“Ay, ay, ay, he so deep in that pussy it’s like he lookin for somethin’ ”
Toji discovers that you haven’t found your G-spot yet and decides to lend a hand. (wc: 3.9k.)
A.N: This is based off Megans song Lover Girl if you couldn’t tell👀
A.N: I’ve been hesitant to post this one because, the more I read it, the worse it looks. Oh well! I hope you guys like it!! Also my requests are open so feel free to drop some ideas! I’m happy to do it. OKOK FR GO READ THIS!!!
Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content :: first time together :: age gap bc i love me an older man :: oral sex (f. receiving) :: vaginal penetration :: multiple orgasms and squirting :: praise and degradation :: various positions :: anal play (finger) :: creampie :: graphic descriptions :: cervix fucking :: headlock position :: leg-locking :: cum play :: spitting :: crying during sex :: drooling :: incoherent babbling :: idk how to do warnings :: can u tell
You've been dating Toji for three months now, and tonight marks a shift you've both been building toward. The age gap between you—him settled into his mid thirties with a seven-year-old son, you still navigating your early twenties—raised eyebrows at first, but there's an undeniable pull between you. Megumi's sleeping over at a friend’s house, which means you have the entire night. No interruptions. No holding back.
The bedroom door clicks shut, and Toji's presence fills the space behind you immediately. His hands find your waist, pulling you back against the solid heat of his chest. You can feel every defined muscle, the way his body radiates a quiet, controlled strength.
"Been waiting for this," he says against your ear, voice low and unhurried. His breath ghosts over your skin, making you shiver. "Gonna take my time with you tonight."
Your heart hammers as his palms slide up your sides, thumbs grazing just beneath your breasts through your thin tank top. The touch is deliberate, mapping you out like he's committing every detail to memory.
"Toji..." you breathe, already feeling heat pool low in your belly.
"Shh." His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses there while his hands continue their exploration. The scar on his lip—a pale line bisecting the left side—drags against your skin, a reminder of how different his world is from yours. "You trust me?"
"Yes." The answer comes without hesitation.
"Good." His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he grinds against you from behind. Even through his sweatpants, you can feel him—thick and already hard, pressing insistently against the curve of your ass. "Told you I'd help you figure out what that body of yours can do. Tonight's the night, doll."
You'd confessed to him weeks ago, during a late-night conversation, that you'd never found your g-spot. Never experienced squirting despite watching enough videos to know it was possible. He'd just given you that dangerous half-smile, the scar on his lip pulling slightly, and promised he'd show you everything you were missing.
Toji spins you around, capturing your mouth in a kiss that's immediately consuming. He doesn't ease into it—his tongue slides against yours with purpose, claiming and demanding. One hand tangles in your hair while the other grips your hip, holding you exactly where he wants you. When he finally pulls back, you're breathless and dizzy.
"Get on the bed," he says simply.
You obey, settling onto the mattress while he watches with dark, focused eyes. He strips off his shirt in one smooth motion, revealing the carved planes of his chest and abdomen. Scars mark his skin—some faded, some newer—each one a story he's never fully told you. His body is a weapon honed through years of whatever dangerous work he does, and right now, all that controlled power is focused entirely on you.
He stalks toward the bed, movements unhurried but predatory. When he reaches you, his hands go to the hem of your tank top.
"Arms up."
You raise them, and he pulls the fabric over your head, tossing it aside. His gaze rakes over you—your full breasts straining against your bra, the thick muscle of your thighs. His jaw tightens as he takes you in.
"Perfect," he mutters, more to himself than to you.
He pushes you back onto the mattress, following you down. His weight settles over you, and you can feel every hard inch of him pressed against your core. The friction of his sweatpants against your shorts makes you gasp, hips bucking up involuntarily.
Toji grinds down deliberately, the thick ridge of his cock dragging right where you need it. "Feel that?" he asks, doing it again. "That's what you do to me."
"Please," you whimper, hands clutching at his broad shoulders.
"Not yet." His fingers find the button of your shorts, flicking it open with practiced ease. "Lift your hips."
You do, and he slides both your shorts and underwear down your legs in one smooth pull, leaving you bare from the waist down. The cool air hits your overheated skin, and you instinctively try to close your legs, but Toji's hands on your thighs stop you.
"Don't hide." His voice carries quiet authority as he pushes your legs apart, spreading you open. His eyes fix between your thighs, and you watch his throat work as he swallows. "Fuck. Look at you."
He runs one finger through your folds, gathering the wetness already there, and you jolt at the contact. When he brings that finger to his mouth and sucks it clean, maintaining eye contact the entire time, your face burns.
"Tastes good," he says, settling between your thighs. His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer to his face. "But I need more than a taste."
"You don't have to—oh fuck!"
Your protest dissolves into a sharp moan as his tongue drags through your folds, slow and thorough. He groans against you, the vibration making your toes curl against the sheets.
Toji eats pussy like he does everything else—with complete focus and zero hesitation. His tongue works through your folds, circling your clit before dipping down to fuck into your entrance. He's not gentle about it either. His face presses close enough that you can feel his nose bumping against your clit while his tongue explores you, and the wet, obscene sounds fill the room.
"Could do this for hours," he mutters against your flesh, and you believe him.
Your hands find his dark hair, fingers tangling in the strands as pleasure builds with each stroke of his tongue. He alternates between broad licks and focused attention on your clit, occasionally sealing his lips around the sensitive bud and sucking until you cry out.
"That's it," he encourages, the words vibrating against you. "Let me hear you."
When he slides one thick finger inside you, your back arches off the bed. He pumps it slowly, curling it as he searches, and you can feel him exploring your inner walls with clear intent.
"Gonna find it," he says, adding a second finger. The stretch makes you gasp—his fingers are so much thicker than yours, reaching deeper than you've ever managed on your own. "That spot that's gonna make you lose your mind."
He curls his fingers just right, and suddenly there's pressure—deep and intense and completely different from anything you've felt before.
"There," Toji says with satisfaction, pressing against that spot again. "Found you."
"Toji, I—" You're not sure what you're trying to say. The sensation is overwhelming, making you want to squirm away and press closer simultaneously.
"I know." His free hand pins your hip down, keeping you in place. "Just relax. Trust me."
He maintains that steady pressure inside you while his tongue works your clit, and the combination builds something unfamiliar low in your belly. Your thighs start shaking, and there's a strange fullness, a pressure that feels like you might—
"Let go," Toji instructs, pulling back just enough to watch your face while his fingers continue their work. "Stop fighting it. Just let it happen."
"I can't—it feels weird—"
"You can." His thumb replaces his tongue on your clit, rubbing tight circles. "Give it to me, doll."
The pressure becomes unbearable, and then suddenly you're coming apart. Your pussy clenches around his fingers as your orgasm hits, but it's different this time—you feel yourself gush, fluid leaking out around his fingers as you squirt for the first time in your life. The intensity of it makes you sob, tears streaming down your face as pleasure crashes through you in relentless waves.
"Fuck yes," Toji groans, and you feel his tongue on you again, lapping up everything you give him. "That's my girl. Squirting all over my face. So fucking perfect."
You're shaking uncontrollably, overwhelmed by sensations you've never experienced. When you finally come down, you're boneless and gasping, staring at the ceiling in a daze.
Toji crawls up your body, his face wet with your release, and kisses you deeply. You taste yourself on his tongue, and instead of embarrassment, it sends another pulse of arousal through you.
"Did so good," he murmurs against your lips, kissing away the tears on your cheeks. "See? Told you your body could do it."
"That was—I've never—" Words fail you completely.
"I know." There's satisfaction in his voice as he sits back on his heels. "And we're just getting started."
He strips off his sweatpants and boxers, and even though you've felt him against you, seeing him bare still makes your eyes widen. He's huge—easily eight or nine inches of thick, veined cock, the head flushed dark and already leaking. Your fingers wouldn't touch if you wrapped your hand around him.
"See what you do to me?" He strokes himself slowly, and you watch, mesmerized. "Been hard since we walked in here."
He reaches for the nightstand, but you stop him with a hand on his wrist.
"No condom," you say, surprising yourself with the boldness. "Want to feel you. All of you."
His eyes darken, pupils blown wide. "You sure? Because if I fuck you raw, I'm not pulling out."
The thought sends heat flooding through you. "I'm on birth control. Please, Toji."
"Fuck." He tosses the unopened condom aside. "Gonna ruin you, baby."
He positions himself at your entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against your opening. Even as wet as you are, even after your orgasm, the stretch as he pushes in is intense. You feel every inch as he works himself inside, slow and relentless.
"Breathe," he instructs, watching your face carefully. "Take it slow. That's it."
The praise makes you clench around him, and he groans, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.
"Don't do that yet," he grits out. "Still gotta get all the way in."
It takes time—he's so thick that your body needs to adjust to accommodate him—but finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you. You feel impossibly full, stretched to your absolute limit. When you look down, you can see the slight bulge in your lower belly where he's buried deep.
"Look at that." Toji presses down on the bulge, and you both groan at the sensation. "So deep in this pussy. Gonna find every spot that makes you scream."
He starts to move, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. The drag of his cock against your inner walls is exquisite—you can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he stretches you open.
"So tight," he grunts, setting a steady rhythm. "Squeezing me so good."
He angles his hips, searching, and when he hits that spot inside you again, you cry out sharply.
"There it is." He adjusts his position, making sure every thrust hits that same spot. "That's what I'm looking for."
The pleasure builds quickly, intensifying with each deliberate stroke. Your hands clutch at his back, nails digging into scarred skin as he fucks into you with clear purpose.
"Toji," you gasp, his name the only word you can manage.
"That's right. Say my name." He picks up the pace, fucking into you harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with your increasingly desperate moans. "Let everyone know who's making you feel this good."
He reaches between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. The added stimulation combined with the way he's hitting your g-spot with every thrust pushes you toward another orgasm.
"Gonna make you squirt on my cock," Toji says, voice rough. "Wanna feel you gush all over me while I'm buried inside you."
Your second orgasm hits like a tidal wave. You scream his name as your pussy clenches around him, and you feel yourself gushing again, fluid leaking out around his cock as he continues to fuck you through it.
"Holy fuck," he groans. "So fucking hot. Making such a mess, doll."
You're crying again, tears streaming down your face as the pleasure overwhelms you. Your thoughts are starting to go hazy, the edges of your mind going soft and unfocused.
"Pretty when you cry," Toji murmurs, leaning down to lick the tears from your cheeks. "Crying on my cock like a good girl."
He pulls out suddenly, and you whimper at the loss.
"Hands and knees," he orders.
You scramble to obey on shaky limbs, getting into position. Once you're there, he slides back in with one smooth thrust, and the new angle has him hitting even deeper. You can feel him pressing against your cervix, and the mix of pleasure-pain makes you sob.
"Too deep?" he asks, but he doesn't slow down.
"N-no," you manage. "Feels good. So good."
"That's my girl." One hand grips your hip while the other slides up your spine. "Taking every fucking inch."
He fucks you hard in this position, each thrust making your ass bounce and your breasts sway. The sounds are obscene—the wet squelch of your pussy, the slap of his hips against your ass, your increasingly incoherent moans.
"Such a good little slut for me," Toji says, and the degradation mixed with praise makes you clench around him. "Yeah? You like that? Like being my personal fucktoy?"
"Yes," you sob. "Yes, yes, yes."
Your arms give out, and you collapse forward onto the bed, ass still in the air. Toji follows you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he continues to pound into you.
"Gonna try something," he says. "Tell me if it's too much."
You feel his finger—slick with your wetness—press against your other hole. You tense instinctively, but he soothes you with his free hand stroking your back.
"Relax," he murmurs. "Just gonna use my finger. Gonna make you feel even better."
