Kori

💕I'm Kori!!! 18+ NB (AFAB) Pan💕 NSFW heavy (also kinks/fetishes) "boy toy ride me like an Uber, boy toy suck me like a hoover" Multi-fandom 🥹💖

[kschlatt1998]

Hiii!!! I'm Kori!!

💕21💕

💕he/they/zim/gir💕Pan & NB💕

💖Type one diabetic💖

THIS ACCOUNT IS STRICTLY 18+

💖He is mine and I am his. THAT IS ALL. I WILL BARK OVER THAT BEAR MAN RAAAAAA💖

I've been very fixated on JSchlatt recently (if you couldn't tell), but I also enjoy shows and anime like Supernatural, Death Note, Beastars etc.

More of them can be found in the tags in this post 💕💕💕

Please remember to be kind to me, and others pages when viewing. Thank you for taking the time to read 🥹💖

[sceptixfakemon]

for this pride month we gotta headcanon more weird ass characters as transmasc. get out boring twinks welcome in weirdos. midra from elden ring is transmasc. roadhog from overwatch is transmasc. the stand user electrical pylon from jojo is transmasc. the wild animal warning road sign is transmasc. you agree

[kschlatt1998]

The concept of transmasc Light Yagami 🫣

[kingsillysmilez]

We stand for the flag !

[schlattschlut]

he’s needy - Schlatt smut

absolutely no plot, just smut.

Cw: smut, foot stuff (kinda), dry humping adjacent, sub!schlatt, not proof read

It’s late, probably nearing midnight now as you and Schlatt lounged on the couch in the living room; the only light being the flicker of whatever movie Schlatt had turned on in front of you.

Your legs are over his lap, one of his hands resting on your thigh as the other slides up and down your calf absentmindedly.

You shift slightly, just trying to get yourself settled a bit more as you stared at the tv screen. But your head whips towards Schlatt when you feel the tell tale signs of something pressed against the back of your calf.

“Schlatt?” You tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut it.” He mumbles, squeezing your thigh in a silently plea to get you to not tease him like this.

“My legs being in your lap is doing something for ya?” You respond, shifting your leg slightly to feel him again.

“N-no…” He mutters softly, praying the room is dark enough for you to miss the pink tint forming on his cheeks. “Just watch the movie.”

You laugh as he huffs, trying to settle back without brushing against you again. Though that fails and he suppresses a whine. An idea slips into your head, you’re not sure how he’d react. He may just push you away. But it was in your head now and you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

One of your legs slides up, bending slowly until it’s resting over his hardening length.

“Baby…” He mumbles, hissing as you lower your heel against the soft flesh. “What’re you doing?”

You just smile at him, pressing your heel a bit firmer; listening to the way he mewls under you.

Your foot starts to rock back and forth, pressing into his cock while sliding up and down it.

“F-fuck. please-“ He gasps, his hips jutting towards your foot, his hand grabbing at your ankles to keep you from pulling away.

His face is flushed entirely now, his chest heaving as he tried to keep himself grounded. But your other foot moved, this time pressing his balls into the cushions below him and he cries out, his eyes rolling back as he’s overwhelmed with pleasure. “Keep going.” He whimpers, not even trying to hide the desperation.

You press harder again, feeling him twitch against you as his hips chased the pleasure he was getting from your touch.

His nails dig into your ankle, pleas and soft moans fall from his mouth repeatedly as his head falls back against the couch and his eyes squeezed shut. He tries to say something, but your heel slides against his tip and all bets are off. His body shaking as he squeezes your leg and mutters thank yous over and over again.

He holds you there as he catches his breath, his release dampens the front of his shorts and you feel the warmth against your foot.

He finally lets go and you move away, standing up from the couch; planting a kiss to his forehead. “Such a little freak.” You murmur, acting as if you didn’t enjoy it just as much as he did.

[witchsamlizzie]

WET LEON

[thelonewolfdreamer]

My bad guys I squirted on him 😔 #SORRYNOTSORRY

[kschlatt1998]

Oh my God same 🫣

[thelonewolfdreamer]

Now we are both being punished

𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧

My writing masterlist

𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧

Pairings : husband!dad!Leon! x wife!reader

𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧𖦹🍀୭˚. ᵎᵎ｡🧷𖦹°‧

genre : comedy funny banter, romance? fluff

wc: 2k

Summary — Seeing his daughter stand in the corner with the world’s most dramatic pout on her face, Leon’s heart instantly melted beneath his ribs. Naturally, he decided to take matters into his own hands and convince her mother; his wife, aka you to let her go.

But, things didn’t exactly go according to plan, because somehow the DSO agent himself ended up standing in the corner right beside his daughter… with fifteen extra minutes added onto his punishment for “interfering.”

Yet as you watched your husband and daughter quietly giggling together while supposedly being punished, warmth spread through your chest despite yourself, and in that moment, you realized your family was absolutely adorable and ridiculously yours.

note : the idea is inspired from reels that has been going around where "daughter is being punished" and dad comes to her rescue just to get the same punishment too xD

“Fiiiiine,” Luna dragged the word dramatically, the pout on her tiny face growing bigger as she stomped her little feet all the way toward the corner of the living room while clutching her teddy bear tightly against her chest like she had been sentenced to prison instead of a timeout. As she finally reached the corner she stood there dramatically facing the wall.

you had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. Like cmon’ who can resist those red puffy cheeks, formed in dramatic pout. You absolutely could not.

She looked adorable.

And your heart instantly squeezed painfully beneath your ribs from how much you loved her.

But no. Nope. No. Absolutely not.

This adorable menance child had been told at least seven times not to draw on the walls, and yet somehow the living room currently had a giant crayon drawing stretched across it anyway.

The funny part? The drawing looked suspiciously familiar. You sighed deeply and crouched near the wall with a wet duster in your hand, beginning to wipe away Luna’s latest act of artistic rebellion.

“She is exactly like her father,” you muttered under your breath, as you started to rub the walls with the duster.

Right on cue; as if Leon across the city heard his daughter getting punished, he came home.

The floorboards creaked softly behind you, and before he even spoke, you already knew Leon was home. Then came his voice “Hey, honey—” Warm and smooth that slipped straight past every barrier around your heart, making something deep in your chest squeeze painfully with familiar warmth.

“DADDY!” Luna gasped dramatically from the living room corner like a victim finally seeing her rescue arrive.

