You thought it’d be funny to try that “calling your bf your friend” trend you saw on tiktok on Satoru, just to see how his hopelessly in love ass would react.
Pressing the record button on your phone, Satoru stands just slightly behind you, his arm wrapped around your neck. He’s grinning into the phone, putting up a peace sign as if to say hello.
“Hi guys! Today I’m here with my friend Satoru,” he freezes against you instantly, his arm going firm where you can feel it against your neck. “We’re gonna try some new pastries…”
You keep talking into the camera, but you can see him through the screen, he’s glancing at you through the phone as well as craning his neck to look at you.
“Want to try it first?” You turn to him, holding the whipped cream stuffed bread out to him. He makes eye contact with you, his piercing blue eyes unwavering from your gaze.
“What was that?” He murmurs, his gaze hardening. You can see his jaw clench when you ask what he’s talking about. The video long forgotten.
“No,” he reaches out for your phone, not breaking eye contact as he sets it down, not caring enough to stop the recording. “We’re not doing this.”
You step back, his arm still wrapped at your neck curls in, pulling you up against his chest. He slides his other hand down to your waist, holding it firm.
Satoru’s eye twitches with anger, his jaw still tense as he speaks again. “Friend? Hm?” He brings his hand up to your cheek, cupping the side of your face as he leans in close.
He places a kiss against your lips, it's slow and tender, but you can feel the heat and passion behind it. He pulls back, just far enough he can speak freely.
“I am,” he leans in again, pulling back just as quick as he leaned in. “Not your fucking friend.” He mumbles against your lips in between kisses.
⋆˚꩜｡
“Is this what friends do, hmm?” Satoru growls into your ear, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. His large hand resting your the small of your back as he fucks into you with insane force.
You frantically shake your head, your tears wetting the satin of the bed sheets. “N..No!”
He rolls his head back on his shoulders, his Adam's apple bobbing as he suppresses a groan. “Tell me,” with a rough snap of his hips you're pushed higher up on the bed. “Who fucks you like this?”
A whine escapes your throat as he bites down on your shoulder, his pace quickens from your lack of an answer. “You! Fuck.. You, Toru!”
His large hands wrap around your stomach, his chest flush against your back as he pulls you back on him until you're on your knees. He’s still inside, in fact you’re taking him to the hilt.
“Good girl,” he hissed, his lips trailing the back of your neck as his hips twitched into yours. Your head falls back against his shoulder, a clear view of his glistening face, and that shit eating grin he’s got.
You barely have time to react before his hips snap again, fucking into you at a rapid pace. Still making eye contact with you, his hands slide up to your breasts.
His fingers playing with your nipple as he dips his head down to lick your other, the contrast of the cool air and his hot tongue are enough to make you cum right then and there.
“M’gonna- fuck,” you interrupt yourself, his free hand trails down to your clit. The pads of his fingers circling your clit as he pumbles into is too overstimulating.
“Cum for me,” he whispers against your breast, nipping at your perky nipples. Satoru seems put together, as if he’s not even close, but you feel the way his hips start stuttering, his legs shaking against your thighs. “Cum for your ‘friend’”
With one last thrust you come undone, the knot in your stomach breaking as you fall back into him. His body trembles beneath yours, hips staggering as he cums inside you.
The feeling of his thick, warm cum filling you up makes you fold over. Your head hitting the pillow as he falls with you, chest pressed against your back.
⋆˚꩜｡
When you fix yourselves up and go back to the kitchen, you notice your phone’s still been recording. The timer just hitting 2:30:00.
You sit down on the couch beside Satoru and play the video back, both laughing at how upset he was. Then you skip to sometime later in the two hours it recorded.
…
“I’m cutting that out, oh my god.” You flush, hiding your face in your hands. Satoru stole your phone from your hands, pressing play.
Loud moans from both your ends cut the silence and he laughed, sending the video to himself immediately.
“No, keep it in,” he pulled your hands away from your face. “Let em know I’m not your friend.”
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Nanami’s wife had a big teeny tiny obsession with sundresses. In fact, over a quarter of your wardrobe was occupied with sundresses hung meticulously in colour order along the railing. You looked so happy in them, eyes creasing as you smiled with glee.
It drove Nanami absolutely crazy.