He works his finger in slowly, and the added fullness makes you see stars. You've never felt so full, so completely claimed.
"Fuck, you're perfect," Toji groans. "Taking me in both holes. So fucking tight."
He fucks you like this for what feels like hours, finger in your ass and cock in your pussy, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. You lose count of how many times you cum, each orgasm blending into the next until you're just a shaking, sobbing mess beneath him.
Your mind is completely gone now, cock-drunk and incoherent. Drool leaks from the corner of your mouth onto the sheets, and you can't form words anymore, just babbling nonsense and his name.
"T-Toji, Toji, please, so good, can't—I can't—more, please, so full, love it, love your cock, please please please—"
"That's it, doll," he encourages. "Go dumb on my dick. Don't need to think. Just need to feel."
He pulls his finger out and flips you over onto your back again. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up, but Toji hooks them over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half.
"Gonna fuck you even deeper," he warns.
When he slides back in, this position has him hitting your cervix with every thrust. The intensity makes you scream—it's too much and not enough all at once, pleasure bordering on pain but so good you never want it to stop.
"Look at you," Toji says, and you force your eyes open to meet his gaze. "Completely fucked out. Drooling and crying and taking my cock so well."
He leans down, and you think he's going to kiss you, but instead he spits directly into your open mouth.
"Swallow," he orders.
You do without thinking, and his eyes darken with approval.
"Good girl. Such a good fucking girl for me."
His thrusts are getting erratic now, and you can tell he's close. One of his hands wraps around your throat—not squeezing, just holding—while the other finds your clit again.
"One more," he demands. "Cum with me, baby."
The pressure on your throat, the stimulation on your clit, the relentless pounding of his cock—it all combines to push you over the edge one more time. You cum with a silent scream, body going rigid as pleasure whites out your vision.
Coming down from your high, you feel his thrusts become sloppy. In your cock-drunk haze, your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, locking your ankles behind his back to keep him inside you. You need him to stay, need to feel every drop.
"Fuck," Toji chants, and then he's cumming too, buried as deep as he can get. You can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you with his release, and it seems to go on forever.
The leg-lock does something to Toji. His eyes go wild, almost feral, and he groans like he's in pain.
"Fuck, doll," he gasps. "Locking me in like that. Keeping me inside this pussy."
He's still hard inside you—barely softened at all—and you can feel him starting to move again.
"Can't stop," he says, sounding almost apologetic. "This pussy's got me fucking drunk. Need more."
"Yes," you slur, still not fully coherent. "More. Want more."
"Gonna give it to you." His voice has gone rough, almost desperate. "Gonna fuck my cum deeper inside you. Gonna fill you up even more."
He unwraps your legs from around him and pulls out, and you both watch as his cum leaks out of your used pussy. The sight makes him groan.
"So pretty," he says, gathering the cum on his fingers and pushing it back inside you. "This all belongs inside you."
Then he's maneuvering you into a new position. He sits back against the headboard and pulls you into his lap, your back to his chest. His cock slides back into you easily, and this position has him even deeper than before.
"Gonna fuck you like this," he says, hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. "Want you to watch."
You look down and can see everything—your swollen, used pussy stretched around his thick cock, his cum leaking out around him, the way your lower belly bulges slightly with each thrust.
"See that?" One hand presses on the bulge. "So deep in this pussy. Fucking your cervix. Gonna make you feel me for days."
He starts to move, lifting you up and down on his cock. The position has your legs spread wide, completely open and exposed, and you can see everything in the mirror across from the bed.
You look wrecked—hair a mess, face flushed and tear-stained, drool on your chin, eyes glazed and unfocused. You look thoroughly fucked, and the sight makes you clench around him.
"Like watching?" Toji asks. "Like seeing how ruined you look?"
"Uh-huh," you manage, unable to form real words anymore.
One of his hands slides up to your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple, while the other finds your clit again. You're so oversensitive that even the lightest touch makes you jerk.
"Gonna make you cum again," he says. "Wanna see how many times I can make this pussy squirt."
He bounces you on his cock faster, harder, and you can only hold on and take it. Your head falls back against his shoulder, mouth open in a constant moan.
"That's it. Just take it. Don't gotta do anything but sit there and let me use this pussy like the cockwhore you are."
The degradation mixed with the praise, the overstimulation, the feeling of his cum inside you—it all pushes you toward another orgasm. You didn't think you had another one in you, but your body proves you wrong.
"Gonna—gonna—" you try to warn him, but the words won't come.
"I know. Can feel you getting tight. Go ahead. Squirt all over my cock again."
Your orgasm hits, and you do squirt again, fluid gushing out around his cock and soaking both of you. You're sobbing now, completely overwhelmed, body shaking uncontrollably.
"So good," Toji groans. "Such a good fucking girl."
He shifts positions again, this time pulling you forward so you're on your hands and knees. But instead of kneeling behind you, he straddles your hips, one arm wrapping around your throat in a loose headlock while the other grips your hip.
"This okay?" he checks, and you nod frantically.
"Good," he says, and then he's fucking into you with renewed intensity.
The headlock position has you completely at his mercy. You can't move, can't do anything but take what he gives you. The angle is different too, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every thrust.
"Love having you like this," he grunts in your ear. "Completely under my control."
His arm around your throat tightens slightly—not enough to cut off air, just enough to make you lightheaded. Combined with the relentless pounding, it's almost too much.
"Color?" he asks, checking in.
"Green," you gasp. "So green. Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning to."
He fucks you harder, faster, chasing his second orgasm. You're beyond cumming at this point, just existing in a constant state of pleasure, body trembling and twitching with every thrust.
"Gonna fill you up again," he warns. "Gonna pump you so full of cum it'll be leaking out for days."
The possessiveness in his voice makes you clench weakly around him.
"Yeah, you like that," he says. "Like being mine."
"Yours," you manage to slur. "All yours."
"Damn right," he growls, and then he's cumming again, the arm around your throat tightening as he buries himself as deep as possible.
You can feel him pulsing inside you, adding to the mess already there. It's so much—too much—and you can feel it leaking out even as he's still cumming.
When he finally finishes, he releases the headlock and you collapse forward onto the bed, completely boneless. Toji follows you down, keeping his cock inside you as you both catch your breath.
"Did so good," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your shoulder. "So fucking perfect for me."
You can only whimper in response, completely fucked out and incoherent. Your body is still twitching with aftershocks, oversensitive and used.
Toji finally pulls out, and you both watch as cum gushes out of you, soaking the sheets beneath you. There's so much of it, and the sight makes him groan.
"Fuck, look at that," he says, running his fingers through the mess and pushing it back inside you. "So pretty like this."
He brings his cum-covered fingers to your mouth, and you automatically open, sucking them clean without thought.
"Good girl," he praises. "Love how cock-drunk you get."
He gathers more cum on his fingers and feeds it to you again, and you swallow it down obediently, too far gone to feel embarrassed.
"That's it. Taste how good we are together."
When his fingers are clean, he finally rolls off you, pulling you into his arms. You're still trembling, still crying softly, completely overwhelmed by everything that just happened.
"Shh, I got you," he soothes, stroking your hair. "You're okay. Did so good for me."
His praise makes you cry harder, emotions overwhelming you.
"Found it," you mumble against his chest. "Found my g-spot."
He laughs softly. "Yeah, we did. And you squirted so pretty for me, doll."
"Love you," you slur, barely conscious now.
"Love you too," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Now rest. Gonna take care of you."
You drift off in his arms, thoroughly used and completely satisfied, already dreaming about the next time he'll take you apart like this.
When you wake up later, cleaned and tucked into fresh sheets, Toji is there beside you, watching you with soft eyes.
"Hey, doll," he says gently. "How you feeling?"
"Sore," you admit. "But good. Really good."
"Good," he says, pulling you closer. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Gonna spend all night finding new ways to make you squirt for me."
And he does.
By morning, you can barely walk, thoroughly marked and claimed and completely his. And you wouldn't have it any other way.
I hope there aren’t any mistakes i did not beta read this
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A.N: The moment you all have been waiting for!!! I feel like i don’t write Gojo very well but oh well!! I hope you guys enjoy this! :p
Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content :: established relationship :: morning sex :: p in v :: cuddle fucking :: creampie :: body worship :: praise :: pet names :: graphic descriptions :: teasing :: incoherent moaning :: lazy morning sex
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The first thing you notice is warmth.
Not the gross, sweaty kind that makes you want to throw off all the blankets at 3am, but the good kind. The kind that makes you want to burrow deeper and never leave. Satoru's pressed against your back, solid and warm, his chest rising and falling steady against your shoulder blades. His breath hits your neck in these slow, even intervals and it's honestly kind of perfect.
You keep your eyes shut. The morning light's already trying to creep through the curtains and you're not ready for that yet. Instead you just... exist here. His arm's draped over your waist, heavy, his legs tangled with yours, and he's basically wrapped around you like he's trying to absorb you or something.
It's nice. Really nice.
And then you feel it.
There's this thick, hard pressure against your ass and it takes you a second to process what's happening. Morning wood. Of course. Of fucking course. It's pressed right between your cheeks, separated only by your underwear and whatever he fell asleep in, and it's hot and insistent and suddenly you're very, very aware of it.
The bulge is substantial—you can feel the full length of him, thick and rigid, the heat of it seeping through the thin fabric barrier between you. It's nestled perfectly in the curve of your ass, and you can feel it throb slightly, like his body's responding even in sleep. The weight of it, the sheer size pressing against you, makes your breath hitch. You can trace the shape of him even through the layers—the thick shaft, the way the head of his cock creates this distinct pressure point that's digging into the small of your back.
Your breath catches.
You should probably just... go back to sleep. Let him wake up naturally. Maybe make fun of him about it later over coffee. That'd be the smart thing to do.
But you've never been particularly smart when it comes to him, have you?
Before you can really think about it, you're shifting your hips. Just a little. Just enough to feel the friction and—oh. Oh, that's... yeah, that's good. A spark of heat shoots up your spine and you bite your lip to keep from making a sound. The bulge drags against you, firm and unyielding, and you can feel every inch of it.
Satoru doesn't wake up. His breathing stays steady, his arm stays loose around your waist.
So you do it again.
This time you actually let yourself feel it—the hard length of him, the way even this tiny movement sends heat pooling low in your belly. The bulge seems even bigger now that you're paying attention, pressing insistently between your cheeks, and god, you can feel how hard he is. How much he'd fill you if you just... You're already getting wet, you can feel it, that familiar ache starting to build between your legs.
You roll your hips back, slower this time. More deliberate. The drag of him against you, even through all these layers, makes your thighs clench. The bulge grinds against your ass and you can feel the ridge of the head, the thick shaft, all of it. God, you want him. Want to feel him inside you, want that stretch, want—
Your breathing's getting heavier. Less controlled. You grind back against him in this lazy rhythm, chasing the friction, feeling that thick bulge press and drag with each movement. Your hand comes down to rest over his where it's on your stomach. Your fingers thread through his.
Behind you, he makes this sound. Low and rough, caught somewhere between a groan and a hum. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back more firmly against him, and you feel him twitch—the bulge jumping against you, getting impossibly harder.
You freeze.
"Well," his voice is all sleep-rough and low right against your ear, "good morning to you too, baby."
Heat floods your face. Your core clenches. "I didn't—I wasn't trying to wake you up."
"Bullshit." You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel his lips brush against your ear. His hips roll forward, grinding himself against you on purpose, and you can't stop the whimper that escapes. The bulge presses harder, more deliberately, and fuck you can feel all of him. "You've been grinding on me for like five minutes. Pretty sure you knew exactly what you were doing."
"You were asleep," you protest, but you're already pressing back against him again, seeking out that pressure.
