the longing never watered is the one that grows

it’s an extended moment to admire you, to revel in the feeling of your skin on his, to cherish the intimacy.

“hold this,” he commands softly, “don’t smoke it.”

“why?” you take it between two fingers and bring it close to your mouth, “afraid i’m going to hoard it?”

he catches you by the wrist and jerks it back towards himself, pressing his lips into your fingers to steal a final drag. the end burns bright with his inhale and your hand grows warm from his cheeks. aki’s soft, lips unchapped and cheeks moisturized.

“it’s bad for you,” he says as he pulls away, eyes low as smoke rises from his mouth, “and i want you to live a long time.”

the irony makes you smile. “but you smoke.”

lets you spar and wrestle in the dirt—little hellion that you are—until it gets heated, satoru's thigh slipping between yours. who pretends he doesn't see the way satoru's comet-tail eyes flicker to him.

(something stirs in suguru's chest, sometimes. wide-mouthed, a maw made to swallow down the sun. the flash of those ocean-blue eyes sates it. satoru doesn't ask for things. he takes.

but you—he asks for you.)

he watches over the rim of his teacup as satoru leans down to you. the kiss is so faint, so quick, a shooting star of a thing. satoru grinds his thigh up against the apex of your legs and your back curves off of the ground, arches like a cathedral nave.

this time, it's your eyes that flicker to him.

it's precious, suguru thinks. how you both look to him. lost little pups. he'd collar you, he thinks, but there's no need. his name is carved into your skin by fate's steady hand.

you're his, and his alone.

you talk to her first, though. you’re tipsy and the dress you’re wearing is clinging onto you — showing off your every curve, your tummy, almost letting your tits show.

“please, sho — been wanting you all night.”

she doesn’t like it when people call her sho, but she’ll make an exception for you — your breasts rise with every breath and you glow under your warm, dim lighting, she wants you just as much.

she goes down on you, then — her eyes on your face as she swirls her tongue on your clit. laps at your wet pussy. she appreciates your dry swallow, your breathless moans, how you mess up her bangs, the way your hips thrust up into her mouth with desperation.

she’s never felt more wanted.

“fuck me, sh-shoko, you’re so good at this.”

and she can’t help but smile, grip your thighs.

“wanna try something else out?”

you’re about to come — you don’t answer her question, your eyes are rolled into the back of your head, the hand that isn’t gripping her hair is on your clit — and she feels like the sun is about to explode in her chest.

she guides you through your orgasm with her tongue and gets on her knees after — unbuttons her pants and throws them by your bed, starts taking her shirt off.

she likes everything about you — from your little pants to the way you taste. she likes how she can see more with you.

“you’ve got me entranced, baby.”

Happy New Year 🍾🐉