darling.” and with that, he pushed two fingers at once inside your fluttering walls, tugging a satisfied moan out of you. “it’s wooyoung. or hubby” he giggled. he fucking giggled as he rammed those fingers mercilessly, shooting stars and fireworks filling your vision.

“w-wait stop— baby, please— fffuck!” stuttering words and incoherent gibberish spilled from your swollen lips, too red and slick from how often and harshly you’d bitten them; eyes welling up with tears from the intense pleasure overload.

“stop?” a chuckle rumbled through his chest. “fine then” he withdrew his long phalanges, leaving you empty. completely fucking empty, with velvety and throbbing walls already missing him. you cried as you felt the void of your pulsating pussy, but before you could coax a desperate “please” from your lips, wooyoung grabbed you by the waist. you gasped, as he manhandled you, positioning you on top, naked folds grazing his clothed sex.

you pouted and wooyoung laughed. he was finding this shit way too funny. “since you so nicely begged me to stop, then put your back into it, mm?” a loud smack! reverberated through the walls as his heavy palm landed on the flesh of your ass. “fuck yourself on my cock, pretty girl.”

and did he have to tell you twice. desperate, shuddering hands worked on his dress pants, quickly undoing his belt and zipping it down just enough to uncover his rock-hard bulge. you grabbed the band of his boxers and pulled it down as well, his cock springing finally free. with a smooth movement, you took his member and positioned it below you. and just before you sit down on him completely, someone knocked on the fucking door.

the surprise caused you to jolt and lose control, sinking in a faster and sloppier motion than you intended — a loud cry resonating through the thin walls the moment his tip kissed your cervix perfectly. with eyes wide open, you slapped a hand over your mouth, cursing yourself for being so fucking noisy and sensitive and—

“yn? are you in here?” the muffled voice of wooyoung’s mother echoed from the other side of the door.

shit shit shit.

“y-yes, ma’am! i… ’m kinda busy over in here—ugh!” you tried to speak as loud and clear as you could, but wooyoung seemed to be unbothered by your efforts since he grabbed your hips and started swaying your core up and down his girth. up, down, up, down.

you stared at your husband with glaring eyes, stabbing knives into his. fuck, did this man even care about being heard by his own mother? now, with all doubts gone, you’re certain you’ve married a freak.

“are you okay, sweetie? what’s going on over there?”

and you swear you heard the door creaking open, so you exclaimed. “no! everything’s fine!” you yelped, your voice higher-pitched than you intended. “please don’t come in.”

wooyoung chuckled underneath you, soaking in the sight of your nervous self trying to mute your cries as your tits bounced right on his face. he could die right there and then and he’d be happy. “what’s wrong, baby? can’t take it?” he whispered as he gazed directly into your tightly scrunched eyes, your partially open mouth releasing nothing more but silent cries and pleas.

“fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” you hushed soundlessly, yet willingly bouncing up and down his length. the low, manly giggle he uttered spun you. fuck, he had you wrapped up around his finger.

“oookay? uhm, do you know where my son is? is he there with you?”

he grinned. that shit-eating grin you hated so damn much appeared all across his face. “c’mon pretty, tell her the truth. tell her how good i’m fucking you, how good you’re taking my cock, hm?” he growled into your ear, his voice low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine. the sound was intoxicating, clouding your thoughts and turning your mind into mush.

your throbbing walls clenched around him subconsciously, his head rocking back in reaction. “he’s… he’s here with me, h-helping me like he said he would.”

wooyoung seemed utterly satisfied by your answer, his grin only spreading wider. “that’s my wife. so beautiful.”

“perfect then! i’ll see you in a bit then.” after those words, no other sound was heard — other than the wet clapping of your flesh against his hips.

“‘s she gone?” your half-lidded eyes stared down at your husband, who was hugging you by the waist, face deeply buried in your bobbing, soft tits. your hands flew to the back of his head, cupping his neck whilst caressing his raven hair fondly. at your words, his head lifted, and took a glance at your divine expression.

“baby, i didn’t care, not even a second, if she was hearing or not.” his intoxicating, dark irises sent love letters to yours, utterly drunk in love. “i jus’ wanna cum inside your sweet pussy.”

skillful fingers crept to your hardened, overstimulated nipples and all the way down where your bodies collided, positioning right on your clit. his left hand stroked your firm nipple and played with one breast, letting wooyoung’s tongue take care of the other whilst his right hand shifted rapidly over your bundle of nerves.

he fell in love with you again as he saw your back arching into a perfect crescent moon. “good girl.” your loud whines and moans only encouraged him to keep going. “so responsive to me.” he exhaled breathlessly. “fuck, are you about to cum, baby?”

“y-yeah, fuck— woo, i-i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna fucking cum” you yelped as your bounces became sloppier, more desperate and more reckless. wooyoung motivated you by whispering sweet things and heart-melting praises right into your ear.

“cum, baby. cum for me, milk me dry.” and with one last bounce, you sprayed your juices all over him, soaking his pants and white shirt even more.

exasperated grunts and exhales left your husband’s mouth at the sensation of your folds clamping down on him — you definitely understood the assignment of milking him dry. ‘cause your pussy received the hot ropes of cum that his dick spurted out with great pleasure, sucking the life out of his poor, now softened length.

you crumbled down on him, your weakened core landing on top of him with his dick still inside you. your head found home in the crook of his neck as his hand reached to your back, wrapping your waist safely whilst the other provided soothing ministrations to your face. with your last ounce of strength, you pulled the sheets over your naked bodies, an even warming sensation drowning the both of you.

“fuck” was all you could mutter. “how’re we going to get back there, they’re waiting for us.”

wooyoung hummed thoughtfully, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and brushing against your skin. “we could pretend we fell asleep. with that, they shouldn’t suspect a thing.”

“hey that’s actually a great id—“

the door creaked open and your bodies jerked softly. the both of you knew exactly what to do, so your eyes flew shut. wooyoung even started snoring quietly to add a spec of realism to the scene.

the sound of your mothers’ voice echoed through your ears. “she said wooyoung was helping… her” wooyoung’s mom immediately lowered her voice as she took in the scene. an almost soundless aww escaped your mom’s lips.

“well sure he was helping her.” your mother sighed at the wholesome moment she had the luck of appreciating.

“i think he was massaging her. ‘cause when i knocked on the door, i could hear like— muffled sounds, that seemed like moans.” she stated, and you froze in place — well, not like you could move an inch. “at first i was confused, but then she clarified that wooyoung-ah was helping her “like he said he would”” she remarked your words as if she had studied them.

“oh i see.” your mother spoke. “i think we should let them sleep. my poor yn had a long day.”

and with that, the door shut closed with a soft click.

wooyoung giggled under the covers as your face burned from the embarrassment.

“massaging? well, that’s a way to put it.”

“wooyoung, babe, as much as i love you, please shut the fuck up.”

he laughed wholeheartedly, a gut-wrenching sound that never fails to make you smile. “you embarrassed, my love?”

you slapped your open palm against his exposed chest as you whined. “stoppp.”

his small, soft giggle buzzed inside your eardrums before he left on the top of your head a kiss full of fondness and affection. “cutie.”

| masterlist

Hey Writers of ATSV, STOP letting White Men off the hook and expecting me to clap.

The fact that Miguel is repeated dehumanized and called an animal even prior to him snapping but George Stacy's scenes are written completely sympathetic towards him -

It doesn't sit right with me. Look at this:

They call Miguel an animal in the opening scenes.

At this point, he's not a threat to anyone but Vulture. In this scene, Miguel is doing exactly what he's supposed to do as Spider-man.

He gets called an animal.

Two pages later it's literal George Stacy holding a gun to his daughters face, and yet it's written completely, 100% sympathetic towards him AND ONLY HIM.

Which like..... Girl... Let me adjust my spectacles because I cannot be reading this right.

He's pointing a loaded gun at his daughter. Gwen is undoubtedly more scared than she's even been in her entire life.

She's confused and desperate, one of our main characters is going through a traumatic event.

The script though? It only cares about George and how he was 'betrayed by his little girl'

As if Gwen isn't her own person.

