Library of my fantasies.

The untouched make-believe of a writer.

[luminialib]

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓

This is a side blog, its sole purpose is for me to post my fic recs, manga, manhwa/manhua, novels, and books. Follow @jeanette-luminia for writings.

BEWARE: There is some NSFW content here.

Tags:

🍥: fic recs

🔖:reads

[strawb3rryhachi]

i love the idea of Nanami being so moral. Such a pencil pusher. A rule follower. And just absolutely corrupting him.

“What was that, Ken? I couldn’t hear you.” Your smile reaches your eyes, but not your mouth as you watch him writhe in front of you.

“Please, touch me. Need to— fuck— feel you.” His plea’s are muffled, your panties stuffed meanly in his maw. Your heart sings at his curses, knowing just a few months ago he wouldn’t utter more than a ‘damn’ in front of you.

“Oh, but you look so pretty like this.” You coo, letting your pointer finger trace along his muscular shoulders as you circle him like an animal waiting to strike its prey. “So desperate and needy f’me.”

And Nanami feels like he might die, feels like maybe he did and ascended to his own personal heaven. Being led around by his cock by the woman he loves and being denied pleasure by her. He couldn’t think of a better salvation, which only signals the beginning of your twisted love affair.

[nanamizelo]

ramble, sub nanami kento, minors dni

i feel like sub nanami is so underrated as a concept. just the idea of an exhausted wall of muscle coming home, posture slouched compared to his normal poise and crumbling at your feet; just desperate to be near you.

him being too tired to have sex with you, but still being pent up and still wanting to please you, begging you to use him as you want whilst at the same time pleading you to make him feel good.

his glasses sliding down his nose as you ride him while he lets out little noises he'd usually restrain himself from making, simply losing all composure and his mind just being you, you, you.

him cumming and hiding his face in your neck, mumbling soft sleepy 'thank you's and 'love you's, his mouth moving against your slightly sweaty skin, the heat of your body accompanied by the heat of his breath.

you combing your hands through his hair to help him fall asleep since he needs to take a break so badly.. he works himself to the bone to give you a comfortable life, taking care of him like this in return is a pleasure. in more ways than one.

a/n: pushing my sub nanami kento agenda. also first post, yay ! >_<

[luminialib]

Y'all making him dom everytime. He's a sub. Just look at him.

[lostinsmut]

｡𖦹°‧ nanamis pretty girl has stomach pain):

pairing fluff - nanami x reader w stomach pain

"baby? are you okay?" nanami softly stepped into the dark lit bedroom where you slept curled up in a ball your stomach again aching for some unknown reason. "hon?" all he got in return was a soft groan.

"c-can you.. get.. heatpack?" you softly mumbled into the mattress where you're head laid at the same level as your body.

you had no protest left in you to shift. you were more then relieved when nanami finally got home from work especially knowing that now, five minutes later he stepped in with a filled heatpack.

you heard nothing but the side footsteps of your husband approaching the bed.

his shallow steady breathing as he took his clothes off. his belt making a noise as he buckled it off.

the sound of his clothes dropping to the floor was the last before he softly shushed your groans and scooped you up into his arms. "shh, sh. i know it's horrible.." he whispered his hands dragging through your hair as he softly tangled you between his limbs.

the hot water bottle now on your stomach but also ontop of his with the way he had you laying onto of him. your face in his neck where you let out soft comforted moans.

"hurts so bad.." you whispered finally feeling relief in your boyfriends arms. it was all that helped. his strong arms keeping you safe as you felt yourself being sucked away by the deep pit of pain in your stomach.

every once in a while sending those painful stabs up into your ribs. nanami soothingly rubbed your back. "i know baby.. close your eyes for me. imagine us on the beach, a nice sunny day. your boyfriends extra handsome in the sun." he tried making you smile, he felt it in his neck once you did. "the sand between your toes, no stomach ache only a hmmm, a chocolate ice cream? with a waffle obviously." you closed your eyes imagining the scene as you softly dozed off.

he softly rocked you back and forth letting you be taken by sleep. "such a sweet girl in so much pain, life is unfair ... i'd take it in a heartbeat sweetheart.." he sighed softly smelling your hair.

the only comfort he had right now was that you were safe in his arms from being hurt any more. he knew his body heat helped, his scent. the way he woke up in the middle of the night to give you water when you woke up with a dry mouth but couldn't move from the ache in your stomach.

he stayed awake for an hour softly humming you into a deep comforting sleep where he knew you wouldn't feel the pain for a couple hours until you woke up to pee or drink.

but nanami didn't mind waking up to get you water or to carry you to the toilet at midnight, his pretty girl had stomach issues and all he wanted to do was make it better..):

nanami fluff always makes me feel better when i have a stomach ache T.T i am girl with tummy issues she is me //not proofread

dividers > @uzmacchiato

taglist 🔖

@sugusplaything @notsoslightlysexual

[luminialib]

I needed this after this horrible period I am in.

[nanamizelo]

thinking thoughts about nanami, minors dni

thinking about people assuming nanami is always the dominant one in the relationship given his character and his build and both of you knowing that’s nowhere close to the truth.

thinking about pulling nanami by his tie to tease him, but instead of him putting you in your place he falls to his knees and presses his head against your thighs, staring up at you with watery eyes.

thinking about nanami plopping his head into your lap when you’re watching tv, making approving noises as you play with his hair; somewhat akin to a pleased cat.

thinking about getting ready on a saturday morning while nanami watches you, still in bed. being able to feel his gaze and practically see the hearts in his eyes via the reflection of the mirror you’re stood in front of.

thinking about nanami getting you an expensive outfit for one of your anniversaries, making you keep it on later that night while he’s completely bare, his dick throbbing in your hand. him getting off on the idea of providing for you. that, and simply how good you look in the outfit.

thinking about bathing with nanami afterwards, peppering kisses all over his neck, making sure not to leave any hickeys. you wouldn’t want to break the illusion he gives off, right? it’s more fun when it’s a secret between the two of you.

thinking about nanami making you breakfast the next morning as a ‘thank you’ for taking care of him. (shirtless with an apron on, of course)

thinking about nanami.. ♡

[luminialib]

HE'S A DAMN SUB AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL.

[hidingwhere]

⋆˚✿˖° Insecure older!Nanami

“Give me five minutes, darling,” Kento huffed out, cheeks pink and hair dishevelled as he rolls over onto his back, catching his breath. You grin, shuffling onto his chest and pressing kisses along his jaw. You were still so full of energy, youthful and ready for round three before round two had even ended.

The five minutes he asked for soon turned into ten minutes, which turned into fifteen, which turned into watching an episode of your favourite show in between rounds.

Nanami noticed; of course he did. The man was one of the most observant you’d ever met. His movements were slower, thrusts turning sloppy and weaker quicker than normal. The thoughts slipped out one night, lights low as he slowly pushed his cock inside you. He came with a groan, and then a mumbled “I’m so sorry baby, don’t have as much stamina anymore, wanna’ make you feel good but I can’t.”

His head tilts and rests against your forehead, movements stopping and releasing a little breath. Then, a heavy silence washes over the two of you.

