#But that would still take years and it's not mentioned if they kept in touch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hislittlesparklejumpropequeen · 6 months ago

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Watching you

Hwang In-ho x female!reader.

Summary: In-ho sees you and his brain chemistry changes. A/N: in reader’s pov he’s referred as Young il. Sorry if it’s confusing. Warnings: Obsessive and possessive behaviour, masturbation, stalking, perverted opinions, murder, blood, kissing, mentions of arousal, mentally and physically vulnerable characters, dubious consent, non-con touching, manipulation, sadism, dacryphilia

W/c: 3,5k

It was strange that he kept his eyes on you more than anyone in the games. The moment he saw your shaking figure among the crowd of people in the green suits, he felt his breath get stuck in his throat. You were looking around with eyes that were full of fear, hands wrapped around yourself and holding back tears as others started an argument in the middle. You listened as someone complained about his shoes being so expensive, and someone asking for his phone, an old lady argue with her son and guards answering the players’s questions with patience.

He kept his eyes on you as the first game started. He saw your eyes widen when someone was shot right in front of you, and he watched you as you realise the seriousness of the game you accepted to take part in. Gi-hun was interesting to him, yes. He was searching for them, for him have been for years now. And he was brave enough to come back to the games just to find who was behind them. He respected his determination. Yet there was something about you that he could not name. Something captivating. Something that shifted things in him, made his skin sting in ecstasy as you nearly moved when the doll turned around. You looked around with those innocent eyes and blood of someone flowing down your cheek, he felt his trouser tighten. A small, tingly sensation took over his loins and made him frown in confusion. He had never taken a liking to a someone, let alone a little, fragile thing like you.

When he found the video of you playing ddajki with the recruiter, he felt himself get harder and harder as he watched you spill tears in pain every single time you received a hard slap on your cheek. The camera captured the noises you made as your body was falling backwards with every single slap. The recruiter hit you hard and In-ho wandered if you would sound the same when he pounded you hard on his bed. He took his mask off and palmed himself trough his trouser as he kept replaying the video over and over again. When he was finished spilling his seed into his palm, he wished that was your mouth wrapped around his tip instead.

When the first game finished and your number and picture still shone bright on the floor, you voted for ‘X’ and expected everyone to vote same as you. Yet you were so wrong when the last player 001 and all others voted ‘O’, causing all of you to stay in this hellhole. You felt tears fill your eyes as some people were cheering with victory in front of you. You sat down on one of the beds at the front and hugged your legs with disappointment. As you were thinking what was going to happen next, you felt someone sit next to you.

“I’m sorry, I thought staying was the best option.” Said the man who was looking at you, watching your tears flow down your flushed cheeks. You looked at his number and saw 001 in bright white font. He was the person who voted last and made the decision. You sighed and shook your head.

“It is not only you, sir. Half of us wanted to stay.” You said as you pointed at the people who had the ‘O’ banners on their right side. He did not look at the direction you were pointing at, he kept his eyes on. You were so pretty when you cried. He wandered how beautiful you would look when you were overstimulated with his fingers in you. He felt his cock twicth when you looked at him again. Your lips were plump, and the tip of your nose was red. He wandered how your tears would taste like.

“We have a winner here. I thought we could use this for our advantage.” He explained as he pointed at Gi-hun who looked very troubled not so far away from you. Your eyes were on the last winner when you felt the man beside you stand up and take few steps towards the player 456. Yet he stopped mid way and looked back at you, as if he was waiting for you to follow him. And for some reason you wiped your tears away and followed him like a lost puppy as he walked towards the previous winner of the games who was already accompanied by few guys who kept asking him questions.

And the small group was formed with two of you joining them. You did not know much about others, did not trust them meanwhile player 001 was confident and comfortable talking to them. When he sat down next to Gi-hun, his eyes pointed at the small space next to his feet, so you sat down there. Being close to him brought you a sense of safety. He was the first person who approached you in this mess of a place with kindness. You did not know him, didn’t know his name or why he was here. Yet there was a look in his eyes that made you want to stick beside him.

When everyone went to sleep, In-ho looked at your resting form. You were wrapped in the thin blanket and was curled up into a ball. He looked at your curves that were visible from the tracksuit, his mouth watered. You were so frightened and powerless. You needed someone to protect you in the games. Someone who would look after you, make sure you make it alive. He knew what humans were capable of doing in a place like this. People were going to go mad and hurt one another viciously. Would he be able to just stand and watch if you got hurt?

Your soft whimpers and cries brought him back to reality. When you woke up from your few hours of sleep drenched in sweat and tears flowing down your cheeks, he crawled to you, in the darkness of the hall. He reached out to you, from the metal bars of the beds, and held your shoulder. You squirmed in fear and was about to scream until a large hand covered your mouth.

“It’s me.” He whispered to your ear as his whole body was pressed against your back, other arm wrapped around your shoulders. He was towering over you, as you felt sweat drops make their way to your neck from your temple.

He let go of your mouth, but his touch did not leave your body when he moved to sit next to you. He was close, his breath hitting your face and neck when he looked at you with observing eyes that did not give any feelings away. His touch made your heart beat fast and quicken your breaths, yet you did not want him to stop holding you.

“Bad dream?” He whispered, his voice is low yet deep enough to make your insides shake. You nodded when tears filled your eyes again. The images of dead bodies all over the playground haunted you since the moment you came back from the game as winners. You didn’t want to cry in front of anyone, but you felt like he would not mind seeing you cry.

He nodded along with you, almost like a grown up talking to a little kid and mirror her moves to befriend her. When he saw your bottom lip tremble and eyes full of fear scan the hall of people sleeping, he felt his loins burn in need. The face you made when you were scared and felt alone was enough to make him cum in his underwear without any touch.

Without hesitation he brought your body closer to his own and his arms embraced your shaking form with mercy. You buried your face into the crook of his neck and wrapped your smaller arms around his waist. He was warm. Very warm that you felt your fingertips burn over his body. When you breathed in and out in the crook of his neck, all In-ho wanted to do was throw your body back into the bed, rip those clothes off of you and ravage you in front of dozens of people without any care. The though of fucking you, turning you into mass in front of them, giving them a show as he claimed you, sent shivers down his spine.

“I’m so scared,” you whispered, your crying voice reaching his ear as he tried to hold back a smile at your situation. You were so helpless that you were crying in the arms of the man who was the reason why you were still here. He was a stranger, who had the potential to do anything. Yet here you were, quivering against his chest and making his member throb in need.

“I’m here.” He said. And you had no chance but trusting him.

———————

The next game you were automatically given the Gong-gi game as the only female in the group. Yet your hands were shaking when it was your turns to play after player 390 completed his part successfully. When you missed two times, you were so sure you were going to die and worse, be the reason for everyone’s death in your group.

He watched you panick, drop the pebbles and fail to catch them midair. Everyone around you was getting inpatient and scared naturally. Even tho he loved the way you were struggling and feeding into his twisted desire, he could not let you die. He held your waist and stopped the trembling of your body. You looked at him under your lashes that were wet with your tears and went back to work once he gave you a reassuring smile. With that you managed to catch all the pebbles in your palm and passed the round.

It was then, you felt something was off, when it was his turn to play his own game. The top kept slipping from his hands or landed wrong on the floor that was covered in the blood of eliminated players. You wanted to step back yet could not because of the ties when he started to scream in anger and slap himself. There was a crazy, off-putting look in his eyes. It was less uncomfortable when he was looking at you, yet it was still there. His eyes made your skin crawl and stomach twist in sickness. You did feel safe around him. But not like you would feel safe with a family member, a friend, or a lover. It felt like he was a wolf who claimed a lamb, kept her on his chest and waited for right moment to eat her.

When your group managed to survive and go back to the hall, he kept to you close. His hand was on your back, leading you to your bed. When it was mealtime, he gave half of his food to you, telling you to not to worry about him when you tried to reject him. He watched you until you finished all your food. After all of you exchanged names, he watched you talk to player 388 about his time in marine and watch you laugh when he was talking excitedly, telling everyone how prideful he was about his military service. He watched your tears dry up as you listened to the conversation that was flowing in the group. Your smile made his stomach twist and his jaw clench.

Your hopes once again were shattered when people voted for “O” more than “X” and decided to continue playing the games. Young-il wiped your tears away and convinced you to get some sleep for the night. You could only relax and fall asleep when he sat next to you on your bed and caressed your head as he decided to stay awake. He looked extraordinarily strong to you. He did not need to sleep, gave his food to others, calm people down when everyone was scared, raged and pass the games like it was nothing. Most importantly, he held you close no matter what. Did not mind you cry and fail and fall. Maybe it was a sense of guilt he felt, for making you stay in the first round of voting, you thought.

——————

Next morning he held your hand when everyone was taken to the new game. It was mingle. Your group had decided to stay together. You were grateful that they had take you in and did not leave you alone. You all took your place on the platform and started to spin as the song was playing. You felt his hand get tighter around yours, reminding you that he was here with you.

You ran as fast as you can and took deep breaths when all 10 of you finally managed to get into a room. The sound of lock made you jump slightly. You saw Young il’s eyes on Gi-hun as he pulled you under his arm. The images of him looking at Gi-hun since the moment you met him lingered on your mind until the woman who claimed to be a shaman started to speak loudly in the middle of the room. As you waited for gunshots to stop and doors to open, you could not help but wonder the reason behind Young il’s weird behaviour about Gi-hun. He seemed to get along with him. Seemed to respect his ideas and experiences about this place. They seemed to understand one another, somehow. Yet that unexplainable look in 001 eyes was making you shift uncomfortably in your place.

Until last round, you had no chance but sticking beside Young il. As you entered rooms and people kept dying outside, you became more paranoid. And when it came to the last round, Jeong-bae asked how many people it was going to be this time. Without hesitation Young-il answered.

“2.” And it was it. When the song stopped and the platform stopped spinning, Young il held your hand tighter than before, and started to run to closest room. As you were trying to catch up with his pace, someone bumped into you, causing you to lose your balance and stumble midway. Young il turned around immediately and wrapped his arms around your waist. He lifted you like a piece of feather and made his way to the yellow door that was already opened by a guy. Young il pushed you into the room and threw the other guy away from the door. When you scanned the room, your eyes were met with pair of foreign eyes.

“Out.” Young il said sharply to the other man in the room.

“We were here first.” The man said, his voice cracking as he was shaking in fear. Person behind the door tried to open it. You pushed your back against the door and held it with all of your strength. There was not much time left, and you were afraid that all of you were going die in this room.

Young il grabbed the man and locked his arms around his head. As they scooped to the floor, his arms got tighter around the player 343’s neck. You were still holding the door and preventing the other player to get in. For a second Young il’s intense gaze met with yours and you couldn’t look away.

He looked into your eyes, showing no emotion or weakness as the man he was choking started to turn purple. Your breath got stuck in your throat, your knees were shaking, and your palms were getting sweaty with the scene taking place in front of you. As there were few seconds left for the countdown, Young il twisted the man’s neck. The sound of bone cracking filled the room along with the sound of door locking behind you. He kept his eyes on you, as he tossed the dead body of the side.

The lifeless body of player 343 laid on the ground and the gunshots filled your ear. The screams of people scratched your brain, and you finally managed to close your eyes. He had killed someone in front of you, broke his neck with one swift motion and he had no emotion on his face as he did it. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought it was going to fail at some point. Then the images of him came to your mind. When he knocked down player 124 and 230 as he looked down at them with those emotionless eyes, when he carelessly slapped himself in the second game, when he looked at Gi-hun as if he wanted to strangle him when he thought no one was looking, when he pushed everyone out of his way to get both of you to safety during the mingle game and now when he killed someone.

“Open your eyes.” He breathed out, his breath hitting your face. Suddenly you felt his warmth surrounding you and him towering over your head. You slowly opened your eyes and there he was. Looking down at you, his eyebrows lifted up and with a mocking look in his eyes. His face was close to yours. Yet it did not feel comforting and safe like it did a night ago, when he was comforting you after a nightmare.

“What did you do?” Your voice was shaky and sounded terrified as you tried to look at the dead body that was in the corner of the room. He did not let you look away with his fingers finding your chin and holding it tight. He held you with those hands that just took the life of someone. You felt chills going down your spine.

“I made sure that we survived.” He whispered without breaking eye contact with you. You could hear soldiers cleaning up the mess outside of the rooms.

“You killed him.” You tried to shake his touch away, yet he didn’t let you. Instead, he got closer, until you were trapped between him and the door. His hot breath made your skin tingle, and his touch made you wanna cry.

“Yes.” He said, and his lips touched your cheek that was wetted by your tears. His lips planted a soft kiss onto your skin. The kiss made you feel dizzy and your knees weak.

“For you.” He continued. His words made you freeze in your spot. His lips traced over your skin like a ghost and reached the corner of your lips. “Only for you” He kissed the side of your mouth, softly, gently, with mercy. You wanted to rip his hands off of you, and run away. The floor beneath your feet was slippery with the blood of eliminated players. If you slipped and fell, would he let you go?

“All for you.” His lips found your chin, then your nose, then your other cheek. He did not rush or hold you harsh enough to hurt. Yet knowing that he had just killed someone with those hands made you wanna throw up.

Your tears dropped to his lips, and he licked his lips as if he was dying over thirst. And when he made eye contact with you again, it was the first time you saw a clear human emotion in his eyes. An emotion he did not try to hide or was afraid to show; yearning. You did not know if it was for you or winning. In both cases, it terrified you to your very being.

“Stop!” You said as sobs filled your mouth and he pressed his forehead against yours hard. You felt him shake his head, his arms wrapping around your fragile, little body compared to his strong form.