As if Gwen didn't just save dozens of lives. In a situation where the police could do nothing.

Had Gwen not been there, the police would not have been able to handle Vulture. The threat is subdued - yet he still persists.

It doesn't matter that she just saved multiple lives. It doesn't matter that she's not a threat - or that she's his literal daughter.

What matters is how hard this is for the adult white man with the lethal weapon in his hands.

The scene SHOULD be written from Gwen's point of view. SHE'S the victim.

But no, the white male cop is going through it due to his own emotional incompetency so let's focus on that while calling Miguel an evil animal.

In ATSV both George AND Peter - the two white men in the movie - let Gwen down. They either put her in danger or do nothing as they watch.

George points a gun at her. Peter watches Miguel as he physically assaults Gwen and puts her in the machine, exiling her into homelessness.

Then, he gets to go home to his wife and kids, not even mention to MJ that Gwen and Miles were both assaulted and are now missing. And instead he whines about how he's 'not good at this mentor stuff'.

In ATSV the White Male characters repeatedly fail the people around them with no consequences at all - even from a lot of the audience.

And yeah - Peter Parker is completely neglectful.

To the point it's not okay whatsoever.

I've seen MULTIPLE people say that 'Peter is justified in not helping Gwen during the Go-Home scene. Because Miguel was obviously violent and he's probably scared of him plus he was holding MayDay.'

Which is an excuse that ignores the fact that it's pitiful that GWEN a teenage girl facing homelessness - who is likely weaker than both Peter and Miguel - is more willing to stand up to Miguel than PETER PARKER.

It ignores the fact Miguel would NOT attack a fucking baby. He's a FATHER.

But it's easier to assume the Latino man is a raging, angry, baby killer than to admit the white man is committing neglect.

It baffles me that people will really defend Peter saying 'he was scared - he didn't know what Miguel would do-'

Neither did Gwen. But she still did it.

Because she's a GOOD GUY. Because it mattered to her. Because the people she cared about were getting hurt.

She stood up to Miguel in the face of literal danger and homelessness.

Peter had nothing to lose. He make a joke and shut up when he was told.

Once again: If Gwen and Hobie hadn't come for Peter, we have NO IDEA how long he would've stayed with Miguel. We are given NO INDICATION prior to Gwen's arrival that Peter is actively going to change sides. Or is even really considering it in that moment.

Even in the script Peter shows no remorse or worry for Gwen or Miles at all.

It's as if they don't cross his mind. As if he doesn't care he led Miguel directly to Miles because he forgot he had on a tracking watch. As if what he just witnessed didn't disturb him, as if he isn't worried that Gwen is literally homeless.

All he cares about is him, and his image as mentor.

Like sir, I do not give a DAMN. I might not even give a fuck, if you will.

Shut the fuck up about that mentorship shit 😭😭😭😭 You tryna mentor niggas that's MISSING.

He's like that deadbeat dad that brought you a bike a decade ago at 6 and he still bringing it up asking you why you don't call him 'dad'. Like just because you taught Miles to swing over a year ago doesn't mean you're his mentor mfer. Miles would've learned to swing anyway cause it's literally instinctual and every person bitten eventually learns it by themselves so really Peter wtf 😐

People will scream 'But there's nothing he could do!! Miguel is too scary!!'

One: Peter is one of if not the Spider-person with the most experience. If we assume he was bitten at 18 and he's say 45 now, that's still over 25 years of experience. If he was bitten in high school, that's even more experience.

He has biological powers Miguel doesn't, plus he has years of experience over Miguel - who canonically got his powers as an adult. If anyone in that room can beat Miguel - it's him.

If you're telling me that Peter B. Parker is not only scared of Miguel but he's scared to the point he will not even attempt to question him, even though three people younger than him will - Gwen, Hobie, and Miles - that's pitiful. That's a sad excuse for a Spider-man.

Also He's Spider-Man. The whole point of Spider-man is he fights even if he isn't sure he can win.

Two: At the very least, he can show that he's genuinely concerned for the kids he wants to mentor so bad. But he doesn't even do that. Even bringing them up or saying their names doesn't cross his mind.

But once again, the white male character emotionally neglecting those around him - especially the children who depend on him - and both he are George are either shown as innocent, unwilling to act, or the script is outright sympathetic towards them.

It's easy to call the Latino man an animal but writing a scene in which a white cop is rightfully portrayed as selfish is too hard.

It's easy to call the Latino man a monster but writing Peter Parker as a heroic figure is too hard.

The racism is not just towards Miguel. It's also in the blatant favoritism the white male characters are given.

Both George and Peter actively endanger those around them and at no point do they do something on their own accord that helps anybody but themselves.

Gwen has to go to her father - by force. Gwen has to go to Peter - using Hobie's hard work.

What we NOT GONNA DO is give the white man praise when it's literally the black guy who did all the work.

Fuck - Hobie mentored Gwen TEN TIMES MORE than Peter ever did Miles. Hobie put a roof over Gwen's head and came to get her when no other person would.

Writers, stop trying to make me sympathetic towards the white men who actively hurt the people around them when there's good mentors like Hobie and good parents like Rio and Jeff.

I ain't with the shits'. If anyone is an animal in this script, it's the man who pointed a gun at his daughter.

I guess assaulting and mentally scaring children is only okay if you do it with a firearm? Or if you make this face while doing it 🥺*

(*coupon not available for the melinated)

I changed my mind i don't forgive Peter or George. Miguel who has a whole ass arc of life and death and loss gets called an animal while the white cop with six minutes of screentime gets shown as father of the year while holding a loaded gun to a child girl you must be kidding me

Maybe Gwen would be in a better mood if we let her kick their asses idk 🤷🏾

sukuna doing your grwm voiceover | f. reader, s/h prns., crack 'n fluff, estb. rl ؛ ଓ

the mic is a cheap little thing—one of those clip-ons with a long cord and a half-broken clip that you swore was “totally fine for tiktok.” it’s taped to the desk lamp now, swaying slightly as sukuna leans back in your pink gaming chair, arms crossed over his chest like it might keep the cringe away. the video is on mute.

thank god. he would’ve walked out if he had to listen to your chipper little intro and do this dumbass voice-over. but he stays—grumbling, snarling under his breath, but he stays.

“ugh. fine,” he mutters as he hits record, voice low and already irritated. “hi. ’m narratin' her dumbass makeup thing. let’s get this over with.”

the video starts with you holding up your moisturizer to the camera like it’s a sacred relic. sukuna squints at the label.

“this one’s got... snail slime or some shit. don’t ask me. she swears by it. uses exactly three pumps, like a goddamn ritual. see? one, two... three. mmhmm. told you.”

he clicks his tongue when the next product flashes onscreen. your sunscreen.

“this one’s white as hell when it goes on. looks like a clown for a sec. she always pats it in too fast—like she’s in a race. it dries down okay, i guess. not that i notice. or care.”

he very much notices. always does. he sits on the bed pretending to scroll while you do this routine every morning. he's watched it with the intensity of a warrior memorizing enemy patterns.

now comes the concealer. the applicator dabs under your eyes with practiced precision.

“yeah. this part. five dots under each eye. exactly five. you miss one, she wipes the whole thing off like the world’s ending. don’t know why she bothers—looks good without all this crap anyway.”

he pauses.

“…not that i say that out loud.”

the beauty blender makes its entrance and sukuna actually groans.

“this sponge. she squeezes it before every use like it’s stress relief. and then she taps. forever. for e-ver. just... tap tap tap like an annoying little woodpecker.”

he mimics the sound with his fingers on the desk—tap, tap, tap—lazily, almost fondly.

your bronzer palette appears, slightly cracked in the corner. he narrows his eyes.

“this thing’s been through hell. she won’t throw it away. i offered to buy her a new one and she called me ‘sweet’ like i wasn’t trying to end this makeup horror show. anyway, she goes light-handed here. no muddy cheeks. she’s precise. annoying, but precise.”

his gaze flicks to the lipstick you picked—a soft, bitten pink.