“Kenny,” you coo, one hand cupping his cheek. “I don’t care that have less stamina. It doesn’t affect my pleasure at all and you’re silly to think that.”

He huffs. “I know you want more. I can’t give that to you.”

You tut. “Ken, don’t be stupid. I enjoy this whether it’s one or six rounds. It doesn’t matter to me. It never did and never will.”

Sure, the two of you had always been used to going at it for hours, rough and animalistic, but you’d easily give that up for Nanami’s happiness. However, insecurities crept in quickly. It was obvious in the way your husband moved more hesitantly when getting intimate, the way he trembled slightly when you unbuckled his belt.

Redness bloomed across his cheeks, more evident than ever before, when you flipped him over onto his back, chasing the pleasure you needed. You slammed yourself down onto his pulsing cock, thighs trembling from the pleasurable stretch. Jaw hung open, rough hands on your hips, you blabbered and moaned out jumbled words of praise at your fucked out husband who was trying to match your fast thrusts.

“Thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou, you’re so good to me, -ngh-, your cock feels soso good,” you rambled.

Nanami followed your garbled sentence with one of his own. “Darling, yeah -nghh- use me, baby. Use me wherever, whenever. Use me always, love you so -fuck- so much, sweetheart. Fuck, you feel amazing, take what you need.”

Ever since, he’s woken up with you taking exactly what you need.

[polaroidsex]

★ . . “don’t leave me.” mid-makeout with ex husband!nanami.

you sink down onto him slow, thighs trembling as his thick cock stretches you open inch by inch.

nanami’s hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, breath ragged against your mouth while you settle fully in his lap. the bedroom is dim, just the low lamp casting gold across his bare chest and the way sweat already beads at his collarbone.

he kisses you like he’s starving, tongue sliding deep, tasting every soft sound you make. your fingers thread through his blond hair, tugging lightly as you start to roll your hips, riding him with that slow grind that makes his thighs tense beneath you. wet sounds fill the room each time you lift and drop, slick coating his length and dripping down to his balls.

“fuck,” he murmurs into your lips, voice hoarse and wrecked.

one hand slides up your back, pressing you closer until your breasts crush against him. his other hand stays on your ass, guiding you, helping you bounce a little faster. every drag of his cock inside you hits that spot that makes your toes curl.

you lean in to kiss him deeper, tongues tangled, breaths shared hot and messy. his hips buck up to meet you, driving himself even deeper. that’s when he breaks the kiss just enough to pant against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours, eyes half-lidded and desperate.

“don’t leave me again,” he whispers, the words raw and trembling right there in the middle of it all. his voice cracks just a little on the last syllable, like the thought alone hurts. he pulls you back into the kiss before you can answer, hungrier now, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he thrusts up harder.

you ride him through it, clenching around his cock with every rise and fall, skin slapping softly together. his hands roam like he can’t get enough of you, palms mapping your waist, your ribs, the curve of your spine. he groans low when you grind down and circle your hips, milking him just right.

“need you here,” he breathes between kisses, “right here with me.” his thrusts grow erratic, chasing that edge while you keep riding him steady, lost in the heat of his body and the way he holds onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

[mia-hearts-gumi]

𐙚⋆°｡ husband!nanami with a breeding kink ₊˚⊹ᰔ

Nanami had you pinned to the bed the second he got home from work, tie still half-loosened around his neck. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmured against your throat, voice low and rough. His hands were already under your shirt, pushing it up, palms warm and possessive. “My wife. Home. Waiting for me.”

He stripped you methodically — the same careful, deliberate way he did everything — but the second your panties hit the floor his control cracked. He spread your thighs wide, eyes dark behind his glasses as he looked at how wet you already were for him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You want it too, don’t you? Want me to put a baby in you.”

You barely had time to answer before he was inside you — thick, deep, filling you in one smooth thrust. Nanami groaned, forehead pressed to yours, hips already rolling in that steady, relentless rhythm he knew drove you insane.

“Gonna breed you tonight,” he said, each word punctuated by a deep thrust. “Over and over until it takes. Until you’re swollen with my child.” His hand slid down, fingers pressing firmly over your lower belly like he was already claiming the space. “Right here. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

He hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you open, and fucked you harder. The headboard thumped against the wall. Every thrust was purposeful, bottoming out, grinding against your cervix like he was trying to push his cum straight into your womb.

Nanami’s usual composure was gone. His tie dangled between you, brushing your skin as he leaned down and growled in your ear.

“Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to breed this pretty cunt full.”

When you moaned the words back, he lost it. His pace turned punishing — sharp, deep strokes that made you see stars. One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while the other rubbed tight circles over your clit.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice strained. “Milk me dry. I’m not pulling out.”

You came hard, clenching around him, and Nanami followed with a low, broken groan. He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, pulsing thick and hot inside you. He didn’t pull out. Instead he rocked his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, pushing every drop deeper.

“Stay still,” he panted, still hard. “I’m not done. We’re doing this again. And again. Until I’m sure it took.”

He kissed your stomach softly, almost reverent, even as his cock twitched inside you, already getting ready for round two.

“Gonna keep you full every night, sweetheart. You’re going to be such a beautiful mother.”

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it — series

Part 2B: Replaced

The invitation sits unopened in Satoru’s backpack for a while.

He only notices it because he’s digging around for a missing assignment after practice and the pink-colored card slips free, landing on the floor of his dorm.

For a second he just stares at it. Then he remembers.

You had handed it to him almost three months ago outside the student center. When you were still together.

You’d looked nervous, a little excited.

“Will you come?” you’d asked, fidgeting with your fingers.

Satoru had been halfway through answering a text from a teammate. “Come to what?”

“My art showcase.” He remembers the way your face lit up when you started explaining it.

How the department had chosen student projects and everyone would have their own display section if they qualified.

At the time he’d barely listened, but now; he somehow remembers.

He’d kissed your forehead and promised he’d try. Then he’d forgotten about it almost immediately.

The memory makes his stomach twist because he never went.The guys wanted to celebrate a win and he forgot to text you.

What he hadn’t realized then, was there were two dates on the invitation. A voting stage, which had passed; and the winners event, which was tonight.

An annual exhibition, open to the public. After a quick search on the university website, he found a list of featured artists.

To his surprise your name was first on the list.

To Gojo, this was another great opportunity to get back into your life after you shunned him.

But his irritation quickly rises when he looks down the list and recognizes another name. “Choso Kamo.”

Maybe because he’s heard it too often lately. Every time someone mentions you recently, Choso’s name seems to follow.

He shoves the invitation back into his bag and by seven o’clock he’s standing outside the gallery.

He tells himself he’s only here because Suguru mentioned there would be free food and drinks. What a terrible lie.

——-

The building is crowded when he walks in. Students drift between exhibits; holding glasses of wine and tiny paper plates stacked with appetizers.

Soft music sets the quiet atmosphere, nothing like a fraternity party or a football game.

He almost leaves, but then he sees you… and everything else disappears.

You’re standing near the center of the room beside a display table; smiling at something a professor says.

You’re wearing the same expression you used to wear whenever you talked about something you loved.

The same expression he’d spent so much time ignoring.