You immediately pointed the duster toward Luna without turning around. “Nope. Stay there.”

Luna groans immediately and before you could form any other sentence; Leon walked fully into the living room looking completely confused, car keys still dangling from his fingers. “Wow, okay… what exactly is happening here?”

You continued scrubbing the wall without turning to look at your husband. “Your daughter is being punished.”

“Honey, our daughter,” Leon corrected automatically.

You snorted instantly. “Not today, today she is your daughter.” you dramatically emphasised the word “Your”.

Leon blinked once and twice; then you stopped wiping the wall and turned slightly to look at him; and you realize he looked ridiculously good for a man who was out in danger; his blue eyes were locked on yours as he gave you a biggest grin before looking toward Luna who was standing sadly in the corner hugging her teddy.

And the moment Leon’s eyes landed on his daughter, you instantly knew you were doomed. His entire expression softened almost immediately, blue eyes melting with warmth as he looked at her standing dramatically in the corner. Leon Scott Kennedy had absolutely no resistance when it came to his daughter as he pocketed his keys. “Aw, c’mon,” he complained softly pushing the keys deeper inside his pocket, “Why’s she in the corner?”

“Because,” you replied slowly, turning your attention back towards the wall as you start wiping it again but god the stains were as stubborn as your husband; “someone decided the living room needed redecorating.”

Leon frowned slightly before his eyes drifted toward the wall. His brows narrowed at the scene but as he took in the drawing and all he could mutter was, “…Oh.”

The wall was covered with giant crayon drawings stretched messily across the paint. Basically there was a stick figure who had blond hair, and in his hand a very large gun; and big sunglasses on him covering his eyes; oh she also added a stupid grin that your husband always wore.

Exactly that was your husband; drawn by your six year daughter.

Leon stared at the drawing for a second too long before his shoulders suddenly twitched, and then he started laughing almost instantly.

“Oh, this is—” he exclaimed excitedly, clearly far too impressed by the situation.

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

Leon looked at you innocently. “I didn’t even finish my sentence.”

“Don’t you dare help her,” you warned, pointing the duster at him with exaggerated strictness despite the smile threatening to betray you.

Luna slowly turned her head from the corner. “Daddy?” she called softly, her tiny voice so pitiful it made your chest ache with sympathy, forcing you to quickly turn your attention back toward the wall before your resolve completely crumbled.

Leon at his daughter's voice walked closer toward her before crouching slightly beside her dramatically. “Yeah, baby?”

“I’m innocent.” Luna complained.

“Mhm, sure” you mutter under your breath.

Leon coughed into his fist to hide his laugh, then whispered toward Luna like he was part of a secret FBI operation. “So, you drew me?”

Luna whispered loudly back, “Yes.” “With your gun and sunglasses.”

Leon voice turned impressed as he pointed toward the wall proudly. “That’s actually kinda—”

“Leon.”

“—detailed,” he finished weakly.

You slowly stood up from the floor holding the wet duster in your hand while staring directly at your husband.

Leon immediately raised his both hands slightly. “Okay, in my defense—”

“There is no defense.” you said.

“She captured me perfectly!” Leon exclaimed.

“She vandalized the wall.”

Leon looked toward Luna again. Luna looked back at him with the saddest expression she could possibly create.

As you see them exchange unsaid words you realized it was absolute manipulation. GOD. These two truly shared the same DNA.

Leon sighed dramatically. “Honey… maybe let her off with a warning?”

You stared at him and scoffed, “You know what?” you said.

Leon immediately knew that tone. “…What?”

“You can stand there too.” you said firmly.

Leon blinked at you in confusion. “What!?”

“You heard me.” you said crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Luna gasped loudly from the corner. “DADDY’S GETTING PUNISHED TOO!?”

Leon pointed at himself in disbelief. “For what!?”

“For interfering.”

“I was negotiating!”

“You were encouraging her!”

“She’s creative!”

“She drew you on the wall!”

Leon looked genuinely touched and smiled turning towards Luna, and speaking proudly “That’s my girl.”

“Corner. Now. Leon. Scott. Kennedy”

Leon stared at you like you had personally betrayed him, but he also knew when you said his full name he was in big; big; trouble.

“That’s insane.” leon scoffed dramatically.

“Nope.”

“This is abuse.”

“You get fifteen minutes.”

“WHAT?!”

Luna giggled from the corner and chirpily said, "Daddy I only got ten!”

Leon placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “This is unfair.”

You raised your brow at leon; “If you want to intervene, then you take the punishment too.”

Luna immediately reached her tiny arms toward him. “Daddy, come here.”

Leon sighed heavily like a man accepting defeat before finally walking toward the corner beside his daughter.

But instead of standing normally and holding her hand; this absolute silly man bent down, and picked Luna up, making her teddy fall onto the floor with a soft thud and slowly leon settled her onto his shoulders.

“Leon!”, you gasped, seeing him picking your daughter.

“What?” he asked innocently while Luna burst into giggles above him, her tiny hands clutching tightly into his blond hair.

“We’re still being punished, mommy,” Luna whispered happily.

“exactly, baby,” Leon whispered back. “But now we are both being punished, the more the merrier.” Leon chuckles grimly, as he says that.

You stared at them quietly in utter disbelief, the two of them standing in the corner. Luna giggling uncontrollably. Leon trying not to laugh at himself.

Both of them acting like the timeout corner was some kind of family bonding experience. While you crouched there again; wiping the rest of the crayon off the wall, occasionally glancing at both of them; and your chest softened painfully at the sight before you.

Your husband standing there with your daughter perched on his shoulders. Her little laughter filled the room.

Leon glances back at you with the tiniest smile tugging at his lips as he mouths; “I love you, honey”, like you surprised him with something precious he always wanted and despite the “punishment." They both were actually happy.

And despite yourself, you shook your head as a quiet laugh slipped past your lips, your heart filling with a kind of warmth and love that felt almost too big to hold inside your chest.

“Fine,” you sighed softly and stood up; turning your attention towards them. “Punishment’s over.”

The second the words left your mouth, Leon grinned triumphantly before lifting Luna off his shoulders and pulling her tightly against his chest, making her burst into happy giggles. Then slowly, the two of them made their way toward you together.

And the moment they reached you, Leon didn’t hesitate. One arm stayed wrapped securely around Luna while the other slid around your waist, pulling you into him effortlessly until all three of you melted together in one tangled embrace. Instantly, Leon’s familiar scent surrounded you, warm woodsy cologne mixed with the lingering cold from outside, so achingly familiar it made your chest tighten.