“her favorite,” he says a little too quickly, a little too softly. then he clears his throat like the sentiment offended him. “whatever. next.”

the video ends with you posing for the camera, smiling. sukuna stares for a second too long. you’d edited a heart transition, too—sparkly pink.

“gross,” he mutters.

he clicks the mic off and pushes back from the desk like it burned him. “we done? finally?”

you post it anyway. mostly because the internet doesn’t deserve to be spared this kind of comedy gold. and overnight, the comments blow up. thirsting. begging. 

"i'd pay to listen to him read an audiobook."  "who is he and where can i sign up for the cult??"  "he sounds like he could ruin my life and i'd say thanks afterwards."

sukuna glares at the screen the next morning, cracking his knuckles like he’s ready to teleport into the comments section and throw hands.

“who the hell is sexyslut69 and why do they want me to whisper them affirmations?” he growls. “block ‘em. block all of ‘em.”

you laugh. he doesn’t. but when you offer to film another one, he grumbles a “tch” and sits back down in your chair.

“fine. but next time, you're using the expensive mic. and none of that heart bullshit at the end. i'm not doing that sparkly shit again.”

pause.

“…and do not let them think i’m for sale, you hear me? i’m yours. yours.”

😐

Full

I want to say thank you to this lovely creator for letting me know that my draco malfoy smut is being reposted on wattpad by the name of @smileybannana . I want to clarify again that I don’t want my work reposted, even if you ask for permission I do not feel comfortable with my work being posted by anyone else but my own, other blogs are allowed to reblog my work as long as it is through the reblog button clicked and my post is shared via tumblr. thank u <3

ps. apparently this user has been reposting other work and i’ll tag another user who has. list of others who’s work has also been stolen.

crying i’m so mushy right now 😭

♡₊˚☀️・₊✧ 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶'𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 & 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 ♡₊˚☀️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 he's obsessed to the max 𖥔 ceo x baker 𖥔 grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 she talks a lot x he listens a lot 𖥔 spoils the literal shit out of you 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content in vague details 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 super soft nanami 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔 he loves kissing the fuck out of you

: ̗̀➛ words: 7.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: you guys are so sweet for supporting my toji fanfic which is why i wanted to write another and this time its about my husband, the father of our children, the man who deserves every beautiful thing in this world. if you enjoy my work, please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy!

Nanami Kento entered your bakery at exactly six o' clock.  

You carefully observed the moments he dedicated to perusing the array of pastries, the vibrant mountain of macaroons, and the freshly baked, warm casse-croûte that you unfailingly prepared for him when he clocked out. There was a tender quality to his countenance, noticeable in the slight release of tension between his brows as the soft, buttery flakes dissolved on his tongue in your presence. Without fail, he consistently left a generous tip in your travel jar, dedicated to a solo trip to Malaysia.

"Did you know they've got this thing about not wearing yellow in Malaysia?" you mentioned during your initial meeting last December, eyeing the distinctive black-dotted tie worn by the stoic salaryman. "Well, not that your tie would get you in trouble; it's not entirely yellow. In fact, I think it's perfect as it is, just like your hair, which also has a touch of yellow.” 

Please cut your tongue off. 

Anticipating a polite nod and perhaps a slightly regretful five-dollar tip left in the jar, you were taken aback when he queried, he asked, “Why is that?” 

“Oh, uh . . . a bunch of protesters wore the color during a demand for their prime minister to step down," you stumbled, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for veering off into an unintentional crash course. Dropping trivia about Malaysia wasn't exactly the same as flirting. "So, it's kind of become a symbolism for protest and, well, threat. I read it in a book once. I don't know if it's a legitimate law, though."

“Do you like reading?” he asked, still interested in conversing with you. “Most people would Google information.” 

“I like reading. It’s easier to retain information that way.” 

Nanami acknowledged your gesture with a nod of gratitude as he accepted the casse-croûte and exited your bakery. Anticipating that he might not return due to his reserved nature and your awkward attempts at compliment-flirting, you were surprised to find that he was, in fact, full of surprises.

Nanami became a regular visitor. Day after day, for the past year, he arrived at precisely six o' clock. He continued his routine, whether he purchased a box of pastries, a pair of bagged bread loaves, or simply a casse-croûte and a small cup of milk coffee. You always prepared his order five minutes ahead of time, just in case you were occupied with other customers.

"Enjoy!" you chirped, casting a warm smile at the customer you just served as the bakery slowly emptied, leaving only Nanami browsing the delightful array of small cakes. "Good evening, Mr. Nanami!"

Nanami raised his head in your direction. "Good evening." He finally settled on the black forest cake from the open freezer and brought it to the counter.

"Special occasion?" you inquired as you rang him out, sneakily not charging him for the casse-croûte and coffee. There was a special occasion of your own that you were eager to share, bouncing at the tip of your tongue.

"An intern's birthday."

"Sounds fun!" You had been saving up for your birthday present since summer, and Nanami had played a significant role. "When's your birthday?"

"July third."

Your eyes widened with surprise. "No way! Mine is July sixth. We’re summer babies."

“Happy belated birthday,” he said, fishing for his wallet, gaze barely meeting yours. 

"Same to you." Offering the sandwich and coffee, you extended them towards him. "Consider it a belated birthday treat."

Nanami’s brows crinkled. “I cannot accept.” 

"Why not? It's a gift." You slid the items closer with a subtle nudge, leaving him little room to refuse. "And you've given me a priceless gift, Mr. Nanami." Your eyes hinted at the tip jar's location, which now lay empty. 

“Were you robbed?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. 

“What—? No! Oh my god. You’re so funny.” A chuckle escaped behind your fist, and he observed you momentarily before glancing away. "I'm heading to Malaysia next week!"

Nanami gave a subtle nod. Although his lack of a more animated response disappointed you, you understood that shortness was his nature. "Congratulations.”

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami. Your generous tips really made a difference. They covered half of our trip.”

“Our? It’s not a solo trip?”  

You let out a little nervous laugh. Should you really be telling Nanami about your crippling love life? Would he even be interested? Well, he seemed to listen carefully when you talk. Maybe he wouldn’t care, but you really needed someone to talk to about this. Unfortunately, all your friends were too busy with their marriages to care.

“Well?” Nanami prompted. 

"Right, sorry. It's just—I've actually been seeing someone. Funny enough, we met in a Facebook group for solo travelers. He lives in a nearby town.”

Unexpectedly, Nanami's first question caught you off guard. "Can you trust him?" His concern surfaced, causing you to pause. "I'm only asking because you met this man online. You can't trust strangers on the internet."

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami, but I’m capable enough to know about stranger danger," you said with a funny smile, dismissing his parental concern. "Besides, we’ve gone on a few dates over the past month."

Nanami's frown remained intact. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you paying for him, too?"

"Yes."

“Why?” Nanami asked, firmly placing his palms on the counter, making it clear he wasn't leaving until he was convinced you wouldn't get in trouble during your Malaysian adventure.

"What do you mean 'why'?"

His mouth opened but then closed into a thin line, his forehead lines deepening. "It’s not my place to tell you what’s right and what isn’t—"

"Yes, you’re right about that," you interrupted.

"—but this is bordering on recklessness. You cannot use your trip’s money to pay for a man you’ve known for a mere month. Why is he even in the traveler’s group if he cannot afford to pay for himself?"

"Mr. Nan—"

"You are being scammed." 

Your teeth clenched together. You rarely got impatient. Years in the hospitality industry and dealing with misogynistic tenants didn't break you. Even setting up your bakery and almost draining your savings didn't dim your optimism. 

But getting scolded by someone who barely spoke more than five sentences to you in a whole year of being a regular? That's pushing it.

He didn't know you or Toji, the guy you're seeing. He didn’t understand how much you appreciated him accompanying you. So what if you covered his share of the trip expenses? Toji promised to pay you back, and he's been paying the bills for your dates. They might not be fancy, but it's the gesture that matters.

Sure, Nanami chipped in some money, and you're thankful for that. But he has no right to question you. Other people also contributed to your travel fund; it's not like he single-handedly financed the whole trip. You appreciated his support, but he was not in a position to lecture you.