“I will give you everything you want, you need.” He said and pressed his lips against yours. Without waiting, his tongue made his way into your mouth, forcing your lips to open up for him. You felt the dizzy feeling take over your head. Your ears were ringing, your mind was foggy as he kissed you harsh, deep. There was no power left in your body, so you just let yourself to his arms.

His teeth crushed against yours and he was biting every corner of your lips until he drew blood. The irony taste filled your senses, made you jump. You did not know if it was you bleeding or him. But there was blood everywhere. Covering your tongue, your lips and staining your chin as your shared spit escaped from the corner of your lips. You felt your body burn all over. Your back was arching like a cat to get any closer to him, and there was a soreness between your legs that made your clit throb. You felt shame fill you and guilt making you wanna cry out. Instead, you kept kissing him, devouring him, eating him as much as you could.

You whined and pushed your head towards him when he parted your kiss with the sound of lock. The door was opened. The third game was finished. There was still a dead man in the room. Your mouth was covered in blood, making you look like you just feasted on someone. And his eyes were on you, watching you.

#squid game #squid game 2 #front man #hwang in ho #young il #lee byung hun #frontman x reader #hwang in ho x reader #young il x reader #squid game x reader #squid game 2 x reader #blood and gore #he’s so daddy

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readwritealldayallnight · 7 months ago

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I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

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cloveroctobers · 2 months ago

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act right | Elias “STACK” Moore x black! Reader

A/N: I thought I might dabble in some mess that involves stack idk. This is a toxic moment!!!!! but you definitely have to be if stack is your type…or are you gonna fix him? 😆

Synopsis: in which reader finds it entertaining that stack is back in town and in her face, thinking you’re about to spin the block again. He must have forgotten who tf you are.

WARNINGS: language/minor usage of the N-word, mentions of violence, cheater!stack, side chicks and shit talking, built past relationship, most of reader’s background is based off of Katherine Dunham, & this was honestly a quick write on this cloudy weekend but I hope y’all like it?

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃

It’s truly an art, pretending that you don’t see someone staring at you. There were so many people in the juke joint, many old and new faces that you didn’t mind chatting with, after Annie made you one of the best Bee’s Knees you ever had. You had no doubts about it, considering the two of you had quite the bond especially when it came to events such as these.

Usually you had no issue blending into the room and once comfortable you made effort to socialize. And usually that always ended up with you on the dance floor, you being nicknamed as, “QOD, Queen of Dance,” who always seemed to take the lead once all eyes were on you. There were many years where you were forced to be held back, shield your gift and be what your parents wanted you to be. When they found out that you opened up your own dance school just in your teens, where you spent majority of your time after school instead of helping down at the struggling local newspaper shop, your family couldn’t be more than livid.

Little did they know by you opening up this school, helped contribute to expenses but it also brought on some guilt after your brother was left alone to run the newspaper stand by the trains, which led to him being paralyzed and wheelchair bond for the rest of his life. The hate in this world is a motherfucker and regardless if you were there or not when those events transpired, it still could have happened.

These were the times you were expected to live in.

People don’t understand that some brains can be delayed but that doesn’t mean your brother was a bad person or deserved what he got. He was one of the main ones who was proud to see you dance and told you that you could always be more than what momma and daddy wanted you to be. So? You kept on dancing.

Until you felt hands on your hips, facial hair prickling the side of your neck. His front pressing into the shape of your backside so easily he felt like he belonged there. You halted your movements, hearing his voice over the blues.

“Girl you sure do look good as hell,” he comments trailing his lips up the side of your neck breathing you in, “I’ve been looking around town for you but somehow I knew you’d find your own invitation.”

Your hands touch his and shove them from your body, you spin to face him with fire in your blood. Stack looks the same as you always remembered him, a handsome yet dangerous darkness that you didn’t sign up for.

“I’m not here to support you if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” you go back to swaying your hips and Stack can’t help but to run his tongue over his bottom lip, “I came here to dance.”

Stack laughs lowly, rough like gravel and like the texture of his hands. That same hand runs at his jaw as he watches the way you move without a care in the world, as if it wasn’t easy to gain an audience.

“Is that right?” His hand reaches forward again but even with your eyes closed, you reach out just in time to smack his hand away. Stack hissed with a shake of his hand, “…See you can do all that but you and I both know, you would much prefer to dance on me.”

Your eyes rolled open at that, stopping your movements as you peered over at him underneath the yellow light. Your hand goes right to your hip, where his hand should be but he lost that right. Lost that right when he lied saying you weren’t his first thought when he got to Chicago. You went out there to pursue your dream career whereas he went out there with Smoke to make money and fuck shit up.

That’s not what he intended to do with you.

There was a time where you believed Stack did love you but you would never be someone’s second thought.

A cold smile passes over your full lips, “Oh Elias…you think if I let you dick me down on this ol’ dance floor things will be forgiven? We had our fun in Chi-Town and you had even more with your hussies out there. Even gave one of them the ring that belongs to me and now you want to be in my face thinking shit is sweet? You should go play with Mary who’s over there lookin’ as if she could throw a tornado our way…she always did put up with your fuck shit better than me.”

Stack’s jaw ticked out of frustration. He didn’t need you to bring up old shit right now, not when he was already having a good night with the vibe of success in the air. When he spotted you, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Wouldn’t. He should have known coming over here wouldn’t be easy…something you never were. Stack ignored Smoke who told him, “If you go over there, you might want to Bob to the left since her hook’s always been sharp.”

It wouldn’t be the first time you took your frustration out on somebody. Obviously it wasn’t always the best choice and you knew when to apologize when you knew the person behind your wrath didn’t deserve it.

Elias Moore was a whole another story.

“I don’t give a damn about her right now,” Stack stepped to you but you didn’t flinch just folded your arms with a smirk on your mouth, “I’m talking to your ass. And I know you missed me as much as I missed you, sweetheart.”

“What gave you that idea?” You laugh, “Every call I never returned? I was too busy living life, just like you.”

Stack’s known all about your adventures after Chicago. From Martinique to Jamaica and Trinidad. His gut was telling him then to follow you, he should have followed you all over the world but his ego got the best of him. He even came to a few of the shows, tucked away in the dark corners of the theatre and felt like he was the loudest of applauses. He was sure you could pinpoint him out as you curtesy at the end of the shows, even thought about sending you flowers but felt like that would be doing too much. Especially when you caught him with one of the other dancers in the hallway.

He sniffs, fingers flexing at his sides, “You cant live no damn life without thinkin’ of me.”

There goes that ego again.

A scoff of a laugh flies out of your mouth, hand going to rest against your cheek afterwards as you peek into the anger on his face, just as you would when surveying one of the his drink’s you would always sample first before handing it over to him, much to his annoyance.

“If you really think that then I’m really about to break your heart, boo.” It’s your turn to step even closer to him, “You come and go out of my life as much as you please. What’s the harm in me doing the same?”

His teeth are flashing at you now, gold grill glistening beneath his beautiful smile. “You always did know how to knock a man off his feet.”

Your head tilts to the side, eyes almost glancing around his frame, just knowing what he was referring to. You shot him in the ass after you found out from some friends that he fucked Mary in the back of his car one night. At that point the both of you were just friends but…he should have never shown up and got in the way when you were letting out your frustrations! You claimed you were aiming for his leg once you got back into bed with him weeks later but the both of you knew better.

“And you always knew how to make love hurt.”

Something shifted inside of Stack at your snapping words just then.

It was no secret that stack hurt you.

When he was able to sit alone with his feelings and look back on it all, he knew he fucked up. There were times where he just felt like his brain did more than his heart would allow him. He knew you deserved better but ultimately he felt like nobody else deserved you more than him.

“Whatchu want a sorry?” Stack clasped his hands in front him, guard up, “Will that get you to stop acting so stank and admit that you’re not gonna find anybody that loves you more than me?”

You’re shaking your head now, “Fuck your sorry, Stack. Especially since you think that’s enough. I just wanted you to act right and you never could.”

Your hands softly trail against his chest and his breath hitches, tempted to watch your hands skillfully dance across his broad chest but like he said, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. That moment of tenderness is brief as you shove him back, actually making him budge.

That makes a cruel smile past over your features, knowing you got him in a trance as you step around him, ready to bump shoulders with him but he side steps you. His hand shoots out to grip your wrist, turning you roughly back to him. He pulls you tight against his frame, making sure you’re nose to nose as you stumble. You’re breathing him in when you want to keep him out.

His mouth is open like he’s got something smart to say but his heart is the soundtrack in his ears instead of the harmonica now.

“If you don’t have anything else to waste my time with, then you best unhand me before I make you a new headline, Elias.” You say into his face, eyes strong and bold on his whiskey hues.

Stack’s grip slackens, very slowly because he still wants to have a hold on you. You’ve always liked your personal space and it took time for you to open up to him just as him with you. Maybe he shouldn’t be holding on if he didn’t know how to do it right or the way that you needed.

Just giving you the inch, you slip out of his touch, that lingers as it glides over your bare back in that low-cut dress. A wink is sent his way, making him twitch and let a sickening grin appear over his own face, although he knew you were far from joking, ready to set it off at any given time just like him—although you claimed to be a changed woman using forms of dance as the best outlet—Stack still knew you even if you thought he wasn’t shit.

You even shoo him away, yelling over the music, “Why don’t you get you one of those sidecars from Annie? Maybe that’ll uplift your spirits because it damn sure won’t be from me.”

And with that being said Stack had to swallow that as he watched you again, slipping through the bodies, dancing with a few on your way by, before finding another stranger to sink your body into. A scowl is on Stack’s face now, as your hips swung left and right while another nigga buried his face in what should be his.

Rightfully.

He promised he wouldn’t cause a scene tonight and he would keep his cool but he remembered faces. That nigga wouldn’t be allowed back in this spot ever again after disrespecting him. Once he was able to get moving again, he tapped one of his boys, pointing out some red dude that had his hands on you for his men to take care of some time tonight.

While he leaned against the bar with Annie giving him a knowing glance which he held his hand up to before she slid him a sidecar—without that decorative shit on the side of the glass she tried to give him last time during one of your birthday parties—Stack couldn’t help but to wonder if you’d ever dance his way again but deep down he already knew the answer.

Yet everybody that knew Stack was aware that he was hardheaded. Once he set his sights on something, he knew how to be persuasive…in his own way. It was his turn to smile behind the rim of the glass as he watched two of his men snatch the red man away from you as you twirled from his grasp, hands up in the air, briefly distracted from their attack.

When you turned back to the missing man, a look of confusion passed over your face before you shrugged, moving through the remaining crowd to plop down next to Sammie, who sported his own guitar lounging by the stage.

Some heartaches you freestyle around, twisting and turning, and some you drink through—and some may just cause you to bleed out.

FIN.

#Spotify #sinners #sinners movie #sinners film #sinners 2025 #sinners x reader #elias moore #Elias Moore x black reader #Elias moore x reader #stack sinners #stack sinners x reader #stack sinners x black reader #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x reader #michael b jordan x black reader #queued

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fortunapre · 5 months ago

Text

PAIRING: hamzah x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and hamzah have been close friends forever, but during one of your routine movie nights, things get heated and confessions are made…

WARNINGS: 18+, no piv, dry-humping, making out, cussing, female reader, mentions y/n

2.2k words

“First of all, what game are you playing?” You asked, grabbing both bowls of ice cream that you prepared and heading to the couch where you and Hamzah were watching Star Wars.

“Uh, does it matter? This is a once in a lifetime chance I'm giving you to be in my video!” Hamzah teased, making a face like he thought you were insane.

You playfully hit his shoulder and laughed. “Well considering some of your videos are… questionable to say the least, I’m gonna need more context.”

Hamzah just spooned ice cream in his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. While you laughed and looked back towards the TV, he kept his eyes on you, admiring. Tonight was one of your guys’ monthly ice cream nights that you started since you met about 6 years ago. Ever since you were teenagers, you both have been side-by-side. The best of friends.

Hamzah took notice of your pajama shorts, large t-shirt, and messy hair. He had no idea how your most disheveled look still made him stare.

You felt his gaze and looked at him, but before you caught him, Hamzah looked back at the tv.

Now it was your turn to admire. Hamzah had always looked effortlessly hot in your eyes, but movie nights especially. Something about his careless look made your heartbeat a little faster. Like this view of him, in pajamas, with strands of dark, curly hair flying everywhere, was only made for you. Especially when he wore his glasses.

This secret staring match lasted the whole movie.

Usually, when movie night ended and the icecream was finished, Hamzah would talk a bit and then head home. It always killed him to leave you.

However, this time, Hamzah planned on telling you something he’d been hiding from since he met you. He wouldn’t back out of it this time

To stall, and make the night continue, he started with a simple converstation. “Wait, so do you want to be in the video or not, ‘cause I completely understand if it’s too much. I know me and Martin can get, like, kinda weird but it's what the viewers like so…”

Hamzah was rambling and you knew that if you didn’t stop him now he’d go on forever. You leaned over, and quickly put your hand over his mouth, shutting him up. You were both already situated with your legs basically pressed together, so reaching him was no problem.

“You’re rambling, Hamzah.” you laughed and kept your hand over his mouth. “And yeah I guess I’ll be in a video.” You tried to seem bossy by pointing a finger into his chest “But it we better be playing Sims or Episode.”

Then you realised just how many places you were touching him…

Teasing in your guys’ relationship was the norm, but recently, it has started to feel more like flirting than friendly teasing. There’s been a lot more… tension.

He stopped talking when you covered his mouth and smiled underneath your hand.

Recently, everything you do has felt more like flirting, now that you think about it.

At first it was innocent, a few touches and remarks, because it felt comfortable. Now, though, something hotter brimmed underneath everything.

Maybe you took it too far sometimes, with very obvious innuendos and such, but you couldn’t help yourself when it came to him. However, in the back of your mind, there was that voice reminding you that Hamzah is probably just being friendly and you were overthinking it.