"Was I?" His hand slides down from your stomach, fingers spreading across your hip. He grinds against you again and—fuck. The bulge drags slow and purposeful against your ass. "Or maybe I was just enjoying the show. Watching you get all desperate, trying to get off on my cock while you thought I was sleeping." He rolls his hips again, slower this time, making sure you feel every inch of that thick bulge. "Could feel how needy you were getting. Grinding back on me like you couldn't help yourself."
"Toru—"
"Shh." His lips find your neck, pressing these lazy, open-mouthed kisses that make you shiver. "It's okay. I got you. Gonna give you what you need." There's this teasing lilt to his voice, like he's enjoying how flustered you are. "Getting so worked up already. Must've been torture, huh? Feeling my cock pressed against this perfect ass and not being able to do anything about it?"
You whine, and he chuckles against your skin.
His hand slides lower, fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear, and you're so wet already. When his fingers slide in between your lips you both groan. "Fuck," he breathes against your skin. "You're soaked, baby. All that just from grinding on me?" His fingers circle your clit, slow and teasing, never quite giving you enough. "Getting this wet just from feeling my cock against you?"
You whine, pushing back against him while trying to rock into his hand. "Please—"
"Please what?" His voice is dripping with amusement and want. "Use your words, pretty girl. Tell me exactly what you need."
"Need you inside me," you gasp out. "Please, I need—"
"Need my cock that bad?" His fingers dip lower, teasing at your entrance. You can hear how wet you are and it's embarrassing and hot all at once. "Been lying here all needy and desperate, haven't you?"
"Satoru, please—"
"I know, I know," he murmurs, all cocky satisfaction. "You need me to fill this pretty pussy up, don't you?" His fingers slide through your wetness, gathering it, spreading it. "You're dripping, baby. Made such a mess already and I haven't even touched you properly yet."
"Please," you whimper again, beyond caring how desperate you sound.
"Well, since you asked so nicely..." He pulls his hand away and you almost whimper at the loss, but then there's the sound of fabric rustling, him shifting behind you. His hand comes back to your hip, fingers hooking into your underwear and dragging them down. You help him kick them off the rest of the way and then—
Then you feel it. The hot, hard length of him sliding between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Without the fabric between you, it's so much more intense. You can feel the heat of him, the silky-smooth skin, the way he's already leaking.
"Lift your leg for me, baby," he murmurs, his hand gripping your thigh, helping you hook it back over his. The position opens you up perfectly and when he pushes forward, slow and steady, you both moan.
The stretch is perfect. That delicious burn that comes from taking him, that feeling of being filled so completely. He slides in inch by inch, taking his time, and you can feel every bit of him until he's buried to the hilt and you're gasping.
"That's it," he groans, his forehead against your shoulder. "Taking me so well, beautiful. Always so perfect for me." He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, and then adds with that teasing edge, "See? Wasn't that worth the wait?"
"Shut up," you manage, but it comes out more like a moan.
He laughs, low and warm against your skin. "Make me."
He doesn't move right away. Just holds you there, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other gripping your thigh. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel your own walls fluttering around him as you adjust.
"Toru," you whimper, "please move."
"Oh?" There's that playful tone again. "Now you want me to move? I thought you just wanted me inside you. Didn't say anything about moving." He's grinning against your shoulder, you can feel it.
"Satoru—"
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says, but you can hear how amused he is. "So impatient." There's no bite to it, just affection and want. His hips pull back slowly, almost all the way out, before sliding back in just as slowly. The angle hits something deep inside you that makes your toes curl. "There we go. That what you needed, pretty girl?"
He sets this lazy rhythm. Nothing like the frantic pace you sometimes fall into. This is slow, deliberate, each thrust deep and measured. His lips never leave your skin—kissing and sucking at your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach.
"Feel so good," he murmurs between kisses. "So fucking good, baby. Could stay like this forever." His hips roll in this perfect rhythm, each thrust making you gasp. "Love how tight you are. Love how you squeeze around me like you don't want to let me go."
His hand slides from your hip to your stomach, pressing down slightly, and you both groan. The pressure makes everything more intense—you can feel him so much deeper like this, feel every ridge and vein as he moves inside you.
"Oh fuck," you whimper, and he chuckles.
"Feel that?" he asks, his voice rough with pleasure. "Feel how deep I am? That's all me, baby. Filling you up so good." His hand stays pressed against your stomach as he thrusts, and the added pressure makes you see stars. "You take me so perfectly. Like you were made for my cock."
You're barely coherent. Just broken moans and gasps as he keeps that slow, deep rhythm going. Your hand reaches back, fingers tangling in his hair, needing to touch him, to hold onto something.
"That's it, pretty girl," he encourages, his hips snapping forward a little harder now. "Let me hear you. Want to hear how good I'm making you feel." He shifts the angle slightly and hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"
"Yes, fuck, yes—"
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Feels so good you can't even think straight, huh? Can't do anything but lie here and take it."
His hand slides down from your stomach, fingers finding your clit again, and you cry out. The combination of his cock filling you and his fingers circling your clit is almost too much.
"Satoru, I'm—I'm gonna—"
"Already?" He sounds delighted, smug. "I know, baby, I know." His fingers speed up slightly, matching his thrusts. "Can feel you getting tighter. You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my cock?" He leans in closer, lips brushing your ear. "Go on, pretty girl. Let me feel it. Show me how good I make you feel."
You nod frantically, beyond words, just chasing that building pleasure. His lips find that spot behind your ear that makes you shudder and that's it. You come with this broken cry of his name, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes over you.
"Fuck, that's perfect," he groans, his rhythm faltering as your walls clench around him. "So perfect, baby. Look at you, coming so hard for me. Such a good girl." His hips stutter and he buries himself deep. "Gonna fill you up, okay? Gonna pump you full of my cum. You want that?"
"Yes, please, Toru—"
You're still riding it out when you feel him tense behind you, his grip on your hip tightening almost painfully as he buries himself as deep as possible. The feeling of him pulsing inside you, filling you with his release, sends another wave of pleasure through you.
For a long moment neither of you move. Just breathing hard, bodies pressed together. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, turning your head so he can kiss you—slow and deep.
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips, and before you can even process that, he's pulling out and moving you.
You let out this surprised squeak as he lifts you easily, hands on your waist, and then you're being positioned on top of him as he lies back against the pillows. Your thighs bracket his hips and you can feel his cum starting to leak out of you, dripping down onto his cock that's still hard beneath you.
"Toru—" you start, but he's already gripping your hips, lifting you slightly.
"Just lay on me, baby," he says, his voice still rough. There's a lazy smirk on his face when you look down at him, his eyes half-lidded and satisfied. "Let me do all the work. You just stay right there and look pretty for me." His thumbs stroke over your hip bones. "Think you can do that? Just lie there and take it?"
You nod, already feeling boneless and oversensitive.
"That's my girl," he praises. He lines himself up and pulls you down slowly, both of you groaning as he slides back inside. The position has him even deeper somehow and you collapse forward onto his chest, your face buried in his neck. "There we go," he murmurs, one hand stroking your hair. "You're shaking, baby. Just relax. I've got you."
And then he's moving. His hips thrusting up into you while you just lie there on his chest, boneless. The angle is devastating, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, and all you can do is whine and moan against his neck.
His free hand slides down your back, over your ribs, until it settles on your stomach. He presses down gently and you both groan—the pressure making everything more intense, making you feel impossibly full.
"Fuck," he breathes, and there's genuine awe in his voice. "You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside you?" His hand stays pressed against your belly as he thrusts up, and you can feel the movement, feel the way his cock fills you completely. "So fucking perfect. Taking all of me like this."
You lift your head slightly to look down and—oh. You can see it. The faint outline of him pressing against your stomach from the inside, visible with each deep thrust. It's obscene and intimate and so fucking hot.
"Look at that," he murmurs, his voice rough with want. "Look at how full you are, baby. Can see myself inside you." His fingers trace gently over your stomach, following the subtle movement. "That's all me. Every inch." He presses down again and you both moan. "So beautiful like this. Taking my cock so well."
His hips thrust up harder and you watch the outline shift with the movement, mesmerized. He's watching too, his eyes dark and hungry, clearly fascinated by the visual proof of how completely he's filling you.
"Fuck, you're perfect," he groans. "So fucking perfect for me."
You try to move, to meet his thrusts, but he holds you in place with the hand on your hip. "Uh uh, baby. Told you to let me do the work. You just lay there and take it." His voice is teasing but affectionate. "Too fucked out to even move, aren't you? That's okay. I've got you. Gonna take care of you."
So you do. You let him use your body, feel every deep thrust, every drag of his cock against your oversensitive walls. You're already so close again, wound tight from your first orgasm and the feeling of his cum still inside you, mixing with your own wetness. The wet sounds of him fucking into you fill the room and it's obscene and perfect.
"Satoru," you whimper, barely able to form words. "So deep, you're so—ah—"
"I know, pretty girl, I know." His hand in your hair tightens slightly, holding you against him. "Can feel you squeezing me again. Getting so tight." He sounds pleased, satisfied. "You're close, aren't you? Gonna come for me again?"
You nod frantically against his neck, your hands clutching at his shoulders. His thrusts are getting faster now, harder, the sound of skin against skin filling the room along with your moans and his groans.
"That's my good girl," he praises, and the words send a fresh wave of heat through you. "So perfect for me. Love you so much, baby. Love this perfect body, this perfect pussy." His voice drops lower, more intense. "Love how desperate you get for me. How you can't help grinding on me in your sleep. How you fall apart so pretty when I fuck you."
"Toru, I'm—"
"I know, sweet girl. Can feel it. You're right there, aren't you?" His hips piston up faster, hitting that spot over and over. "Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me. Come all over my cock. Show me how good I make you feel."
His words combined with the relentless pace of his thrusts push you over the edge again. You come with this broken sob of his name, your whole body shaking with the intensity of it.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, his hips stuttering. "That's it, baby, squeeze my cock just like that. So fucking perfect. Gonna—fuck—" He buries himself deep one last time and you feel him pulse inside you again, adding to the mess already there. "Good girl, such a good girl, taking all of it—"
The feeling of being so full, so completely claimed, sends little aftershocks of pleasure through you.
You lie there on his chest, both of you breathing hard, his hands stroking soothingly up and down your back. You can feel his cum leaking out around his cock, making a mess of both of you, but honestly neither of you care.
"You okay?" he asks softly, the teasing edge gone now, replaced with genuine concern and affection. His fingers trace patterns on your spine.
"Mmhmm," you manage, still too blissed out for actual words.
He chuckles, and you feel it rumble through his chest. "Good morning," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"Best fucking morning," you mumble against his neck, and you feel his chest shake with laughter.
"We should wake up like this every day," he agrees, his arms tightening around you.
You hum in agreement, already feeling sleep trying to pull you back under. Warm and satisfied and completely content.
"Love you," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
"Love you too, beautiful," he replies, his voice soft and full of affection. "So fucking much."
You drift off like that, still connected, wrapped up in each other, the morning sun painting everything golden and perfect.
A.N: This took a while to finish but I did it!! 🥹 I hope you guys like it🫶
Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content :: established relationship :: rough sex :: degradation :: biting :: spanking :: praise kink :: body worship :: emotional sex :: soft choking :: cumshot :: pet names :: praise :: body worship :: graphic descriptions :: penetrative sex :: aftercare :: emotional vulnerability
Fucking you
The apartment door slams harder than it should.
You look up from the book you've been reading on the couch, startled by the sound. It's only six-thirty—Aki's never home this early. Your first thought is that something's wrong, that maybe someone got hurt on a mission, but then he appears in the doorway and you realize the problem is him.