With a sigh, you managed to contain your frustration and said, "Have a great rest of your night, Mr. Nanami.”

Nanami's frustration was palpable as he stood firm, his gaze piercing through the windows of your soul. “I suggest you take my advice into serious consideration. It would greatly upset me if you had the chance to visit one of your favorite countries taken from you.” 

You didn't bother watching him go. Instead, your discovery awaited you at the counter—the money for the coffee and casse-croûte lay there, accompanied by a crumpled yellow note that had slipped to the floor. Moving around the counter, you picked it up and smoothed out its wrinkles.

What greeted you was your own name scrawled across the sticky note, repeated around fifty times, the letters overlapping in a chaotic dance. Some were hastily scratched out, while others were executed with perfect cursive precision. You didn’t know what to make of it.

During your confusion, a new customer walked in. Quickly, you pocketed the note, focused on carrying on with your day despite the lingering frustration that Nanami's cryptic message had left in its wake.

Toji never showed up.

You waited for him for two agonizing hours, extending the torture even more after your flight had taken off. It dawned on you that he likely didn't bother getting a ticket. He probably pocketed the money you sent him and vanished into thin air. Every attempt to reach him failed miserably—your calls were forwarded, and the fifth one hammered the heartbreaking truth that he had blocked your number. To compound your misery, you sent him a string of text messages that refused to deliver your pain. You didn't even know where he lived, as your encounters were always in the obscure locations of your budgeted dates.

The thought of reporting him to the police crossed your mind, accusing him of theft, but the lack of photographic evidence left you helpless. To make matters worse, he hated taking pictures, and you were uncertain if the name he provided was even real. All that remained was a flicker of hope that you might cross paths with the bastard and unleash your pent-up rage with a hard kick to his dick. 

With a heavy heart, you gathered your strength, brushed away the tears until not a single trace remained on your lashes, and lugged your suitcase and carry-on outside the airport, hoping to hail a cab.

The idea of facing the upcoming days at work felt agonizing, goading you to spend them in the isolation of your shabby apartment. You were engrossed in a depressing routine—microwaved dinners, aimless hours on the couch, and a marathon of old cable TV shows.

As hunger struck again, you contemplated your options. Baking seemed like a possibility, but motivation had abandoned you. Pasta could be an option, but the lack of noodles and tomato sauce made it impractical. So, you settled for the one thing that required no ingredients: crying.

At least that was free. 

Despite the inner turmoil, you mustered the strength to shoulder your overcoat, sporting your fleece pajamas printed with candy canes and well-worn second-hand boots. 

The short walk to the corner store felt longer than usual, the biting cold making you clutch your threadbare coat tighter. Your teeth chattered in protest as you entered, and the rush of warm air was a momentary relief against the chill. Fingers numb, you mindlessly reached for familiar comfort snacks—chips, chocolate milk, anything to dull the ache.

A hand much larger than yours beat you to the last packet of croissants.

“Ah, sorry.” You let it go. “All yours—” You choked as you looked up, and up, at Nanami staring at you wide-eyed, his hazel eyes flickering at a rapid speed as if he were hallucinating your presence. Your face flushed with embarrassment, and the weight of the past five days crammed upon you—his uncanny prediction, your own naivety, and the sting of being swindled. “Mr. Nanami . . . ”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in—”

“Good night.”

With a dismissive shake of your head, you left the basket on the counter, mumbled a quick apology, and retreated back into the biting cold. 

You’ve faced tons of humiliating moments—slipping in front of customers, your purse strap getting snagged in a door and dragging you back, and that one unforgettable instance when a little boy labeled your eyebrows as caterpillars in front of a line of onlookers. Yet, none of those incidents could hold a candle to the awkwardness of bumping into the very man who had warned you about the ill-fated choice of paying for a stranger's trip—stranger now—when it was supposed to be your trip. 

You felt a firm grip on your wrist, making your restless pacing suddenly stop.

Startled, you turned around to find a pair of expressionless brown eyes and a slightly out-of-breath figure. Now is not the time to ogle Mr. Nanami’s broad shoulders, you idiot!

Releasing your wrist, he handed over a white , plastic bag. With a raised eyebrow, you peered inside to inspect its contents. It held everything from your shopping basket, including the last packet of croissants. Even more unexpected, he had paid for it all. 

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” you assured, your eyes already scanning for the nearest ATM, just in case you forgot. "But for now." You pulled out the packaged croissants and extended them toward him. Your body was shaking, not because of November but because of how you were scammed after being forewarned by Nanami. “Please. Take it.” 

He took your small hand in both of his, the warmth immediately melting the tension in your body. “So cold.” 

A soft giggle escaped you at the obvious observation, and you placed your free hand on top of his. "So warm." Sniffling, tears welled up in your eyes. "You know what else is warm? The sun. And it's yellow. It's so yellow."

“Factually speaking, it is white.” 

You wiped an arm across your nose. “What?” 

“The sun. It’s white. It’s only yellow in children's books.” 

You weren't about to argue with the guy who vindicated your slip-ups. Still, given the circumstances, you wished he'd soften the bluntness and let you bask in the illusion that the sun was a simple shade of yellow.

"I've always loved the color yellow," you mumbled. "Maybe getting scammed was a blessing. I'd probably get fined for wearing yellow otherwise. I couldn't afford to mess up on my trip. Besides, it all depends on the shade, right? Imagine how many fines I'd rack up just testing which shade of yellow suits me—"

Nanami tugged you close, capturing your lips with his.

A sharp intake of breath filled your lungs, eyes widening in surprise. Instinctively, your hands pushed him away, fingers grazing your tingling lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay. Don’t—Don’t worry. About it.” You tucked your lips in and tasted chocolate and mint—two of your favorite combinations. Nanami always seemed like the kind of man who would hate both flavors independently and dependently. “You’re okay. I mean—You’re okay in general. You’re not okay with kissing. You’re probably great, I’m sure.” Your tongue traced the curve of your lower lip, and Nanami’s eyes followed the motion. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” 

You walked up to him, grabbed the lapels of his coat, and tugged him down a notch, your lips colliding with his. 

Nanami's touch was calculated, his hand sailing onto your cheek, feeding warmth to your cold ear before vanishing into the labyrinth of your hair. Simultaneously, the other serpentined to the small of your back, his magnetic energy drawing you snugly against his chest. His warm tongue delicately swept across your lower lip, an unspoken cue that encouraged you to part your lips in response.

Nanami deepened the kiss, your tongues stroking against one another feverishly as if it were your last kiss. Who knows? Maybe it could’ve been. But the way he kissed with such desperation, releasing soft moans, not allowing you a moment to catch your breath, made you think that maybe this was just the start.

And you kissed him back just as needy.

If your hands slightly released their hold on his lapels, you'd gently cup the sides of his neck, rising on your tiptoes. And if your calves protested, you'd draw him down, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers entwining in his pale, golden locks. The taste of mint chocolate lingered on your lips, and a smile curved on your mouth as he stole a quick peck, pulling back just to gaze into your eyes for a moment before kissing you again.

You’re not sure how long you two stood and kissed there. Nanami was the one who always took the lead, savoring the taste of your pink, tender tongue, kissing your chilly cheeks and dewy eyes. The desire for each other made it hard to break away, yet the need for a breath of air was undeniable.

Finally, you decided to be the one to step back, signalling the end of your first kiss with him.

Your bottom lip tingled as you pulled it in, jaw aching from the infectious smile that had taken over your face. You couldn't help stealing glances at the tall man before you, who returned your gaze with a soft, almost imperceptible grin. Yet, in his eyes, under the gentle glow of the streetlight, you could see the excitement and joy of kissing you, twinkling brightly.

“I'm gonna—”

“I should—”

Both of you sighed; you with a soft chuckle, and him with a discreet throat-clearing.

“I've already missed quite a few workdays,” you said. “Gotta earn that dough if I want to make next month’s rent.” Nanami didn’t quite catch your bakery pun, but he nodded in agreement.