Luna laughed softly between both of you while her tiny arms wrapped around your shoulders, and Leon rested his chin lightly against the top of your head for just a second. And in that moment, holding both of them close like this, you realized something that settled deep into your soul with absolute certainty.

This was home.

[weskrs-deactivated20260531]

[slattlicker]

Hello, i hope youre having a wonderful day❤️

I would like to humbly request a pegging fic, if thats alright? Do you think the big man would have exerience with it, or would it be a new experience to him?👀

╭﹒✦₊˚ fair is fair ⋆｡°✩ ╮ imagine: four years ago, your husband made a promise in the middle of being very, very horny. tonight, you finally decide to collect. ✦﹒₊ ╰﹒♡₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ┊

✦ written with a gender neutral reader in mind (it's pegging so it's a little femme coded, but nothing is like...explicitly stated/described) ✦ (all are welcome to enjoy ♡)

a/n: okayyy hello my love!! so i really tried to fulfill the request within the confines of how i characterize schlatt, bc i think that he would only do this with someone he super duper trusts?? and even then, it would take a lot of convincing?? lolol also. i need everyone to understand that the mental image of this giant man trying to maintain his dignity while face-down in candlelight fundamentally altered my brain chemistry. so thank you.

warnings: MDNI !! (18+) · established marriage · schlatt and reader have kids · pegging · role reversal · soft dom!reader · prostate stimulation · praise + teasing · multiple orgasms · emotional vulnerability · oral (reader!receiving) · size difference · aftercare · safewords/check-ins · reader and schlatt being disgustingly green flags

(っ˘ω˘ς ) enjoy the emotional support pegging ♡

✧✧✧

You have forty-five minutes between the last bedroom door clicking shut and Schlatt finding you.

In that time, you light every candle — the tall ones on the dresser, the little ones on the windowsill, the tea lights in the ceramic holders you bought at the farmer's market two summers ago and never found a reason to use. You put flowers on the nightstand. You turn the good sheets down and set the vanilla wax melting. You change into the robe and sit on the edge of the bed and try, mostly, to talk yourself out of being nervous.

Because you are nervous. You have been planning this for four years and now that the kids are down and the candles are lit, it's very real and very close and your hands are not entirely steady when you press them flat on your thighs.

You want this. That doesn't make it less terrifying.

The door opens at eight twenty-three.

He comes in talking — something about what the little one said during the last book, one hand already working the top button of his flannel — and stops mid-sentence the second he registers the room.

"Oh," he says.

"Hi handsome."

He takes in the room, slow. The flannel is half-unbuttoned at the collar, his hair pushed back from his face, and he'd originally had a tired look that he only allows to show around you, which has quickly turned into surprise and adoration. He steps fully through the door and kicks it shut behind him (quietly, as to not wake the kids).

"Hey," he says, differently.

"Hi," you say again, and your voice comes out exactly as nervous as you feel, which you did not plan.

His head tilts. "You good?"

"Yes. Come here."

You hold out your hand to him, and he eagerly takes it, dropping onto the bed beside you with a creak of the mattress — he's a lot of weight — and his other hand goes to your knee automatically, warm and familiar. His eyes lingering on all his favorite features on his favorite person, the way a child would subconsiously rub at the velvet ears of their comfort plushie.

"What do you want tonight?" he asks.

"A good night with you," you say. You turn toward him. "And there are things you've been bringing up. That I keep saying maybe to."

The shift in him is immediate. "Yeah? Is there…anything in particular?"

"Well, we haven't done anal in a while."

The sound that comes out is embarrassingly eager, but he tries his best to stop himself. He clears his throat. "Yeah. Obviously. That's great, finally, it's been months." He stops trying to be cool about it. "Okay, yes. Tonight. You're not gonna regret this. I'm gonna take my time, do it right. I've been thinking about it, sweetheart, you have no idea. The things I'm gonna do to you, you're going to be absolutely wrecked—"

"You're going to feel every bit of it," you say.

"That's the whole plan—"

"Every single bit," you say. "You especially."

He stops. He's still smiling, but his eyebrows are furrowing in confusion. "...Meaning."

"Do you remember about four years ago? Right before the first time we ever tried it? The conversation we had?"

"Sure," he says. He sounds a lot like he doesn't actually remember.

"What do you remember about it?"

He thinks. "You said yes?"

"And I said something else first."

He thinks harder. "You said to go slow?"

"Before that."

He stares at you. His hand is still on your knee but it has gone very still. His eyes drift to the middle distance, and you watch him try to pull it up in his mind's eye, and watch the memory take shape , and watch him not love it.

"I said, whatever I let you do to me, I get to do to you."

Silence.

"And you said," you continue, "'anything, whatever you want, sure, yes, all of it, please just say yes, baby, I really wanna fuck you in the ass.'"

He opens his mouth.

"Whattttttt….no. No, but I-I was excited," he explains. He stands up. He takes two steps away from the bed and turns back around and looks at you. "I was genuinely — you know how much I like it. It's a thing for me. A significant thing. If you had told me right then that the condition was I had to wrestle a bear, I would have agreed. Immediately. And then thought about how to deal with the bear situation later."

"But you didn't think about it later."

He looks at the ceiling. He looks at you. "No," he says, reluctantly. "I did not."

"So."

He runs a hand through his hair. "So you've been sitting on this promise I made for this long?"

"Waiting for the right time."

He looks around the room — the candles, the flowers — and back at you. "The right time," he repeats.

"With the right setup," you say. You stand up and cross to him and put your hand flat on his chest and tilt your chin up to look at him. He's very tall from this close, always has been. "I want to do this with you. And before you start listing reasons—"

"I have several."

You kiss him.

He makes a muffled sound of protest that lasts approximately one second before his hands find your waist and he kisses you back, and he tastes familiar and warm and when you press into him you feel exactly how into this he still is despite everything. He pulls you closer and the kiss goes longer and deeper, one hand coming up to the back of your neck, a low hum in the back of his throat at how fulfilling it is to kiss you like this after a busy couple of weeks with having no sex at all.

When you finally pull back, you're both a little breathless. He's looking down at you.

"…I have conditions," he says, quieter now.

"Name them and it's yours."

"You stop when I say. No questions."

"Of course, baby."

"You don't bring it up after unless I bring it up."

"Easy."