He looks like hell.
His dark bluish-black hair has loosed a bit from its usual short ponytail, stray strands falling around his pale face. There's blood on his shirt—not his, you hope—and his sharp blue eyes are stormy in a way you've only seen a handful of times. His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
"Aki? What happened—"
"Don't." His voice is rough, strained. He's still standing in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame like he's physically holding himself back. "Don't ask me about my day. Please."
You set your book aside slowly, watching him. He's always so controlled, so careful with his emotions. Seeing him like this—barely restrained, something dangerous simmering just beneath the surface—makes your pulse quicken.
"Okay," you say softly. "What do you need?"
His eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity in them makes your breath catch. "You."
One word. That's all it takes.
He crosses the room in three long strides, and then his mouth is on yours, brutal and demanding. There's nothing gentle about this kiss—it's all teeth and tongue and barely controlled violence. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you up from the couch and against his body.
You can feel how hard he is already, pressing against your stomach through his work pants. Can feel the tension vibrating through every muscle in his body. He's wound so tight he might shatter, and he needs you to help him break.
"Bedroom," he growls against your mouth. "Now."
You go, and he follows close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your back. The moment you cross the threshold, his hands are on you again, spinning you around and walking you backward until your legs hit the bed.
There's a difference between when Aki fucks you and when he makes love to you.
When he fucks you, it's raw. Primal. He takes what he needs with an intensity that borders on feral, using your body to exorcise whatever demons are chasing him. His control slips, and he lets himself be rough in ways he'd never allow otherwise. The degradation, the biting, the bruising grip of his fingers—it's all part of how he releases the pressure that builds up inside him from being so goddamn responsible all the time.
But when he makes love to you, it's worship. Every touch is reverent, every kiss a prayer. He takes his time learning your body like it's the first time, like he's trying to memorize every sound you make, every place that makes you gasp. He's soft and sweet and so full of emotion it sometimes overwhelms you both. The way he looks at you like you're the only good thing in his life, the way he whispers how much he loves you between kisses—that's when you see the man beneath the devil hunter.
Tonight, he needs to fuck.
"Take off your clothes," he orders, stepping back just enough to watch you. "All of them. Now."
Your hands shake slightly as you obey, pulling your shirt over your head, unhooking your bra, sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. His eyes track every movement, dark and hungry, and you can see his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths.
When you're bare before him, he makes a sound low in his throat—something between a groan and a growl.
"On the bed. Hands and knees."
You climb onto the mattress, positioning yourself the way he wants, and you hear him moving behind you. The clink of his belt, the rustle of fabric. You glance over your shoulder and watch as he reaches up to pull the elastic from his hair, letting the short ponytail fall loose. The strands stick up slightly, messy and wild, and it makes him look younger. More dangerous.
He catches you looking and his lips curl into something that's not quite a smile. "Eyes forward."
You obey, facing the headboard, and then his hands are on you. Rough. Possessive. He runs his palms up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, up your spine. Not gentle, not teasing—claiming.
"Do you know what kind of day I had?" His voice is low, dangerous. "Do you know what I had to deal with?"
You shake your head, not trusting your voice.
"Devils. Incompetent partners. Paperwork. Everyone wanting something from me, needing me to fix their fuck-ups, expecting me to have all the goddamn answers." His hand comes down on your ass without warning—a sharp crack that makes you gasp. "And the whole time, all I could think about was coming home and burying myself in this perfect pussy."
Another spank, harder this time. You cry out, and he soothes the sting with his palm before delivering another.
"Count," he demands. "I want to hear you."
"One," you gasp.
He spanks you again, the other cheek this time. "Two."
By the time you reach ten, you're trembling, pushing back against nothing, desperate for him to touch you where you need it most. Your ass is burning, and you know you'll have his handprints on your skin tomorrow, but god, you don't care.
"Look at you," he murmurs, running his fingers through your folds. You're soaked, dripping, and he makes an approving sound. "So fucking wet from just a little pain. You love when I use you like this, don't you? Love being my little slut."
"Yes," you whimper. "Yes, Aki, please—"
"Please what?" He slides two fingers inside you roughly, no warning, and you nearly collapse forward. "Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want."
"Want you to fuck me," you manage. "Please, I need—need your cock—"
He withdraws his fingers and you hear him spit, feel the wetness as he strokes himself. Then the blunt head of his cock is pressing against your entrance, and he doesn't give you time to prepare.
He slams into you in one brutal thrust.
The stretch is intense, almost too much, and you cry out, fisting the sheets. He's so deep like this, hitting places that make your vision blur, and he doesn't give you a moment to adjust before he's moving.
Harsh. Fast. Unrelenting.
Each thrust drives you forward on the bed, and you have to brace yourself against the headboard to keep from being pushed into it. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, obscene and perfect, mixed with your gasps and his rough breathing.
"Fuck," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and wet and perfect. Like this cunt was made just for me to use."
His words are filthy, degrading, and they make you clench around him involuntarily. He notices, of course he does, and he leans forward to bite down on your shoulder blade.
"You like that?" he growls against your skin. "Like when I talk to you like the desperate little whore you are?"
"Yes," you sob. "Yes, god, yes—"
One hand leaves your hip to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back sharply. The angle changes and suddenly he's hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars with every thrust.
"That's it," he pants. "Take it. Take everything I give you. This is what you're good for, isn't it? Being my perfect little fucktoy when I need to let go."
The degradation mixed with the brutal pace is overwhelming. You can feel your orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly, and you're so close, so fucking close—
His other hand snakes around to find your clit, rubbing harsh circles, and that's all it takes. You come with a scream, your whole body shaking, clenching around him so hard you see spots.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" His rhythm falters, becomes erratic. He's close, so fucking close, and he pulls out abruptly, his cock glistening with your arousal.
"Stay just like that," he commands, his voice rough and strained. He wraps his hand around himself, stroking hard and fast, chasing his release. You can hear his breathing turn ragged, feel the tension radiating off him.
"Dirty girl," he growls. "Taking my cock like that. Gonna come all over this perfect ass."
His strokes become more frantic, and you arch your back slightly, presenting yourself to him. The vulnerability of it—waiting for him, knowing exactly what's coming—makes your pussy clench around nothing.
"Fuck—" He groans, a low, guttural sound, and then he's coming. Thick ropes of cum spill across your lower back and ass, coating your skin. He strokes himself through it, making sure to cover you completely, and the degradation of it—being marked like this, claimed in such a primal way—sends a shiver through you.
He's breathing hard, his hand still wrapped around himself as he watches his release drip down your skin. For a moment, he just stands there, taking in the sight of you like this—marked, used, completely his.
"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself.
He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear water running. When he returns, the intensity has drained from his face, replaced by something softer—tenderness mixed with a hint of guilt. He carries a warm washcloth and kneels beside you on the bed.
"Let me take care of you," he says quietly, his voice stripped of its earlier roughness.
He's gentle as he wipes your back and ass, cleaning away every trace of what just happened. His touch is careful, reverent even, and when he's finished, he helps you turn over. You meet his blue eyes, and there's a vulnerability there that wasn't present moments ago.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Was I too rough?"
"No," you assure him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "I'm okay. I promise."
He exhales slowly, like he's been holding his breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come home and taken it out on you like that. You didn't deserve—"
"Aki." You wait for his eyes to meet yours. "I wanted it. You know I did. I can take it."
Something in his expression softens at your words. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. When he pulls back, his hand finds yours.
"I love you," he says simply. "So much."
"I love you too," you whisper back.
He settles beside you, pulling you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow, feeling the tension melt from his body. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your shoulder as the two of you drift into comfortable silence, wrapped up in each other in the quiet aftermath.
vs.
Loving You
The restaurant was perfect.
Not fancy—Aki's never been one for expensive places—but cozy. Warm lighting, good food, the kind of place where you can talk for hours without feeling rushed. And you did talk, about everything and nothing, his hand finding yours across the table more than once.
Now you're walking home together through the quiet Tokyo streets, his arm around your shoulders, and you can't remember the last time you saw him this relaxed. No tension in his shoulders, no tightness around his eyes. Just... peaceful.
"Thank you for tonight," he says as you climb the stairs to your apartment. "I know I'm not always the easiest person to be with."
You stop on the landing, turning to face him. "Aki, you don't have to thank me for wanting to spend time with you."
He cups your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "I know. But I want to anyway."
He kisses you, soft and sweet, and you melt into it. This is different from the desperate kisses of a few nights ago, different from the rough claiming. This is just... love. Pure and simple.
When you finally make it inside, he doesn't let go of you. His hands stay on your waist as you kick off your shoes, as you hang up your jacket. Like he needs to keep touching you, needs to maintain that connection.
"Come here," he murmurs, pulling you toward the bedroom.
There's a difference in how Aki makes love to you when he's not trying to apologize for being rough, when he's not driven by stress or guilt or the need to prove something. When it's just love—pure, uncomplicated devotion—he's unhurried. Patient. Every touch is intentional, every kiss deliberate. He takes his time because he wants to, not because he's trying to make up for something. The "I love you"s come naturally, easily, like breathing. Like he can't help but say them because they're simply true.
Tonight, there's no urgency. No desperation. Just the two of you, and all the time in the world.
He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you to stand between his legs. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, over your hips, settling at your waist. He looks up at you, and the softness in his blue eyes makes your breath catch.
"You're so beautiful," he says quietly. "I don't tell you that enough."
"You tell me all the time," you say, running your fingers through his hair. It's down tonight, falling loose around his face, and you love how it makes him look softer. Younger.
"Not enough," he insists. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your stomach through your dress. "Never enough."
His hands find the zipper at your back, and he draws it down slowly, his finger tips brushing against your spine. The dress falls away, pooling at your feet, and he makes a soft sound of appreciation.
"Perfect," he murmurs. "You're perfect."
He stands, his hands never leaving your body, and guides you backward until your legs hit the bed. You sit, then lie back, and he follows you down, settling between your legs.
"I love you," he says, and it sounds like a prayer. "I love you so much."
He kisses you deeply, thoroughly, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow dance. There's no rush, no urgency. Just the two of you, learning each other all over again.
His hands map your body with reverent touches. Over your ribs, across your stomach, up to cup your breasts through your bra. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, across your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts.
"Can I?" he asks, his fingers on the clasp of your bra.
"Yes," you breathe.
He unhooks it and slides it off, tossing it aside, and then his mouth is on you. He takes his time with each breast, sucking and licking and kissing until you're arching into him, your fingers tangled in his hair.
"Love the sounds you make," he murmurs against your skin. "Love how responsive you are for me, pretty girl."
He continues his journey downward, pressing kisses to your ribs, your stomach, your hips. When he reaches the waistband of your underwear, he looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire but still so soft.
"Let me taste you," he says. "Please."
You nod, and he hooks his fingers in the fabric, sliding it down your legs. Then his hands are on your thighs, spreading them wider, and he settles between them with a contented sigh.
The first touch of his tongue makes you gasp. He starts slow, exploring, relearning what makes you moan. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him, and he takes his time.
"So sweet," he murmurs between licks. "Could do this for hours, baby. Could spend the rest of my life between your legs."
He finds your clit and circles it with his tongue, slow and deliberate, and you feel the pleasure building gradually. Not the sharp, intense climb from when he's rough, but a slow, rolling wave that builds and builds.
When he slides two fingers inside you, curling them to find that spot, you cry out. He hums in approval, the vibration adding another layer of sensation, and keeps working you with patient precision.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go for me, sweetheart. Want to feel you come on my tongue."
It takes time, but he doesn't rush. He just keeps going, steady and sure, until you're trembling on the edge. And when you finally fall, it's with his name on your lips and your fingers tight in his hair.