“Right,” you murmured, subtly veering to the side, putting on a little show as you started to walk away. You admitted it—you were a hopeless romantic. You secretly hoped for him to steal a kiss on your cheek and watch until you safely disappeared around the corner. “I’m off now.”

“Goodnight,” Nanami replied, subtly licking his lips for the sixteenth time. Yes, you were keeping count. 

“Night-night.” 

Nanami strolled down his end of the sidewalk. You followed suit, turning down your street. 

Luck had only sometimes been on your side when it came to men and their romantic gestures. Oh well. At least you experienced a passionate kiss from one of your favorite customers. Asking for more seemed a bit too much—

A hand gently pressed against your back, and as you turned, it gracefully curved around your waist, drawing you in. Nanami caught your gasp and kissed you with an urgency that doubled, holding onto you as if his life depended on it, lifting you off your toes. Three sweet pecks later, he released you, both of your faces flushed.

"Get home safely," he whispered, walking away without a second glance.

That night, you couldn't help but giggle into your mascara-stained pillow.

The morning after, you were a whirlwind of joy and light, twirling through the bakery with trays of freshly baked pastries, replenishing boxes and take-out essentials. You greeted customers with an extra dose of sweetness, and to top it off, you even handed out a tray of delectable chocolate jam cookies. And you wore a yellow bow in your hair. 

The oven beeped as the casse-croûtes finished baking, signaling their readiness for Nanami's arrival in just five minutes. You took special care in preparing his milk coffee, indulging in a quiet chuckle at your undeniable favoritism. Though the neighborhood bakery wasn't bustling with a large customer base, your attention was solely dedicated to him—your only regular as everyone else buzzed in the distant city an hour away.

With his coffee prepared and two casse-croûtes packed, you added a chocolate-mint cookie to the bag. Then, you decided to rearrange the shelves of gift baskets to pass the time. 

Setting up the ladder, you ascended the shaky steps until you were eye to eye with the fifth shelf. Heights were never your forte, which, in hindsight, was another reason why Malaysia was out of the question. The more you thought about being scammed, the more your heart wrenched from your lost trip. You’d again brought out your tip jar and prayed the odds were in your favor. Hell, maybe you’d ask Nanami to join you if you decided to take your relationship to the next level. 

As you secured the bow on the basket, your gaze landed on the clock—6:30 p.m., and Nanami was a no-show. 

Anxiety surged through you in an instant.

Did he leave you hanging? Maybe that kiss was a turnoff, and he chose to disappear rather than be upfront about finding you too overwhelming. Did your breath smell bad? Were you a terrible kisser? Or, worse, did something happen to him?

A torrent of worries flooded your mind, breaking through like a burst dam. Each imagined scenario seemed more nightmarish than the last, causing your head to spin. Recent events, like Toji's betrayal, fueled this self-doubt, made you question your intuition. While Nanami was clearly wealthy, consistently tipping a twenty each day, you found yourself questioning whether he had plans to use you for something else. As if that weren't enough, doubts crept in about your appearance and your optimistic, extroverted personality.

It started to make sense, didn't it? Nanami led a tranquil life, sticking to a routine of work and home, while you were a whirlwind of spontaneity—constantly buzzing with new ideas and discussions, unable to sit still or resist laughter at the silliest jokes. Everything seemed to fascinate you, yet nothing appeared to faze him. How could you have been so naive to entertain the thought—

“Good evening.” 

“Ah!” you yelped at the sudden baritone intruding into your thoughts. Your foot, betrayed by the unexpected intrusion, lost its balance on the step. Your arms flailed in a desperate attempt to find stability as you teetered backward, the impending hazard of a severe concussion and potential spinal cord injury looming.

But just as you were prepared to shake hands with God, Nanami's powerful arms swooped in at the last possible moment. With a secure hold, he cradled you in a bridal style, and you clung to him like a shaking puppy, arms looped around his neck.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath slightly labored.

You gingerly peeled one eye open to peek at him. His expression was one of calm disorientation; eyebrows knit together while his lips maintained a straight, tight line.

"Yes," you whispered, soothed by his timely intervention.

Nanami steadied you back onto your feet but maintained a firm grip on your elbows. “Look at me.” As you did, he inspected each eye closely while keeping his hand steady on your left cheek. He checked below your jaw, down to your dusty palms, which he cleaned with his silk handkerchief. He also patted down your tousled hair. "Are you sure you're okay?"

“Mm-hmm.” You could cry from how gentle he was with you. “A-Are you okay?” 

“I am now.” He took a composed breath and effortlessly retrieved his suitcase from the floor, brushing off invisible dust. “I apologize for being late. My . . . car broke down.” 

"What? Oh my god! Do you need me to give you my mechanic's number? I promise he's not as bad as the Google reviews say. He's actually quite a sweet man. And he gives me a friends and family discount because my father was close with him." You beamed, and Nanami squinted his eyes as if the brightness of your smile momentarily blinded him, but he tried his best to reciprocate.

“Do your parents live here?” 

You shook your head. “They passed away a while ago.” 

“I apologize.” 

"Don't be." You quickly switched subjects by fluttering towards the counter to pick up his items. “Tell me how your coffee tastes.” You turned around, adding, “I switched to a new brand of milk—”

Nanami pressed his lips against yours, momentarily freezing you. His seamless transition afterward could have fooled an onlooker into thinking you'd been married for years. "Thank you.” He took a sip and nodded thoughtfully. “It’s great. Everything you make is great.” 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sudden shyness enveloping you. From the kiss? The compliment? Him? You didn’t know at all. “Do you still need me to give you the mechanic’s number?” 

“It’s all right. I had it fixed. Minor battery issue, that’s all.” 

“Ah, okay. I prefer to walk.” 

Nanami glanced elsewhere, nodding. “Then, would you like to walk with me after you’ve closed?” 

“Oh.” A subtle flicker of surprise crossed your features. Nonchalantly, you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before smiling warmly. “Of course, yes. I’d love to go on a walk with you. Where are we going? There are lots of cafés in a nearby shopping district. I know all the best places to take you to.” A grave thought struck you just then. “Oh, actually. Hmm.” 

Curious, he tilted his head down, meeting your worried gaze. "What is it?"

"Well," you began, your thoughts taking a cautious turn, "you probably have a set time to be home unless you live nearby. In that case, we could spend the entire evening strolling around. Only if you're interested, of course."

Nanami’s lips twitched. “I live nearby.” 

“Where?” You weren’t ashamed to have been so upfront. It was more of a precautionary measure. 

And he didn't seem bothered, quickly revealing the familiar neighborhood you instantly recognized. It was a fifteen-minute walk from your own place.

"May I step out momentarily to make a call?" Nanami asked, pulling out his phone. It was the latest model you noticed—one that came out last week and mocked your own that was five versions older. “It will be quick.” 

“By all means.” You had to fix your hair and make-up anyway. 

Nanami nodded and exited the shop, leaving you to flee behind the counter. As you crouched down to check yourself in the small mirror tucked away in the lower drawer, you couldn't help but feel a warmth on your face from the unexpected collapse, the sweet, brief kiss, and his impeccable navy blue suit decorated with yellow cufflinks. Maybe a café was too casual for him; a restaurant might have been a more suitable choice. An expensive choice. However, you were adamant about not letting Nanami cover the entire cost.

Upon his return, five minutes later, you both settled at one of the three round tables in your bakery (he even pulled out your chair for you). Sipping on your coffees and enjoying the casse-croûtes and chocolate pastries, the conversation seemed somewhat one-sided. Yet, Nanami's aloof demeanor never made you feel inferior for dominating the dialogue. He listened to every word and vowel with his undivided attention, nodding alongside and adding in short sentences when he could relate to your childhood shenanigans. 

"Wait," he interrupted, causing you to halt in your tracks. The sun cast a warm glow on his face, making his eyes narrow into slits, but God did he look handsome. He extended his hand and brushed a thumb near your lips, discovering a small chocolate smudge. Swiftly, he licked it clean and tidied up the area around your lips with a napkin. "Beautiful."

“What?” 