"And." He's looking at your face, searching for the right words. "If it's too much for you, or you end up not being as into it, be honest and tell me and we can stop and re-think our night."

"It won't be too much," you say. "But I will let you know. You let me know, too. I want this to be fun for both of us."

He breathes out. He looks at the room, all of it, the care you put into it, and something in him decides.

"Okay," he says. "Yeah. Alright."

You break into a pleased grin.

"Don't," he says.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You have a look," he says, starting to unbutton the rest of his flannel. "You've had it this whole time."

"What does it mean?"

He drops the flannel somewhere. He points at you. "It's just weird for you to be this excited for something that I'm…not. And I don't like it." He's still half-grumbling when he says, "That robe…needs to come off, honey."

You stand, reaching for the tie.

He watches. He stops getting undressed entirely, fingers stopping just under the waistband of his pants. He decides to sit watch the show, and you smile as you pull the tie loose and let the robe slip down. His eyes go to the lingerie first — the lace, the way it sits against your chest and stomach — and then down.

And then stop.

The harness sits over the lace as if it was a part of it. Black straps, adjusted and fitted, the ring at the front empty and waiting.

He's very still.

"That," he says, pointing again. "That's a harness."

"It is."

He looks at it. He looks at you. He looks at the harness. He puts his hands on his hips. He is doing an enormous amount of processing.

"…You sure we have to do this?"

"We don't have to do this. You're allowed to say no, Schlatt."

"But you seem so…into this idea. That look on your face is so…you're looking at me like…"

"Like I want you? Because I do."

You step closer. He's sitting and you're standing and from this angle you're looking down at him, and his hands find your hips when you come into range, automatic, pulling you in between his knees. He's looking up at you with an expression you don't have a name for, something between his usual and something rawer underneath it.

"I've never had anything back there," he says. "Not once."

"I know."

"Not ever."

"I know." You put your hand on his jaw, and he leans into it slightly without meaning to. "I hadn't either. You were my first time. You remember?"

His jaw tightens under your hand.

"You talked me through the whole thing," you say. "You went so slow. You kept checking in." You hold his gaze. "I know what it's like to be scared of something and do it anyway because you trust someone." Your thumb moves against his cheek. "Trust me."

He's quiet for a long moment. He looks at you.

"Okay," he says, and this time it's a real yes — not resigned, not talked into it. Just him, choosing.

You kiss him again, slower, and he makes a low sound into it and pulls you closer and you feel the specificity of the comforting weight of your marriage — the particular way he kisses you with such devotion, the way his hands hold you with such familiarity, the exhale when he finally lets the tension go.

When you pull back, he drops his head to your stomach. You run your hand through his hair.

"You're going to be fine," you tell him.

"I know," he mutters. "I'm fine. I'm gonna be completely fine." A beat. "I'm a little scared."

"I know." You press your mouth to the top of his head. "Come on."

He gets himself sorted — goes to the bathroom to throw some water in his face, takes off the rest of his clothes when he's back — while you get what you need from the nightstand. He settles face-down on the bed, forearms under the pillow, head to the side, and you sit beside him.

You have never seen him like this before. He almost looks like he's about to go to sleep, but there's a tension that's making his back arch with a bit of purpose.

Eight years of being married to the big guy, and you have never seen him face-down and waiting, taking up most of the width of the mattress with his shoulders, his back long and solid and entirely exposed. He looks different. Larger in some ways and much more fragile in others, and something about that combination makes your chest do something complicated. You're nervous. You're excited. You want to do this right so badly that your hands are still not entirely steady.

You reach over and give his ass a firm smack.

He makes an indignant noise. "What the hell?"

"Sorry," you say, not sorry. "It was right there. And your butt is so big, Schlatt. Not half as big as your head, but…"

He cranes around to look at you. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"Occupational hazard of being married." You school your expression. He narrows his eyes.

"I'm in a very vulnerable position, love," he says pointedly.

"I'm aware, love. I'm taking this very seriously."

"That was not serious."

"That was affection," you say. "Settle down, grumpy pants."

He mutters something into the pillow and puts his head back down, and you press your lips together to hold in the smile and get yourself together. You're generous with the lube as your spread his cheeks — more than you think you need — and when the cap clicks he flinches.

"Baby!"

"I haven't put anything in yet! Calm down, you big baby…okay. I'm gonna get you warmed up now, okay?"

"Warmed up?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna use my fingers for a bit. You didn't think I'd put a cock inside you with no prep, did you?"

"Obviously," he says, obviously lying, and then you press against his hole, barely — just the outside, just warm pressure, nothing more — and he says "OKAY" very loudly into the pillow.

You pause. "I haven't even gotten inside you yet, baby."

"I KNOW THAT," he says, also very loudly, into the pillow. "I know you haven't done anything. I'm just. Very aware of the situation. Can you give me a second."

"Take your time."

He breathes. Loud, deliberate, I-am-handling-this breathing. His shoulders come down from around his ears. You keep your hand warm on his lower back, and you find that something about this angle — him under your hands, the span of his shoulders dwarfing your reach, the specific vulnerability underneath the tension — is making the butterflies in your stomach fly a little lower.

"Okay," he says, more quietly. "Okay. Go."

One finger, slow.

He grips the sheets. "Alright. Yeah. Okay."

"Good?" you manage.

"It's weird," he says, and at least he sounds human again. "It's a lot of…pressure? Is it supposed to feel like that?"

"Does it hurt?"

"No?"

"Good. Then yes, it's supposed to feel like that. A little weird, a bit of pressure and fullness…"

"Okay." He breathes. "Keep going."

You move slowly, watching the way his back rises and falls, the way his shoulders shift. He makes small whimpering sounds, breathy exhales and shaky inhales and you find that you are paying attention to every single one in a way that you didn't entirely anticipate. You were prepared to focus on him. You weren't prepared for how much you would feel watching it.

You ask about a second finger.

"Yeah," he says, after a pause that tells you he needed a second to decide. "Yeah. Use more."

You use one more. He hisses sharply when you add it, his hand slamming flat on the mattress, and the sound of it makes your stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with concern.

"Holy shit," he says, involuntarily. Then: "Okay. Okay. That's a lot."

"You're doing so well," you say, and mean it, and feel faintly ridiculous for how warm it makes you.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm just lying here." He breaks off when you move, slow, and makes a sound that is considerably less managed than the ones before. "Okay. Okay, that's actually fine. A little…yeah..."