He works you through it, gentling his touches as you come down, and then he's kissing his way back up your body. When he reaches your mouth, you taste yourself on his lips.
"I love you," he whispers. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," you manage, still breathless. "Aki, please—need you inside me."
He sits back on his heels and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You watch, admiring the lean muscle of his chest and stomach as he reveals them. He's beautiful—pale skin, defined muscles, the scars that tell the story of his work. When he's bare before you, he pauses.
"You're staring," he says, but there's a smile playing at his lips.
"Can you blame me?"
He laughs softly and leans down to kiss you again. "No. I suppose I can't."
He positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and looks into your eyes.
"I love you," he says again. "I need you to know that. Need you to feel it."
"I do," you promise. "I feel it, Aki. I love you too."
He enters you slowly, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving yours. When he's fully seated, he pauses, letting you adjust, and the intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming.
"You feel so good," he breathes. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."
He starts to move, and it's slow. Deliberate. Each thrust is deep and measured, angled to make you feel every inch of him. He keeps one hand on your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone, while the other intertwines with yours beside your head.
"So beautiful," he murmurs. "So beautiful like this, angel. Love seeing you like this. Love being inside you."
The pace is unhurried, almost lazy, and it's perfect. You can feel every shift, every movement, every place where your bodies connect. It's intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.
"Aki," you gasp as he hits that spot inside you. "God, Aki—"
"I know, baby. I know." He adjusts slightly, making sure to hit it with every thrust. "Feel so good around me. So tight and warm and perfect."
He leans down to kiss you, deep and slow, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He groans into your mouth, his rhythm stuttering for just a moment before he regains control.
"Love you," he whispers against your lips. "Love you so much. Don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm so grateful. So fucking grateful."
The emotion in his voice makes tears prick at your eyes. You pull him closer, needing to feel all of him, and he responds by deepening his thrusts.
"You deserve everything," you tell him. "Everything good, Aki. You deserve to be loved like this."
He makes a choked sound and buries his face in your neck. His pace picks up slightly, still controlled but with more urgency now, and you can feel your orgasm building again.
"Touch yourself for me," he says. "Want to feel you come around me, pretty girl. Want to feel you fall apart."
You slide your hand between your bodies, finding your clit, and the added stimulation makes you gasp. He watches your face, his eyes dark and intense, and the intimacy of it—him watching you pleasure yourself while he's inside you—is almost too much.
"That's it," he encourages. "So good, baby. So perfect. Love watching you like this. Love knowing I make you feel this good."
Your orgasm builds slowly, a warm pressure that spreads through your whole body. When it finally hits, it's gentle but deep, rolling through you in waves that seem to go on forever. You clench around him, and he groans, his forehead dropping to yours.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel so good when you come. So fucking good."
He keeps moving, working you through it, and when you finally come down, you're trembling. He kisses you softly, tenderly, and you can feel him getting close.
"Where do you want me?" he asks.
"Inside," you whisper. "Always inside."
He buries his face in your neck, his thrusts becoming less controlled. "Love you," he chants. "Love you, love you, love you—"
When he comes, it's with a low groan and your name on his lips. You feel him pulse inside you, feel the warmth of his release, and you hold him close as he shakes.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. You just lie there, wrapped in each other, breathing in sync. His weight is comforting, grounding, and you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness of it.
"I love you," he murmurs eventually, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes are soft, content, and there's a small smile on his lips. "Thank you for tonight. For everything."
"I love you too," you say, cupping his face. "Always."
He kisses you once more, soft and sweet, and then carefully pulls out. You both wince at the sensitivity, and he rolls onto his side, pulling you with him.
"Stay here," he says. "I'll get something to clean us up."
He returns with a warm washcloth and cleans you gently, pressing kisses to your thighs as he does. When he's done, he tosses it aside and pulls you back into his arms.
"Best date night ever," you murmur against his chest.
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "We should do it more often. The date part, I mean. I know I get caught up in work, but you deserve—"
"Aki." You tilt your head up to look at him. "I'm happy. Right here, right now, with you. That's all I need."
His eyes soften, and he cups your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "How did I get so lucky?"
"I ask myself the same thing," you say with a smile.
He kisses you again, slow and deep, and you lose yourself in it. In him. In this moment of perfect peace.
When you finally pull apart, you're both smiling.
"I love you," he says for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
"I love you too," you whisper back.
And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you think that this—this quiet, gentle love—is just as powerful as the passionate intensity. Maybe more so, because it's built on trust and understanding and the simple joy of being together.
This is what it means to truly love someone. To know all their sides—the rough and the gentle, the desperate and the tender—and to cherish every single one.
Author’s Note: This is my first time writing smut so go easy on me lmfao || this might be corny ngl
Do NOT feed my work to AI.
The afternoon sun filtered through the cafe windows in golden streams, catching dust motes that danced lazily in the warm air. The smell of cinnamon and fresh-baked bread filled the small space, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee that had become as familiar to you as breathing. Your hands moved on autopilot, measuring out espresso grounds with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this thousands of times before.
"One caramel latte with oat milk, extra foam!" an employee called out, their voice carrying over the gentle murmur of conversation and the soft jazz playing from the speakers mounted in the corners.
The cafe was moderately busy for a Thursday afternoon—a few regulars scattered at tables, a couple of college students home for break hunched over laptops, Mrs. Temmison in her usual corner booth working on her crossword puzzle. Your adoptive mother, Maren, was wiping down tables with her characteristic thoroughness, her soft gray wool catching the light. She was a sheep monster, gentle and warm, with kind eyes that crinkled when she smiled. Your adoptive father, Silas, manned the register with his reading glasses perched on his snout, occasionally glancing up to greet customers with that booming, friendly voice of his.
This was home. This had been home for seven years now.
You still remembered the day you'd arrived in Hometown—fifteen years old, human, confused, and more than a little scared. The details of how you'd ended up in a town full of monsters were hazy, like trying to remember a dream upon waking. One day you'd been in the human world, the next you were here, and somehow it had felt... right. Maren and Silas had taken you in without hesitation, folding you into their family and their business as if you'd always belonged there.
And then there was Asriel.
You pushed the thought away as you always did, focusing instead on steaming the milk to the perfect temperature, creating that microfoam that made the lattes here better than anywhere else in town. Thinking about Asriel Dreemurr was a dangerous habit, one you'd tried to break for years now with limited success.
He'd been fifteen too when you'd met him—all awkward height and shy smiles, the kind of kid who was too thoughtful for his own good. You'd bonded quickly, two teenagers trying to figure out their place in the world. He'd shown you around Hometown, introduced you to everyone, made you feel less like an outsider and more like you belonged.
Those teenage years had been golden. Long walks through the park, late nights talking about everything and nothing, inside jokes that made you both collapse with laughter. And underneath it all, a tension you'd both been too young and too scared to name. The way his hand would linger when he passed you something. The way you'd catch him looking at you when he thought you weren't paying attention. The way your heart would race when he smiled at you in that particular way that felt like it was meant just for you.
But then college had come calling. Asriel had gotten into a prestigious university, the kind of opportunity you couldn't turn down. You'd been happy for him, genuinely happy, even as your heart had cracked watching him pack up his life and leave Hometown behind.
You could have gone to college too. Your grades had been good enough. But the thought of leaving Maren and Silas, of abandoning the cafe that had become your sanctuary, of losing the only stable home you'd ever known—it had been too much. So you'd stayed, and Asriel had gone, and the distance between you had grown from miles to something that felt insurmountable.
That had been three years ago. Three years of occasional text messages that grew further and further apart. Three years of stalking his social media and seeing him live a life that didn't include you. Three years of trying to convince yourself that what you'd felt for him had just been a teenage crush, nothing more.
You were twenty-two now, and you still weren't sure you believed that lie.
"Y/N, honey, could you grab more napkins from the back?" Maren's gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts.
"Sure thing, Mom," you replied, the word coming as naturally now as it had felt strange those first few months.
You were heading toward the storage room when the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. You didn't turn around, your mind already cataloging what else needed to be restocked.
"I'll be with you in a minute!" you called over your shoulder, pushing through the door to the back room.
The voice that responded made your heart stop.
"Well, that's no way to greet an old friend, is it?"
The napkins slipped from your suddenly nerveless fingers. You knew that voice. You'd know it anywhere, even though it had been three years since you'd heard it in person. It was deeper now, more mature, but it still had that same warm quality that had always made you feel safe.
You spun around so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet, your eyes wide and disbelieving.
Asriel Dreemurr stood in the doorway of the cafe, and he was smiling at you.
He'd changed. Of course he had—three years was a long time. He was taller, broader in the shoulders, his features more defined and mature. He'd grown into himself in a way that made your breath catch. His fluffy white fur was perfectly groomed, soft-looking enough that you wanted to immediately bury your hands in it. His curled horns—elegant spirals that swept back from his head—seemed to catch the light beautifully, and his long ears drooped adorably beside his face. He wore a casual button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark jeans that fit him entirely too well. But his eyes—those warm, expressive eyes—were exactly the same, and they were fixed on you with an intensity that made your knees weak.
"Asriel?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
His smile widened, and suddenly you were moving, your body acting before your brain could catch up. You crossed the cafe in what felt like two steps and launched yourself at him, your arms wrapping around his neck as his caught you around the waist, lifting you slightly off your feet.
He was solid and warm and real, and he smelled like cedar and something uniquely him that you'd never been able to name. Your face pressed into his neck, and you felt him shudder slightly as his arms tightened around you.
"Hey, Y/N," he murmured against your hair, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands moving to cup his face, needing to confirm that this was real, that he was really here. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming home until Christmas?"
"Surprise?" He laughed, and the sound sent warmth flooding through your chest. "I managed to finish my exams early and thought I'd come home for a longer break. Wanted to see everyone. Wanted to see you."
Those last four words hung in the air between you, weighted with something you didn't dare name. You were suddenly acutely aware that you were still pressed against him, that his hands were still on your waist, that you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.
"Asriel! My boy!" Silas's booming voice broke the moment, and you reluctantly stepped back as your adoptive father came around the counter to pull Asriel into a crushing hug. "Look at you! They're feeding you well at that fancy school!"
"Hi, Mr. Silas," Asriel laughed, returning the hug with genuine warmth. "It's good to see you."
Maren was there a moment later, her eyes already misty as she wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, we've missed you so much, sweetheart. You look wonderful. Doesn't he look wonderful, Y/N?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice. Wonderful didn't even begin to cover it.
The next hour passed in a blur. Asriel settled at the counter while you finished your shift, and he caught up with your parents, answering questions about school and his classes and life in the city. You tried to focus on making drinks and taking orders, but your eyes kept drifting to him, still half-convinced he might disappear if you looked away for too long.
He caught you looking more than once, and each time he'd smile—that soft, private smile that made your stomach flip.
Customers came and went, and several recognized Asriel, stopping to chat and welcome him home. He was gracious with everyone, but you noticed the way his attention kept returning to you, the way his eyes followed you as you moved around the cafe.
Finally, mercifully, your shift ended. You untied your apron with shaking fingers, hyperaware of Asriel's gaze on you.
"Go on, honey," Maren said, shooing you toward the back. "Get changed. We can handle the rest of the afternoon rush."
"Are you sure?" you asked, even as your feet were already moving.
"Positive. You two have catching up to do." She winked at you, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks.
In the small employee bathroom, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was slightly mussed from the day's work, and there was a small coffee stain on your shirt that you hadn't noticed before. You looked tired and rumpled and completely unprepared for Asriel Dreemurr to walk back into your life.
You changed quickly into the spare clothes you kept in your locker—a soft sweater and jeans that at least didn't smell like espresso. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it into something presentable, and pinched your cheeks to bring some color to them.