Nanami was a deer in headlights. He sunk his head, beating himself up from murmuring his thoughts aloud—at least, that’s what you concluded. "You look beautiful," he declared with more assurance, his gaze on your face. "You are beautiful, Y/N."

Oh, my. 

Your heart was going to claw itself out of your chest. You could cook an egg on your face from how heated it had gotten. In fact, you were burning hotter than the sun, which continuously made him squint and blink. “Thank you.” 

He nodded twice, finishing the remnants of his coffee. Rising, he disposed of the cups and wrappers in the garbage bin, then extended a hand to help you stand. "I'll wait outside while you close up."

At a lightning pace, you ensured that everything in the bakery was safely unplugged and shut off. Grabbing your purse, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror, adjusting your face and hair. Stepping outside, you meticulously locked the door and gates.

Without a word, Nanami entwined his fingers with yours, causing you to smile like an idiot at him. He maintained a straight, vigilant gaze, seemingly unresponsive as you wrapped yourself around his arm. A subtle smirk tugged at your lips when you felt his muscles flex.

You walked for hours, café-hopping and trying pastries, baked goods, and sweet drinks. Every time Nanami attempted to cover the expenses with his cash, you scolded him, insisting that since you had suggested the place, you should be the one to pay. It was a rule you had read about online, and all your friends stuck to it religiously. The thought of Nanami spending his hard-earned money on your interests made you feel incredibly guilty.

As a matter of fact, you were feeling guilty about tons of things. He told you he worked at an investment firm, which meant it was a nine-to-five, likely sporting a migraine he kept hidden, and now he was being dragged around the shopping district by you, forced to listen to you because he was a man who didn’t complain, wouldn’t complain, and long, story short, you wanted to die. 

“Kento,” you muttered, removing your hand from his, goosebumps rippling on your skin. 

“Yes, darling?” 

Your chest felt like it was being clenched in a fist. “I'm . . . I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“For making you do all this. For making you pay for everything. For dragging you around when you're probably on the verge of exhaustion." Avoiding his gaze, you fixed your eyes on the concrete beneath you. “I know I can be too much sometimes—well, all the time.” A self-deprecating chuckle escaped your lips. "Exes in my past relationships have made it clear. I get overly excited easily, crave attention like one needs oxygen, trust people too easily to the point of getting scammed, and, well, I don't bring anything particularly special to the table. I'm sorry, Kento. Maybe it's best if we just stay friends?”

Nanami’s soft fingers lifted your chin up. Your words absolutely shattered his face, leaving you to feel worse than before. His lips were parted into a frown, his brows were scrunched up, brown irises flickering like he couldn’t believe you said that. This was the most reaction he had given you in the year that you’ve known him. 

“No,” he said. 

You blinked the tears gathered at your waterline. “No?” 

“No.” Nanami took a calming breath, closing his eyes. His forehead gently pressed against yours. “Please, let me be selfish for this once. For you. I can’t let you go—I won’t let you go."

"Kento—"

"I want to do this, Y/N. I want to pay for everything. I want you to drag me around because I’ll never be too tired for you.” Nanami drew back and cradled your sobbing face in his large hands. “I know I fail to show it, darling, but I love your excitement. I love paying attention to every detail of you because you’ve become my oxygen source. You’re a good, kindhearted woman, and anyone would be lucky to be seen by you. And you don’t have to bring anything to the table because there isn’t one dividing us, keeping us lengths apart.” His lips brushed your forehead, imprinting his words into your mind. "I want us to be more than just friends. I want us to be best friends. Lovers. In this life and the ones that follow."

You could explode. 

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, seeking support as if the ground beneath you was about to crumble. Yet, you knew he would catch you, just as before. He was so real, embracing you wholly, both of you breathing in each other's scents to confirm a human like this could exist. How grateful you were he stumbled into your bakery that one rainy night, and how grateful he was that you offered him free coffee and a casse-croûte while he was freezing and trembling. His presence brought life to your bakery, gave you something to look forward to when you were at your lowest, and you gave him . . . everything. You were his everything since the first day. 

As the shared silence lingered, Nanami's phone shattered the moment, its nosy ring cutting through the haze. You instinctively stepped back, but he clung to your hand as if afraid you might slip away.

Never, Nanami Kento. You’re stuck with me. 

When he took out his phone, you caught a glimpse of the contact name: Satoru (assistant). 

Before you could process the fact Nanami had an assistant, he swiped right. “Yeah?” 

The voice on the other end resonated with loud cheerfulness in the quiet alleyway. Nanami half-rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Leave it there. I’ll be there when I want to.” 

The assistant chuckled and sang his goodbye, the cheerful tone abruptly cutting off as Nanami ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Do all stockbrokers have assistants?” 

He tilted his head. “I’m not a stockbroker.” 

“Oh? I’m sorry. I assumed because you worked at an investment firm.” 

“Yes, I was a stockbroker.” He nodded, warming your hand in his, then casually added, “But I own a firm now.” 

Your brows hit your hairline. “That’s amazing!” 

“Thank you. We have several locations around the country. Kento Investments. Have you heard of it?” 

Heard of it? You were a client some time ago when you were starting your bakery. All you encountered were glowing reviews about their ethical practices, a refreshing leave from the scheming ways of most investment firms that had previously taken advantage of you. It stood out as the industry leader in your research, and the team was lovely in guiding you through the process, so much so that you even invited them to your grand opening.

"Ah, you have." Nanami grinned, gently tilting your chin upward and closing your gaping mouth. "Therefore, my darling, don't feel guilty about me covering the expenses. I'm quite secure in my position to support both of us for centuries."

All you could manage was a disbelieving chuckle as you rested your forehead against his chest. Taking it as an invitation, he embraced you, crowning you with kisses. 

Lifting your head, you said, "There's something I want to get for you."

"What is it?"

Hand-in-hand, you pulled him back toward the bustling district, the sound of his deep laughter echoing in the air. Your own laughter naturally joined in.

As you strolled past a vendor selling accessories, your attention was drawn to an item you had briefly noticed earlier in your walk. Although you planned to purchase it the following day and surprise him in the afternoon, tonight felt like the perfect moment.

Politely approaching the elderly vendor, you asked, "Could I please try those on?" He handed you a pair of round sunglasses with a green tint to the lenses. Standing on your toes, you carefully placed the glasses on Nanami's nose, adjusting them to sit perfectly on the bridge. The sides of the spectacles featured a stylish steampunk design that complemented his narrow, sharp features. "Handsome.”

"I'll take it.” Nanami reached for his wallet. However, you were one step ahead, swiftly bringing out the spare change you had set aside in your coat pocket. You had already calculated the price, ready to outsmart him in this little game of charity.

“Y/N.” 

“Thank you,” you said to the shop vendor, ignoring Nanami’s stare. 

“Y/N.” 

“Yes, darling?" You looped around his arm and began your stroll down the sidewalk. “Oh, come on. Let me be selfish and treat you once in a while.” You cut off his protests with a kiss. 

He surrendered instantly. 

Over the next four weeks, you didn’t realize how quickly you’d become comfortable with Nanami. Like clockwork, he would arrive at your bakery, patiently occupying a table until your duties with customers or decorating displays finished. Now resembling a vibrant florist shop, the bakery owed its transformation to Nanami's thoughtful gestures—bouquets of flowers in every shade of yellow, orange, and white became an amusing routine. As you arranged them in vases, you would burst into fits of giggles like a maniac. 

You and him were like a Venn diagram, overlapping in unexpected places. He enjoyed non-fiction, classics, and history books; you immersed yourself in the world of romance and mystery novels. TV nights were a compromise between his love for documentaries and your penchant for anything sappy on Netflix, occasionally spicing things up with a true-crime documentary. His fascination with astronomy met your fixation with astrology, and surprisingly, he didn't scoff when you read the lines on his palms. Instead, he appreciated it just as much as you cherished his nightly photos of the moon and his ability to name the stars above.

At least, you were both Team Cats.