You try a different angle. He breaks out in a broken gasp.

"Holy…"

"Oh…" you moan. You go back to that spot, tapping it, and he twitches, his gasps higher-pitched and deliciously needy.

His whole body jolts. The sound he makes is sharp and surprised and nothing like anything before, and his hips press hard into the mattress.

"What the hell was that," he says, into the pillow. He sounds genuinely unmoored. "I felt that everywhere."

"I found something," you say, with more composure than you feel, because your heart rate has absolutely spiked.

"What? What did you find?"

"Your P-spot, or whatever. Your prostate. That you've got."

"What spot? What does that even—"

You do it again. His leg kicks out like a reflex.

"Oh my god," he says. "What is that, how are you doing that, do it again—"

"Yeah?"

"Yes, do it again, exactly like that—" He goes quiet when you do. The sound he makes is so rough and broken that it turns over something hot in your chest. "What is that," he says, almost to himself. "Why does that feel like that?"

"Just feel it," you say, because you don't have a better answer.

"B-Baby…fuck…"

You keep going. You work him slowly and watch him come apart — his hips moving against the mattress in small circles he's stopped trying to control, his knuckles white in the sheets, his words dissolving. He's stopped talking in sentences. He's stopped being able to.

"You look so good right now," you tell him, because it's true and you want to say it. "Going to pieces for me like this. You're fucking melting for me, aren't you, honey. I bet you can't even hear me you're feeling so good."

He makes a whimpering sound of acknowledgement — like he can hear you, but "hates" your teasing.

"All that attitude," you say, "and look at you now. You gonna cum for me?"

"I don't know— It doesn't feel like it normally does— Fuck, am I…shit—"

He cries out a muffled and urgent whine into the pillow, and then the tension in him crests and breaks and releases in a long slow wave, and he makes a sound you will never forget — low and wrecked and long.

You keep your fingers curled, but still your movements,

After a long moment: "Holy shit, did I just ruin these sheets?" His voice has gone completely scratchy and ragged. He clears his throat as best he can, lifting his hips a bit with some effort.

"Nope!" you say, running a hand underneath him.

He checks. "I didn't cum?"

"You didn't ejaculate," you correct. "You can have an orgasm without spilling any cum, even if you are definitely stickier than before…it's not as much as you usually cum, no."

Silence.

"I didn't know that could happen," he says simply, a bit in awe.

"It's real, baby."

"I thought that was something people made up. But now…it felt different. Like it was going through my whole body."

"It's very real and sexy as fuck."

"Huh," he chuckles a bit under his breath. "Okay. Maybe…we take a break?"

"Of course."

"How about you, love? Are you…is this doing anything for you?"

"Um. Yes? Absolutely. Why wouldn't I be turned on all the way up to 100 right now?"

"Are you serious? Come here," he says, quieter. His hand reaches for you.

You take his hand and let him pull you in. When you're close enough, he opens the pushes open the fabric of the untied robe, and underneath is the harness and the lingerie and nothing else, and you watch his expression do several things very quickly as he pushes past the leather to find you.

His hand moves to the inside of the fabric. His eyes close for half a second.

"Fucking really? "

"I told you…seeing you like that because of me? It's hot…"

"How about we hit pause on all this and lemme take care of you real quick?"

"No," you say immediately, forcing yourself to have no hesitation, lest you give into temptation.

"What? I'm just going to—"

"J." You catch his wrist, firm. "We're not done yet. I know you, and as much as I'd like to match orgasms with you, I have a goal, and I'm not going to let you pussyfoot around it."

"That is not fair though, babe."

"I know it isn't. Later. I promise."

He stares at you. "You're seriously going to make me wait to have a taste of you?"

"Yes, I am. I am putting off my well-deserved orgasms because of how badly I want to have you under me, taking my cock." You look at him steadily. "Okay?"

He laughs at your resoluteness, sighing and putting his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Okay. Fine."

You get up to get the toy.

It clicks into the ring of the harness — the toy you picked carefully, realistic, made to match your skin, proportioned right. Nothing that should be considered intimidating to anyone but a virgin. You straighten up and Schlatt has been watching you, and when you look at him he's sitting on the edge of the bed and his expression has done something new.

He looks at the toy. He looks at you wearing it. He swings his legs off the bed and stands, and crosses the room toward you — all six-foot-three of him, which at close range is always a fact — and then, without explanation, he sinks to his knees in front of you.

Your brain stutters.

He's at your hip level from the floor. He looks at the toy and then at your face and then at the toy, and you have no idea what he's about to do, and then he puts his hand on your hip and turns his face to press his mouth to your inner thigh, hot and open, and you make a sound before you can stop it.

"Okay," you breathe.

He mouths at your thigh for a moment — his grip on your hip firm, keeping you still — and then he pulls back and looks at the toy and looks at you, and there's something in his face that's curious and a little helpless and very warm.

He takes the base in one hand to keep it steady.

"J," you say.

"What."

"You don't have to—"

"I really…need to taste you, babe," he says, and puts the strap in his mouth.

You stop breathing.

He takes his time with it. He's figured out the angle and the grip and he's looking up at you from under his lashes while he does it, and you are watching your partner — your husband who has never done this in their life, and to your knowledge, never sucked dick — give the strap actual, genuine attention, and you are not remotely prepared for how the visual of it attacks your psyche and shoots down your spine. Your hand goes to his hair, gripping, and he moans around it — low and vibrating — and your hips move forward involuntarily.

"God," you manage. "Suck my cock, baby…"

He pulls back to breathe, and his grip on your hip tightens, and he goes back in and you press your hand harder in his hair and feel him hum. He works at it with a focus that suggests he has stopped thinking about the fact that this strap is not really your cock. To him, it's all you, and he's somehow convincing you, too. He's figured out a rhythm. His eyes are closed now, and your hand is tight in his hair, and the room is warm and candlelit and this is happening, this is really happening.

He pulls off slowly. Looks up at you. His mouth is red and his hair is a mess where you've been gripping it and he looks exactly like that looks.

"Did you actually enjoy that?" you ask, a little hoarse.

"More than I expected to," he says, like it surprises him. He stands, unfolding to his full height, and the toy is at his thigh from up here, which is its own kind of reminder of exactly how big he is. "I wish you could feel it like how I feel it when you've done me."

"So do I," you say, with a feeling that is very sincere.