When you emerged, Asriel was standing by the door, hands in his pockets, looking almost nervous. The sight of him—this confident, grown-up version of the boy you'd known—looking uncertain made something in your chest ache.
"Ready?" he asked.
You nodded, grabbing your jacket from the hook by the door. "Where are we going?"
"I thought we could just... walk? Maybe grab some drinks? I've missed this place. Missed you." He said it so simply, so honestly, that you had to look away.
"I'd like that," you managed.
Maren and Silas waved you off with knowing smiles, and then you were outside, the late afternoon air cool against your flushed cheeks. Asriel fell into step beside you, close enough that your arms occasionally brushed, sending little sparks of electricity through you each time.
"So," he said after a moment. "Three years."
"Three years," you echoed.
"I'm sorry I didn't come home more. I'm sorry I was so bad at keeping in touch." He ran a hand through the fur on his head, a gesture you remembered from when he was nervous. "School was intense, and I kept meaning to call or visit, but time just... got away from me."
"It's okay," you said, and meant it. "You were busy. I get it."
"It's not okay, though." He stopped walking, turning to face you. "You were my best friend, Y/N. Are my best friend. And I let three years go by without seeing you. That's not okay."
The intensity in his eyes made your breath catch. "You're here now," you said softly. "That's what matters."
He held your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he smiled, that tension breaking. "Come on. I know a place."
He led you to the small convenience store on the edge of town, the one that had been there forever and never seemed to change. You waited outside while he went in, emerging a few minutes later with a six-pack of beer and a bag of chips.
"Remember when we used to try to convince the clerk we were old enough to buy this stuff?" he asked, grinning.
You laughed, the memory washing over you. "He never believed us. Not even once."
"Well, now we're actually old enough. Feels weird."
"Everything feels weird," you admitted. "You being here. Us being adults. All of it."
He bumped his shoulder against yours as you started walking again. "Good weird or bad weird?"
You considered this, watching the way the fading sunlight caught in his fur, turning it golden at the edges. "Good weird," you decided. "Definitely good weird."
- --
Hometown Park hadn't changed at all. The same worn paths wound through the same old trees, their leaves just beginning to turn with the approach of autumn. The playground equipment was still there, slightly more rusted than you remembered, and the pond still reflected the sky like a mirror.
You and Asriel found your old spot—a small hill overlooking the pond, far enough from the main paths to feel private but close enough to hear the distant sounds of kids playing. You settled onto the grass, and Asriel cracked open two beers, handing you one.
"To coming home," he said, raising his bottle.
"To coming home," you echoed, clinking your bottle against his.
The beer was cheap and slightly bitter, but it was cold and familiar, and drinking it with Asriel felt like slipping into an old, comfortable sweater. You sat in silence for a moment, both of you looking out over the pond, the weight of three years sitting between you.
"Tell me everything," you said finally. "What's college like? What's the city like? I want to know all of it."
Asriel laughed, taking a swig of his beer. "It's... a lot. The city is huge, like, bigger than I ever imagined. There are so many people, so much noise. It was overwhelming at first."
"But you like it?"
"I do," he admitted. "It's exciting. There's always something happening, always something new to discover. The classes are hard but interesting. I'm learning so much." He paused, his expression growing more thoughtful. "But it's also lonely sometimes. Everyone's so focused on their own thing, you know? It's hard to make real connections."
"Have you made friends?" You tried to keep your voice casual, tried not to think about him building a whole new life without you.
"Some," he said. "There's a study group I'm part of, and a few people I hang out with sometimes. But it's not the same as..." He trailed off, looking at you. "It's not the same as here. As home."
The way he said it made your heart skip. "I'm glad you have people, though. I worried about you being alone."
"You worried about me?" His voice was soft, almost wondering.
"Of course I did. I always worry about you." The admission slipped out before you could stop it, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. You took a long drink of beer to cover your embarrassment.
Asriel was quiet for a moment, and when you dared to glance at him, he was staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "I worried about you too," he said finally. "Wondered if you were happy. If you regretted staying."
"I don't regret it," you said firmly. "The cafe, Mom and Dad, this town—it's my home. I love it here."
"But don't you ever want more? Want to see what else is out there?"
You considered this, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Sometimes," you admitted. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to leave, to have adventures, to see new places. But then I think about leaving everything I know, everyone I love, and it just feels... wrong. Like I'd be losing something important."
"You wouldn't be losing it," Asriel said gently. "It would still be here. I'm still here, even after three years away."
"Are you?" The question came out more vulnerable than you'd intended. "Because it felt like I lost you when you left."
Asriel's expression crumpled slightly, and he set down his beer, turning to face you fully. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I just... I didn't know how to balance everything. School was so demanding, and I felt guilty every time I thought about home because I wasn't there. And talking to you..." He paused, seeming to struggle with his words. "Talking to you made me miss home even more. Made me miss you even more. So I pulled back, and that was wrong of me."
"You missed me?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.
"Every day," he said, and the raw honesty in his voice made your chest ache. "Every single day."
You didn't know what to say to that, so you just reached out and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His hand was warm and solid, and he squeezed gently, his thumb rubbing small circles on your skin.
"Tell me about the cafe," he said after a moment, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "How are things going?"
You were grateful for the change in subject, even as you mourned the loss of that moment of vulnerability. "Good, actually. Really good. We've expanded the menu, added some new pastries that have been really popular. I've been learning to do the baking too, not just the coffee."
"That's amazing. I always knew you'd be great at it."
"Mom and Dad have been talking about maybe opening a second location," you continued, warming to the subject. "Nothing definite yet, but they've been looking at spaces in the next town over."
"Would you run it?"
"Maybe? I don't know. It's exciting but also terrifying." You laughed. "I'm still figuring out what I want to do with my life."
"You have time," Asriel said. "We both do. We're only twenty-two."
"Only twenty-two," you repeated. "When did we get so old?"
"I don't feel old. I feel like I'm still that awkward fifteen-year-old who didn't know how to talk to you without tripping over his own words."
You turned to look at him, surprised. "You were never awkward with me."
"Are you kidding? I was a disaster. You just didn't notice because you were too busy being perfect."
"I was not perfect. I was a mess. I was a human in a monster town, trying to figure out where I fit."
"You fit perfectly," Asriel said softly. "You always did."
The air between you felt charged suddenly, heavy with things unsaid. You were acutely aware of how close you were sitting, of his hand still holding yours, of the way his eyes seemed to trace your features like he was trying to memorize them.
"Asriel," you started, not sure what you were going to say.
"Come on," he said, standing abruptly and pulling you up with him. "Let's walk. I want to see if everything's still the same."
You let him lead you through the park, pointing out places you both remembered. The tree where you'd carved your initials one summer, the letters now faded and grown over with bark. The bench where you'd spent hours talking about your dreams and fears. The field where you'd laid in the grass and watched clouds, making up stories about their shapes.
Each place brought a flood of memories, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in months, the years falling away until it felt like no time had passed at all. Asriel was animated, gesturing wildly as he recounted stories you'd half-forgotten, his eyes bright with joy.
"Remember when we tried to have a picnic here and that family of raccoons stole all our food?" he asked, pointing to a spot near the pond.
"Oh my god, yes! You tried to chase them down and ended up falling in the pond!"
"I was defending our honor!"
"You were soaking wet and covered in pond scum. Mom made you strip in the garage before she'd let you in the house."
Asriel laughed, the sound rich and warm. "I'd forgotten about that. God, we were such idiots."
"The best kind of idiots," you said fondly.
You continued walking, the conversation flowing easily now, three years of distance melting away with each shared memory. You told him about the regulars at the cafe, the drama in town, the small changes that had happened in his absence. He told you about his classes, his professors, the strange and wonderful things about city life.
The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and you found yourselves at the edge of the park, near the old oak tree that had been there longer than anyone could remember. Its branches spread wide, creating a canopy of leaves that rustled softly in the evening breeze.
Asriel leaned against the trunk, and you stood beside him, both of you looking out over the park as the light faded. The beer had left you pleasantly warm and relaxed, and you felt more content than you had in years.
"I missed this," Asriel said quietly. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," you admitted. "So much."
He turned to look at you, and there was something in his expression that made your breath catch—something intense and vulnerable and achingly familiar. "Y/N, I—"
"Wait," you interrupted, a thought suddenly occurring to you. "Before you say whatever you're going to say, there's something we need to do."
He looked confused but nodded. "Okay?"
You pulled out your phone, checking the time. "It's almost seven. Do you know what today is?"
Asriel's expression shifted, understanding and sadness washing over his features. "It's Dess's birthday."
"Yeah," you said softly. "It is."
The mood shifted, becoming more somber. You both slid down to sit at the base of the tree, shoulders pressed together, the last of the beers clutched in your hands.
December Holiday—Dess—had been a force of nature. Older than both of you, she'd been like a big sister to Asriel and had taken you under her wing when you'd first arrived in Hometown. She'd been bold and adventurous, always pushing boundaries, always looking for the next thrill.
And then, one day, she'd disappeared.
It had been six years ago now, but the wound still felt fresh sometimes. No one knew what had happened to her. She'd gone out one evening and simply never come back. The town had searched for weeks, but there'd been no trace of her, no clues, nothing.
Her family—Noelle and her parents—had never been the same. The whole town had been shaken by it. And you and Asriel had lost someone who'd meant the world to both of you.
"I think about her a lot," Asriel said quietly. "Especially on her birthday. Wonder where she is, if she's okay, if she's even..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
"I know," you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. "I do too."
"She would have loved to see you running the cafe. She always said you had a gift for making people feel welcome."
You smiled sadly. "She would have kicked your ass for not coming home more often."
Asriel laughed, the sound slightly choked. "Yeah, she would have. She never let me get away with anything."
"Remember how she used to drag us on those crazy adventures? Like the time she convinced us to sneak into the old abandoned house on the edge of town?"
"And we found out it wasn't actually abandoned, and the owner chased us out with a broom," Asriel added, shaking his head. "We ran so fast. I thought my heart was going to explode."
"Or the time she made us go swimming in the pond in the middle of winter?"
"I got sick for a week after that. Totally worth it, though."
You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both lost in memories of a girl who'd been larger than life and had left a hole in the world when she'd gone.
"I hate that she's missing this," you said finally. "Missing us growing up, missing all the things that have happened. She should be here."
"Yeah," Asriel agreed, his voice rough. "She should."
You lifted your beer bottle, and Asriel did the same, understanding without words what you were doing.
"To Dess," you said. "For being the best big sister anyone could ask for. For teaching us to be brave and take chances and live life fully. For all the memories and all the love. We miss you every day."
"To Dess," Asriel echoed. "Wherever you are, I hope you're having an adventure. And I hope you know how much you meant to us. How much you still mean to us."
You clinked your bottles together and drank, the beer tasting bittersweet now. When you lowered your bottle, you realized there were tears on your cheeks, and when you looked at Asriel, his eyes were wet too.
Without thinking, you reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek, your thumb gentle against his fur. He caught your hand, holding it against his face, his eyes closing briefly.
"I'm glad I'm here," he said, opening his eyes to look at you. "I'm glad we're doing this together. Remembering her together."
"Me too," you whispered.
He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm, and the gesture was so tender, so intimate, that it made your heart stutter. His eyes met yours, and you saw everything you'd been feeling reflected back at you—the longing, the uncertainty, the desperate hope.
"Y/N," he said, your name a prayer on his lips.
"Yeah?"
"I need to tell you something. I've needed to tell you for years, but I was too scared, and then I left, and I thought maybe the distance would make it go away, but it didn't. It just got stronger."
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "What is it?"