You didn't want to take that chance, so you never brought up the obvious shift between you two.

You kept your hand on his mouth a bit longer than was probably normal, but the look that Hamzah was giving was almost magnetic. There was something in his eyes that was brand new, and raw. He lightly grabbed your wrist and moved to hold your hand instead, his eyes still locked on yours.

It was silent until he opened his mouth, deciding to speak up.

Now, Hamzah decided. Now he would tell you. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to-”

“You should really start wearing your glasses more.” You winced internally at the accidental compliment/confession that slipped out.

“What?” He had a physical reaction to your sudden outburst and started laughing. “What’re you talking about? My glasses? What, why?” He seemed super nervous , and you could tell by his familiar awkward smirk from when we he’s flustered. If only he knew what that slight upturn of his lips did to you.

His laugh, your proximity to each other, and his just overall look meant your insides were basically jelly. He was still holding your hand, and once you realized it, the rosy blush spreading up your neck was inevitable.

“Don’t tease, you obviously know why.” You answered, looking away to try and hide the blush.

“Yeah?” He asked, in the most sensual voice you’ve ever heard from him, while looking down at your intertwined hands.

You were extremely surprised by the sudden deepness of his voice but decided to hide your reaction. Instead, you rolled your eyes and sat up to take your bowls to the sink. You needed to get away before you let your impulsive thoughts get the best of you.

He let you walk away, contrary to what his mind was reeling with, slowly dropping your hand as you moved away.

He watched you as you walked, with his eyes on the way your shorts were slightly riding up, and how your legs were on full display.

You set the dishes in the sink and turned to head back but were surprised with Hamzah’s towering figure.He followed you into the kitchen and was standing right infront of you. He was situated with one hand on the back counter and the other on the island, blocking your way out.

Instead of arguing, you just put a hand on your hip, and looked at him. Nervousness consumed your mind as you fully realized just how close to you Hamzah was standing. Instead of moving away, however, you stayed close, catching his familiar, minty scent. You looked back into his eyes-His eyes that held the exact same searing gaze as earlier. He seemed to make nonverbal promises. Of what? You weren’t sure but how he was looking was almost dirty.

“Y/n, what I was saying earlier…” Hamzah began again but briefly stopped for a second and looked at you expectantly.

“What?” You asked confusedly why he stopped.

“Oh, just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to rudely interrupt me again.”

You scoffed and faked hurt, “rudely?! I complimented you!”

“Yeah, I guess.” His smirk was back and his eyes were on yours. If it was anyone else, eye contact would have made you look away. Except Hamzah isn’t just anyone, and his eyes were like pools you could drown in.

He moved an inch closer, testing the waters. When he saw a slight pink to your cheeks at his closeness, he gained sudden confidence.

“Don’t let me leave tonight.” He suddenly spoke.

You were taken aback with his words, “What, like lock the doors? Are you going to transform at midnight or something?”

He let out a breathy laugh, but his tone never shifted.

“You know what I mean, Y/n.” A deep breath. “Let me stay. Let me show you what I…”

“Hamzah. Of course you can stay over. I’d never push you-”

“No, y/n that’s not…”

A beat of silence passed until you softly spoke up.

“What, Hamzah?”

“Let me show you what I think about everytime I’m near you.”

His words were ringing in your ears and your entire body almost had a physical reaction to what he was insinuating.

“Let me show you what I’ve been imagining for the past 5 damn years, Y/n.”

You were stunned, because 5 years? That’s almost for as long as you’ve known him.

“5 years…” You tested the words out loud and it was like an award winning melody to your ears.

“Yeah, 5 years. Actually scratch that. 6 years.” He stood closer, and spoke quieter. “Since I saw you for the first time I’ve been holding back from you. From admitting how I feel because I was afraid I might lose you.”

Like a dam, you broke. Anything along those lines were exactly what you’ve been wishing for, and here those words were, out in the open.

Finally,

You grabbed the front of his hoodie with surprising strength and pulled him down to your level.

Before you could follow through and kiss him, you just held his lips near yours instead.

You both shared one breath, staring at each others' lips. You stayed like this, too afraid to ruin the moment if you went too fast. Just the whisper of Hamzah’s lips against yours filled you with an insane amount of need.

However, Hamzah took the invite of your pouty lips and closed the distance for you.

Unable to contain the years of built up desire, you kiss his back. Hard.

He almost stumbles forward as you pull his hoodie closer to you. He smirks into the kiss at your eagerness and you swear that simple action could make you drop to your knees if he wasn’t holding your waist.

His fingers were digging into the fabric of your t-shirt, basically molding into your waist. It’s like you skipped the slow-getting-hotter part of the kiss and immediately skipped to fully making out.

Hamzah licked the inside of your mouth, making you release a quiet mewl from the back of your throat.

He parted from your lips, barely. Just enough distance to catch your breath before he dove back in. It was almost feral, the way he moved from your lips to your cheek to your jaw. He grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you up. Your immediate reaction was to wrap your legs around him and hold him as close as possible.

Right now, being chest-to-chest, literally holding one another wasn’t close enough.

He slowly carried you back to the couch while making small licks and bites along your throat.

He placed you on the couch and immediately followed, covering your body with his.

“Y/n…” He spoke your name with a deep rumble, into your shoulder before kissing your pulse under your jaw.

You unlatched your lips to take off his glasses and setting them beside you. You would have loved for him to keep them on but you could tell how annoyed he was getting with them when he tried to kiss you.

He watched your movement carefully, and let a mental picture of how hot you looked under him.

When you came back to him, he immediately put his lips back to the spot on your neck that he figured out was the sweet spot where you made the most noise.

“Hamzah..” you answered, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, signalling you want him to take it off.

“You sure?” He asked you, looking in your eyes for the first time since you started kissing. He took note of your red cheeks and matching swollen lips. He was so absolutely obsessed with you.

“Hamzah, If you couldn’t tell, I also have feelings for you and want you to go back to kissing me.” You teased him. “Without your shirt though” you smiled innocently and pulled his shirt up to reveal his chest.

“Such a smartass.” He smiled and pulled his shirt completely off and discarded it somewhere behind you. He was still smiling as he reconnected your lips, and the feel of his grin in your kiss made you smile as well.

The whole thing was unreal.

You felt so…happy in the moment, like nothing could compare. Like this is all you’d ever wanted and needed.

He slowly lifted the hem of your shirt as well, exposing your soft skin and thin bra. He could see the peaks of your nipples poking through the fabric and the image made him want to kiss every part of you he’s never seen.

To be truthful, any sight of you made him want to kiss you like that, but specifically right now, his pulse was very prominent in the lower part of his body from the current view.

You sunk your teeth lightly into his lower lip, and he replied by kissing you harder. He couldn’t hold back his desire at one point, when you started letting out breathy moans into his mouth- he jerked his hips against yours. You really felt just how much he needed you just then. The small pressure from his growing erection against you made you throw your head back and grind along lift your hips to meet his.

He started slowly grinding into you until you were full on dry-humping each other.

If Hamzah felt like this with clothes on, you only wondered what he felt like-

Your thoughts were interrupted by Hamzah grabbing your ass, then moving his hands along the back of your thighs. He lifted them up so you could wrap them around his back.

He rutted faster against you, and you swear you could feel his full length against you now. Your panties were soaked at this point and the wet spot growing on the front of his grey sweats showed that you had the same effect on him.

He sighed into your ear, both arms now propped on each side of your head. “Fuck, i’m gonna come in my pants from you, gorgeous.”

You let out a soft whine at the pet name and dragged your nails down his back, undoubtedly leaving scars. “Then just come like this, Hamzah. Show me what I mean to you. Like you prosmised.”

Erotic noises escaped your lips from the insane friction. You arched and dragged your hands back up his back and into his soft curls, tugging lightly.

“God, why haven’t we done this before” Hamzah sounded pained as he whispered, shutting his eyes tight from the upcoming sensation.

“I have no fucking idea. We were both too much of pussies to admit anything.” You replied in between short breaths.

He chuckled, but basically choked on his laugh when you reached into his pants to properly feel him.

“Yeah,” He agreed, and kissed you roughly, smashing his lips into yours and making your teeth clash at times.

“Fuck I’m..” You started to warn him, but he already knew.

“Me, too.”

He shifted the smallest bit but for some reason his new position made the friction ten times stronger. Hamzah’s hard bulge was hitting the perfect spot that made your panties rub against your clit in a way that made you gasp.

“Holy shit Hamzah” you gasped and arched your back to meet his chest. He laid more of his weight on yours, feeling your nipples through your bra.

“wait before we…” He looked you in your eyes and silently asked to take your bra off by slowly pulling down a strap from your shoulder.

“take it off of me, Hamzah.”

He wasted no time and took off your bra, exposing the peaks of your nipples. He immediately moved a hand to play with your breasts, giving each of them attention. “God, you're beautiful. even better than I imagined.”

His words made you want more so you arched you back again, making him shut his eyes tight at the friction.

“Fuck, baby,” he said softly.

He kept one hand next to your head, where he held himself up and moved the other from your breast to rub you through your shorts. “Hamzah please..please touch me”

He slipped a teasing finger past the waistband of your shorts. But you were done with foreplay and just needed him. His hand went past your underwear, finally reaching where you needed him.

He tested it by swiping two fingers along your folds.

“so wet f’me, yeah?”

“yeah…please Hamzah.”

“don’t worry baby.” At the same time he spoke he sunk two of his fingers into you, curling them at the perfect speed, while using his thumb to rub your clit.

how he was so good at this, you had no idea.

You wanted to please him as well, but when you looked at his tent, a wet spot was already extremely prominent.

“hey,” he turned your focus to him.

“Just let go baby. I'll come with you. seeing you like this….having you like this is already getting me off so bad.” his strokes became faster and your breathing got harder.

Before you could release, he took his fingers away and replaced them with rough grinding of his hips again.

Seconds later a feeling so strong washed over your body, draining you and your mind. Hamzah came right after you. The connected spot between you was soaking and warm with both of your come leaking through your pants.

“Jesus, Y/n if thats what its like with clothes on I can't wait until-”

“Yeah.” You laughed short with your eyes closed at the familiar words- he practically said out loud what you’d been thinking the whole time. “Trust me, I'm suddenly very impatient to find that out.” You admitted with a smile and opened you eyes, looking at him through your lashes.

Fucked out and sweaty Hamzah was breathtaking. And now he was yours to admire, without any secret staring.

Hamzah kissed you softly, still with passion but not as feverish. He slowly moved you both into a sitting position before he stood up with you in his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“What I said I would,” Is all he said. You were a bit confused until he spoke again.

“I'm gonna show you…” He kissed you long then finished his sentence. “I’m gonna show you i’ve imagined every fucking day.”

Your body grew immediately hot again.

“Alright. Show me.” You said quietly into his ear, nibbling it once as he carried you upstairs and into your bedroom. “But you might need to tell Martin your gonna film the video another day…”

He smiled big with his perfect teeth and shook his head with laughter.

He must be hallucinating because there’s no way he’s about to fuck the girl of his dreams.

NEXT PART

#i swear #hamzah x reader #fanfiction #hamzah imagines #hamzah #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah fic #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzahsmut #hamzah fluff #writing #x reader #i work so hard

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kira-loves0905 · 3 months ago

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>> My Wedding Vow Is To Divorce You (One-Shot)

— what if you had the guts to break up with Zayne? the loverman who is still smitten on a dead woman. the one who will never love you the way you do to him?

warnings: 3rd POV, fast-paced, unrequited love, angst/no comfort, mentions of divorce, married life, rebound, non MC!reader, mentions of pregnancy, ooc Zayne, mentions of Xavier, not proofread 🥹 i wrote this on a whim cause i've been feeling upset these days

"—your guardian in fate seems to have mistaken your current lover to be yours. a star has already been made to be his, one that is still connected to his soul despite its star being all but fray. you ought to find your own star, else your heart will turn to stone."

she could only repeat the words in their mind over and over. yet she also berated herself for even paying hunderds of her money to listen on a traveling shaman, allured by its mysterious facade and enticing marketing.

(Name) could've win a medal for their patience. a woman persevering on a void relationship for twelve years? she could be a popular Reddit post if she ever voiced out her dilemna to the world. seeing themselves being shunned, mind breaking down with insecurities that grew over the years.

twelve years ago, a mission went astray. Miss Hunter was in a serious accident that had her experience multiple rounds of surgery. it was to no one's surprise that Zayne took over all of it. despite the long hours of gruel work, his feet numb from the relentless days of standing upright— he pushed through.

in Dr. Zayne's hands, she survived, albeit barely.

at this point, everyone subconsciously knew that Zayne was inlove with Miss Hunter. even if he didn't voice it out, his action spoke words that he can't utter himself. the way his rough, cold edges softened and began to illuminate warmth that was never seen before.

(but (Name) did. she experienced the warmth of his touch when the night was young. when MC still wasn't back to his life yet as his patient. when it was just the both of them, growing up as childhood friends and into medical school in dreams of becoming coworkers of the same field.)

that same warmth Zayne reserved for MC disappeared once more, when she died in her comatose.

it was quite expected, really. there was just a slim chance of MC ever waking up after the severe injury she had on the mission. (Name) knew that it was bound to happen, even in Dr. Zayne's care.

but to him? to the man that dreamed of her in every aspect of his life? the same person who pursued cardiology just for her protocore heart? to a man that yearned for MC's love that even just a glimpse of her was enough to satiate his boundless yearning self?

he was in shambles. utterly broken and gripping the bits of fragments the dead woman has before it all disappears.

suffice to say, those twelve years ago. (Name) took the gruelling case of taking care of Zayne. even when her arms grew numb from the long hours of hug she gave him, or when her voice went hoarse from the time she kept whispering comforting words to his ear. hoping that, for even a moment, she can be someone who can manage to chip down the cold wall he was starting to build around himself again.

well, she surmises that maybe she achieved her goal.

for in that same twelve years ago, Zayne married (Name). in that month, she deliberately ignored the hushed whispers of everyone she passes by.

a rebound, is what they say.

she knows that— feels that, but to accept it is a different case altogether.