He exhales. His hand is still on your hip. He drops his forehead to yours, briefly, and you both stand there for a moment in the warm room.

"I want to keep going," he says.

"Yeah? You think you're ready?"

"Yeah," he says, with a little more confidence he had thirty minutes ago. "Come on. Let's go."

He gets himself situated — face-down again, forearms under the pillow — and you take a moment to look at him from this angle: broad shoulders, long back, his hips in front of you. Your hands on him are small. Your reach across his back is limited. You are going to have to be up on your knees behind him and the difference in scale will be obvious, and something about that makes you feel something bright and hot and certain.

"I'm going to start here," you tell him, getting positioned, "and I'm going to want to flip you over at some point. Different angle."

"What angle."

"You'll find out." You lean forward to his ear. "You look so good," you tell him, low. "I've been wanting this for so long."

His breath hitches.

You get more lube — the right amount, which is, more than probably necessary — and you circle the tip of the toy against him without pushing, just letting him feel the shape of it, the size. He goes still, and you can almost feel his pupils dilating.

"How does that feel?" you ask.

"Nerve-wracking," he says.

"Just the outside," you say. "Just teasing you a bit, honey."

"I don't want you to tease me, baby…I—I want you."

You try to ignore the hot streak of lust that pulses through you at those words. You grip him by the hips tighter, using your thumb to move the fat of his cheeks out of the way.

"Deep breath."

He breathes. His back expands and contracts. You press forward, barely — just the tip, just inside the first resistance — and he makes a sharp, helpless sound and his hand grips the mattress.

"Slow," he says. "I'm serious. Slow."

"I've got you," you say. "I'm not moving."

He breathes through it. You stay still. You wait him out with your hand warm on his lower back, and after a moment the bracing in his shoulders slowly, slowly eases.

"Okay," he says. "More."

You go slow. Each inch deliberate, pausing when he needs it, watching his back for every tell. He's loud — not screaming, but he's stopped pretending he's not making noise. Hissed exhales. Quiet curses. Once, a low and involuntary "oh fuck me" that he doesn't acknowledge and you don't comment on.

When you're all the way in, you stop.

"Color," you say, because this warrants it.

"Yellow," he says immediately. "Give me a second."

You hold completely still. Your hand moves slow on his spine.

"I've got you," you say. "Take your time."

He breathes. The tension in his legs comes down. "Okay," he says. "Green. Move. Slow."

You move. The sounds he makes go from strained to something different — lower, rougher, less about getting through something and more about slipping into the pleasure of it.

His grip in the sheets loosens and retightens. You find an angle that makes him press his face harder into the pillow, unable to do anything but moan and whine, and you stay there.

"Going dumb for my cock already?" you ask.

He makes an indignant noise that dissolves into something else when you press deeper.

"Big boy Schlatt with the silver tongue," you say, keeping the rhythm, "can't even form a sentence when he's getting dicked down good."

"I can form sentences just fine," he says, and then you find the angle again and he makes a sound that is the direct opposite of a sentence.

"What a good boy," you say, "when you're not being difficult about it."

He says something muffled and fervent into the pillow that you take as agreement.

You build it. You take your time. You watch his back, his hands, the line of his spine, and you can feel how much of him there is beneath your hands, how small you are relative to all of it, and how completely you have him like this.

"I want you to ask me," you say, easing the pace just slightly. "Before I let you come. If I let you. I want to hear you ask."

He groans. "Are you serious."

"Very."

"I'm not going to—"

"Ask me," you say pleasantly, and find the angle, and stay there.

He makes a short, sharp sound of desperation. His hips push back.

"Ask me," you say again, your hips rolling like a tidal wave.

"Please," he says, rough and raw and nothing like his usual voice. "Please, don't stop, please—"

"Please what," you say. "Specifically."

"Please let me come," he says, his voice cracking on the last word. "Please, I need to come, baby, I'm so fucking close, I just need to— please, please, please—"

"Good boy," you groan. "Cum for me."

He comes loud — genuinely, embarrassingly loud, a long broken groan that he doesn't try to muffle, his back arching hard and his whole body shaking. You hold him with both hands on his hips and keep your pace, only slowing when he holds up a hand and starts snapping — his non-verbal yellow flag.

You slow to a stop, pulling out.

You stay where you are and breathe.

"Holy shit," he says, into the pillow.

"Language," you murmer.

He doesn't even have the energy to talk back.

You ease back, careful, and reach for an extra pillow. "Can I flip you?"

He lifts his head. Looks at you, flushed and wrecked. "More? Oh my god, babe. I don't know."

"Come on, please? I had to wait so long to fuck you and you think I want to end the night with you having only two orgasms?"

"Only two of the most earth-shattering orgasms that I've ever had in my goddamned life?"

"But I really wanna give you at least one more. With a different angle that will be even better than what I've already given you, handsome. I think this one's going to be even better."

He holds your gaze for a moment, reading you. He sighs, nodding.

You tuck the pillow under his hips when he rolls over, tilting his pelvis up slightly, and you kneel between his legs. From here, the geometry is specific: you're smaller than him in every dimension, his legs are long and flank your sides, and to lean over him you have to angle your whole body forward. His face is far above your eye level. He's looking down his own chest at you. You're looking up at him.

His arm is resting at his side and you take it, curling your fingers with his — your weight behind it, pinning him — and reach between you with your other hand.

He's hard, of course. Fully, completely, heavy and warm when you wrap your fingers around him, and he makes a grumble from somewhere low in his chest.

"So good for me, baby. Just one more. I just wanted to see your face when I break you this time. So why don't you be so good for me and look at me?"

His eyes meet yours. Dark and needy, dilated and glassy. So cute.

"Hi sweetface," you whsiper.

"Hi," he manages, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade than before. "You gonna fuck me?"

"Already have. Will I do it again? Absolutely. You ready for me?"

"Yeah, think so…"

With that, you push forward, and the angle from here — with the pillow, with the tilt — is completely different, and you feel it in your hips before he reacts, and then he reacts. His mouth opens. His eyes go wide. His whole body goes taut.

"Oh," he says, and stops there, because that's all there is.

"There it is," you say.

You move your hand on his length in rhythm with your hips, and his head drops back and the sound he makes rumbles through the whole room. You work him steady and watch his face — the way it keeps changing, the way his jaw goes slack, the way he keeps looking down at you and his eyes go soft and then lose focus and come back and go soft again.

"That's it, handsome," you say. "Just feel it."