Of course he loved the dresses and he loved seeing you happy even more, but the way the material hugged your chest and hips, the way it flowed beautifully around your lower half and swayed in slow motion whenever you moved had him going insane. He felt his cock hardening whenever you walked out of the bedroom and the self control he had to teach himself was becoming unbearable.
“Kento? Are you okay?”
His head snapped up to your eyes instantly, reaching for your hand and kissing your knuckles gently. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m fine.”
“You seem distracted,” you add on.
“Just… work stuff,” he lied, trying to avoid eye contact with your yellow sundress, little blue flowers printed over it.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Your adorable concerned expression had Nanami staring down at his lap, counting to ten in his head to try and prevent all the blood rushing to his groin. His jaw tightened painfully.
“I’m okay, darling. Thank you for offering.”
You wouldn’t let up though, unable to move on from the conversation because of how weird your husband was acting. You squeezed his hand gently from across the dining table. “Kenny, are-“
You pause mid sentence when he groans, eyes squeezing shut. With a curious mind, you lean down to look under the table and notice the large bulge forming in his work trousers.
You can’t help but burst out into giggles.
Nanami stares at you like you’re personally offending him.
“Love, it’s not nice to laugh.”
“Aww, you’re so cute, Ken! Why didn’t you just tell me?” One foot outstretches to press against his groin under the table, eliciting another low moan.
“Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he grits out.
“Hm? How do you mean?”
“I didn’t-“ His breaths becomes shorter. “-want to make you feel sexualised in your dress.”
You beam. “So you like them that much, huh?”
He groans again when you rub over his hardened cock slowly. “Don’t tease, darling. You know I love them, and you.”
“Oh, I know. Now I wanna see just how much you love them.”
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mma!kuna blessing your pussy before a big match. (based on this ask!)
CW: nsfw
Art: @/sxt4n
a/n: yo guys i wrote this while drunk in some rando's bathtub so if this is bootycheeks im soz✌️im too tipsy to edit ts. #much luv tho <3 and ty for waiting patiently
The locker room was a bit dim, the overhead fluorescent lights turned down to a low, quiet hum that cast long shadows across the concrete floor. It was the championship finals—the culmination of months of blood, sweat and tears paired with relentless training—and the distant, muffled roar of twenty thousand fans vibrating through the walls was a constant reminder of the stakes.
But inside the private room, the world was completely still.
When the door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the noise, Sukuna was sitting alone on the low bench. His fight shorts hung low at his hips, exposing the sharp v-line of his torso, and his broad chest was already slick with a sheen of pre-fight sweat. In the dim atmosphere, the black tattoos covering his wide shoulders and ribs flexed with every deep, slow exhale he took. The fighter looked up, dark eyes locking onto yours, his messy salmon-pink hair damp against his forehead.
You didn't say a word, just stepped up to him with a fresh roll of thick white cotton gauze in your hands. The moment you slotted yourself perfectly between his thick thighs and sank into his lap, those muscular arms instantly wrapped around you. One heavy forearm locked across the small of your back—trapping you securely against him. The scent of your perfume immediately cut through the sharp, medicinal tang of liniment and deodorant filling the space between you.
The silence held fast—broken only by the slight rustle of fabric. You grabbed Sukuna’s big, scarred hand and grazed his blistered knuckles. Slowly, you pulled the white cloth taut over his calloused skin, smoothing it down.
As you focused on the final turns, Sukuna leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The heat radiating off his body was scorching, his damp, pink hair scratching lightly against your skin as he pressed a slow row of warm kisses against your throat. “You done?” he asked quietly against your skin, flexing his fingers beneath the fresh gauze—testing your work.
You giggled as the short strands and his warm lips tickled your skin. You pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, your thumb lingering over the finished wrap. “Keep your hands steady,” you whispered, smoothing out the white gauze.
“Are you nervous?” you asked softly.
Of course he had to be, you thought to yourself. This was the championship finals. The highest stakes imaginable. In less than ten minutes, he was either walking out there to claim the gold belt, or he was coming back to this exact room with a bruised face, a busted lip, and the bitter taste of defeat. The pressure was enough to crush anyone.
“Nah” he said softly, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I've already won.”