"I—" He stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. Then he laughed, slightly self-deprecating. "God, I'm making a mess of this. Okay. Here goes." He took a deep breath. "I have feelings for you. I've had feelings for you since we were teenagers, and I never said anything because I was scared of ruining our friendship, and then I left for college, and I thought maybe it would fade, but it didn't. Being away from you just made me realize how much you mean to me. And now I'm here, and you're here, and I can't not tell you anymore. I'm in love with you, Y/N. I have been for years."
The world seemed to stop. You stared at him, your mind struggling to process what he'd just said. Asriel Dreemurr—your best friend, your first crush, the boy you'd been in love with for seven years—had just told you he loved you.
"Say something," he said, his voice slightly panicked. "Please say something. Even if it's to tell me you don't feel the same way, just—"
You kissed him.
It wasn't graceful or planned. You just leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, cutting off his rambling, your hand still cupped against his cheek. He made a surprised sound, and then his arms were around you, pulling you closer, kissing you back with a desperation that matched your own.
His lips were soft and warm, and he tasted like beer and something uniquely him. The kiss was everything you'd imagined and nothing like you'd expected—better, more intense, more right. Years of longing and restraint poured into that moment, and when you finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard.
"I love you too," you said, your forehead resting against his. "I've loved you for so long, Asriel. I thought I was going to die keeping it secret."
He laughed, the sound slightly breathless and utterly joyful. "We're idiots. We're such idiots."
"The best kind of idiots," you said, echoing your earlier words, and then you were both laughing, giddy with relief and happiness and the sheer impossibility of this moment.
Asriel kissed you again, slower this time, savoring it. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, and you melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt.
When you finally broke apart, the sky had darkened to deep purple, stars beginning to appear overhead. The park was quiet around you, the world narrowed down to just the two of you and this perfect, impossible moment.
"We should probably go," Asriel said, though he made no move to stand. "It's getting late."
"Yeah," you agreed, equally reluctant to break this spell.
"Come back to your place with me?" he asked. "I'm not ready for this night to end."
"Me neither," you said. "Let's go."
- --
The walk back to your house felt different now. Asriel held your hand openly, his fingers laced through yours, and every so often he'd pull you closer to press a kiss to your temple or your cheek. You felt like you were floating, like at any moment you might wake up and find this had all been a dream.
Your house was a small cottage on the edge of town, close enough to the cafe that you could walk to work but far enough to feel private. Maren and Silas had helped you buy it last year, insisting that you needed your own space now that you were an adult. It was modest but cozy, and you'd made it your own with secondhand furniture and plants that you somehow managed to keep alive.
"I like it," Asriel said as you unlocked the door. "It's very you."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Definitely a compliment."
Inside, you flicked on the lights, suddenly nervous. Asriel was in your space, your private sanctuary, and the intimacy of it made your skin tingle. He looked around with interest, taking in the mismatched furniture, the bookshelves overflowing with novels and manga, the photos on the walls.
"Are you hungry?" you asked, needing something to do with your hands. "We could order something."
"Starving, actually," he admitted. "What's good?"
"There's a Thai place that delivers. They're amazing."
"Perfect."
You called in an order—pad thai for you, drunken noodles for him, spring rolls to share—and then you were left standing in your living room, suddenly unsure what to do with yourself.
Asriel seemed to sense your nervousness. He crossed to you, taking your hands in his. "Hey," he said softly. "It's just me. You don't have to be nervous."
"I know. I just... this is real, right? This is actually happening?"
"It's real," he confirmed, squeezing your hands. "I'm here, and I love you, and this is happening."
You let out a shaky breath, and then you were kissing him again, unable to resist the pull. He responded immediately, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him. This kiss was different from the ones in the park—deeper, more heated, with an edge of urgency that made your knees weak.
You stumbled backward, and Asriel guided you to the couch, both of you falling onto it in a tangle of limbs. He was half on top of you, his weight pressing you into the cushions, and it felt incredible. Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles shift under his shirt, and he groaned softly against your mouth.
"Y/N," he breathed, pulling back slightly to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, and his breathing was ragged. "We should probably slow down."
"Why?" you asked, genuinely confused.
"Because the food will be here soon, and because I want to do this right. I've waited years for this. I don't want to rush it."
You wanted to argue, wanted to pull him back down and lose yourself in him, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes. He wanted this to be special, and honestly, so did you.
"Okay," you said, sitting up and trying to calm your racing heart. "Slow. We can do slow."
He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "Thank you."
The food arrived twenty minutes later, and you ate on the couch, sitting close enough that your thighs pressed together. The Thai food was as good as you'd promised, and you fell into easy conversation, the earlier tension easing into something more comfortable.
"Tell me more about your classes," you said, stealing a spring roll from his plate.
"Well, I'm majoring in environmental science," he said. "Which sounds boring, but it's actually fascinating. We're learning about ecosystems and conservation and how to protect the planet. It feels important, you know? Like I'm learning to make a difference."
"That's amazing, Asriel. I'm so proud of you."
He ducked his head, looking pleased. "What about you? Any plans beyond the cafe?"
"I've been thinking about taking some business classes," you admitted. "If we're going to expand, I want to know what I'm doing. And maybe someday I could open my own place. I don't know. It's just an idea."
"I think you'd be incredible at that," Asriel said seriously. "You're so good with people, and you have great instincts. You should definitely do it."
"Maybe," you said, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his confidence in you.
You finished eating and cleaned up together, moving around your small kitchen in a comfortable dance. Asriel washed while you dried, and it felt domestic and right in a way that made your heart ache.
When the dishes were done, you found yourselves back on the couch, this time with you tucked into his side, his arm around your shoulders. You'd turned on the TV, but neither of you were really watching it. Instead, you were just existing together, savoring the closeness.
"I can't believe you're really here," you said softly. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up."
"I'm here," he assured you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not for a while, at least."
"How long are you home for?"
"A month. Maybe longer if I can swing it."
A month. It felt like both forever and not nearly enough time. You tilted your head back to look at him, and found him already looking at you, his expression soft and full of affection.
"What are you thinking?" you asked.
"That I'm the luckiest person in the world," he said simply. "That I can't believe I get to hold you like this. That I've wanted this for so long it doesn't feel real."
"It feels real to me," you said, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. His fur was soft under your fingers, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly.
When he opened them again, they were dark with want, and your breath caught. The air between you felt charged, heavy with possibility and desire.
"Y/N," he said, his voice low and rough. "Can I kiss you again?"
"Please," you breathed.
He leaned down, capturing your lips with his, and this kiss was different from all the others. It was slow and deep and thorough, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek, and you melted into him.
Your hands found their way into his fur, and he groaned softly, the sound sending heat pooling in your belly. You shifted, turning to face him more fully, and he pulled you closer, until you were practically in his lap.
The kiss deepened, became more urgent. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you opened for him, tasting him fully. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and you never wanted it to end.
His hands roamed over your back, your sides, mapping your body through your clothes. When his fingers brushed the strip of skin where your sweater had ridden up, you gasped, arching into his touch.
"Is this okay?" he asked, pulling back slightly, his breathing ragged.
"Yes," you said immediately. "More than okay."
He smiled, and then his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking gently. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, and he took full advantage, his mouth hot against your skin.
"Asriel," you breathed, your fingers tightening in his fur.
He hummed against your neck, the vibration sending shivers through you. His hands slid under your sweater, his palms warm against your skin, and you arched into his touch, desperate for more.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin. "So perfect. I've dreamed about this."
"Me too," you admitted, your voice breathy. "So many times."
He pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark and intense. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," you confirmed. "I've wanted you for so long, Azzy."
Something in his expression shifted, became more heated, more determined. "Can I take you to bed?" he asked, his voice rough. "I want to do this right. Want to take my time with you."
Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely breathe. "Yes," you said. "Please, yes."
- --
Your bedroom was small and cozy, dominated by a queen-sized bed covered in soft blankets and too many pillows. You'd left the lamp on earlier, and it cast a warm, golden glow over everything.
Asriel closed the door behind you, and suddenly the air felt thick with anticipation. You stood facing each other, and you could see the want in his eyes, the barely restrained desire.
"Come here," he said softly, holding out his hand.
You took it, letting him pull you close. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring it. His hands roamed over your body, and you did the same, finally allowing yourself to explore him the way you'd wanted to for years.
He was solid and warm under your hands, all lean muscle and soft fur. You traced the lines of his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, and he shuddered under your touch, his breathing growing ragged.
"Can I take this off?" he asked, tugging gently at your sweater.
You nodded, raising your arms, and he pulled it over your head, tossing it aside. You stood before him in just your bra and jeans, and the way he looked at you—like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen—made you feel powerful and desired.
"Your turn," you said, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
He let you undress him, standing still as you worked each button free, revealing more and more of his white fur. When you pushed the shirt off his shoulders, you took a moment to just look at him, to appreciate the sight of him half-naked in your bedroom.
"You're gorgeous," you said, running your hands over his chest.
He laughed softly. "I was about to say the same thing about you."
You kissed him again, skin against fur, and it felt incredible. His hands roamed over your back, finding the clasp of your bra, and he paused, looking at you questioningly.
"Yes," you said, answering his unspoken question.
He unhooked it with surprising deftness, and then it was falling away, leaving you bare from the waist up. His eyes darkened as he looked at you, and then his hands were on you, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.
You gasped, arching into his touch, and he groaned, the sound rough and needy. "You're perfect," he murmured. "So fucking perfect."
He guided you backward until your legs hit the bed, and then you were falling onto it, him following you down. His weight pressed you into the mattress, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
He kissed down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, taking his time, worshipping every inch of skin. When his mouth closed over your nipple, you cried out, your hands fisting in the sheets.
"Asriel," you gasped. "Please."
"Please what?" he asked, looking up at you with dark, mischievous eyes.
"More. I need more."
He grinned, and then his hand was at the button of your jeans, working it open. "These need to come off," he said.
You lifted your hips, helping him slide them down your legs along with your underwear, and then you were completely naked before him. He sat back on his heels, just looking at you, and you fought the urge to cover yourself.
"Don't hide," he said softly. "You're beautiful. Let me look at you."
You forced yourself to relax, to let him see all of you, and the reverence in his eyes made you feel like a goddess.
"Well now I’m the odd one out." you nervously joked, reaching for his jeans.
He chuckled as he helped you, stripping off the rest of his clothes until he was as naked as you were. Your eyes roamed over him, taking in every detail—the lean lines of his body, the white fur that covered him, and his cock, already hard and leaking.
"Come closer," you said, reaching for him.
He settled between your legs, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and you could feel him, hot and hard against your thigh. The sensation made you gasp, made heat pool between your legs.
But he didn't move to take you yet. Instead, he kissed you again, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world. His hands roamed over your body—your sides, your hips, your thighs—mapping every curve and dip with reverent attention.
"I've thought about this so many times," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with want. "Thought about touching you like this, tasting you, making you fall apart for me."
"Asriel," you breathed, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the softness of his white fur under your palms. It was silky and warm, and you couldn't stop touching him, couldn't get enough of the feel of him.
Your fingers traced higher, finding the base of one of his horns where it curved back from his head. The moment you touched it, he shuddered, a low groan escaping his throat.
"Sensitive?" you asked, fascinated by his reaction.
"Very," he admitted, his eyes dark. "No one's ever—you're the first person to touch them like that."
The admission made your heart clench. You explored them carefully, tracing the ridges and curves, feeling how they swept back elegantly from his skull. His breathing grew ragged, his hips pressing against you involuntarily.
"You're so beautiful," you whispered, your hands moving to his long, droopy ears. They were incredibly soft, the fur there even finer than the rest of him, and when you stroked them gently, he made a sound that was almost a whimper.
"Y/N, please," he gasped. "You're killing me."