"I'm feeling it," he says, and his voice is barely there. "I'm feeling a lot of you."

"Well you like me. So you must be feeling pretty fucking close, huh? Glad I kept you to your promise?"

He makes a sound that is not a denial.

"You're so cute like this, Schlatt. Trembling and spread open just for me…while I fuck you exactly how you needed."

He shudders, the hand that you have him pinned by tightening around your grip.

You don't stop. You give him everything — steady and warm and focused entirely on him — and you feel the wave build again. His arm under your hand goes tight. His breathing goes ragged and short. He's trying to hold on and you don't make him.

"Come on," you say. "Let me hear you. Don't keep those delicious little moans inside."

And he does come louder than before — a genuine broken cry that he doesn't muffle at all, his whole body locking and then shaking, your name somewhere in the middle of it. His cock spurts in your hands like a small fountain, his cum sticky and thick in your fingers. His hand grips your arm hard. You work him through every second of it, your hand and your hips, until his grip loosens and his body goes heavy and his breath comes in long, unsteady pulls.

You ease off him, moving up beside him.

He doesn't speak. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is deep and heavy, having the specific quality of being on another plane of existence — and you don't panic, you just stay close.

"I'm here, honey," you murmer against him. "Take your time."

You get yourself untangled from the harness while you're beside him, set it aside, and pull the blanket up over both of you. You get water from the nightstand and put it in his hand, and when he doesn't move immediately, you wrap his fingers around it.

"Drink," you say. "You're probably dehydrated as fuck."

He drinks. Slowly.

You stay there with your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow from quick to steady. You talk to him in the quiet — nothing important, just your voice, telling him he did so well, that you've got him, that he can take all the time he needs.

After a while, he says, "I love you."

"I love you too, Schlatt."

His hand finds yours on his chest and holds it.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yeah," he says. More present now. He turns his head and looks at you. Some of him is coming back — the color in his face, the focus in his eyes. He exhales. "That was a lot."

"Good a lot?"

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Don't fish."

"I'm not fishing."

"You're fishing." His thumb moves against the back of your hand. "You were nervous earlier. At the beginning."

"A little."

"You didn't say."

"I didn't want to make it about me," you say.

He looks at you. "It was about both of us," he says. "This whole thing was for both of us." His jaw shifts. "The way you watched me tonight. Knew when to slow down, when to push, when to just stay still."

"…I learned from the best."

"You took really great care of me…so can I finally return the favor?"

You look at him.

"You've been very patient," he says. "And I've been taking up a lot of the evening."

"You have," you agree.

"So." He waits.

You look at him for a moment — your partner, your husband, flushed and soft and looking at you like you're something he wants to take care of — and you nod.

Schlatt is infuriatingly good at getting you off. At some point in the night, you had totally forgotten about your own desire and would have been fulfilled with everything you were able to achieve. Lord knows that he does a lot of the work already when it comes to working in the bedroom. But, contrary to what people might say…marriage is not 50/50. It is 100/100, and even through his exhaustion, your sweet husband pushes through to try and bring even a fraction of the pleasure you've worked to give him tonight by manhandling you against his thigh.

His hands are large — large enough that the span of one covers significant ground — and he kisses at your face and neck and chest while he works you up, greedily grabbing at your hips and the fat of your ass, forcing you to grind and bump against his wide thigh at the pace he wants you to go, and at one point, you find you're making sounds that are a lot like the sounds he was making twenty minutes ago.

"Color," he says, as you're moments from reaching your precipice, dry as anything.

"Shut up," you say, breathless, putting your hand against his mouth as you grind yourself to climax. He laughs under your hand, kissing your palm as he watches you melt into whimpers and satisfied moans.

You stay tangled together in the warm room. The candles have burned low. The vanilla is still there, constant. Somewhere down the hall, your daughter is probably kicking in her sleep. Your son will be up at seven wanting a hot breakfast all ready for him. There are a hundred things tomorrow.

Tonight though, it's just you two.

"Fair is fair," you say.

His chest rises under your cheek in a huff. His hand moves slow on your back.

"Fair is fair," he says, and holds you while the candles burn down.

[dwellstar]

shut up shut up shut up shut the fuck up oh my god

[kschlatt1998]

WE'RE SO BACK!!!! HE LOOKS ADORABLE 😭💖💖💖💖💖

[xx-r0t-dot-com-xx]

THEY ALL SAID LIGHT. INCLUDING LIGHT

YOTSUBA ARC ????

[cybervom1t]

summer bummer~

[xx-r0t-dot-com-xx]

apologize to him right fucking now

[breadly-art]

Hello handsome 🦷

[aliciaswanx]

marry me? | schlatt x fem!reader

authors note : hi lovelies ! i’m officially free from all exams !!!!!!!!! i’m so glad to be finally getting back into my writing fully and sharing all my ideas ! a lot of these are scenarios from my DR so sorry if they feel very personalised hehehehhehe. Anyway, hope you like this !

—-

You’re standing in your and schlatt’s shared bedroom, smoothing down the fabric of your dress that you picked out for the wedding. It’s not someone that you know, it’s Schlatt’s friend from college that he linked back with a few years ago. You enjoyed him and his wife’s company, they were very funny and always looked perfect. So obviously you were very happy to be invited to the wedding.

You’re making some quick adjustments to your dress when Schlatt walks in.

“Let’s see it then.” He smiles, doing up his tie

The deep navy accents you’d picked to match his tie catch the light as you do a little spin for him. He freezes for a second, fingers still on his tie, eyes dragging over you like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Well?” You ask, grinning as you step towards him,“Do I pass the inspection?”

He freezes, fingers still on his tie, eyes dragging slowly over you from head to toe. For a second he just stares, throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice lower than usual. “Yeah… you look incredible, doll. That dress is dangerous.” He does a little whistle

You laugh softly and step closer, reaching up to straighten his tie for him.

“It better be. Took me forever to find one that matched your tie perfectly.”

He watches your hands, then glances away, pretending to mess with his cufflinks again. But you don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, like he’s thinking something he’s not saying out loud yet.

“What’s on your mind, huh?” You tilt your head to look at him

“Nothing important don’t worry, toots.” He smiles and kisses your cheek.

“Don’t forget your bag now.” He taps your ass as he walks out the room

———

The ceremony is absolutely beautiful. Soft florals line the aisle, sunlight filters through stained glass, and the officiant is giving a heartfelt speech about love and commitment. But Schlatt barely hears any of it.