(when they make love, she sees the way he forces his lips shut. for Zayne knows, subconsciously— that when he lets it loose, it would be another woman's name that spills on his sinful lips.

Miss Hunter.)

— — —

"love." in the night of silence, where birds go to sleep and the skies began to darken. Zayne carefully mutters his call. by the field of grass and flowers, they held their hands passionately. their skin basking in each other's warmth— fighting off the coldness of the wind.

for the nth time, (Name) tries to mask the way his petname stings ironically.

twelve years ago, it made her heart flutter. made her feel like a special (rebound) person. but honeymoon phase was long over, hearing it numerous times in that dead tone of his was sickening now.

"yes, Zayne?"

"it's her death anniversary tomorrow." he says, his eyes faraway. "I want to visit her tombstone alone, is that alright-"

"I know," she says seamlessly, as if the words were already wired in her brain. "say hello to her for me, yeah?"

".....mhm."

a beat of silence.

before long, Zayne dragged her back to the car by their joined hands. (Name) knew by then that there wouldn't be any more conversation until the next morning.

(this was so wrong. she knows. staying for a person that hadn't even given the same love she had given for twelve years.

ridiculously, it was just around this time that she had realized that.)

— — —

in the whole week of MC's death anniversary, the house was colder than usual. the presence of her husband unseen as he drowned himself in his work. a ritual he religiously practiced countless of times in this particular time of the year.

(Name) sat by the living room. papers scattered at the coffee table. her brows furrowed in concentration. the documents were unfamiliar, yet she forces herself to read all of texts in the page. honing in the information before proceeding in its entirety.

divorce papers.

it has been hidden in her closet for the past week. this was the only time she had the courage to finally work on it.

(because every year, with no fail, she kept dreaming that someday he'll start to love her for her. that the illusion of MC Zayne had adorned (Name) would dissipate. one day, they could live happily as a genuine husband and wife.

maybe she should've done this on the 3rd year. but a beggar for love had no choice but to cling on hope.)

"what are you doing?"

odd. he doesn't come home this early.

(Name) fumbles the papers in a hasty stack. trying to hide it before he sees its contents.

"how futile." his steps were quick, gripping her wrist in a tight hold. Zayne's irises flee over to the papers, pushing his glasses higher with his free hand.

"I see," he drawls, "you finally realized how defective this marriage is."

"don't start, Zayne." for once in her life, she managed to stare at him head on. "if I remember correctly, you initiated this."

"and yet," there was a huff as he walks closer. tilting his head with a hint of wicked mirth. "you had the right to deny so."

"you knew I loved you from the start!"

"and you knew that my heart was always with her. no matter how hard you try to earn it."

(Name) stopped in her fit of anger, eyes flickering with emotions akin to hurt. Zayne was right anyway, it was her fault she got into this mess. her shortcoming for being a fool for love.

"did I.. ever mean anything to you?" they were having a proper conversation for the first time in their marriage. she might as well take advantage of it.

"you were a mere friend," he says, as if a pang of nostalgia hit him for a brief moment, "a company when I studied in medical school."

"I repeat what I said, MC was the only one for me."

"nothing else?" desperate. she's desperate. spiralling. "nothing more? not even once in your life—"

"not even in the 12 years we've lived under the same roof?!"

"(Name)." his voice rumbles in a subtle warning. one that made their house way colder than it had ever been.

"you ought to accept it now." he picked up the papers once more, a pen in his hand already.

she looked incredelously at his attitude, on how dismissive he was to her— to her feelings. the treatment wasn't new, but being slapped about it in the face is.

"fine." she snatched the paper in his hands right after he signed it. "I'll see you in court, I hope you live a lovely life."

— — —

a few months later..

(Name) thought she would be utterly miserable after the divorce. twelve years is a long time after all. the home she once lived in was her safe space, even when the owner of it isn't.

her eyes flicker to the heaps of boxes in her new apartment. a fresh start of her life.

she was starting to heal against the wounds she bear. looking back, she regretted wasting her life on Zayne that didn't reciprocate the way she felt about him.

but alas, she can't continue to mull over spilled milk. it had already happened, she can't change any of her mistakes no matter how much she wanted to.

(Name) absent-mindedly caressed her stomach. looking down at the bundle of life that will soon become her joy, despite the guilt of a babe living their life without a biological father.

she knew about her pregnancy a few days after she grabbed her things from Zayne's place. it was an utter shock to carry that man's child. after all the things she had gone through because of him.

the baby is blameless though, in her eyes. she won't leave them to grow alone and unloved like her.

knock knock

"Ms. Name?"

she turns around and opens the door, a polite smile on her lips.

"ah, you must be my neighbor. Xavier, right?"

"yes," the man nods, rubbing their eyes as they yawned. "I heard it was a tradition to make something for a newcomer. so I made some cookies, if you don't mind."

(Name)'s gaze shifted down to the small bag in his hand. the clear plastic making the..... delicious.. (charcoaled) cookies see-through.

she suppresses a chuckle, smiling politely.

"come on in, I'd welcome some company."

stress-free life it is.

#lads #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads zayne #lads x you #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x reader #l&ds zayne #li shen #xavier #l&ds xavier #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #angst #marriage #non mc!reader

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pellucid-constellations · 7 months ago

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Fable - Acquiesce

You were falling, falling, without wings or fate to catch you. And Azriel—all Azriel could do was watch.

Warnings: Angst, injury, mentions of death (this will have more parts dw)

Masterlist

If the world ended, in that moment, in several moments, you weren’t sure you would notice.

It could all go up in flames, decimating everything the light touched, and there wouldn’t be a flicker in your eye.

Your gaze was locked with Azriel’s, trapped there with nothing that could sever that tie. If there were a bond, you were sure it would be screaming—for you to do something, to move. But there was no bond and you had abandoned any hope that one would form a while ago.

Not with Elain. Not with the devotion he held for Mor for so many years.

No bond, nothing screaming.

Only, something was screaming. The sound met your ears as a muted hum, but you could pick out the pieces that framed its essence so easily. Because Azriel never screamed like that; he hardly ever raised his voice.

The cliff continued to crumble, leaving you falling between bits of rubble and dust. If you’d had your wings—if they hadn’t been torn from your body so recently—you would have been fine. And maybe that was why you didn’t take action, your body too accustomed to the feeling of the ground giving beneath you, your wings always there to catch you as you fell.

Azriel would have been the one to catch you, but he couldn’t. He thrashed and growled against the six Illyrian men it took to hold him down, the iron shackles at his arms rendering his shadows useless, and could only watch as you fell down and down and down.

He had been the one to find you all those months ago, the amass of blood and the carnage of your wings still so fresh in his mind.

He had pleaded with Rhys not to send you here so soon after the incident, but in the end, it was you who insisted on coming—on being the one to put an end to the brutal nature of this side of Illyria.

There had been an opening, and you would not take no for an answer.

So Azriel watched as you fell. He watched as you corrected your balance and tried to find your footing on uneven ground, something he was still helping you with now that your wings were gone. He watched your shirt collar hang wrong as your wide eyes met his, the new wardrobe you had had to adopt still unnatural. He watched the pain on your face as you went.

“Enough!” Azriel roared. “Stop! Release me and you will be spared.”

The Illyrians at his back only cackled and forced him back as the last inch of your body was lost beneath the edge of the cliff.

Unrelenting terror found Azriel, twisting something so deep in his gut that he was sure it would never be repaired. And let it break him; there was nothing beyond you.

He whispered your name as the sounds of rocks and trees and dirt toppled from the breakage. You didn’t scream. He tried to scream again, but he had already screamed himself hoarse and his throat was raw.

He couldn’t reach Rhysand.

Something stung along his arms and Azriel knew it was faebane—the same faebane that stopped you from fighting back.

“She got what was coming to her,” one of the men sneered at Azriel’s ear. “She should have stayed away after we took her wings. Bitch couldn’t leave well enough alone, as with all women.”

Azriel felt the rage building. Each breath felt like a burst, a stone on top of the pool of panic that sweltered in his stomach. He kept his gaze on the cliff as if you would somehow reappear there, just as you had done when they were children.

But you had had wings then, and you only ever messed around like that when Azriel was struggling.

Always trying to make him smile, always trying to make things better.

“Where’s your high lord now, huh, Shadowsinger? Where are his policies? The ones that’re supposed to keep women like that safe? Seems like without them, maybe she would have lived. One of his own. Dead. Because of him.”

Dead.

Azriel didn’t think you were dead.

You weren’t dead, right?

He couldn’t imagine that world.

When your wings were taken, he feared that outcome for you several times. You had been so closed off and fearful, so empty without that piece of you. It had taken weeks to get you to speak and even longer to get you out of bed.

All of that work, all of that healing—you couldn’t be dead. You were part of his life. You were part of him.

“Take your hands off of me.” Azriel spoke with such an icy hatred the shadows beneath him quivered.

The men laughed.

Weak men always laughed.

Azriel did not have access to the power that rolled beneath the azure glow of his siphons, but he didn’t need it. You were hurt, again, and he couldn’t reach you like this. Somewhere, somehow, Azriel realized that there was nothing more important than you. You with wings, you without them—that meant nothing. To you, it meant everything, and that was the entire reason you had come here. For revenge, for peace—Azriel would get that for you.

And he would save you again.

He had to.

Azriel shot his head back, his crown meeting the nose of one of the attackers. Rhysand had said to save one for questioning, but Azriel wasn’t thinking about questions. Azriel wasn’t thinking about anything, his mind buzzing with hazy rage that watched you fall over and over and over again.

He brought his hands up when surprise rendered the Illryrians weak, smashing into the side of one of their heads. Azriel couldn’t remember the rest, but when the shackles fell from his arms, his chest heaving and blood staining his fingers, his shadows moved first. They collected and hurled themselves over the side of the cliff only seconds before Azriel followed.

That had to mean something, Azriel thought.

It had to mean something.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst #azriel spymaster #azriel

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ebodebo · 3 months ago

Text

Salt to the Wound

➛ next read⁀➷ The Conditioning: A Salt to the Wound Prequel

PAIR⁀➷ simon riley x fem!reader

WC⁀➷ 8.7k

CONTAINS⁀➷ 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, sex being used as a coping mechanism, heavy angst, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, established relationship, complicated grief, mentions of death, displaced aggression, marital issues, panic attacks, religious speak, mention of calories, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mention of dead relative, simon being pretty aggravating, purposeful omission of tags to avoid spoilers, & did i mention this is all angst?

AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ oh my god, this has been such a bitch to complete! i’ve been working on this for months in between my nasty smut fics bc this truthfully made me so sad to write, so i had to take breaks in between. there is only angst; i cannot hold your hand…you must walk alone…i’m sorry. read at your own discretion.

Simon can't move on from Johnny's death…

"Johnny's dead."

You remember the line clear as day.

In fact, you remember almost every single detail about that day.

The weather had been docile, a change from the feverish heat the day before.

The air was slightly damp.

The weatherman chimed that a promising stormcloud was brewing in the distance, which could bring a couple of inches of rain, typical of January.

Your neighbor's son came to your front door, meekly asking to retrieve his ball from your backyard.

The postman had hand-delivered your new dress, complimenting the new planters Simon built in the front yard.

Your favorite body wash that smelt of fruit ran out.

You had made pie, apple instead of your usual cherry.

You had accidentally poured too much cinnamon in the apple mixture, shooing Simon away when you finally pulled it out of the oven because it was a "bad pie."

Simon had never heard such ridiculous words.

No pie is a bad pie.

He shoveled a spoonful into his mouth as you went to answer the house phone, quietly laughing as he hissed at the hotness.

Then it happened.

"Johnny's dead," the voice on the other end of the line announced, shattering the tranquility of the moment.

They were the only words that flowed through the phone line.

The very words you had selfishly cursed for the past year.

The words that had single-handedly eroded everything you and Simon had built together.

Because that day, on every level except physical, the Simon you knew had died with Johnny.

His mind merged with the very soil Johnny lay in, leaving his physical body on the surface while his soul wandered beyond your grasp.

So out of touch, so disconnected from reality.

Simon had become a shell of a human.

He wasn't living, merely surviving—going through the motions.

It was devasting to watch the man for whom you gave your heart slowly disengage right before your eyes.

Bit by bit, piece by piece.

Until there was no more man left to see.

Just mere flesh and bones.

It was such unfamiliar territory since Simon relied on you as he relied on oxygen to breathe.

You were his sustenance, his reservoir.

An eternal flame that burned with an unyielding passion.

Now it seems he couldn't get far enough away from you.

However, it wasn't always that way.

The evolution of his disconnect hadn't been linear; it was ever-changing.

Some days, he would act just like your sweet Simon before; other days, you felt like he resented you.

Resented you for what?

You're not entirely sure.

You didn't kill Johnny.

But with how Simon reacted to your mere presence, it felt as though you might as well have.

You can still recall Simon's noticeable change, apart from his defining silence, which occurred exactly two weeks after Johnny's death.

The bitter taste of anise, accompanied by the sharp taste of mint, coated your tongue; experimenting with new cocktail recipes had become something of a hobby for you.

Kept you occupied while Simon worked in his office.

You had insisted he take some time off, some real time off.

Price wouldn't let him return to work, so he supplemented by hiding in his office all day and doing paperwork and other such tasks.

It wasn't entirely what you had in mind, but it was the best he could give you.

He would have gone truly mad without his work to drown out his thoughts.