For a moment he just watches. Then his eyes drift to the display behind you.

The breath leaves his lungs. The entire section belongs to you. Dozens of pieces carefully arranged across the wall. Some are landscapes. Others are portraits.

He didn’t know you were this talented. The realization causes a dull ache; not because you kept it from him, you tried to show him over and over.

He remembers you asking if he’d look through your portfolio. He remembers promising to look at it, and never getting around to it.

A group gathers around your display asking about your inspiration and advice. You begin explaining one of the photographs, a proud look on your face.

Satoru suddenly felt sick; because all those years you were talking to him about this exact stuff.

And most of the time he’d been checking football scores under the table.

The shame settles heavily in his chest. Then someone appears beside you.

Choso.

Satoru recognizes him immediately.

Tall. Dark-haired. The kind of guy who manages to look effortlessly cool without trying.

You glance at him and smile like there was more to be said.

Satoru hates how much that bothers him.

Choso leans down and whispers something only for you, and your laugh carries throughout the room.

And suddenly Satoru remembers every time you’d laughed like that with him.

Every late-night drive. Every movie marathon. Every stupid joke.

Back when making you happy had felt effortless, before he’d gotten comfortable. Before he assumed you’d always be there.

A professor approaches Choso’s display nearby.

Satoru follows a crowd without thinking. At first he only intends to glance at it.

Then he stops.

The entire section is incredible. Large paintings cover the walls. Sketches. Mixed media pieces.

Months of work displayed under bright gallery lights.

People keep stopping to compliment them. Choso accepts every compliment with an awkward smile but somehow redirects every compliment to you.

“Y/n actually helped me choose that one.”

“She stayed up until three helping me finish that display.”

“I almost scrapped this project, but she talked me out of it.”

Every comment feels like another knife.

Because Choso isn’t bragging. He isn’t trying to make Gojo jealous. He didn’t even realize he was there.

If anything, he seems genuinely grateful.

And Satoru remembers what it felt like when you used to support him like that.

You attended every game and made arrangements to come to away games. You learned the rules, listened to him complain after losses, celebrated wins like they were your own.

You built entire weekends around supporting him.

And he can’t remember attending a single thing that mattered to you.

Not one.

The realization follows him through the rest of the evening.

Everywhere he looks, there are reminders. Evidence of an entire world he’d never bothered to learn about.

Eventually he finds himself standing in front of one photograph longer than the others.

A nighttime campus scene.

Soft lights reflected across rain-soaked pavement.

Beautiful. Quiet. Lonely.

The title card beneath it catches his attention. The date listed underneath makes his stomach drop. He knows that date.

You took this photograph the night of one of his championship games. The same night you’d asked him to come with you afterward.

The same night he’d blown you off for a party.

You’d gone alone and taken this photo, creating something beautiful out of something painful.

For the first time all evening, Satoru leaves the gallery overwhelmed.

People continue filtering in through the entrance behind him.

Inside, through the glass windows, he can still see you surrounded by people who appreciate what you create.

And suddenly he understands something.

He’d spent months convincing himself that the breakup happened because football demanded too much of him.

Standing here now, none of those excuses survive.

The truth is much simpler; you had spent years showing him exactly who you were, inviting him into your world.

And every time he’d treated them like something he could look at later.

Now someone else knows your favorite projects. Someone else knows your dreams. Someone else gets to stand beside you on the nights that matter.

Satoru stays outside until the gallery closes.

He watches you leave through the front doors surrounded by friends, arms hooked with Choso. Your head leaning on him, accompanied by the widest grin possible.

And for the first time since the breakup, he doesn’t feel angry or jealous, just devastated.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it — series

The apology

The fourth letter never gets delivered because Satoru Gojo finally snaps after you had disregarded his attempt to speak to you.

The rain was heavier than when he saw you this afternoon, the kind that soaks through his sweatshirt and drips from his eyelashes.

The dorm lady is halfway through her crossword when he runs past the front desk.

“Hey—”

She was too late. He’s already taking the stairs two at a time.

By the time he reaches your floor, his chest is heaving, his hands are shaking. Not from the cold, but from fear.

Because for the first time since he broke up with you, he realizes something awful.

You might actually never forgive him.

The thought hits harder than any linebacker ever has.

So he pounds on your door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Loud enough that doors start opening up and down the hallway. Girls peek their heads out, mouths open with shock.

“Is that Gojo?”

“No way.”

The football star doesn’t care.

He bangs again. “Please.”

His voice cracks. “Please open the door.”

Silence.

Then he hears the lock click.

The door opens painfully slow, but there you are. Swearpants… and is that his oversized hoodie? Did you miss him ?

The look on your face said otherwise. He had never seen this look directed at him before. Was it indifference? Was it annoyance?

God it hurt.

For a second neither of you speak.

Then your eyes flick down to where he’s standing. He was drenched, a puddle of water forming at his shoes. His eyes were red, he looked miserable. Pathetic even.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is flat.

Gojo swallows. “I just need five minutes.”

“No.”

The door starts closing.

His hand catches it, “please.” His voice breaks again.

You freeze.

The hallway has gotten noticeably quieter.

Everyone is watching you. He knows they are and for once he doesn’t care what people think of him.

“I know you don’t want to see me.”

“Then leave,” you said sternly.

“I can’t.” His eyes are already shining. “I tried leaving.”

Your expression falters, just barely.

“I tried giving you space.” A broken laugh escapes him. “Apparently I can’t do that either.”

The girls down the hall are openly staring now, some are getting closer to hear the conversation. Others are pulling out their phones too, recording.

You notice, your jaw tightens and that annoyed look returns.

Gojo notices too.

And maybe that’s the thing that finally breaks him, he thinks you’re going to shut the door on him again.

So he does the unimaginable, and drops straight to his knees.

The hallway erupts. Gasps, whispers, and chuckles.

“Oh my God.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Is he crying?”

And he is. Rainwater and tears mixed together. He doesn’t care how humiliated and embarrassing he looks. Nothing matters anymore.

“Gojo—”

“No.”

He grabs your wrist desperately before you can pull away.“Please.”

The word comes out shattered. “Please just hear me out.”

Your eyes widen.

He’s never looked like this. Not the cocky quarterback, the football hero.

Right now he’s just your Satoru.

“Get inside,” you whisper. “You’ve embarrassed yourself enough.” He follows your eyes to the girls in your dorm hall. Judging, laughing, mouths wide open, in awe at his behaviour.

And to that, he scurries into your dorm room, tripping and falling back onto his knees. He stays there, because frankly he doesn’t have it in him to face you head on.

Silence follows, because he really didn’t expect you to give him the time of day. He hadn’t planned this far.

“I messed up.” His voice trembles.

You stare.

Gojo’s head drops; and before he can stop himself, his arms wrap around your legs. Holding on like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

Which, honestly, might be true. He can feel his face burning; but he doesn’t let go.

You don’t shrug him off, and god does this contact he’s having with you feel comforting. It’s the first time he has touched you in two months. Tears prick his eyes again, as he nuzzles his head into your legs.

“I was wrong.” The words come muffled against sweatpants.

“I was so wrong.”

“Satoru.”