A quiet laugh escaped your lips at his playful confidence, and before you could tease him back, Sukuna’s wrapped hand slid down the back of your thigh—his fingers sliding right beneath the hem of your denim skirt. With a strong grip, he lifted your leg up and guided your thighs wide, moving you so you were fully straddling his lap.
The movement instantly bunched the stiff denim fabric all the way up to your hips. Your bare thighs and the plump, soft flesh of your ass were left entirely exposed on his lap, with your simple grey cotton panties serving as the only barrier between you.
Sukuna didn't give you a chance to speak, his other hand instantly coming up to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair as he pulled you down into a deep kiss. His mouth parted yours easily, his tongue sliding inside with a hungry rhythm that tasted faintly of copper and mint.
A soft gasp escaped your throat—completely swallowed by his lips as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling yourself against his chest.
Unable to help yourself, you shifted your weight—your hips instinctively rolling forward. You grind your clothed cunt right against him, the grey cotton of your underwear rubbing directly over his aching cock.
Sukuna let out a low and rough breath into the kiss, his hand sliding up from your thigh to slide over your bare, exposed cheek. His rough fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass, squeezing it with a grip that anchored your hips right against his. His other hand trailed down to grip your hip—rocking you back and forth.
The fabric of his fight shorts offered no cushioning, letting you feel every rigid inch of his heavy length straining hard beneath the flat velcro waistband. He continued to rock you, pulling you harder against him with every roll of your hips. You whined into his mouth, your hips rolling desperately against his hard bulge until your core throbbed.
Sukuna broke the kiss just enough to breathe, his lips dragging across your cheek to your ear, his chest heaving against yours. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, a rough breathless laugh catching in his throat as your desperate grinds threatened to break his control before the bell even rang.
He stood up with you trapped against his chest. And in two heavy strides, Sukuna laid you onto the high training table. The short denim skirt rode all the way up your hips, with the cold wood biting into the bare skin of your lower back and thighs.
His hands gripped your knees and guided them back, flexing your legs wide as he stepped deeply in between them. Sukuna pressed his hard bulge against your clothed cunt—letting you feel exactly how thick and hard he was for you under his gear.
Slowly, his large hand slid down between your thighs, his palm flattening over the front of your plain, soft grey panties. He didn't pull them down yet. Instead, his fingers began to trace the shape of your damp folds through the fabric, outlining the plump, aching shape. Pressing his thumb hard against your clit, circling it—making a pathetic whimper catch in your throat.
As his fingers worked over the damp grey fabric, Sukuna leaned his weight forward, slowly driving his thick bulge straight into your clothed heat. The sleek material of his fight shorts slid against your soaked panties, pinning you firmly to the wood with every slow hitch of his pelvis.
Your excitement had completely soaked through the material—the grey cotton was almost translucent, darkening from the moisture and sticking directly to your sensitive, swollen folds. Every time he shifted his weight or rubbed his thumb over you, the damp cloth dragged intimately against your clit.
Sukuna leaned down, his eyes locked on yours, watching your expression fracture. “Look at you” he said with a smirk, as his thumb took one more slow dragging stroke along the damp seam before he finally hooked two fingers into the waistband of your underwear. He slid the wet grey fabric down your legs with an impatient pull—letting it drop to the floor.
Sukuna dropped to his knees, broad shoulders wedging your thighs even wider, pinning your legs back until you were completely spread out for him.
“So fucking wet already. The only lucky charm I need.” He let his breath coat your swollen, slick folds, watching the way you shuddered just from the heat of him. Your core was oozing onto the wooden table, the wet skin glistening under the lights, and a low satisfied breath escaped his chest at the sight. And when his tongue finally made contact, he slid it from the very bottom of your opening all the way up through your slick folds to your throbbing clit in one slow, deep lick.
A sharp gasp caught your throat, your teeth immediately sinking into your lower lip as your hips twitched against the hard table.
“Stay still for me,” he mumbled against your heat, lips flattening against your clit, sucking the sensitive bud entirely into his mouth. Sukuna rested his heavy forearms over your thighs as he lapped your throbbing cunt heavily, his tongue working in aggressive upward swipes through your slick folds, that mirrored the pace of a hard, dirty fuck.