So, you bit your tongue every morning as he trudged out of the sanctity of the warm bed you shared, leaving you alone in the silence, and headed straight to the room across from yours that had him so consumed.

It was funny, really.

You always thought that perhaps a pretty woman would eventually come around and attempt to steal your Simon from your hands, not a spare room with cream walls.

Digression aside, you selfishly enjoyed the time alone.

Simon would only speak a couple words to you daily, the silence between you growing thicker with each passing day.

You fault him none, though it was exhausting trying to help someone who despises being helped to any degree, even if they so clearly needed it.

That was why you enjoyed the alone time.

Though it could be occasionally dull.

So, finding a hobby to fill your time was not just a choice but a necessity for your sense of fulfillment.

Even if it consisted of the occasion day drinking.

You'll repent later.

Now, you just needed the burning taste of rum down your throat.

Your face sourced at the combination before you scribbled, 'absolute shit,' on a small notebook you kept to keep track of all of your combinations and rated them in excruciating detail.

Hearing his office door creak open, you shoved the notebook into your pocket.

Not because you cared if he saw, but because his office door opening earlier than ten-forty-five startled you, abruptly shifting your emotions.

You heard his heavy boots thunk against the vinyl flooring, inching ever so close to the kitchen where you stood.

Your heart quickened from anticipation, and you tried to steady your breathing, not wanting to give away your guilt.

"You eaten?" His voice is deep and strained as he stands still across the island.

You stay completely still, refusing to budge even a little. Instead, you choose to shake your head from side to side slowly.

"Can pick up pizza?" He suggests.

His presence now stirred a strange mix of emotions within you.

He would never lay a finger on you.

It was the news that had thrown everything off balance, leaving you both in a state of discomfort and awkwardness.

Johnny was dead.

And you could feel his haunt everywhere.

"Pizza's good," you say softly, pretending to adjust a tilted bottle of tequila.

An uneasy silence lingers between you for a moment, and then you finally turn to meet his gaze.

He looks…like shit.

You let out a soft sigh as you take him in fully.

He has dark circles under his eyes, tinged with shades of purple and blue.

His once bright blue eyes have lost their luster, and his lids now hang heavy and fatigued.

His hair is unkempt, and his beard is starting to grow, giving it a scraggly appearance.

"You don't look so good," you find yourself saying without much thought.

"Just tired," he mutters, swiping his car keys off the counter.

You move to stand. "You've been working like crazy," you say, gently pressing your hand into his shoulder.

He tightens at your touch.

Whole body going taut.

You try not to take it personally.

You fail.

"Yeah…I, I'll get the pizza," he murmurs, moving towards the front door.

Then he leaves without a goodbye.

You thought it was just bullshit.

What the articles said about coping with a loss.

Dealing with grief.

They all seemed like distant concepts.

But, he was so evidently disconnecting from you.

You felt your head swarm at the admission.

Simon was isolated, lost in a vast ocean of grief and despair.

And you didn't know if you were enough to reel him back in.

Three weeks later, you're cozied on your sofa, a blanket draped over your legs, the soft cushions embracing you in their cozy warmth.

The clouds, heavy with water, have transformed from soft white to an ominous smoky gray, a stark contrast to your cozy sofa and warm blanket.

You have your favorite tea in your favorite mug, a book wide open though long forgotten on the cushion next to you.

Your eyes are now captivated by a trashy British reality television show, a guilty pleasure that adds to the coziness of your setting.

Usually, Simon and you snuggle up and watch the show.

Always on the edge of your seats, eagerly anticipating the outcome.

Will the man stay on the island, sacrificing his share of the prize fund, to be with the woman he's grown close to?

Or will he choose the money over her?

It's always more enthralling with Simon.

Though, you're not sure where he is.

He didn't say where he was going when he left about half an hour ago.

And you didn't bother asking.

Maybe that makes you a lousy wife.

Or perhaps, you're just exhausted.

It feels like you're tearing your own flesh, trying to get him to answer anything.

You guessed the latter.

The television crackles to life, the sound of synthesizers and strings filling the room, creating a sense of suspense.

"Henry's decision will be…" The host's voice begins.

You find yourself sitting up, the hot cup of tea between your hands, and your eyes glued to the television.

"…revealed right after the break," the host chimes as the camera cuts to a condom commercial.

You sink into the couch with a deep sigh as you hear the front door open.

The thud of heavy boots moves into the kitchen, near earshot.

You turn to see Simon grabbing a glass and slipping it under the tap for some water.

Your teeth dig at the flesh of your cheek, your foot steadily tapping on the vinyl flooring.

He takes a deep sip of the water, sucking it between his teeth and swishing it around his mouth before he spits it back in the sink, running the water to clean out the saliva now lining the metal sink.

You'd rather be shot than deal with the taciturn.

It was egregious.

You felt awkward in your own home.

With your own husband.

"Simon," you say with nerves on your tongue.

He turns towards you, taking a proper sip of the water.

"Sit. Our favorite show is on," you chime, a warm small growing on your lips.

He shakes his head. "Not feelin' it tonight, sweetheart."

"Come on," you urge, pointing towards the television with your pointer finger. "We're about to find out if Henry is staying or leaving."

"I'm—I'm not in the mood," he mutters, only with slight annoyance.

You decide to push your luck. "Come on. Would be nice to see you."

"Stop asking," he cuts sharply, setting the full glass in the sink.

You narrow your eyes slightly. "Why are you being so mean?"

"Christ, I already said I wasn't in the God-damned mood."

Ice and venom coat his words as his hand slams into the countertop.

He didn't yell, but you wish he did.

So, you could get some type of God-damn emotion from him.

Instead, his voice was low, commanding.

A voice a lieutenant would use on his inferiors.

Not on his wife.

His eyes widen as your lips purse.

"Well then," you murmur, eyes still on his. "Guess that settles it."

He releases a shallow breath, opening his mouth before shutting it promptly.

Your eyes squint as you take a deep gulp.

But instead of being a man and apologizing, he leaves for his office like a fucking coward.

You're left there, eyes still on the spot where he stood, cheek now bleeding onto your tongue as the television announces, "...leaving the villa."

And you can't even find it in yourself to care.

It feels awkward when you finally gather enough courage to slither into the bedroom.

You had been paralyzed to the couch even a couple hours after the whole ordeal.

Not a word was breached between either of you.

He had shut himself in his office while you had become one with the couch.

What a match made in fucking heaven.

You slip into some soft pajamas, then into the bed, the heavy comforter offering you comfort.

You rest your weary head on the pillow, eyes already heavy with emotional exhaustion.

Before you fall into sleep, you hear the same thud of his boots streaking along to the bedroom, where you catch a glimpse of him slipping something into his sock drawer.

The warm brown of the book cover in his hand catches your eye.

There was no mistaking what it read on the front: large, gold Cardo font with a cross hovering above the text.

"Holy Bible."

He shoves some loose papers overtop of the Bible and shuts the drawer, moving the flick of the light switch off.

His boots came off in a thud as he slipped off his shirt and jeans, slipping into the bed far from you.

Not a word was shared.

You should sleep, but instead, your mind is tormented by what you saw.

Had Simon prayed?

Prayed to a God he didn't even believe in.

If he hit his knees, splayed open the Holy doctrine, and prayed within the hopes that, by some miracle, he should get to see his brother again.

"Simon," you murmur lightly, regretting breaking the silence as his name leaves your tongue.

"Yeah?" He asks, back to you.

"Were you...praying?" Your question comes out fatigued.

"Ye—Yeah," he mutters skittishly.

You say nothing more.

Your weary eyes drift closed as you pull your blanket taut against your face, peacefully drifting off.

That night, you're plagued by a disturbing dream. Your teeth fall out one by one, leaving only protruding gums. A looming figure stands behind you, tightening your throat with fear.

You spring awake at 3:37 am.

You are drenched in your own perspiration, eyes lingering over to where Simon should be.

He's gone.

You should feel slightly relieved, but you only feel overwhelming dread.

Your skin crawls with a sense of unease, as if something is lurking just out of sight, watching you.

You blink, and it's March.

Two months since Johnny's passing.

You thought the time would pass achingly slow, but time has unfortunately moved forward at an exceptional pace.

It always felt like time should stop.

People should stop.

Because why do they get to carry on and lead an everyday life as if you aren't getting swallowed, eaten alive by the confines of your own home?

It's not fucking fair.

You are not only having to mourn the loss of a good friend but the loss of your own husband, who's still breathing.

It felt like some cruel joke was being played on you that you found no humor in.

But, regardless of the loss, you had to keep moving.

For yourself.

Or you'd probably drive yourself into madness, and nothing good ever came from a mad woman, or so they say anyway.

It was a Friday night, and you had decided to try a new recipe from your grandmother's cookbook.

You couldn't remember the last time you had a homecooked meal that wasn't full of M.S.G and far too many calories.

But tonight, you were about to change that.

With a simple button swipe, your groceries appeared at your front door, and you got straight into it.

The large russet potatoes were peeled and cut into chunks. They were then plopped in heavily salted boiling water and smashed along with many tablespoons of butter and cream.

Chicken thighs were seasoned and marinated for half an hour, not a minute less, before being seared on cast iron.

The asparagus and parsnips were lightly oiled before being pan-seared, and then they were sprinkled with salt, pepper, and parmesan cheese.

And before you knew it, you had transformed a handful of ingredients into a feast that was elegantly presented on some fine china you snagged from the cabinet for you and Simon.

You took a seat, admiring your hard work and savoring the delightful aroma of the chicken as it filled the room.

Hearing the same thud of the boots you had come to ignore coming from down the hall, your head shot up to see Simon with his keys in hand.

"Where are you going?" You ask, curiosity and a bit of disappointment evident in your tone.

"Out," his voice was snipped as he marched towards the front door, not sparing the dinner a glance.

You sit up with a frown. "I made dinner, Simon."

"Not hungry," he says mechanically, like he was planning on shooing away any plans you offered. "Don't wait up for me," he murmurs, shoving on his coat, moving out of the front door, and pulling it closed.

And suddenly, the optimism you had clung to like a lifeline died, wholly and truly, leaving you in a void of despair.

You sit at that comedically large dining table for what feels like ages, pushing your vegetables around with your fork until they're practically mush on your plate.

There's nowhere else to go.

You feel utterly stuck as if the weight of the disappointment has rooted you to the spot.

Your head flings to the front door, as keys get shoved into the keyhole, before the door is pushed open to reveal a flushed Simon.

"Where have you been?" Your voice is warm yet firm.

He doesn't respond, only throwing his keys into the bowl and moving to the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water.

"Simon," his name comes off your tongue almost in warning.

"What?" He turns to you, face red from the cold.

"Where the fuck have you been?" You snap, the sound of your chair scraping against the floor as you stand up, adding to the tension in the room.

His eyes widen at your tone.

Your mind was ablaze with conflicting emotions.

Tongue hot with accusations.

"Were you with another woman?" You tack on, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Christ, no," he says immediately with a scoff. "Why would you even ask me that?"

You knew it was ridiculous.

He may be a fool, but he wasn't a cheater.

"I never have a God-damned clue where you go!" You step from around the table, voice rising. "You're my husband!"

"You're my wife!" He tosses the bottle of water into the sink. The plastic crinkles against the metal, as his voice rises with yours.

"Then act like it!" You yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You're both practically heaving with anger.

Seathing with so much untouched and unsaid verbiage.

The silence hangs between your two before you hurdling yourself into his arms, slamming your lips onto his with so much devotion and heat.

His hands grip your cheeks tight as his tongue slides over your teeth and any piece of flesh he can.

You pant into his mouth as his hands move to grip the backs of your thighs, quickly pulling you up to lock your legs around his waist.

He moves to place you on the dinner table, standing between your legs, and you reach out behind you, sweeping your plate full of mushy food and wine glass onto the floor to make space.

The glass shattered, and the china burst into a thousand tiny pieces with a loud crash.

Neither of you cares in the slightest.

His fingers fidget with the hem of your loose top as your lips practically turn blue from losing circulation.

It had been months since you and Simon had been intimate.

Well, since...

You didn't think you needed it during this time in mourning.

Hardly ever thought about it.

Because you two rarely exchanged words, the silence between you became a barrier.

How could you be expected to share such an intimate moment when your words seemed to fail you?

Somehow, you found yourself yearning for it, a deep-seated longing that you couldn't explain or ignore.

It felt like an insatiable desire you couldn't shake.

And when his teeth sunk into your lips, you felt the soft, erotic sting of your skin break; all bets were off.

"Simon," you mewl into his mouth. "Please."

He doesn't answer in words.

Just moves to remove his belt, tossing it to the side where the leather slaps over the broken china and mushed vegetables.

Strips himself of his jeans, boxers following suit.

His fingers move back to grip the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, throwing it on the table, lips moving to skim between the dip of your breast as he moves to grip on the fat of your waist.

Your hands move to thread through the back of his air, earning a deep groan from him that rumbles against your skin.

"Shouldn't be touchin' you like this," he mutters into your skin, rough hand skimming down your stomach to slide under your pajama shorts.

"Why?" Your breathing is labored as his fingers push down into your cunt, underwear sticking to the skin due to your dripping arousal.

His finger presses into you further making you release a shallow moan.

He opens his mouth to speak before promptly shutting it, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking.

"Just fuckin' yelled at ya, bug," he grits out the first part, like he's angry at himself for ever raising his voice, no matter if you did the same thing, then says your nickname warmly.

"I yelled first," your voice is sweet like honeydew as your hand moves under his chin, gently forcing his chin up so he can look you in the eyes, and he wants to kill himself even more.

You're an angel.

A fucking divine entity, a wellspring of goodwill.

He doesn't deserve you now.

He's not sure he ever has.