“No.” His grip tightens.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” Another shaky breath.

“I thought if I focused on football everything would work out.” He laughs bitterly.

“Turns out I was just an idiot.”

Your chest aches despite the hate you felt for him after the break up. This isn’t the Satoru who broke your heart.

This is one who can’t even look at you. The one shaking like he’s terrified you’ll disappear again.

“I miss you.” His voice is barely audible.

“I miss talking to you.” A tear slides down his cheek.

“I miss hearing about your classes.”

“I miss getting you sugary coffee in the morning.”

“I miss annoying you in the library and I miss you trying to help me study.”

You blink.

For the first time in months, a tiny smile almost appears.

Gojo notices, an his eyes immediately fill with hope.

“I love you…I never stopped loving you. I’m so sorry, I’ve been such a dick,” he sniffles.

You close your eyes. This is a problem you thought to yourself. You know he means it. The idiot means every word. Which somehow makes it worse.

When you open your eyes again, he’s still there.

Still kneeling.

Still holding onto you.

Waiting. Like a man standing in front of a judge. Waiting for his sentence.

Finally you sigh. “If you think this” you point to him and the scene he created, “fixes anything, you’re dumber than I thought.”

He looks up at you, big glassy blue eyes, bottom lip quivering from crying.

His shoulders immediately slump. “That’s fair.”

“You hurt me.”

“I know.” His eyes lower.

The room falls silent.

Then—“If I ever forgive you…”

Gojo looks up so fast he almost gets whiplash.

“…there’s a lot of work to do.”

The hope on his face is painful. “You mean that?”

“I mean maybe, if there’s change.”

For Gojo, that feels like winning the lottery. “I’ll do it.” His answer comes instantly. “I’ll do anything.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”

He nods his head, standing up now.

“No complaints?”

“Nope. Whatever you want me to do.” Gojo stares like you’ve hung the moon.

And for the first time since the breakup, he thinks—

Maybe.

He hasn’t lost you forever.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[616ioi]

Imagine pinching and spanking Sakamoto after he finished the cup ramen shelf again. Watch that fat jiggle with the harsh impact, blooming beautifully with red handprints. As he sobs below us, he promises to control his addiction better and restock it tomorrow. For now he accepts our anger, apologizing over and over...🤤

❛ #SPLATHEGOES! SAKAMOTO DAYS.

────────── he's gone through the supplies again. there's only one way to fix this behavior .ᐟ.ᐟ

⤿ pairings. taro sakamoto x gn reader

⤿ contents. sub character, delicious chubby taro, spanking, slight cnc, dacryphilia, degradation. this contains mature content, read at your own discretion.

⤿ thoughts. someone get this man a machine gun. they're jumping him, and they think it's all fun and games

"I can't believe this!" You seethe, pinching the fat on his reddening cheeks. He holds back a yelp, jolting violently. "That was the stock for the entire week, Taro."

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

He's not used to this. Being punished. Sakamoto is always good. At least, he always tries to be. To you, for you.

He doesn't like it when you're upset with him. He feels as though his heart will give out. Understandably so.

He really is sorry. He doesn't know what came over him. He understands it'll be a chunk out of your budget to replace it — "How many times do I have to get it into your thick skull? I could've made you something if you're really that hungry."

Sakamoto grits his teeth, his glasses fogging up with the heat of the air. "Do you understand me?"

Your condescending tone makes his brain go haywire, his thighs pressing against each other to conceal the tremors.

You shake your head in disappointment, firmly holding his big arms behind his back to get him to quit fidgeting over your lap.

''M'sorry, please, forgive me, I've learned my lesson."

You haven't even started.

Nonetheless, he flinches when you knead at him, fingers leaving red marks in their wake. "Twenty times. Make sure to count it properly this time."

He panics silently as he realizes nothing can stop this.

You're pulling your hand back, allowing the cold air to hit his body. "St...op," He begs softly with a shake of his head, "I promise to restock it!!"

SPANK!

"URGH!" Taro bites his lip, his body jiggles like water, he can feel the embarrassment roaming down his body.

"Taro."

"O-one."

Smack.

"Two!! I'm sorry, please [name]."

"How many more times do I have to tell you for you to finally understand?" Another spank. It strikes the back of his thigh roughly.

Three. He wants to yelp out, but instead, he can only squeak out a weak apology.

"S-sorry!"

"Yeah? Tell me. What have you learned?"

"I.. uhh tha- nghh.."

Taro's mouth falls ajar, lips trembling as he searches for his voice.

"You can barely even speak right. There is no way you can." You tsk meanly, and he tries to buck his hips, the fat bouncing has you hypnotized.

To think that he enjoys being treated like this... sakakoto's heart pulses around, his eyes rapidly blinking away the forming tears. There must be something seriously wrong with him.

A resonating 'smack' satisfies your ears.

"Number." You remind him sternly.

How many was that?

His eyes go wide as his whole body jumps.

"It—" he gives a low sob. He can't remember — "hurts! Mn!!"

It's not even that you're causing him physical pain. In all honesty, this is nothing. If you decided to leave him purple and blue, the crack of your hand numb, he still won't be in pain.

It's that you're mad at him.

That's what set him off.

Even just the thought...

Your free hand gropes at his supple thighs, the heat of his body instantly brings rising goosebumps down your body.

"Oh, taro..." The emotional need for your praise overwhelms him. His chest rose and fell in fast, broken breaths. "Are you crying already?"

His cheeks burn, glasses falling down his nose at his slippery face. He's drenched. Sweat pooling at the tip of his nose and his forehead. His pupils are blown wide and teary.

Still, he shakes his head.

"That's it, taro," you grant him a praise, satisfied with his actions. You don't stop him when his hips start to move and roll in desperate circles, the head of his cock catching against your thigh. "You're doing so good."

"Mm!" He nods eagerly, mind fogged with need that even if it hurts him, he won't ruin your fun. "I hik! promise to do better!"

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it

The first time Satoru Gojo realizes he made a mistake is when he can’t find you on campus.

At first he thinks it’s funny.

You’ve always been easy to find. The west library corner seat by the window. The campus café at 10:30 with a vanilla latte and that same notebook you pretend isn’t a diary.

But after the breakup?

You vanish.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat — blocked.

He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.

Blocked.

“Damn,” one of the guys laughs. “She actually did it.”

Gojo scoffs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll get her back,” he says cockily.

Like he’s not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.

The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.

So he broke up with you.

Clean and quick.

Two weeks later, he’s drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.

And somehow that’s when he realizes something feels wrong.

———-

The First Attempt

He tries texting.

It doesn’t go through. Still blocked.

He laughs to himself. “Dramatic much.”

But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.

Except the front desk girl just shrugs. “She’s not here.”

Gojo frowns, “What do you mean she’s not here?”

“Means she’s not here.”

He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.

The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.

Flowers

A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and baby’s breath.

Attached card: —SG <3

He doesn’t even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.

The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.

Still no message back.

The Letters

Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.

The first one is simple.

I know you blocked me. I deserve it.

Let me know if you wanna talk

-Satoru <3

No response.

The second one is longer.

I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.

Please unblock me xoxo

The third one is messy.