Nanami introduced you to his friends, including his quirky assistant Gojo, who had a habit of shamelessly flirting with you, seemingly just to get under Nanami's skin. However, your boyfriend was secure enough not to let it bother him. Yet, a trace of possessiveness would emerge during sex—when the two of you were entwined in bed, bodies bared and bathed in the aftermath of shared sweat.

Exiting the restaurant after a delightful dinner date, Nanami turned to you and suggested, "I'd like to invite you to my homd tonight."

Finally, you thought, resisting the urge to dip your toes into the topic of visiting his home, especially considering he had been a frequent guest at yours.

The fact that he lived nearby had always puzzled you; he mentioned it casually yet never extended an invitation for a simple coffee or a chat on his welcome mat. Weekends saw him working from your living room, staying overnight, but on weekdays, he'd only spend a brief hour or two with you before heading home, a practice that seemed counterintuitive given his closeness. Despite the confusion, you hesitated to jeopardize your relationship by fishing too deeply.

So far, Nanami hadn't given you any reason to doubt him.

"Are you sure?" you asked cautiously.

"Absolutely, darling.” Nanami took your hand and planted a small kiss on the back of it. "I apologize for the delay. I've been having it . . ." He casually flicked up his sunglasses that had slipped. ". . . renovated."

“Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I’d love to!” 

Nanami nodded and leaned down to kiss your cheek. “Thank you for being so patient. I know it was eating you alive. You're not exactly the master of hiding your emotions.” He gave you a small smile and kissed your cheek again. 

You responded with a smile that crinkled your nose. "Just a bit anxious, that's all."

"Understandable.” He guided you toward his neighbourhood, exchanging a warm smile as you nestled against his arm. Observing the goosebumps on your skin and the faint shivers, he realized you had forgotten your cardigan. Without hesitation, he removed his blazer and draped it around your shoulders, helping you slip your arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant scent from the collars. "You always smell so good."

Nanami bent down, kissing the side of your neck right above your racing pulse. "As do you," he murmured against your skin. "Always."

“Gosh, you're so flirty,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his midsection and burying your face in his chest.

“Come on now.” 

You walked for another ten minutes, taking a five-minute pit stop to pet a stray cat before stopping in front of a towering residence building. It was one of those extravagant ones boasting a fountain in the lobby and a vigilant security guard who greeted Nanami with a two-finger salute.

Hand on your back, Nanami guided you toward the elevator with mirrors on all sides.

He exuded an air of sophistication in his neatly rolled-up black dress shirt, complemented by beige pants. His pale, blond hair was slicked back, a Rolex clasped his wrist, and veins corded his well-defined forearms. The sunglasses you had given him rested atop his head. 

As Nanami caught your eyes on the reflective surfaces, a sudden blush warmed your cheeks. “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” you whispered, fingers idly playing with the golden butterfly bracelet he had given you on the night he asked you to be his girlfriend. “I was just . . . God, you’re so beautiful. Sometimes, I think I’m dreaming of you. And I don’t want to wake up from it.” 

Nanami released his grip on your hand, wrapping his arm around your waist. He tilted your chin upward and planted a lecherous kiss on your lips. As you stumbled backward, your back met the cool surface of a mirror, and you clung to his biceps. He continued kissing your jaw and nibbling at your neck.

“Ken—Wait, there’s a camera!” 

“I own the building.” 

Without allowing you to react, he kissed you fervently, his hands framing your face and his knee pressing between your legs. Your hips ground against the muscled surface, creating a heated friction that drew a moan from him.

The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival, but Nanami was undeterred. He refused to break the kiss. Lifting you effortlessly, he cradled you with a single forearm beneath your backside and your arms encircling his neck. Laughter echoed as you entered directly into the main corridor of his penthouse.

“Your front door is an elevator?” You marveled with an open jaw. 

“Yes, it seems so.”

Oh, how you loved his monotonous replies. 

Nanami gently placed you onto the expansive white surface, smoothly moving over your body to continue. 

“I knew you were a clean freak,” you said between his kisses, “but your penthouse looks like it was bought this morning.” 

“Two weeks ago.” He kisses down your neck, sideways toward your left shoulder. “That’s why I waited to invite you. Gojo was having the place decorated. I've installed a library for you, too. We can go book-shopping this weekend.” 

"Wait, what?" You pushed him back by his chest, incredulous. "Hold on, hold on, hold on. You mean to tell me you moved in just two weeks ago?"

"Yes," he answered, tilting his head slightly perplexedly. "When you asked about my residence, I panicked and couldn't come up with a proper answer, fearing you might decline my invitation for a walk. So, I bought this building from the previous owner on the spot. There are also commercial benefits. Quite a strategic move, if you ask me." With that, Nanami resumed his attention, focusing on kissing your collarbones and skillfully lowering your dress, exposing your chest to him.

But you were still stuck on the subject like a pesky fruit fly. “But you don’t live here?” 

“I don’t.” His mouth brushed over the mound of your left breast. “I live in Shibuya.” 

“Shibuya? Kento, that’s an hour and a half away!"

"Hmm." He glanced up, mouth sucking at your nipple.

"You've been faithfully coming to my city every single day, all the way from Shibuya, for a whole year? You've been burning all that gas just to be with me?"

He broke away to say, "Gojo drives me occasionally," and switched to your right breast.

"Nanami Kento, are you out of your mind?"

Finally, he released you and sighed. "I fail to see the issue here." He appeared so innocent, with his moist lips, tousled hair, and a crumpled dress shirt. 

You hurriedly sat up, readjusting your dress, which seemed to displease him. "I'm at a loss for words." Your gaze caught the weariness etched on his face, the bags under his eyes, the slow, heavy blinks signaling his desperate need for sleep. "You haven't actually been living here, have you?"

Upon hearing that, Nanami let out a weary sigh. "I do it when I'm too drained to make the drive back on weekdays."

As the details of his schedule fell into place, you flinched inwardly. He would rise at the crack of dawn, dedicate endless hours to handling clients at the office, and then endure a lengthy drive to your city, only to spend his evenings with you before leaving around midnight to return to Shibuya. The only time he would stay overnight at your place was on Saturdays, and he would depart early on Sundays for work. And all this time, you had believed he had an office in your city.

Oh, God. 

You loved him. 

You loved him so much.

Tears welled up in your eyes at the realization of just how much he loved you. The man had gone so far as to purchase an entire building in your city just to be closer to you. He showered you with affection at every opportunity, devoted his alone time to you with undivided attention and mind-blowing orgasms, and his bank transactions were probably dedicated to you. 

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” you whispered. 

“Neither did I the night when we met.” Nanami’s words always had a comforting effect on you. He gently pulled you onto his lap, and you curled up like a fetus, planting a kiss on his cheekbone. “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. I love . . . God, I love you so much. I didn't realize I was capable of feeling this much love for another human until I met you. It was all locked up inside me, and you held the key all along, darling." Leaning forward, he smoothly swept his blazer and delved into the pocket, revealing a small yellow box. With trembling hands, you accepted it and opened it to find a petite, golden key inside. “Our front door is an elevator.” 

Your breath hitched. “What?” 

“Move in with me.” 

“Kento—”

“I know. I know it's quite early to discuss this, and I want to give you the space and time to consider it. As you mentioned, your lease ends next month, and I'll officially be transitioning to remote work with a few business trips every other week. It would mean a lot to me if you decided to join me on those trips." He gently placed the key in your hand, kissing your fist. "I'm scheduled to travel to Malaysia next month."

Overpowered with emotion, you choked out a sob and immediately lunged at him with a hug, causing both of you to stumble backward as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He loved you. He wanted you to move in with him. He wanted to travel with you, starting with Malaysia. Suddenly, the tips he left in your jar took on a deeper significance, backing the idea that you weren't meant to journey alone, why you weren’t meant to go with that swindling bastard. As Nanami's gestures of kindness and service became increasingly evident, your tears welled up, choking him in a tight embrace that eventually had him laughing.

Last November, Nanami Kento had stepped into your small bakery, raindrops clinging to him, unknowingly marking his permanent presence in your life.

Confession | LMH (M)

Best friend Mark x fem reader

Summary: you look beautiful and the time feels right, so he decides to confess.