He dragged it out—taking his time to torment you, his tongue flattening to lap broad strokes from your opening to your clit, before narrowing to swirl his wet tongue on the sensitive bud until you were whining, the sound echoing in the concrete room.
Suddenly, rushed footsteps and raised voices echoed right outside the door—the loud, frantic calls of his manager and officials checking the halls. Panicking at the noise, you instantly clamped a hand over your mouth, stifling a loud cry as his tongue swirled over your clit.
Sukuna paused for a second, looking up from between your thighs with amused eyes. He gripped your wrist, firmly pulling your hand away from your face and pinning it down against the table.
“Tryna be quiet?” he murmured.
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the voices faded down the corridor. “They’ve heard you before.”
“Sukuna, please, someone's gonna—” you gasped out, your words dissolving into a broken moan as his tongue slammed right back into your wetness.
“Mm…yeah, you like that?” Sukuna hummed with a grin.
Your eyes fluttered back, vision blurring as you looked at the dim ceiling “M-mhm…I do…please…” Fingers instantly tangling into his damp salmon-pink hair, gripping the short strands tightly as you tried to pull him even closer against you. “F-fuck…” you gasped out as your back slightly arched off the wood, your lip digging into your teeth again trying and failing to stifle the ragged whimpers escaping you.
The booming chant of the crowd outside blended with the wet, squelching sounds of his mouth devouring you. You could smell his deodorant, his sweat sticking onto your skin, feel the scratch of his short pink hair against your lower stomach, and the burning touch of his wrapped fingers spreading your wet folds wide so he could dig his tongue even deeper into your pulsing core.
Then, he pushed two thick, gauze-wrapped fingers inside of your cunt.
The rough texture of the tape dragged against your sensitive walls—the friction so sharp it made you sob, your walls clamping tightly around the texture. Sukuna let out a low grunt, immediately taking advantage of how your tightness was sucking his fingers in. He began to pump his fingers hard and fast, the rough gauze dragging in and out of your oozing heat, perfectly hitting your g-spot with every thrust while his tongue continued to lap and suck your clit.
A ragged chain of whines and moans slipped out of your lips while your hands desperately tightened their grip on his hair. The contrast of his rough tape inside your cunt and the soaking wet heat from his mouth against your folds was driving you over the edge. You could feel yourself building, the pressure pooling heavily in your lower stomach until you were trembling from head to toe.
“Sukuna—please, I’m gonna—”
“Give it to me” he murmured against your core. “Right here. Let me taste it.”
He accelerated the pace, his fingers shoving deep and fast, your internal walls contracting violently around the tough gauze. The intense friction snapped the last of your control and your orgasm hit like a physical blow, your back arching off the cold table as your eyes fluttered shut. Your internal muscles were completely squeezing and spasming around Sukuna’s wrapped fingers.
And finally your wave of release flooded out, soaking his hands and spilling directly onto his fingers, the gauze soaking it in as you whimpered, your toes curling slightly and thighs trembling against his broad shoulders as you came hard against his knuckles.
Sukuna didn't back off—he stayed put there, drinking you down greedily, swallowing every drop of your release while his fingers continued to slowly pump inside your wet folds, wringing out every last, fading spasm of your climax, letting his knuckles coat themselves completely in your wetness. He didn't stop until your frantic breathing finally began to slow to a ragged wheeze, his tongue giving one you one final, heavy swipe over your throbbing core.
When Sukuna finally pulled away, a thick, silver string of saliva connected his lips to your wet skin. He stood up, towering over you with his face completely flushed, his lips glistening and wet with you. He used the back of his wrapped wrist to swipe the wetness from his chin—flashing a satisfied look at the mess he made out of you.
Sukuna grabbed his mouthguard off the counter, shoving it into his jaw, and adjusted the waistband of his fight shorts over his aching length.
He gave your warm inner thigh one last reassuring squeeze, smoothing the edge of your denim skirt back down over your legs.
“Shouldn't take long.”
He flashed you the faintest smirk as he rolled his muscular shoulders, prepping himself. “First round.”
Loving Yūji comes with a package deal you don't necessarily know how to deal with. Granted, you've loved him first before this whole ordeal even happened — it still is a matter of when and never an if, per se, when it comes to his special situation.