He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.

I keep looking for you around campus.

You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You weren’t there. Are you avoiding me?

- Toru

Your Favorite Snacks

The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.

Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.

Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.

The desk girl starts recognizing his name. “Another one from the football guy. I told him you weren’t here again like you asked.”

Meanwhile

Gojo’s reputation doesn’t change. He’s still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.

But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isn’t there.

The First Time He Sees You Again

It’s raining. He’s leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.

For a second he thinks he imagined it.

But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.

The look on your face isn’t anger. It’s worse.

It’s indifference.

You turn and keep walking. Gojo’s heart drops straight into his stomach. He can’t let you escape after all this time of chasing you.

“Hey—!”

You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. “…What?” Your voice is calm.

Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. “I—did you get the letters?”

“Yes.”

“…And?…will you please talk to me?”

You stare at him for a long moment “Goodnight, Gojo.”

Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[midnightsunkissd]

Worst Haircut Ever | Nanami x Wife!reader

In which: reader finds photos of teenage Nanami

Nanami hated work. He truly only went as a form of self punishment and his reward was coming home to you, his darling wife. Nanami’s tie was already halfway loosened by the time he hit the driveway. He was imagining the delicious meal you made and your gorgeous face.

What he didn’t expect was to walk in and hear you laughing so hard you began to cough. He sped up a bit as he reached the living room and found you doubled over.

“What’s so funny, love?” He asked. Setting his things down. You looked up, wiping tears from your eyes as you held your phone up, a picture of young Nanami lighting it up. “Ah, it’s the hair isn’t it?”

A whole new wave of laughter hit you. “It’s the hair! And your brooding expression! God you were antisocial.” Your full blown laughter died down to small giggles as Nanami sat down beside you, wrapping his arms around you.

“If we met then, would you have given me a chance?” He asked. You turned to him, your laughter completely dying down to something softer. You smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his face.

“I would. All my friends would’ve probably advised against it though.” A gentle smile found itself on Nanami’s face.

“Of course they would’ve. We were quite literally polar opposites then.” You nodded, looking back at your phone for one last giggle.

[luminialib]

I still love emo haircut nanami. 😝

[mrssukuna]

Breathe

summary: Your husband tries to calm his pregnant and upset wife down with her favorite things.

cw: Nanami x reader, pregnancy, crying, mood swings, cravings

a/n: Just wanted to post something small and cute! First time doing something fluffy so let me know what you think. I am still taking request. Also thank you so much for supporting me and enjoying my work. It really means so so much to me :)

 “Maybe a nice bath would calm you down” 

“Do I smell bad or something? Why would you say that?” 

You’ve been crying for the last 20 minutes for no direct reason. It started with Nanami running out to the grocery store to get you the ice cream you requested. Once it arrived you cried because you didn’t want it anymore. And then you cried because you felt bad you made him drive 30 minutes to get something you no longer wanted. 

“Honey no, I just want you to relax” He says calmly. You can hear the slightly nervousness in his voice. 

You place your hands on your protruding belly, something you learned to do when you needed to take a deep breath. You were 7 and a half months pregnant and felt it. The moon swings and cravings were in full effect  and your husband of 6 years was there every step of the way. 

“So you think I’m being crazy?” you cried in your hands harder “I just want this to be over” you spoke softly. 

Nanami could only sympathize with how you felt. Having emotions you couldn’t explain, wanting to eat inedible food and not feeling like yourself. He felt helpless in how to help you get through this but tried his best. 

“Honey, I’m gonna run you a nice bath, cook your dinner and we can watch your terrible reality tv show” 

“Really Nanami?" You said with a slight twinkle in your eyes. “I know you hate watching that stuff?” 

“I’d do anything to see you smile, honey” he says, stepping closer to you. He wipes the tears coming from your eyes with his thump and places a soft kiss on your forehead. 

The smile plastered on your face could be seen from miles away. 

That night you took a nice hot bath, climbed into your comfortable pj’s he picked out for you and was sat on the couch with his best cooked dinner and your favorite reality show blasting from the tv 

“She does look awful in that dress” Nanami says matter of factly, fully engulfed into the television. 

You giggle, happy to know that this would be the rest of your life and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[hqismm]

In sickness and in health

— ft nanami x fem!reader

Syn. You underestimate two things: your fever, and how quickly Nanami will drop everything for you.

Cw .ᐟ : Husband!Nanami, fluff, sick fic WC : 1.1 k

© Art creds : @dickerystuf

If you hold back one more cough, you might actually explode. 

It’s day three of pretending you aren’t sick because the second Nanami finds out, he’ll abandon work entirely and hover over you like a mother hen.

You know how important his job is to him. Even after exhausting shifts and bruises hidden beneath dress shirts, he still insists on working so hard to give you the best life possible. 

Usually, you can handle a slight fever on your own, but today feels different.

You wake up drenched in sweat despite feeling a violent chill throughout your body. Bonnet half way across the room, and head throbbing where it rests against the pillow. 

The short walk to the bathroom nearly kills you. And by the time you stumble back into bed your body gives out against the mattress, trembling from the effort.

You curl beneath the blankets, dizzy and exhausted, using the last of your strength to order chicken soup and tea from a nearby restaurant.

You try to stay awake until it arrives but your eyelids are heavy and eventually you succumb to sleep.

—

The vibration of your phone buzzing against your cheek jolts you awake sometime later. 

Oh shit. The food.

You try sitting up too fast and immediately regret it.  Every muscle in your body aches. There’s absolutely no way you’re making it to the front door. Groaning, you scroll through your contacts before pressing the only person nearby enough to help. 

The call rings twice.

“Heyy, how’s my favorite nanami,” Satoru’s sing-song voice answers cheerfully. “Have you finally come to your senses and realized im the better sorceror?” 

Your short laugh is cut off by a cough so hard it rattles your chest. 

He pauses.

“…Why do you sound like that?”

“Please tell me you’re on lunch break already,” you mumble weakly. “I ordered food but I’m too sick to go to the door, can you stop by the apartment to bring it inside for me? Pleaseee? I’ll owe you.”

Across the office, Nanami looks up from the paperwork in front of him the second he hears your voice through Gojo’s speaker.

His expression changes immediately.

Gojo notices too.

“…Wait,” Gojo says slowly, glancing over. “You’re sick?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Don’t tell Nanami.”

Nanami stands before Gojo can even respond.

“Give me the phone.”

Your stomach drops at the sound of his voice.

“…Kento?”

“You’re sick.”

It isn’t a question.

“I was going to tell you later—”

“You can barely get a word out without wheezing”

“Baby, I’m fine.”

“Yet you called Gojo instead of me.”

The disappointment in his voice somehow feels worse than anger.

You hear rustling, then keys.

“I’m coming home.”

“Ken—”

The line disconnects.

—

Exactly twenty minutes later you hear the front door unlock. 

Nanami walks in carrying multiple bags you definitely didn’t order. Besides your tea and soup he carries a plastic bag filled with medicine, electrolyte drinks, and basically enough supplies to survive a mini apocalypse. You’d roll your eyes at his antics if it wasn’t hard enough keeping them open. 