"Needed to hear it," he mumbles, slipping your shorts and panties off in one pull, eyes taking in your arousal-soaked cunt. "Don't deserve ya," he murmurs, with a hint of despair.

"You do," you assure, sitting up more to kiss the corners of his mouth.

He turns his head to the side, almost in guilt; you don't have time to question why before he's lining himself up with your entrance, hand coming to rest on the back of your neck for support as he slips inside you gently.

There's no rush, no urgency to get off.

His movements are slow, unrushed.

This wasn't just a quick fuck.

It felt like he was trying to get a tangible connection to you.

Just bodies melting into each other with ease and familiarity.

Your moans echo off the walls.

Fingernails digging into Simon's back through his shirt.

The barrier does nothing to meddle with your touch.

Nothing could ever diminish your touch.

He lets out a curse, baring his teeth as his fingers dig into the tender flesh on your hips.

His name comes off your sweet tongue in a plea.

You're about to fucking erupt.

Stomach on fire, skin slick.

He shoves his finger in your mouth, collecting some saliva before using that as a lubricant to stimulate your clit.

You let out a string of incoherent words as the stimulation hits you everywhere, all at once.

His head dips back as he comes inside you, eyes shutting closed.

Your breathing is ragged as you both come down from your highs.

However, when you breathe, you feel tightness in your chest.

A squeezing pain that only elongates.

"You okay?" Simon presses his hand into your shoulder.

You nod weakly. "Must have overexerted myself," you jest.

You suck in a deep breath, desperate for more air or something to suppress the pressure you feel.

Simon quips a brow, opting to move away from you to grab you some cool water. "Drink," he commands, nudging the glass to you.

The water feels like a relief flowing down your throat and is so refreshing you can feel it move through every vein in your body.

"Better?" He asks warmly.

"Better," you agree, nodding as water drips down your lip and onto your chin.

But you can't shake the feeling something is off.

It almost feels like an impending doom looming over you.

"Feel like a shower?" He taps your thigh in question.

You nod with a smile, forgetting what you were even concerned with.

You shake off the feeling of doom as you wander behind Simon to the shower.

But doom is inevitable, a fate that cannot be escaped.

The following month, April, brought fickle weather with chilly rain and bright blue skies.

Along with the fruition of tulips and daffodils came your plan.

To finally speak to Simon about Johnny.

Even just thinking his name made you feel like you were indulging in some dark code.

It felt wrong.

Even though it was far from.

You had planned to talk to him a week ago, but you chickened out at the last minute, your fear of confrontation winning over your resolve, instead opting for an awkward conversation about cats.

Safe to say he had no idea you had other objectives at play.

Just thought you were a little kooky.

He had been more receptive to conversations since your sex-capade.

Felt connected to you again.

What a perfect time to ruin it all.

He's sitting at the dining table eating a sandwich.

With no pickles because he despises them.

You smile softly.

You know him so well.

Approaching him slowly, you pull out a chair adjacent to his.

"Nice weather," he says, looking out the window at the blue skies.

"It is," you hum in agreement, shifting in your seat.

"Might go for a run later." He takes a bite of a sandwich, and you chew on your cheek. "You want to come?"

"We should talk," you blurt, deciding you need to cut the cord as soon as possible before you chicken out again.

He quips a brow, sets down the sandwich, and wipes the crumbs off on a rag. "About?"

You chew on your lip nervously. "Johnny."

His eyes lock to yours in an instant, and his chewing halts.

And you can feel anxiety claw up your throat.

"You just—you seem," you try, stumbling over your words.

You knew you should have practiced more.

"We aren't having this conversation." His tone is low and carries a finality.

"It might help if you talked to me." There's desperation in your words.

"Stop," he holds up his hand like he's giving you a fucking command.

"I'm not a fucking dog," you grit. "You can't just give me a command to shut up."

"I know you're not a damn dog," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper.

"Good. Glad you could clear that up," you sit back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. "Since you can't clear up anything else."

You knew you shouldn't have said that the second it slipped off your tongue.

It's defensive.

You were supposed to sympathize, not defend.

He stands up abruptly. "Not taking this shit."

"What shit, Simon?" You throw your hands up in a shrug. "Your wife asking you to speak to her?" You let out a dry laugh. "That shit?"

He moves around to swipe his keys from the bowl, not uttering a word.

"Where the hell are you going?" You stand, moving over to him.

His eyes bore into your jaw clenched. "Anywhere but here."

And he was gone again.

Just leaves when times get too trying, apparently.

You stand there, your eyes brimming with tears.

What was to become of you two?

You let out an anguished yell before going to your room, hands planted firmly into the soft mattress, before letting your emotions overcome you.

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands, as you prop yourself on your elbows.

Knees becoming bare from the shitty carpet while your shirt moistens from your tears.

This—this can't be it.

What was life to be without your husband?

You'd be subject to destitution.

A life of isolation, a terrifying prospect, filled with unbearable loneliness.

Bile crawls up your throat, threatening to escape as the thoughts flood your mind.

Your heart pounded violently, threatening to crack your ribs.

You can't breathe.

Throat too tight to get any air through.

A stabbing pain erupted in your chest like it had before, but this was worse.

You clench your chest, tears spilling faster due to the physical pain.

You don't even process Simon hovering over you, hand clenching your shoulder.

Your head turns, and you see his mouth moving, eyes wide in concern, but you can't process what he's saying.

You can only focus on the crushing sensation in your chest.

His eyes are scrambling, watching you push your mouth into the mattress to release a deep, tormented groan.

You were in unbearable pain.

He wastes no time grabbing and holding you in his arms, bridal style.

You don't have it in you to scream at him.

You just sob into his chest.

This was surely going to kill you.

He grabs a stray blanket and tosses it on you quickly before swiping his keys off the counter. He then moves outside and places you in the car.

He drives in a rush, reckless.

His eyes darting over to you, curled up in a ball in the passenger seat, sobbing, hand resting over your chest.

He doesn't know what to do.

He can't crawl in your body and demand your body to be kind to you.

So, instead he brushes his hand over your wrist, attmepting to give you some comfort and he pushes the pedal further to get you to the hospital.

Desperate to heal you.

He pulls into the ER parking lot, not bothering to straighten his wheels, sprints around to your side and gently places you in his arms, all but sprinting to the ER door.

The receptionist greets you before she hears your cries and pleas.

"She, she needs help," Simon frantically says. "Please."

Nurses flood out from the large door that seperates you and Simon from the rooms.

"Sir, you'll need to wait out here," one of them says, helping you into a wheelchair and wheeling you back through the door.

"She's my fucking wife!" He shouts, though to no avail.

The door shuts in his face, shoulders dropping in defeat.

He doesn't sit, he can't.

The thought of him being comfortable while you're in agony disturbs him.

He instead stalks around the room, hands wiping across his face.

Surely, this wasn't...

Could it have worked so soon?

He grabs a trashcan, promptly puking in it at the thought.

It, it has to be a grim coincidence.

Yeah, yeah.

Has to be.

He waits in the waiting room for what feels like ages before a doctor comes in asking for a Simon Riley.

"Is she okay?" Simon searches the doctor's face.

"She's stable," the doctor says, his voice steady and reassuring. "For now."

"For now?" Simon echos the question.

"We ran some blood tests and did an ECG on her heart," the doctor reads over his papers.

"And?" Simon says impatiently.

"Does she have any familial history of heart disease in her family?" the doctor asks, scribbling on the paper.

"No, no," Simon stutters. "Why?"

"The ECG results showed that your wife has coronary heart disease," the doctor says.

Simon's eyes widen, his fear palpable. "Heart disease? What—what does this mean?"

"The arteries in her heart have become too narrow, which reduces blood flow to the heart. There are treatments available to manage the condition and improve her quality of life," the doctor reassures Simon as he sees him start to get frantic.

"Are you talking about fucking surgery?" Simon's hands move through his hair anxiously, his body tense with worry.

"Not necessarily. We can start with medication," the doctor says confidently. "A standard dose of Atorvastatin daily can help manage her cholesterol and fat levels." The doctor messily scribbles the prescription on a paper and tears it off.

"Along with some lifestyle changes to help manage her condition. If needed, we can discuss other options, like angioplasty or surgery. But first, let's see how she does with the medication." He hands over the prescription to Simon.

Simon grabs the paper, nodding his head. "Alright. Can I, can I see her?" His voice is desperate.

"Of course," the doctor nods his head reassuringly. "Follow me."

The doctor leads Simon through the hallway until he reaches your room, carefully opening the door to let Simon step through.

His stomach drops, a wave of concern washing over him, when he sees you.

Eyes swollen and red from your cries.

They hang low from your apparent exhaustion.

"Simon," you greet him with a weak smile, the familiarity in your voice comforting him.

Your voice is weak and raspy.

You look sick.

And he can't handle it.

"Hey, I'm okay," you assure, as you see him examine you, worry written on his face.

"I know you are, bug," tears brimming his eyes; he moves over to you, gripping your hand tightly. "I know you are."

To you, it felt like a source of comfort amidst the chaos.

And that's why Simon said it.

But deep down, he knew.

Nothing could undo what he had done.

No amount of praying, begging, or bargaining could change that.

He had selfishly sealed your fate.

And now, all he could do was wait.

It had been two months since your diagnosis, July.

Things had been decent in that regard.

No better, no worse.

The medication proved helpful.

It reduced the pain you get in your chest, so that was nice.

Over the two months, you persistently urged Simon to join you in counseling.

For your sake.

For the sake of your marriage.

At the beginning of July, he finally agreed, a hopeful sign after a turbulent period that had you ready to leave him.

"What are you doing?" Simon roughly asks as he follows you to your bedroom, hands anxiously running through his graying hair.

"I'm fucking leaving, Simon," your voice quakes, tears spilling down your face as you struggle to pack a duffle bag.

"Don't, don't do that," he stumbled over his words, moving over to you. "Just, just calm down," he placed his hand on your shoulder in comfort.

You shook his hand off before eyeing him. "Calm down?" You repeat his words. "You want me to calm down?"

"Yes. Please," he pleads, hand hovering on the drawer handle.

"You want me to calm down?" You repeat again, your voice dripping with anger. "Fuck you."

His eyes widen; clearly, he's taken aback.

You finish packing, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you lean against the nightstand. "Simon, you need help," you say, grabbing your wallet. "You need to see someone. Anyone."

He exhales a sharp breath. "Fine."

Your head shoots up, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "What?"

He wipes his face with his hand frantically. "If that's what it takes," he shrugs, nodding. "I'll get the help. Just, just don't leave me, bug."

"Nice to see you again." You snap out of your daze as the therapist greets you.

"Likewise," you murmur, glancing over at Simon sitting beside you.

His leg is tapping a mile a minute.

He's nervous.

You're surprised he actually managed to get in the car and come here.

"Hello, Simon," she sticks her hand out for Simon to take. "I'm Doctor Shaw," she greets with a warm and inviting smile.

Simon takes her hand, giving her a firm shake, and nods in acknowledgment.

"Please," Dr. Shaw brings her hands up. "Follow me."

You and Simon both stand, a sense of anticipation in the air, as you follow Dr. Shaw to her office.

The office looks the same as it has since the last two times you came by yourself.

Warm and inviting.

Only some outside light spilled into the room, opting instead for a warm orange hue from a small lamp illuminating the space.

It exudes a sense of calm, wrapping you in its soothing embrace.

"Please," Dr. Shaw gestured to the couch as she sat in her chair. "Sit."

You and Simon both take a seat and you grab a pillow to hold. Simon leans timidly, his shoulders hunched and his hands fidgeting.

"So," Dr. Shaw begins, eyes moving to Simon. "Simon." His eyes flick to hers. "Talk to me about some of your hobbies."

Simon sits back on the couch, shifting uncomfortably. "Like to run, I guess," he mutters.

She nods with a smile. "Good, good. Exercise is good. It can help clear the mind," she scribbles some notes on a notepad. "Now, I would like to know more about you two and your marriage," she hums.

Simon takes a deep gulp, and now you're shifting into the cushions.

"How are we doing in that regard?" Doctor Shaw purses her lips as she fixes her pen to start taking notes.

You shift in your seat, glancing at Simon next to you. "It's been...hard," you breathe out nervously.

"Interesting," she scribbles in her notebook. "Can you tell me when you think it became difficult?"

You gulp. "Um...a couple, a couple months ago."

"Can you think of any factors that may have caused difficulties?" She tips her head back, offering you a comforting smile.

You tap your foot against the soft blue carpet, finger tapping anxiously against your thigh.

"Simon's friend, um, passed away in January." You choke on your words halfway through before completely finishing the sentence.

Her eyes flick to Simon. "I'm so sorry. That must have been very difficult for you, Simon."

Her voice grinds Simon's gears.

Simon is pessimistic, a cynic.

Has an excruciating time finding sincerity in anything anyone says.

This is no exception.

"Simon," she begins. "If you're willing, I would like to know more about your friend."

"Thought we were here to talk about my wife and I?" Simon's tone is dry without hesitation.

She nods lightly. "We are. It could be helpful for your wife to hear you talk about some of your feelings," she sits up in her chair.

"Did my wife tell you that?" He sits back in the chair, shoulders taut.

She quips a brow. "Tell me what, Simon?"

"That I don't share? Is that why I'm here?" He glances at you, already sinking further into the cushioning of the couch.

You don't say anything, opting to stay silent.

This was a setup.

A ploy to psychoanalyze Simon's psyche.

"You brought me so she could pick my brain," he voices plainly, pointing his finger lazily towards Dr. Shaw.

"No. I wanted you to come so we could fix our marriage," your voice is full of irritation.

"Because it's all my fault it's bad. Right?" His voice raises louder than he intended.

His eyes soften as you widen in surprise, your waterline brimming with tears.

"Shit," he exhales. "I'm, I'm sorry," he says to you with care, closing his eyes slightly as he wipes his face.