Warnings: sexual content, big dick mark, unprotected sex, he's in love with you, he's also a bit of a freak, proofread (kinda)

Word count: 1,6k

Song recs: juno by Sabrina Carpenter

A/N: I wrote this on a whim bc I miss him and and need him in the least biblical way possible. Enjoy

"can I tell you something?" His breathy whisper tickled your ear, giving you goosebumps all over. Marks hands roamed your sides, his firm fingers pressing into your skin as you listen to his shaky breathing.

“tell me.”

“I really like you.” His lips press against your ear lobe, heat spreading in the lower parts of your body. His chest is pressed against yours, hearts beating in unison as he kisses the back of your ear down your neck. “I love you actually.”

“You love me?”

Mark doesn’t know if it was the alcohol that bought on this confession or maybe the fact that you just looked especially good that night. But it clearly didn’t matter, especially when your face was so close to his. You can’t keep focus, not knowing whether to look at his eyes or lips and he quickly too notice, simply making the decision for you.

His lips melt into yours, the calm sound of his heavy breathing and the fire place cracking making your stomach flutter. Mark moves his hands to your hips, pressing your pelvis against his. His lips tie into yours almost too perfectly like it's meant to be, tongue smoothly sliding into your mouth naturally.

“I need you,” you whine softly.”

Mark nods, quickly taking off his suit jacket and throwing it on the couch behind him. Your hands fly to his chest, tugging at his tie pulling it off. Mark pulls away from your lips, resting his forehead on yours. His eyes light up watching you unbutton his shirt, brows scrunched in a desperate attempt to get it off.

He cracks a smile feeling your hands run up his body right to back of his neck, pulling him in for another deep kiss while your fingers tangle in his hair. Mark sneaks his hands around you, resting his large palms on your ass. He can’t help himself, the feeling of your plush ass drives him insane. You whine feeling him squeeze you, making him damn near rock hard, and you can feel it. You can feel how hard he is for you, and you want it so badly.

Marks fingertips bunch your dress in his hands, fisting the fabric as he kisses you. “I want you to touch me baby,” he says softly.

That was all you needed, immediately shoving the man on the couch behind you. Mark fell with grace, his light brown hair coving his face in the most elegant way possible. The fire lot his face, his pretty brown eyes looking at you. Mark watches you bunch your dress at your hips, climbing on him to straddle his lap. He can’t keep his hands to himself, immediately pushing the fabric up your legs, gripping your thick thighs.

“fuck,” you sigh. He looks like a dream under you. The way the light from behind flickers against his features does wonders for you. You can’t hold back, wishing for this moment for a long time. Mark doesn’t stop you from unbuckling his belt and undoing his dress pants that are a little too big for him.

The silence is comforting, nothing but the sound of your shaky breath as you palm his hard cock through his boxers. You pump him slowly through the fabric, watching his face twist in pleasure.

“yes baby just like that,” he sighs in pleasure.

You could watch him all day if you could, but you can’t, not when you’re dying to feel him stretch you open. “do you have any condoms?”

Mark gulps, shaking his head. He thought you’d be completely turned off, but his lips parted when you reached into his boxers, soft hands wrapping around his shaft. Mark watches you pull him out the fabric, nearly moaning seeing the size of him.

“fuck I’ve waited so long for this,” you whisper. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, the way you pulled up your dress revealing that you were in fact not wearing anything underneath. Your breathing was erratic, too excited to see the way the man looked at you while your lifted your hips, pressing his tip to your pussy.

A gasp leaves your lips, brows furrowed as you sink down on his cock. His hands are on your back and hip, gripping the fabric of your dress as he watches himself disappear inside you. Your body is hot, not only from the fireplace but from the way he’s looking at you.

“that’s it baby, deep breaths,” he says softly, rubbing soothing circles on your thigh.

“you’re so big,” you whine softly. You press your hips down more, hands flying to his shoulders feeling him move deeper in you. He’s so overwhelming, but you can’t stop yourself from grinding, your body moving on Its own. “Fuck,” your whimper softly.

Marks grips your dress, pushing it further up your body. His breathing increases, heart shooting out of his chest as he watches you use him to pleasure yourself. You look so pretty in your formal attire, hair done, makeup done, wearing the necklace he bought for you. Your lips part, soft moans spilling as you moved your hips.

“God, I love you so much.” Mark tilts your chin down, kissing you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth. Your hips moved faster, moans falling into your mouth as he gripped your thigh tight. The kiss was hot and wet, both of your mouths absorbing the sinister sounds of pleasure. Mark pulls away from the kiss, your heavy panting becoming all the more noticeable.

“Just like that baby, you’re so good for me.”

Your body completely melted into his, hands gripping his shoulders tight. Mark loves the way your necklace falls into his face, you biting your lip softly as you ride him faster. Your whines turn into whimpers and moans, shaky sounds escaping your mouth just like he always wanted.

“Mark…oh my god.”

You’re so blinded by pleasure, you cant even tell when his thumb ended up in your mouth. Your plump lips wrapped around the digit, brows furrowed as you stared into his eyes. The man pulls his thumb out your mouth, saliva still connecting the two of you together.

“I love you so much,” he moans, other hand gripping your hip. “All mine, right?”

You nod fast, feeling yourself get even more turned on. You clench around him, hands trembling on his shoulders. “I-I’m so close mark,” you moan.

“You’re gonna cum on my cock? Like a good girl?” Mark holds your hips, thrusting into you like his life depended on it. Body hot, sweat on his brow while pleasures you. You tried to be quiet, not wanting to draw any attention to the room, but you just can’t control yourself anymore. He feels so good inside you, like he’s made for you.

“yes, yes. I’m your good girl..”

Mark keeps fucking you, his grunts and moans sounding like music to your ears. He wants to keep going forever, but that feeling starts brewing in his stomach. He’s so close he might explode if you squeeze around him one more time. “Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum,” he moans. Mark tries to lift you off his lap, but you remove his hands.

You say nothing when you push his body deeper into the couch and start riding him like there’s no tomorrow. Whines and whispers escape from both of your lips, the feeling of an orgasm so close you could taste it. You kiss him, tongue immediately going down his throat and he enjoys it, moaning into your mouth.

That’s when you feel it, the right ball in your stomach becoming undone, clenching around him nice and tight as you break the kiss, high pitch sounds bouncing off the walls and into his ears. Mark follows immediately after, cumming deep inside your tight cunt with his jaw dropping at the feeling.

You collapse on his body having completely sweating out your hair, dress, and makeup. You don’t have to look into a mirror to know your look a mess. Lipstick everywhere, sweat fucking up your makeup, dress wrinkled to an unrecognizable degree. Mark doesn’t look any better. His shirt is half way off, hair all over the place and now his once perfectly ironed slacks are wrinkled.

“Holy fuck,” you huff out, still trying to catch your breath. Mark looks up at you, brows raised with a pretty smile on his face. “Can’t believe we just did that.”

“it was bound to happen.” Mark’s eyes light up when you giggle. “I’m so in love with you.”

Regardless of the fact that you just had sex with him, you still can’t handle how mushy and romantic he is, his words making your flustered. Mark knows you can handle it, so without letting you respond, he kisses you. Lips molding with yours, his tongue on yours tasting you. It feels like you’re the only people in the world, the way he grips your waist, pulling your body closer to him.

Both of you know you cant stay in this room, but you don’t protest when he caresses your face, thumb on your lip pulling your mouth open along with your tongue. The man licks up your tongue slowly, drawing a breathy moan you. He wraps his lips around the wet muscle, sucking it softly making you clench around his no semi hard cock that’s still inside you. You fell him thrust into you softly, but you can’t let him knowing you want to.

“wait,” you say breathlessly, pulling away from his lips. “we-we can’t stay here.”

“we can if you wanna go for round two.”

You look at him, biting your lip softly. “you don’t think we’ll get in trouble?”

“I don’t care about getting in trouble.”

Against your better intuition, your lips lock with his once again, his hands all over your body continuing his confession for the rest of the night.