"Good," you said, emboldened by his reactions. "I want you to feel everything."
He captured your mouth again, kissing you with renewed urgency, and then he was moving down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. When his mouth closed over your nipple, you arched into him, your fingers tangling in the fur at the back of his head.
"So perfect," he murmured, switching to your other breast, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. "So fucking perfect."
His hand slid down your stomach, and you held your breath as his fingers traced lower, teasing along your inner thigh. You were already so wet, so ready for him, and when his fingers finally brushed against your folds, you both groaned.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he breathed, his fingers exploring you gently. "All this for me?"
"Yes," you gasped as one finger slid inside you, then another. "All for you, Azzy. Only you."
He worked you slowly, his fingers curling to find that spot inside you that made you see stars. His thumb found your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure, and you felt yourself climbing higher, the tension building in your core.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice low and rough. "Let me see you fall apart, baby. Want to watch you come on my fingers."
The combination of his words and his touch pushed you closer to the edge. Your hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure, and he added a third finger, stretching you, preparing you.
"Asriel, I'm—oh god, I'm—"
"Come for me," he commanded, and you did, crying out as the orgasm crashed over you, your body clenching around his fingers. He worked you through it, his movements gentling as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your hip, your stomach.
When you could breathe again, you looked down at him, and the hunger in his eyes made you shiver. "I want to taste you," he said, his voice almost a growl. "I need to taste you. Can I?"
"God, yes," you breathed, your body already responding to the promise in his words.
He grinned, wicked and beautiful, and then he was moving lower, settling between your thighs. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place, and you felt his breath ghost over your sensitive flesh.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, his nose brushing against your inner thigh. "Spread open for me, so wet and ready. I've dreamed about this, Y/N. Dreamed about how you'd taste, how you'd sound when I made you come with my mouth."
"Please," you whimpered, beyond caring how desperate you sounded. "Please, Asriel."
The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your back arching off the bed. He licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, groaning at the taste of you, and the vibration sent shocks of pleasure through your body.
"Fuck, you taste amazing," he groaned, and then he was devouring you, his tongue working you with single-minded focus. He licked and sucked, his tongue circling your clit before dipping inside you, fucking you with it until you were writhing beneath him.
Your hands fisted in his fur, holding him against you, and he groaned his approval, the sound muffled against your flesh. His long ears brushed against your inner thighs with each movement of his head, the soft fur adding another layer of sensation that made you gasp.
"*Mnghh*—," you moaned, your hips rocking against his face. "O-oh my god, Azzy, that feels s’good."
He hummed against you, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you closer to his mouth. His tongue found your clit, circling it with perfect pressure, and you felt the tension building again, faster this time, more intense.
"I'm close," you warned, your voice high and breathless. "I'm so close, don't stop, please don't stop—!"
He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, and then he slid two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot. The combination was too much, and you came with a scream, your thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crashed over you.
He worked you through it, his tongue gentling but not stopping, drawing out every last tremor of your orgasm until you were boneless and gasping. When he finally pulled back, his muzzle was wet with your arousal, and the sight of him—this beautiful, perfect man looking at you like you were his entire world—made your heart stutter.
"Come here," you said, your voice shaky, and he crawled up your body, settling over you. You pulled him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and it was filthy and perfect and everything you'd ever wanted.
"I need you," you said against his lips, your hand sliding down between your bodies to wrap around his cock. He was hard and hot in your hand, already leaking, and when you stroked him, he groaned, his hips bucking into your touch.
"Fuck, Y/N," he gasped. "If you keep doing that, this is going to be over way too fast."
"Then get inside me," you said, guiding him to your entrance. "I need to feel you, Azzy. Need you to fill me up."
He reached over to your nightstand with shaking hands, fumbling the drawer open. "Condom," he managed. "Need a—"
"Top drawer," you said, and he grabbed one, tearing it open with his teeth. You watched as he rolled it on, your mouth going dry at the sight of him—so hard, so ready for you.
He settled between your legs again, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you both groaned at the contact. "Tell me if it's too much," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Tell me if I need to stop."
"I will," you promised, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Now please, Asriel. I need you. Need you so much."
He pushed forward slowly, carefully, and you gasped at the stretch. He was big—bigger than his fingers had prepared you for—and the burn of it made you hiss.
"Okay?" he asked, pausing when he was only a few inches in, his whole body trembling with the effort of restraint.
"Yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Keep going. I can take it. I want all of you."
He pushed in further, inch by torturous inch, and you felt yourself stretching around him, accommodating his size. The burn gradually gave way to pleasure, to a fullness that felt perfect and right.
"Almost there," he breathed, his forehead pressed against yours. "You're doing so good, baby. Taking me so well."
With one final push, he was fully seated inside you, and you both groaned at the sensation. He stayed still, letting you adjust, and you could feel him everywhere—filling you completely, his body pressed against yours, his breath hot against your neck.
"You feel incredible," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "So tight, so perfect. Like you were made for me."
"Move," you urged, rolling your hips experimentally. The sensation made you both moan. "Please, Azzy, I need you to move."
He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, and then thrust forward, and the pleasure was so intense you saw stars. He set a steady rhythm, deep and thorough, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you.
"God, Y/N," he groaned, his face buried in your neck. "You feel so good. So fucking good."
You wrapped your legs tighter around him, changing the angle, and he went even deeper, making you cry out. Your hands roamed over his back, feeling his muscles flex and shift under the soft fur, feeling the way his body moved against yours.
"Harder," you gasped, your nails raking down his back. "I need more, Asriel. Need you to fuck me harder."
He groaned at your words, his hips snapping forward with more force. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. He was relentless, driving into you with a desperation that matched your own.
"Like this?" he asked, his voice rough. "Is this what you need?"
"Yes," you cried out, your head thrown back. "Yes, just like that, don't stop—"
He shifted, sitting back on his heels and pulling you with him, and suddenly you were in his lap, straddling him. The new position made him go even deeper, and you both groaned at the sensation.
"Ride me," he commanded, his hands gripping your hips. "Want to watch you take what you want."
You braced your hands on his shoulders and started to move, lifting yourself up and sinking back down onto him. The new angle was incredible, hitting different spots, and you could feel every inch of him as you moved.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his eyes locked on where your bodies joined. "Look at you, taking my cock so well. So beautiful like this."
His hands roamed over your body—your breasts, your waist, your ass—touching you everywhere he could reach. When his thumb found your clit, circling it in time with your movements, you cried out, your rhythm faltering.
"That's it," he encouraged, his other hand guiding your hips. "Use me, baby. Take it, I know you can."
You rode him harder, faster, chasing the pleasure building in your core. Your hands found his horns again, gripping them for leverage, and he groaned, his hips bucking up to meet yours.
"Touch yourself," he said, his voice rough with need. "Want to feel you come around my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me."
You slid one hand down between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit, and the added stimulation made you moan. You were so close, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.
"Asriel," you gasped, your movements becoming erratic. "I'm close, I'm so close—"
"Come for me," he commanded, his hips driving up into you harder. "Let me feel it, Y/N. Come on my cock."
His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a scream, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening, and he thrust up into you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were shaking and gasping.
Before you could fully come down, he was moving, flipping you onto your back and driving into you again. You were oversensitive, every nerve ending on fire, and the pleasure bordered on too much.
"One more," he said, his voice strained. "Give me one more, baby. I know you can."
He hooked your leg over his shoulder, changing the angle again, and the new position made him hit that spot inside you with every thrust. His hand found your clit again, rubbing tight circles, and you felt another orgasm building impossibly fast.
"I can't," you gasped, even as your body proved you wrong. "It's too much, I can't—"
"Yes, you can," he said, his thrusts becoming harder, more desperate. "You're so perfect, taking me so well. Come for me again, Y/N. Let me feel you."
The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless pleasure was too much. You came again, harder this time, your body arching off the bed as you screamed his name. Your vision went white, pleasure consuming you completely.
"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his rhythm faltering. "I'm—I'm gonna—"
"Come for me," you gasped, your other leg wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Want to feel you come, Azzy. Want to do it together."
With a final, deep thrust, he came with a deep, animalistic groan, burying himself inside you as his orgasm crashed over him. You felt him pulsing inside you, felt the way his whole body shuddered, and you held him through it, your hands stroking his back, his ears, gentling him as he came down.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, your bodies slick with sweat. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, could feel the way he was still trembling slightly.
"Holy fuck," he breathed after a moment, his face buried in your neck. "That was—"
"Yeah," you agreed, your hands still stroking his back. "It really was."
He lifted his head to look at you, and his expression was so tender, so full of love, that it made your chest ache. "I love you," he said, pressing soft kisses to your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. "I love you so much, Y/N."
"I love you too," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "So much, Asriel."
He pulled out carefully, and you both winced at the sensitivity. He disposed of the condom and then was back, pulling you into his arms, arranging you so your head was on his chest, your leg thrown over his.
You lay there in comfortable silence, your fingers tracing idle patterns in his fur, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. His hand stroked your back, his touch gentle and soothing, and you felt more content than you had in years.
"That was incredible," he said after a while, his voice soft. "You're incredible."
"So are you," you said, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I can't believe we waited so long to do that."
"We were stupid," he agreed, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "But we're making up for lost time now."
"Mmm," you hummed in agreement, your eyes fighting to stay open. "We definitely are."
You held each other as you came down, both of you breathing hard, your bodies slick with sweat. Asriel pressed soft kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders, and you ran your hands over his back, savoring the closeness.
"I love you," he murmured against your skin. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "So much, Asriel."
"Stay," you said softly. "Don't go back to your parents' house tonight. Stay here with me."
"I wasn't planning on going anywhere," he assured you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
You smiled, snuggling closer to him. Outside, the night was quiet, the world narrowed down to just the two of you and this perfect moment.
"What happens now?" you asked after a while. "You're only home for a month."
"I don't know," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out. Maybe I can come home more often. Maybe you can visit me at school. Maybe..." He paused, seeming to gather his courage. "Maybe after I graduate, I could come back here. For good."
You pulled back to look at him, your eyes wide. "Really? You'd do that?"
"For you? Yeah. I would." He cupped your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I meant what I said earlier. I love you, Y/N. I want to build a life with you. And if that means coming back to Hometown, then that's what I'll do."
Tears pricked your eyes, and you kissed him, pouring all your love and gratitude into it. "We'll figure it out," you said when you pulled back. "Together."
"Together," he agreed.
You settled back into his arms, and as you drifted off to sleep, you felt more hopeful about the future than you had in years. Asriel was here, he loved you, and whatever challenges lay ahead, you'd face them together.
hello! i don’t know if you take requests, but I’ve just finished reading your toji fic and I don’t think I can ever recover.. your writing is insanely good, it made me want to request something! you can always ignore this lol.
reader sitting on toji’s lap, hands tied up and back facing him as he *roughly* fingers her and plays with her nipples, chest in general? maybe with nipple clamps and overstim? later on he lays her on the bed and sucks on her tits like lollipops and also a lot of kissing (saliva in general lolol) w him giving her head, groping her tits and tugging at the clamps and maybe full Nelson if you can!! I love ur way of describing! thank u for ur time and sorry if this request was offensive it wasn’t my intention! 🙏🏼💕
OOOO THIS WILL BE FUN TO WRITEEE!!! I’m glad you liked my Toji fic, it means a lot to me. 🫶
My requests will always be open unless I explicitly state otherwise, so don’t worry! :)
I’ll make sure to get to this as soon as possible! However, I have to make one other request before this one, so I hope you don’t mind!
And trust me, this isn’t at all offensive! I’m actually glad you requested it because I was genuinely stuck on what I would write next. 😓
I’ll likely post it on Thursday or Friday! Thanks for requesting!
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