His tie is gone. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Hair slightly disheveled like he ran straight from work.

The second he sees you trying to sit up, his face tightens.

“Don’t you dare get up.”

You still try anyway.

He’s at your bedside instantly, one hand against your forehead, the other steadying your shoulder as he gently pushes you back into the pillows.

“You’re burning up,” he mutters, brows pinching together. “How long has this been going on?”

“…Three days.”

Nanami goes completely still.

“Three,” he repeats flatly.

You wince under the weight of his stare.

The exhaustion in his face twists into shame.

“Fuck. What kind of husband am I if I don't even notice you’re sick?”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Why’d you hide it from me?”

“Because you would’ve called out of work.”

“I would have.”

There’s no hesitation in his answer.

That’s what gets you. He’s not even frustrated.Just genuinely hurt that you were suffering alone while he sat completely unaware.

His expression softens slightly when he notices yours crumpling.

He sighs quietly, sweeping your braids behind you. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

Despite the scolding tone, he carefully opens the soup container, testing the temperature before handing it to you.

When your shaking hands struggle to hold it steadily, Nanami simply takes the spoon back with another quiet sigh.

“Cmere, open your mouth.”

You shoot him a weak glare but obey anyway, letting him feed you spoonful after spoonful while he watches carefully to make sure you eat enough.

The warmth of the soup settles heavily in your stomach, exhaustion pulling at you all over again.

Nanami notices immediately.

Without a word, he sets the container aside before piling blankets around you. 

He leans down then, pressing a lingering kiss against your feverish forehead.

“You should’ve called me first,” he says quietly against your skin.

Guilt twists in your chest. “I didn’t want you worrying.”

“That was never your decision to make. You’re my wife. I love you and i’ll always worry about you.

“Mm sorry Ken, I love you too, I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

The words come out slurred with exhaustion, barely above a whisper.

Nanami’s expression softens immediately.

“A burden?” he pulls away slightly, like the thought itself burns him.

His hand slides up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye with careful affection.

“You being sick is not an inconvenience to me.”

You blink tiredly up at him while he adjusts the blankets tighter around your shoulders, making sure not even a sliver of cold air gets through.

“I take care of you because I want to,” he continues. “Not because I have to.”

The fever leaves you too drained to hide how much the words affect you. Your eyes sting slightly as you lean further into his touch.

Nanami notices, of course he does.

“Baby,” he coos softly, brushing his lips against your forehead once more. “Don’t cry now.”

“I’m not,” you mumble weakly, voice wobbling. 

A rare hint of amusement flickers across his face.

“You’re a terrible liar, love.”

Before you can argue, he slips into bed beside you fully clothed, ignoring your weak protest about getting him sick. He simply pulls you carefully against his chest, tucking your head under his chin as one arm wraps securely around your waist.

“Next time you feel like this, I’m your first call. Understand?”

You hesiate. “…Even if you’re working?”

“Especially if I’m working.”

You let out a tired hum of agreement, curling closer into his chest.

“Good,” he says quietly. “Next time your first instinct should be your husband, not the six-foot manchild.

[isetmyfriendsonfuckingfire]

held together by you

The first time Kento Nanami falls asleep on you, it’s entirely by accident.

One minute he’s sitting beside you on the couch, still half-dressed in his work clothes, listening to you talk about something neither of you will remember tomorrow.

The next, his head is resting against your shoulder.

Still.

Heavy.

Warm.

You stop mid-sentence.

Nanami doesn’t fall asleep around people.

Not fully. Not deeply. Not without one eye open to the possibility of disaster.

But here?

With you?

His breathing evens out almost instantly.

The television glows softly across the apartment, washing gold over the sharp lines of his face. Without the constant tension pulling at him, he looks younger somehow. Less like the man who carries entire city blocks worth of grief on his back.

More like someone who was meant to be loved gently.

You stare at him for a long moment before carefully brushing a strand of blond hair away from his forehead.

He doesn’t wake.

That’s what gets you.

Not the affection. Not even the closeness.

The trust.

Kento Nanami trusts you enough to be unconscious in your presence.

The realization settles in your chest with startling weight.

You lower the volume on the TV.

A few minutes later, he shifts slightly, brow furrowing as though he’s trying to wake himself back up on instinct alone.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. “Didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize.”

His eyes crack open slowly.

You smile. Soft. Quiet.

“Go back to sleep.”

Nanami looks at you for a long moment after that. Like he’s searching for something in your expression. Permission, maybe. Assurance.

Then he exhales.

And the tension leaves him all over again.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs absently, already half-asleep.

You laugh under your breath. “That’s romantic.”

“Hm.”

“Was that your attempt at flirting?”

A sleepy pause.

“Yes.”

It’s so sincere you nearly melt on the spot.

Because that’s the thing no one tells you about loving Kento Nanami.

He isn’t flashy about it.

He doesn’t shower you in grand declarations or overwhelming displays of affection. Love, to him, exists in consistency. In reliability. In every tiny thing he remembers without needing to be asked.

The exact way you take your coffee.

Which side of the bed you prefer.

How you unconsciously reach for him in your sleep.

He loves in observations.

In quiet persistence.

In staying.

Your fingers move carefully through his hair, slow enough not to disturb him. His arm tightens around your waist instinctively, pulling you closer even asleep.

Outside, rain taps softly against the windows.

Inside, Nanami breathes against your neck, steady and deep.

Safe.

You think, suddenly, that this might be the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced.

Not sex.

Not passion.

Not desperation.

Just this impossibly capable man allowing himself to rest.

And maybe that’s what love really is to Kento Nanami.

Not intensity.

Not chaos.

Just finally finding someone who makes the world feel quiet enough to sleep through.

© isetmyfriendsonfuckingfire. do not copy, repost, translate, claim as your own, or use for ai training. all reserved.

(first time writing about nanami—hope you like it)

[mbrickswrites]

Don't think the stripper likes you (part 2)

[Rookie!Leon Kennedy x fem!Reader]

Warnings: nsfw, no outbreak au, age gap, older reader (early 30s), masturbation, Leon's a little perv, I accidentally gave him a huge dick but we're rolling with it, sw

part 1, part 3

Summary: After the private dance, Leon has a hard time forgetting you. Luckily he still has that token you gave him.

a/n: Ah shit, we're onto another multi chapter series, aren't we? Lmk if you want to be on the tag list for this one.

Honestly so blown away by the love all of you shared for the first one. Thank you so much <3

word count: 3.1k

Masterlist

There was significantly more paper work to being a cop than he had expected. He knew there would be some, he wasn’t stupid. But not quite as much. 

Leon bobbed the head of the little raccoon figurine on his desk with his pen. The admin assistant had put it there, as a welcome gift. 

He was having a hard time concentrating. All he could think about were your perfect tits pressed up against his face and the way your skin tasted when he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. 

In fact, he had thought about it a lot recently. It was easier to count the times he had not been thinking about it. 

Right after coming home from the strip club the other night, he didn't even speak to his roommate. He just slipped right into his bedroom, fumbling for the thong in the pocket of his jeans. 