"I understand this is difficult for you," Dr. Shaw begins, voice solace. "And I want to acknowledge your discomfort. It takes courage to confront painful emotions," she shifts in her chair, leaning forward.

Simon's eyes narrow. "Spare me the shrink bullshit, doc," his voice is critical.

"It's important to express your feelings, Simon," The doctor urges, to Simon's dismay.

"Why?" He retorts coldly. "Because you won't get paid if I don't?"

Dr. Shaw sits up straighter as Simon lets out an irritated sigh.

"Look," he turns to you. "I know you think this is helpful, but it's not," he says with as much delicacy as he can muster.

"You aren't even trying," you murmur.

"Sweetheart, this is just...not for me. Never has been," he holds your hand softly. "If this helps you, keep coming. I'll pay whatever she charges, okay?" He moves to stand, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "I just...I can't."

Your head flicks up to meet his as his voice cracks slightly, eyes glossed over, revealing his vulnerability.

"See you at home," he bid you goodbye, not sparing the doctor another look before stepping out of the room.

"There is no right way to grieve, and I can understand your frustration," Dr. Shaw says to you, offering a small smile. "Just be there for him when he needs you. He'll come back around," she affirms, turning to grab your receipt for the session.

"Thanks," you say meekly, hand reaching for the receipt.

"This isn't your fault," she confidently says before you step out the door.

You give only a small smile in response.

It was strange.

You and Simon had fiery love.

Two timid souls burning with such passion, desire.

A flame to a flame.

It was a love that felt like sparks igniting each other, creating a blistering and rapid heat that was impossible to ignore.

But in the end, the flames of love can burn each other out, consuming everything in their path, including the ones who ignited them.

Despite your prayers, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was your inevitable reality.

The rest of the summer and the beginning of fall blur through to September.

You were seething with anger.

The kind of anger that has you near in tears.

Simon had missed your sister's funeral, the one event that you had hoped would bring you both closer in your shared grief.

You had told him multiple times throughout the last week where and when to meet you.

He assured you he would be there for you.

He was a fucking liar.

You practically spring out of your car, parked next to his idle truck, taking heavy steps up to the house door.

The door pulls open, slamming against the house's side, making Simon awake on the couch.

The sight makes your eye twitch.

He lay dormant, several beer bottles strung across the coffee table.

And to think things were going pretty well between you two, but this was beyond belief, unforgivable.

While you were crying over your sister's casket, he was here.

Sleeping his drunkenness away.

"Don't tell me you're drunk," you ballistically say, tossing your purse onto the kitchen table with force.

"I'm not tellin' you a thing," he monotonously says like this is some joke.

"I needed you, and you were proper drunk?" Your voice rises. "I—I needed you, Simon," your voice shakes. "You gave up on me."

He says nothing, just lies there.

Your jaw ticks.

You rush over to him, forcing him to stand. "It's been—get up! It's been months, Simon!" You shout out, your voice filled with desperation. "Johnny is dead—gone," you snap out, eyes locking onto his. "He's been gone, and so have you. Except Johnny has an excuse. You don't," your chest is heaving.

Simon's eyes widen, noticeably aggravated. "I—"

"People die every day—and don't get me wrong, I am so fucking sorry, so fucking sorry, that it was Johnny—" You begin, sincerity in your voice as tears prickle down your cheeks.

"Don't—" He starts in a warning tone.

"Truly, I am. And I get it; you didn't need things from each other. But I need you. And I need to know you won't just abandon me when times get tough for you," your hands move through your hair, attempting to soothe yourself before more words flow out. "You need to grow the fuck up and talk to me like a grown-ass man and not a fucking pubescent boy!"

"Fuck, fine! Simon snaps. "It fuckin' killed me when Johnny died. I—he was my best friend, my brother. My only family. Gone." Tears spill down his cheeks as his arms flail around.

You stand silently before your tongue comes out, wiping away the salty tears coating your lips.

"Simon, I know you don't believe this, but we are family—me and you," you breathe out, trying to control your breathing.

"It broke me," he whispers solemnly. "Split me in half."

"I get that," you begin nodding your head, emotion clogging your throat. "But I need you to be whole."

"I, I can't," he stares at the floor, his hand closing into a tight fist.

"Simon. You, you can't let it fester. It's consuming your life. Our marriage." Your desperate eyes drift to him, filled with fear. "Let me help you," you beg. "I can help put you back together again."

"No. You don't understand," he lifts his head back to look at you, his eyes pleading for comprehension. "I think I'm broken beyond repair."

That was before.

It was December now.

You find yourself in the chilling hospital room, tears streaming down your face as you ponder the disintegration of your marriage with Simon.

You suffered a massive heart attack some days ago.

A complication from the heart disease.

It had weakened your heart muscle and lead to some brain damage.

The doctor said treatment options were no longer available.

So, instead of that, he switched his focus to comfort care.

Essentially, he's making it easier for you to die.

It's strange.

You know you're dying.

And you thought that death brings people together.

But you and Simon might as well be light-years apart.

You glance at Simon sitting in the chair across from you, anxiously tapping his foot.

He's nervous.

But not about you dying.

About something else entirely.

You can tell.

You can always tell.

Your eyes flick to the hospital room door, opening wide before your doctor beckons Simon to come outside with him.

Their conversation is muffled, but you catch the tail-end of it.

"It would be best to take her home. Keep her comfortable."

Now you have the confirmation.

You're going to die.

Just not sure when it will come.

You just have to sit and wait while slowly withering into oblivion.

"Hospice care can be provided to support and comfort her during this time," the doctor adds, his voice a distant echo.

A hot tear slips down your cheek, pooling onto your hospital gown.

You see Simon nodding his head along, finger resting on his chin in thought.

You want to scream.

And cry.

And punch someone.

And pray.

And move back home.

But you can't.

You feel utterly and hopelessly helpless in your own body.

Life works in a mysterious, fucked up kind of way.

It's not fair.

It's not linear.

And it's certainly not always kind.

All that's left to do is do what Simon did when Johnny died, go through the motions, the daily routine that feels like a never-ending cycle, and eventually, your physical body will leave you.

Your mind will wander far beyond anyone's grasp, yearning for a connection bond that cannot be.

MONTH ONE: January

You took up journaling.

Your hospice nurse suggested you take up the hobby.

So you did.

It wasn't as therapeutic as you thought.

It was just recounting what you ate that morning and what you planned to do the next day, the mundane details of life that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Boring, menial thoughts.

You didn't have much to say.

The only thing you thought of these days was what would happen in death.

Simon was kinder now.

Said he wanted to leave with you.

You feel guilty for having to leave him alone.

Even though you have no choice in the matter.

You hope you don't see him in the afterlife.

His life belongs here.

On the surface.

You've had some trouble walking.

Even fell in the hallway while trying to reach for a side rail Simon had installed.

You cried and pleaded for him not to help you up.

He managed to gather your heaving body in his arms and held you tight as you sobbed into his shirt about how you didn't want to die.

He didn't sleep that night.

Mind was too riddled with guilt; instead, he prayed.

With a cross to his heart, he hit his knees and closed his eyes, murmuring into the darkness to any entity who would listen.

You thought it was nice when you turned to your side to hear his hushed whispers.

He was praying for you to get better, you thought.

You didn't even realize he was praying for forgiveness for his own sins.

MONTH TWO: February

Your journal hobby has quickly dissipated as quickly as it began.

It's become harder to move.

You have to rely on Simon to do measly tasks.

It's humiliating, to say the least.

"You okay, bug?" Simon asks as the warm, sudsy sponge moves across your back, shining you clean.

"Yeah," your voice is hushed as your lips flatline. "I can do it," you assure, reaching for the sponge.

"You sure?" His eyebrow lifts. "I'm happy to—"

"Just give me the fucking sponge," you grit, ripping the sponge away from him to scrub your arm.

You find you're weaker than you thought.

You can barely hold up the light sponge to clean yourself.

Your hand sinks down into the warm bath water before you attempt to pull it up higher, over and over, until you toss the sponge over the lip of the tub.

It hits the tile, releasing water and bubbles on the floor.

Your head drops into your hands, tears mixing with the bath water.

"It's, it's really happening," you heave into your hands. "I can't even lift a fucking sponge, Simon," you say, disgust coating your words.

Simon leans forward, hand grazing your back. "I'm so sorry, bug," his voice trembles.

You turn to look at him, with red, puffy eyes and slick tears slipping down and into his beard.

"Don't apologize," you affirm with a sniffle. "You didn't do this to me."

He almost throws up but chokes down the bile to speak.

"Can I, can I finish?" He almost pleads.

You give him a soft nod and a gentle smile.

He grabs a fresh sponge and repeats the same process, this time being more gentle.

Like he's purposely trying to remember the feeling of your body under his hands.

It makes you feel loved again.

MONTH THREE: March

You were slowly withering away right before your own eyes.

You didn't even recognize yourself in the mirror.

Your skin has gone pale and blotchy and started mottling.

It's cold to the touch, void of any warmth.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Simon cooly says, pressing a kiss on your head.

"Where are you going?" You ask curiously.

"I told you I had to pick up Price's kid from school," he says warmly. "You don't remember?"

"Yeah. I, I remember," you nod your head, plastering a reassuring smile.

You really didn't remember.

Memory is a slippery thing these days, evading your grasp like a wisp of smoke.

The moment something touches your brain, it usually escapes within an hour.

It's a constant source of frustration, a relentless storm that rages within you.

Makes you want to throw a chair across the room.

He leaves, not even realizing the question has you spiraling.

Proding and pinching at your skull's skin to regain control of your brain.

You must look insane.

But to you, this is the only thing that makes you feel sane and in control of your body.

The feeling of inability is one of the most haunting prospects.

The hunger for control gnaws at you, a ruthless creature that refuses to be sated.

But it's slipping through your very fingers like sand.

Fast and all at once.

MONTH FOUR: April

By mid-April, your body feels hollow.

You can't do much of anything.

Though you did find some peace with your morality.

Finally, you came to terms with your reality.

And then, a spark of courage ignited, urging you to step out of the house for the first time in a while.

There was an unusual, almost compelling, need to visit Johnny's grave.

You had only done so once, but it would be nice to leave some flowers.

Your hospice nurse drives you and waits in the car as you find his grave slightly disheveled like someone had messed with it.

Maybe even crawled out of it.

You're too tired to investigate.

You sit in the soft dirt, legs crossed as the sun beats on your head.

The lull of sleep licks your brain and makes your eyes close and unclose lightly.

You yawn, stretching your arms out before the feeling of sleep becomes too strong.

You find yourself lying next to Johnny, separated only by a few feet of dirt.

You feel calm, peaceful even.

Though when your eyes shut for the last time, you don't see the bright, ethereal light you imagined.

You see nothing but darkness.

And smell brimstone.

It couldn't be.

This wasn't the heaven you were promised, a place of eternal peace and joy.

It was a cruel joke, a betrayal of the highest order.

You were supposed to be in a place of eternal love.

An incomparable beauty.

This looked more like—

"Bastard sold you out, m'afraid," a voice croaked in the darkness.

The figure was indistinct, a mere shadow in the darkness, but its presence was suffocating, a palpable sense of doom that felt all too familiar, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

"Who—who are you?" You speak into the darkness, not paying much heed to what he said.

"I shall not speak my name, my dear," the voice remarks. "You shall find out soon enough," he assures, pure humor coating his tongue.

Your voice trembled with fear, barely audible in the oppressive darkness. "How—how am I here?" You managed to stammer, your terror evident.

A heinous laugh comes from the dark and shoots into your eardrum. "Your husband called upon me some time ago," he says. "He wanted his friend back, so he offered me your soul in return for him back." His voice is simple and casual as if it were ordinary.

Your heart thumps in your chest, and your lungs deflate quicker than they inflate.

"N—no. Simon...he loves me," you try to contradict. "He—he wouldn't do that," you speak into the darkness, voice tight.

"Loves his friend more," he casually says.

Your eyes widen as tears begin to pour down in a consistent stream down your face; you try to move your arms but find your arms are magically constricted to your side.

"Don't worry. We'll have fun—you and I," his tone is insidious.

Simon had bartered your life for his own selfish volition and damned you to an eternity in hell.

That—that serpent.

What kind of diabolical monster would do something so heinous.

He promised you a lifetime of love.

A baby that you would share.

A tangible tell of your love.

He was a false prophet.

When did he find time to do this deal?

Oh. Oh.

He did act skittish that night.

That—that night that you asked about him praying.

You just assumed he was praying to God to help him cope by perhaps showing some signs of Johnny.

Help him deal with the trauma in any way he could.

He was instead striking up a deal.

And it wasn't with God.

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ do share your tearful thoughts in the comments! divider by @plum98

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admiringlove · 3 months ago

Text

part one || part two || part four tw: mentions of burns, grievous injury, death, suicide ideation, etc. post shibuya au. a/n. can be read as a standalone, but i'm doing this as a mini-series.