Nearly a decade has passed since everything concluded: Gojō Sensei is unsealed and alive and has won the fight, Kenjaku is killed, lost a lot of people in the process, Yūji is permanently Sukuna's vessel (not a big deal anymore), and for some twisted reason, Yūji seems to stop aging altogether (the big deal).
With Jujutsu Tech slowly being rebuilt to a "better" version, a lot of you have also opted to stay in the dorms for the mere convenience of it. That, and it's basically a coping mechanism for everyone.
And as with everything else, his predicament doesn't truly stop either of you from doing things you love and from being intimate around each other. But where Yūji excels in self-control against what's residing within him, it appears that the majority of that said will, if not everything, is thrown out the window the second you go and beg to be fucked.
"So tight, baby," Yūji says between sucking his breath. He's not quite sure whether to ram and go at a harsher pace or let you adjust to his girth first. His control is being tested too much right now. "Even after all that."
You moan his name in praise before you lock your legs around his waist and pull yourself closer to him, effectively shutting him up from keeping things slow. You've always wanted things rougher, something that Yūji loves about you (but even then, he still wishes to take his time).
"Oh s-shit, baby!" Yūji would've let his eyes roll back if he wasn't focused on keeping his entire weight off of you. "F-Fuck!"
"H-Harder, Yūji," you beg him, "please."
Yūji doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs hold of your thighs roughly and pounds into you like an animal in heat. You arch your back further for more, and he gives in.
"So good, baby," Yūji drools, "so, so good. Oh my — fuck!"
Just as you are coming down with your first orgasm, another voice pierces through the solidity of the air and breaks it easily as if he had done this countless times before.
"Enchain."
Suddenly you are flipped on your hands and knees. Your hair has been forcibly fisted and yanked until your head is pulled back enough to see your lover covered in tattoos, and a vitriol laugh teases your ears.
"Y-Yū —"
"Brat's not here," Sukuna's voice deeply rumbles against your skin.
This is the first time he's ever made his presence known to you. You've heard stories of how Sukuna would pop on Yūji's cheek or his hands whenever he's got something to say (especially towards your sensei and Megumi), but not once has he ever manifested and broken through Yūji's control — and right in the middle of fucking, too.
"Heh," he yanks you further until you can see his eyes gazing heatedly at yours, "my own vessel lost control. Let's see if you do live up to that expectation."
Then he slams your head against the pillow and fucks you senseless. It's wrong . . . to even feel how fucking good it is to be brutally pounded.
Yet, here you are in the mercy of a sadistic curse, cackling like a bastard that he is.
Sukuna had you spread out for him, as he continues to ram his cock up inside of you. One of his hands kneads your ass mockingly before he slaps each cheek hard.
Your teeth bite into the soft fabric of the pillow, muffling your screams lest you want Megumi to hear you from the other side of the room. At this point, Sukuna slapping you might've really been a dead giveaway.
"Y-Yūji —"
"My name, brat —"
"—Y-Yūji, Y-Yū—"
"— I said my name." He slaps your sloppily wet clit.
You arch your back unknowingly to the sensation, and before you could have thought twice about it, your body yields and your mouth muddles the name, "S-Sukuna!"
"Good." He mutters darkly, "Good girl."
He fondles your breasts next. Then his tongue laps to the outline of your spine and back up to your neck, where he marks you. His canines have sunk into your skin so deeply, he can taste your blood, and that further fuels him into a mess of moans and praise as if he's drunk on an aphrodisiac.
"Again." He orders you. "My name. Only."
"Sukuna," you say. "Sukuna! Sukuna! Sukuna! F-Fuck, I —"
"That's it."
The first of your orgasms comes to you like a torrent. It's harsh and unforgiving, much like how Sukuna doesn't even stop fucking you even as you try your best to squirm away.
When you feel that he's finally slowed down, when his hands have released the hold against your body, and you allow yourself to breathe a little better, there's a sudden shift between you and the King of Curses. You realize that it's because you've been flipped back and your legs are locked around his waist again.
"S-Sukuna?"
"No," Yūji breathlessly says. He leans his face closer until his lips brush yours. "I-It's me, baby. It's me. I'm sorry. I-I lost control. Are you hurt?"
You shake your head with a smile. "N-No, I'm fine. I'm more than fine."