You had been so wet. Even though he hadn’t been supposed to, he had still felt it, tracing the outlines of you through the fabric. The thought of what it might have felt without anything between you made him painfully hard, instantly. And when he had seen you, all of you when you had taken the thong off for him? Good god. You were beyond beautiful. All he had wanted to do was press his face between your thighs. 

He fumbled the thong with his hands, it was still wet. His lips fell open and he lifted the thong to his face, smelling it, thinking about what your arousal would smell like without the fabric.

He felt like such a creep. 

That didn’t stop him from sucking the fabric into his mouth though, groaning at the taste, imagining what it would be like to have you splayed out in front of him like his own personal feast and eating you out like there was no tomorrow. He was starving for it. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, sank down on his bed and stripped off his pants and underwear. 

He was already throbbing, tip slick with precum. He wasn’t surprised. After all, he had come close to finishing in his pants a couple times during the dance—like, well, a rookie. 

He closed his hands around his shaft and his eyes fluttered shut, sighing into the touch, imagining it was your soft hands instead. No, better yet, your lips. Wrapped around him, as you worked him with your hot mouth. 

He groaned, reaching for the lube in his nightstand, slicking himself for a softer glide. He wouldn't be needing that if he were with you. You were wet enough for the both of you. You were so flexible, he could just bend you over any surface and sink deep into you, no resistance whatsoever. The things he wanted to do to you…

He had heard you moan when you had rubbed yourself up against him at the club. It was the sweetest sound. He wanted to hear it again and again as he drove into you, feeling you flutter around his cock. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, twitching in his own hand. You were probably so tight, too. Fucking yourself on his cock, tits bouncing in sync with the movement of your hips as you gripped him tighter and tighter with your pretty pussy, pulsing around him as his name fell from your lips.

Leon came so hard and sudden, he forgot to reach for a tissue, thick ropes of hot cum pumping out of him, landing on the planes of his stomach with a wet splat. He hadn’t come this hard from his own hand since high school.

“Holy shit,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lola.” 

He stopped himself. That wasn’t your name though. Not your real one. 

“Hey Rookie.” 

He jumped, knocking over the raccoon. 

“Were you even listening?” 

“Hm?” He cleared his throat.

“About the report?” Lieutenant Branagh raised a stern eyebrow at him. Shit. 

“What about it?” he stammered. “I’m on it, if that’s what you mean.” 

“Leave him, he still has a crush on Lola,” one of the older officers, the one that had paid for the dance, said. 

When Branagh looked over to the other cop, Leon quickly reached down to adjust his boner in his pants in a way that hopefully nobody noticed. God, he felt like a fifteen year old boy being called up to the blackboard after daydreaming about porn in math class. 

Lieutenant Branagh chuckled, the only one who hadn’t come to the club with them when asked. “Must be one impressive lady.” 

“And our rookie was in there with her for a long time. She probably made some good money that night,” the officer said, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I’d say she made you three hundred dollars lighter at least.”

Leon furrowed his brows. “You paid for the dance.” 

“Yes, rookie, but the overtime.” 

“She didn’t charge for that,” Leon said and the other cop’s eyebrows shot up. 

Lieutenant Branagh held up his hands. “Alright, that’s enough locker room talk for the office, now. This is highly inappropriate.”

Leon’s hands grazed the seam of your thong in his uniform pocket and a blush crept up his cheeks. This was also highly inappropriate. He knew he shouldn’t keep that in there but he couldn’t help himself.

“And if this side is about six feet long, then,” you moved the pen over, marking the other end and writing down the measurements, “the pub could go right here.” 

Crystal chuckled. “What will it serve? Guinness?” 

You stuck out your tongue, breaking into laughter. “Yes.” 

Crystal shook her head. “You have lost your mind.” 

You shrugged. “It’s important to have a hobby, you know. Life can’t all be work, work work.” 

The bartender looked at you deadpan. “You only come in three nights a week because even after tip out and everything, you squeeze so much money out of these cops, you don’t even have to be in here full time.” 

You shrugged. “That’s business. And it leaves me with even more time to pursue my hobby.”

Crystal tapped another area in your makeshift floor plan. “You could build them a church here. I feel like if they have a pub, they also need some religion.” 

Your eyes lit up, already marking the area. “Yes!”

Your colleague bent over the counter and motioned for you to look over your shoulder. “Damn, isn’t that baby cop just the cutest thing you have ever seen? Look at him.” 

You followed her gaze, spotting Leon’s blonde head of hair right away. Helena was by his side, obviously trying to talk him into a private dance. Leon however, didn’t seem all that interested. He was looking for someone. 

You smirked. “He’s mine,” you said smugly, shrugging off your silk robe, the air con making you shiver instantly. Nobody had warned you how cold strippers were all the time, half naked in a room of fully dressed men. “Watch this.” 

Crystal did, as you got up off the barstool, clear platform heels hitting the floor and prowled over to the baby gazelle you were going to eat for dinner. 

“Hey Leon,” you purred and his head shot up to you instantly. Crystal snorted a laugh. 

“I’m glad you came back.” 

Helena shot you a dirty look when Leon abandoned her on the spot to meet you halfway. 

You could see the cogs turning in his head with what he was going to say to you. You had been doing this long enough to know how every single type of client worked.

“Hi," was what he eventually settled on. And nothing else. 

Crystal was right, he was the cutest thing you had ever seen. “You know I saw you walk in from over there,” you jerked your head toward the bar, as you stretched out a hand to slowly stroke over his chest. “And I really wanted to give you a private dance.”

“You did?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up. 

“Mh, mh.” You nodded, softly biting your lip, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you drew lazy circles over his shirt with your index finger. 

“A hundred, right?” he asked. 

“Upfront,” you replied and he slipped you the bill without hesitation. How much did a new cop make anyway? you wondered as you secured it in your stage bag and took his hand to pull him with you to the private area. As you stalked past Crystal, you winked at her in triumph. 

Back in the private room, you set the timer. “Sit, rookie, make yourself at home.”

“My name’s Leon,” he complained, but did as he was told and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Alright, Leon. I’ll call you however you want to be called.” You remembered the guy who insisted that you called him ‘Daddy’ during the performance. Only to let you know after that you reminded him of his daughter. So ‘Leon’ was an easy thing to do. 

You started the music and began your dance in front of him, low and slow, to make his mouth water, you knew the drill. 

“How was your day?” Leon asked, looking at you with those blue puppy eyes. 

You froze for a second, then slipped back into character. “It was good. How was your day, Leon?” 

“A little rough, but I’ll be okay.”

You sank down on his lap. “Yeah, you will be.” His breath hitched and you smiled. “Remember no touching. This isn’t your first day anymore, there will be no special treatment today.” 

He nodded, eyes meeting yours over your shoulder, maintaining eye contact. Bless him. You were shaking your barely clothed ass only inches away from him and he looked at your face like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“You’re really cute, do you have a girlfriend?” You bit your lip like you were a little shy to ask him, you figured he would like that. 

“No,” he whispered. “Never had one. Not a real one, I mean.” 

“What’s a real girlfriend to you?” you asked, rolling your hips and running your hands up your thighs until they rested on the curve of your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

“Someone I love.” 