You’re sitting right beside him in the wooden pew, your hand resting comfortably on his thigh, your fingers sometimes fidgeting . Every few minutes you lean over to whisper something silly to him

“Why is he doing jazz hands while talking about eternal love?”

Your lips brush close to his ear with every comment, sending a shiver down his spine.

He squeezes your hand a little tighter each time, thumb brushing over your knuckles. You smile at him, completely unaware of the storm happening in his head.

“She should be the one up there. In white. Walking toward me.”

He keeps picturing it.

You in a white dress that makes this one look casual, him waiting at the end of the aisle trying (and failing) not to cry like a fucking idiot while Ted and Charlie lose their minds in the front row. The thought of you saying “I do” to him, of sliding a ring onto your finger in front of everyone and calling you his wife… it hits him harder than he expected.

When the couple starts exchanging vows, your eyes get a little glassy. After all the weddings you’ve both been to together, you always get glassy eyed between vows

“I don’t even know why, it’s just so lovely”

you’d say each time.

You sniffle quietly and squeeze his hand back. Schlatt glances over at you, watching the way the light catches your face, and something in his chest just settles.

Yeah. I’m doing this.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the ceremony. Not even when the couple kisses and everyone cheers. He just keeps thinking about how he wants to be the reason you cry happy tears like that one day soon.

———

At the reception, Schlatt is posted up by the bar with a couple of his old college friends. He may have only spent a short time at college before dropping out but this was like he spent everyday with them. You can see him from across the room, that lazy grin on his face as he talks.

“…been putting up with my shit since we were 20 ish,” he’s saying, nodding toward you. “She’s absolutely built different, fuck me. Laughs at my stupid jokes even when they’re actually terrible. Makes me wanna be less of a prick in general.”

One of his buddies, Keith, laughs, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Dude, I still can’t believe you two met on Twitch or YouTube or whatever, of all places.”

Schlatt smiles “Hey, at least I found her somehow.”

Keith smiles at this “She’s stunning man, you struck lucky.”

The other friend, Daniel, smirks and claps Schlatt on the shoulder. “Look at you, talking like she’s the best decision you ever made. You gonna lock that down or what?”

Schlatt takes a sip of his drink, shrugging with a small, genuine smile. “She’s it for me. I’m not even joking. She’s fucking it.”

Daniel rolls his eyes, sipping his champagne that his fiancé ordered for the two of them “So that’s a yes?”

Schlatt nods “Yep. I’m not doing it here, obviously.”

Keith nods, “Obviously. Right, I’m gonna go flirt with the bridesmaids that don’t have partners.”

Schlatt looks over at you. You’re speaking to the bride and one of the bridesmaids, you look absolutely gorgeous. Even more so in his eyes. You glance over and give him a smile and turn back over to your conversation with the bride and the bridesmaid

The bride is glowing, gently spinning the new wedding band on her finger as she laughs. “I still can’t believe this is real. I keep looking down expecting it to disappear.”

You smile warmly, squeezing her arm. “It looks perfect on you. You two are literally made for each other. I was tearing up during your vows especially when he started crying halfway through, holy shit.”

The bride lets out a bright laugh, covering her mouth. “Oh my god, right? I told him not to, but the second he saw me walking down the aisle he was done for.” She leans in a little closer, voice dropping like she’s sharing a secret. “Your turn next. I’m calling it. The way Jay looks at you? I’ve never seen him like that before and I went to high school with him.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and let out a shy laugh, shaking your head. “Stop, we’re just here as his plus one.”

The bride raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Mhm. Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But seriously… you two have that forever kind of thing. I can feel it.”

You bite your lip, glancing down at your dress for a second before looking back at her. “Today has been really special. Seeing you so happy… it makes me think about stuff like that more, I guess.”

The bride pulls you into a quick side hug. “Good. Because you deserve it, babe. And if he doesn’t put a ring on that finger soon, I’m gonna fight him myself.”

You both laugh

“Anyway, i’m gonna go talk to my parents as i’ve been feeling like avoiding them all day. Thank you so much for coming.” The bride gives you one last hug

You then feel schlatt come up behind you, his hand slinging against your waist and his head resting on top of yours

“You look so beautiful, baby.” He whispers to you, kissing your hair

You turn and look at him, smiles both showing up on your faces at the same time

“I love you” You smile

“I love you too” He leans down and gives you a kiss

———

The rest of the night is a warm blur of dancing, laughter, and stolen kisses on the dance floor. By the time you both stumble through the front door of your shared house, it’s well past midnight.

Your heels are dangling from your fingers, your makeup is slightly smudged, and your navy dress is a little wrinkled from the long night.

Schlatt locks the door behind you, watching as you sigh happily and pad barefoot into the living room, dropping your heels by the couch and stretching slightly.

“God, my feet are killing me,” you groan, stretching your arms above your head.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just stands there in the doorway, loosening his tie, eyes soft as they follow your every movement.

You turn around when you notice the silence. “You okay, big guy?”

Schlatt swallows, then walks over to you. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small black box he’d been carrying all day like a secret.

“I’ve been thinking about this the entire fucking day,” he says, voice low and a little rough around the edges.

“Watching you spin around in that dress that matches my tie all night, sitting next to you during every wedding ceremony we’ve done, feeling your hand on my thigh while you whispered dumb shit in my ear today. Bragging about you to my old college buddies like an idiot. Seeing you talk and laugh with the bride…”

He opens the box, revealing the ring. The living room lamp casts a warm glow over both of you.

“I don’t wanna keep showing up as a plus one to weddings, baby. I wanna be the groom next time. I want it to be us.”

He looks you straight in the eyes as he gets down on one knee. “Marry me.”

You stare at him, heart hammering in your chest. A stunned laugh bubbles out of you as tears prick your eyes.

“Yes,” you whisper, stepping forward to cup his face. “Yes, you idiot. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Schlatt’s face breaks into that wide, crooked grin you love so much. He slides the ring onto your finger with slightly shaky hands, then gets up pulls you against him, lifting you up and kissing you deeply right there in the middle of your living room.

“I’m such a lucky guy.” He smiles at you, spinning you around as he pulls away

“Yeah you are” You joke back

[pandawasbored]

Why is he so much softer in Japan

[the-slimebox]

He’s not in America anymore

[pandawasbored]

Why is he so much softer in Japan

[pandawasbored]

So kawaii desu ne