"Yeah?" Yūji perks up. You notice that his cock has hardened once more and he's repositioning himself to your abused cunt.
"Yeah, baby." You laugh dumbly. "That was . . . quite exhilarating."
Yūji bumps his nose against yours. The heat in his eyes is visible, but it is nowhere near as intense as the other pair you were forced to look at prior.
"That was hot," Yūji admits. "Watching you . . . like that."
"It was," you breathe out.
When you peer below Yūji's eyes, you swear you've seen the glints of red and black squinting back at you as if to tell you that he's heard about your little honesty.
Well, it really can't be helped sometimes. After all, loving Yūji does come with a deal.
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Every time you go in a public place and something ISN’T disgusting it’s because somebody cleaned it. Every time you feel comfortable using a public bathroom or sitting at a restaurant table or setting something on a gas station counter or playing on a playground it’s because somebody cleaned it.
Thank you to everyone who cleans the world, especially those who are underpaid and under appreciated.
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-> lucky you, you get to bounce on it. what would leon kennedy be like in bed?
notes: smut/nsfw, 18+ - interact at your own discretion
- Leon would be very vocal, but not very loud. You can easily coax a lot of grunts, cusses, and soft moans from him. When he’s close, he usually lets out a barely audible whimper too.
- Leon also talks dirty a fair bit, but it’s usually in short sentences, like “fuck, you look so pretty like this.” He’d definitely talk you through it too, with those little sentences that drive you insane, like “good girl, ride it out for me.”
- Favourite positions of his would be mating press, pro bone, and you riding him while he’s sat. Anything where your bodies are physically as close as possible will always be his favourite.
- Leon would be a switch. In a more dominant role, he’d still have tenderness and care, so he’d be a service dom. He’d want his partner to feel immense pleasure at all times, to the point where he’d push you with some overstimulation and praise. You’d hear something along the lines of “Keep going… You can cum for me one more time right?? …Yeah, that’s my girl.”
- In a more submissive role, Leon would be incredibly obedient and serve you in whatever way possible with total devotion. Again, he wouldn’t be incredibly loud, but you can easily earn a lot of stifled whimpers and rasped out pleas from him. He’d also be the type to blush furiously when he’s in a more submissive role in the bedroom. Post RE2 Leon wouldn’t be so easily flustered, so you can expect more of a shy demeanour with a beet-red face when he’s in a submissive role. You’d likely hear a lot of pleading, such as “please, oh, fuck, fuck, please don’t stop, please” in a breathy whimper.
- Leon is a selfless person, and it translates in the bedroom too. He prioritises your pleasure over his - he’ll slow down to pace himself if your orgasm is still far away.
- Leon Kennedy is a munch. This is said so much by so many fanfic authors that we could say it’s practically canon.
- Leon has a praise kink. He loves to hear it from your mouth - whether it’s telling him he’s doing a good job, how good he’s making you feel, and calling him a good boy… He wants all of it. He can’t get enough of it, in fact, he’d probably get drunk on it if he could.
- He also loves to give praise just as much as he loves to receive it. It usually comes in the form of a “fuck, you feel so good,” or “you’re taking me so well, baby.”
- As much as he’d love to sext you, especially when he’s away on a mission, there’s a big risk that his phone could be tapped or stolen. He has no choice but to remain pent up until a mission is over. Upon his return, the both of you fuck like rabbits for a good 2 days. You’ve probably had sex on every surface imaginable in his place by now.
- He’ll fuck you hard, but never rough - unless you ask. Even then, he’s not the biggest fan of inflicting marks (aside from a lovebite or two if he’s feeling possessive) or leaving you sore the next day. He’s very aware of his strength and he’s terrified of harming you.
- Leon prefers taking his time with you over a quickie; while he’s definitely not opposed to those, he prefers to appreciate you, and doesn’t like to rush.
- Leon’s job requires him to stay in peak physical condition, so you’d probably tag along with him to learn a thing or two. After a workout, Leon usually gets such a big burst of energy that he almost always ends up horny after working out. You’ve also asked him to teach you self defense manoeuvres, but it pretty much always starts with sparring and ends with him fucking you into the mat of his home gym.
- Every time without fail, he whispers an ‘I love you’ during or right after. :p