You smiled inwardly with a slight shake of the head. He couldn’t be real. You refused to believe that. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he breathed and you turned around, nudging his knees apart gently, settling in between them. 

“I’m a dancer. I make money by creating fantasies for guys like you so you keep coming back and pay me for private dances. If I had one, do you think I would tell you?” you answered his question truthfully. Most guys would get a simple ‘no’. But you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you sold Leon the fantasy in the same way. 

“So you don’t have one,” he whispered and you raised an eyebrow at him. “You said if you had one.” 

You lowered your body, raking your nails over his thighs. “So attentive,” you murmured, looking up at him.

Not going to lie, the sight of him did make your mouth water a little bit. If you were ten years younger and had met him at a college party, you would have given your soul to be in the position you were in right now, unpaid. 

“Would you like to be my boyfriend, Leon?” you asked. “Is that why you came here twice in the same week?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, watching you, mesmerised. “I don’t know anything about you.” 

“Ask me something then, get to know me,” you invited him, arching your back and leaning onto your hands, rolling your stomach and pushing your tits up. 

“What do you do in your free time?” 

You couldn’t help yourself but giggle at that. At him. At that question. You could just lie. Make up some sexy hobby that would further sell the fantasy. But there was something about him that made you tell him the truth. 

“I foster guinea pigs.”

His lips parted ever so slightly, eyes twinkling with amusement . “You what?” 

You pushed yourself back up off the floor, sitting on his lap. “One of them is blind in both eyes. I named her Guinevere.”

“Like from the legend?” he chuckled softly and the sound made your heart stumble. 

You nodded, forcing yourself to concentrate on the task at hand, grinding down on him, unclasping your lace top. He moaned softly. You were back in business. 

You pushed yourself off his chest and lowered your upper body down slowly until you were in a deep backbend. 

“What do you want to know about me?” Leon rasped. “Since I’m auditioning to be your boyfriend and all.”  

Cheeky. A mischievous grin tucked at the corners of your mouth as you came back up, playing with your tits in front of his face. 

“How big is it really?” 

His mouth fell open. “I-I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t measure it,” he stuttered and you threw your head back in a cackle. You pushed his shirt up, fingers grazing over the hard muscle just above the waistband of his boxers. He shuddered under your touch. 

“Can I take a look?” you asked, one hand already on his belt. He gave you a small nod and you pushed down his jeans until you were once more face to face with his clothed cock. He wasn’t throbbing and soaked in precum like last time, but he was still fully hard. 

“Can I touch?” You licked your lips. “For educational purposes only.”

He nodded again, with half lidded eyes. You took him in his hand, the fabric of his underwear separating you, feeling his heavy weight in your hands. You closed your fingers around the base of him and pulled the cotton taut over his tip with your other hand, marvelling at the sight. Holy shit. 

“Well, any girl who gets to play with this is very lucky,” you whispered, ignoring the hot, pulsating sensation at the apex of your thighs. 

“Right now, you’re playing with it,” he whispered, watching you. 

Again, cheeky. You shook your head. “That would never fit in me. I’m more of a boyfriend size kinda gal, you know?”

“We’d make it fit,” he said, without missing a beat and your pussy started throbbing, making you all flustered. 

We’d make it fit. 

Damn, rookie. The neck of it. 

The timer went off, snapping you out of your trance. 

“Time’s up, rookie,” you whined as if you were disappointed yourself, a trick you had perfected in your first year of the job. 

“Can I stay?” he asked. 

“For another hundred, yeah,” you replied, fingers absentmindedly stroking over his cock. You stopped yourself. 

Leon reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded over hundred dollar bill, gingerly placing it onto the side table. “But only if you stop calling me rookie. My name is Leon.” 

You moved back up, not closing his pants and sank down on him again. “Okay, Leon.”

This dance, you went all out. Maybe a little too much with the fact that he was once again under you in nothing but his boxers and you could feel yourself soaking through your thong on him again. It was only natural. A natural physical reaction to giving someone a lap dance. Well, someone like Leon. Someone you enjoyed, someone who was sweet and respectful. 

But more importantly you wanted to satisfy him so you could move on to other clients. This was getting a little…personal for your liking. 

There were no more questions. Instead the odd breathy moan fell from his lips or a whispered ‘Oh fuck’ when you squeezed certain body parts just right while shaking others. Only from him, you convinced yourself. There was no way you would ever moan into a client’s ear. Or voluntarily push your breasts a little too close to their face so they might think they could touch them with their lips if they moved at the right moment. 

You also certainly didn’t hold onto his shoulders, knitting your brows because you had a hard time concentrating as you gyrated your hips over him. Hovering of course. In your stripper heels. That’s what they were for. So that you didn’t rub up on a client like a feral cat in heat. 

The timer went off again and you and Leon were face to face with one another, your fingernails digging into the back of his neck, leaving little half-moon indents in the skin. How the hell did that happen? You flexed your hands for a better grip. 

He was close enough for his breath to be fanning over your face.  

“Time’s up,” you whispered. 

“Can I get another?” he breathed, blue eyes boring into yours. 

You shook your head, breaking the spell. “No. I’m kicking you out.”

Against better judgement, your eyes dropped down to his full lips. It was sinful to have those on a man. Entirely obscene. 

“Why? I didn’t do anything.” 

“Yeah, but I’ve never come close to kissing a client before.” 

“And that’s not allowed?” His throat bobbed. 

“No, I would seriously breach professional boundaries.” 

“What if I kiss you instead?” The rookie’s gaze travelled down to your lips. 

“I would have to kick you out.” You pressed a firm hand against his chest, muscles rippling under your palms. 

“You’re kicking me out anyway,” Leon breathed and brazenly closed the distance between you. 

In the break room, you were looking for Helena. "Hey, newbie," you hissed. 

Helena only raised a brow at you, arms crossed in front of her chest. 

"Do you want to take one of my clients?" you asked, voice shaky but you hid it well, you thought. 

"Oh, so you take my turn on Monday, snatch the baby cop from me tonight and now you want to swap all of a sudden?" She huffed. 

You clicked your fingers. "That's him. That's the one I wanna swap." 

Her eyes lit up. 

"I have so many of 'em," you tried to convince her. "I figured I should leave one for you, so you can get your feet on the ground. He's really sweet, you'll get on great." 

Helena looked you up and down, nodded hesitantly. "Okay." 

A weight was lifted off your shoulders. "Super," you cheered, the smile not reaching your eyes. 

Crystal came up behind you. "Is everything okay?" 

You nodded, eagerly. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" 

"You look horrified, frankly. And you're trading cops with Helena like Pokemon cards." Part of Crystal's job was to make sure the dancers were safe. From her position at the bar she had a good overview and if someone stayed in the private rooms for too long, she would come in and check to make sure everything was okay. 

"He didn't get handsy, did he?" 

You shook your head, violently. "God, no. He's very gentle." 

You brushed your fingertips over your lips, remembering Leon's kisses. The way his lips had moved against yours, sweetly at first, just to become more eager, his tongue brushing against your lips, silently asking for entry. Who the hell even kissed like that?

Crystal narrowed her eyes on you and slowly made tracks back toward the bar. "Alright."