[09:14] . . .

nanami kento hates this.

he has been home for three weeks now. twenty-one days of stillness so thick it settles into the walls like dust. twenty-one nights where the air feels too heavy, too quiet, where time passes in a hush, like the house itself is holding its breath. three weeks of watching you move around him with tireless grace, every second stitched together by your hands—your footsteps, your touch, your voice, the only things that keep him tethered to the reality he can barely stand to look at.

you do everything. you do too much.

you help him eat when his fingers tremble, help him bathe when the act of standing feels like too much, guide him to the bathroom with a steadiness that makes his stomach twist. you clean him. you lift him. you speak to him softly, with gentle words and careful smiles, never letting your voice crack, never letting him see just how exhausted you are.

and he lets you.

not because he wants to. not because he believes he deserves it. but because he can’t do anything else.

he hates it. he hates that you never flinch, that you never grimace, never complain—not even when you're helping him through the most humiliating moments, the ones where he can’t even raise his arms enough to pull a shirt over his head, the ones where he has to ask you for help to piss.

he watches you hold his shame like it's a secret between you. watches you kneel beside the tub with your sleeves rolled up, washing the burn-scarred skin of his back, as if it’s a holy thing. watches the way you press cool compresses to his shoulder, whispering words that mean nothing and everything. it would be easier if you screamed. if you cried. if you threw something against the wall and shouted that you couldn’t do this anymore.

but you don’t.

instead, you smile. not the smile he used to know—the bright, full one that stretched across your face and made his chest swell with something soft and dangerous—but this new one. thin. quiet. a shadow of what it was. and still, you wear it like armor.

you say his name so gently. you carry him without complaint. you wake before him every morning and fall asleep long after he does, sitting beside his bed in silence, brushing your thumb along his bandaged hand like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

he knows it now. maybe he’s always known it, deep down.

you’re not doing this out of pity. not out of duty, or guilt, or some noble sense of compassion.

you’re doing this because you love him. and somehow, that makes everything worse.

because kento doesn’t feel worthy of love anymore. not like this. not when he can’t even stand on his own two feet. not when his body feels foreign to him, like a cage he can’t escape. not when every movement reminds him of what he’s lost. not when he sees himself in the mirror and doesn’t recognize what’s left.

he thinks, maybe, it would’ve been easier if he had died. if his last words—you take it from here—had been exactly that: a parting gift. a permission. a surrender.

because he knows you would have survived. he knows it would have broken you, shattered you, dragged you through hell—but you would have kept going. you would have healed in time. become someone new. found joy again, even if it took years. even if it was only in small, quiet ways.

that future feels kinder than this one.

kinder than being rolled through the threshold of your shared home in a wheelchair, burns still healing, body still aching, watching you press a kiss to the top of his head like it’s all okay.

kinder than being the weight you carry now, day after day, without ever setting him down.

"hey, you're growing a beard," you say softly, almost absently, as you collect his empty breakfast plate. the clink of ceramic against ceramic is gentle, as if you're afraid even the dishes might startle him. "you want a shave?"

kento doesn't look at you. not immediately. instead, he lowers his gaze to the blanket draped over his lap, where the faded cotton is bunched up slightly from how his legs shift, restless. he knows what you're remembering when you ask—knows the picture in your mind without needing to see it. because it's in his too.

he remembers it all. the sun bleeding into your shared room like something divine, soft golden light spilling over the bedsheets like melted honey. he remembers the curtains billowing from the morning breeze, linen fluttering like they were dancing just for you. he remembers the way you used to sit on top of him, legs straddling his hips, bare thighs warm against his stomach, your fingers coated in shaving cream as you smoothed it over his jaw with more reverence than necessary.

back then, you did it because you could. because he let you. because you liked the way he looked at you through the cream, all soft-eyed and patient, like he belonged to you in every way that mattered.

but that version of him—the one who could lift you, kiss you, hold you steady while you leaned close with a blade and a smirk and your sleep-creased pajamas—that man is gone. and this new version, the one who can’t even stand without assistance, who still winces when he shifts too fast or breathes too deep, cannot bear the thought of you kneeling in front of him again. not like that. not when everything between you has shifted into a quiet kind of grief neither of you will name.

"uh, it's fine," kento says, voice so low it nearly gets swallowed by the morning silence. his eyes stay fixed on the folds of the blanket, the lines of his fingers, the dullness of his knees beneath cotton.

"you sure?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder from the sink, where you're already running water. your tone is too careful, the kind reserved for glass things with cracks too deep to fix.

he nods slowly. once. doesn't look up.

and that’s the end of it.

you don’t push. you never do. and he wishes, briefly, violently, that you would. just once. that you’d say something sharp, anything to shake him out of this state. but you only turn back around, wash the plate, and carry the silence like it's just another thing you’ve chosen to carry—for him.

when you're done washing the dishes, you dry your hands on the old kitchen towel—the one that’s permanently damp no matter how often you change it—and walk back toward him. your steps are quiet, deliberate. as if loudness might somehow snap the delicate thread holding the morning together. you hover beside him for a second, the air between you heavy with something unsaid, before you ask, in a voice so careful it almost sounds like a memory, “do you wanna go somewhere today? the park, maybe. the mall?”

kento doesn’t look at you. just lowers his gaze to his trembling hands, pale against the dark fabric of the chair’s arms. his fingers curl slowly, like he’s still not used to the effort, like every movement is rehearsed but not yet mastered. “no,” he says, shaking his head. the word is small, too small for a man like him. it floats between you like a leaf in water—weightless, but still heavy with meaning.

you don’t move. not right away. just watch as he pushes himself away from the breakfast table, his fingers fumbling against the metal, weak and worn. and you wait. because maybe this time you’ll say something. maybe this will be the moment you snap—tell him that he should go outside, that fresh air might help, that being stuck in here, in this “stuffy” house that’s turned into a shrine for everything he used to be, isn’t doing either of you any good.

but you say nothing. you only stand there, hands folded against your stomach, knuckles tight, watching him wheel himself slowly—agonizingly—toward the living room. his back is straight, but the shake in his shoulders betrays him. and still, he doesn't ask for help. not even once.

he rounds the corner. you watch his figure pass, just a sliver of him disappearing down the hallway. he’s so slow, so deliberate, like even this—this attempt at independence—is a punishment he’s giving himself.

you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, the dish towel still clutched in your hand like some useless symbol of peace. you watch as he reaches your bedroom door, hands trembling against the wheel, pushing through the frame. he doesn’t tell you where he’s going. doesn’t thank you for breakfast.

and when he closes the door—too hard, maybe on purpose—kento swears he hears it.

that tiny intake of breath from you, soft and sharp all at once.

he swears he hears you flinch.

and as he sits there, in the quiet that feels too loud, in the stillness that scrapes at his ribs like broken glass, kento lets his eyes drift upward. to the wall. to the soft, cream-colored paint above the bed you both used to curl into like vines, tangled and warm and content.

his gaze settles on the photos. the ones you insisted on putting up, one by one, like sacred relics. you'd fought for that wall, not with anger, but with that gentle insistence that always seemed to win him over. back then, you’d smiled—hands on your hips, heart in your throat—and told him that you didn’t want to walk into this room and ever feel sadness. not when the world already offered more than enough of it. not when you could build something that pushed back against it.

you'd said, “this wall is going to be a home for all the things that make us happy. every milestone. every memory.” and he’d nodded, not because he fully understood, but because he trusted the way your voice trembled when you spoke about joy.

so you’d filled it. slowly, over the years. framed your first date, that one with the rainy sky and the overcooked noodles. framed your wedding, where his tie was crooked and your eyeliner had smudged from crying during your vows. you’d even framed that hideous, grainy picture from high school—the one where his hair hadn’t been cut in months and he was scowling at the camera. and he let you. god, he let you. he even smiled when you kissed the glass after hanging it up.

now, kento looks at it, and something in him collapses.

his throat tightens. his chest burns, not from the wounds or the healing skin, but from something worse. from the unbearable weight of love. from the way it grips him by the collar and doesn't let go.

his face crumples. the tears come fast, angry and soft all at once, trailing down his cheeks in silence before the sobs make it impossible to hold them back. he’s crying. not carefully, not quietly, but like it’s the only thing he’s capable of doing now. his body shakes. the sharp sniffs echo in the room. his vision blurs, but the photographs don’t disappear.

he doesn’t think about the pain anymore—not the itching of raw, pink skin or the way the bandages pull at his nerves. not the dull ache of muscles unused and healing too slowly. not the way his hands still tremble from weakness. all of that fades, is nothing compared to this. to what he feels now.

he can only think of you.

of how tired you must be. of how you smiled as you helped him button his shirt this morning, even though your hands were shaking. of how you sat beside him last night, reading a book aloud even though your voice was hoarse. of how you’d kissed his temple and told him it would be okay, when everything inside him screamed otherwise.

he cries harder. because you didn’t sign up for this. and he knows it. you were meant for something softer. something gentler than this. and yet here you are, anchored to him by love or duty or something in between, and he can’t tell which hurts more—that you’re still here, or that he sometimes wishes you weren’t.

he sobs like a man who has nothing left to give, except for the wreckage of what he used to be.

his hands tremble. not the kind of tremble that comes from weakness alone, but the violent, aching kind—shaking born from rage and humiliation and grief too long kept inside. it starts in his fingers, curls through his palms, climbs up his arms until his whole body is unsteady, quivering like a snapped wire. he clenches the wheels of the chair so tightly his knuckles flash white beneath fragile skin.

then he moves. pushes. forces. not gently, not carefully, but with the full, brute force of desperation. of hatred for this chair, this room, this body that refuses to feel like his own anymore. the muscles in his thighs scream, the burns along his back pull taut, but kento grits his teeth. he stands.

it's shaky. it's pathetic. it's barely anything. but he stands.

he's breathing hard, like he's run a mile. sweat beads at his brow, catching against the curve of a healing wound near his temple. his chest heaves. and before he can fall, before he can even think—his eyes lock onto it. that photo. the one from high school. the ugliest one of them all.

you love it, he knows. you love the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his scowl didn’t hide the curve of his cheekbones. you call it nostalgic. soft. formative.

he calls it disgusting.

his bandaged hand reaches out, trembling, half-dead and aching, and grabs the frame from the wall. his fingers slip, the glass slick against gauze and sweat, but he grips it hard. and then—

he throws it.

the crash is loud. glass shatters like a scream against the bathroom door. the frame splinters, shards raining down across the floor, over the threshold, across the rug you'd chosen together.

he stands there, panting. hands shaking. body sagging under the weight of it all. he doesn’t cry. not now. now he’s just fire. bitter and barely breathing.

and seconds later, you're there.

you burst into the room like a storm breaking through silence, wild-eyed and breathless, hair still damp from the shower, your hands half-raised as if to catch him, steady him, stop time itself.

"are you okay?" your voice is high, almost shrill, choked with panic. "are you hurt? what—what happened?"

your chest rises and falls so fast it aches to look at you. your bare feet crunch softly on broken glass as you step forward, and he flinches, just once, at the sound. because now it’s real. now you’ve seen it—this ugliness inside him, this rot.

and he's hurting you.

but you don’t move closer just yet. you don’t touch him or reach out. instead, your hand floats to your mouth in slow disbelief, your fingers trembling like his were just moments ago, and you gasp.

not a sound of fear this time. not worry. something softer. awed. and your eyes go wide—not with terror, but something else entirely. something almost holy.

your gaze doesn’t drop to the shattered frame on the floor, to the mess, to the ruin. instead, you look up at him. truly look. like you haven’t in weeks. like you’re seeing him for the first time again. and he watches your face shift—so gently it makes his heart twist.

that smile. god, that smile.

the one you wore at the altar, tears glistening under your lashes, hands trembling as you slipped the ring onto his finger. the smile you gave him when he first brought you coffee at work, still in his pressed shirt and tie, nerves hidden behind the straight line of his mouth. the one you gave him in the middle of a fight, when you both knew you’d find your way back. the one he never thought he’d see again—not like this.

“ken,” you breathe. and his name from your lips feels like a benediction. a prayer. a rebirth. “you’re standing.”

he blinks at you, dazed. “what?”

his voice cracks, and he frowns, lips parted in disbelief, his whole body still humming with pain and exertion. he doesn’t look at his legs—because how could he possibly be standing?

but you point. slowly, like you’re scared if you say it too loud, it’ll vanish. like this is a dream.

you point at his knees, at the empty wheelchair beside him, the faint tremble of his calves where they bear the weight of him.

“you’re standing,” you say again, and your voice breaks on the second word. “on your own.”

and kento looks down.

and finally, he sees.

he is.

his legs are shaking, his balance is off, every inch of him feels like it could collapse any second—but he’s not on the chair. he’s not being held up by anything but himself. it’s not much. it’s not heroic. it’s not graceful.

but it’s real. he’s standing.

and when he looks up at you again, your smile’s still there—shining and tear-struck and full of so much love that it splits something open inside him. something he thought had already been reduced to ash.

“there’s glass on the floor,” he murmurs, voice soft, like it’s already breaking. “y-you stepped on glass.”

his eyes dart to the sharp glittering pieces scattered across the hardwood, to the broken frame lying face-down by the door, the photo inside half-visible—his hair in it a disaster, your face blurry from laughing too hard. he remembers hating it. he remembers how you’d refused to take it down.

“i threw the ugly photo,” he says. “at the bathroom door.”

you blink at him, then glance down, and for a second he swears you’ll yell. or worse, cry. but then you look up again, eyes warm, and you say, “in case you didn’t notice,” with a lilt that almost sounds amused, “i’m wearing bunny slippers. the ones i forced you to buy me. the cinnamoroll ones.”

your voice trembles on the last part—not from sadness, but from restraint. you’re trying not to let it crack.

he looks down at your feet. the ridiculous white and blue slippers with floppy ears and little pink cheeks. the ones you made him buy at two in the morning in some grocery store that had no business selling such things. you’d worn them the night you moved in with him. you wore them the first night you made dinner together. you wore them when you danced to no music in the kitchen.

“oh,” he breathes.

and then he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t know what to say. so he waits.

he waits, like he used to wait at train stations with flowers in hand. he waits like he did that first night he told you he loved you, eyes on your lips, terrified of what might come next. he waits like he did in the hospital bed, praying—that you wouldn't leave. that you'd stay by his side.

he waits, yearningly. aching.

hoping you’ll come closer. hoping you'll ignore the mess on the floor, and just reach for him. hoping you’ll step around the broken pieces and press yourself to him like you used to, head on his chest, arms around his waist. hoping you'll remind him that he still gets to be touched, still gets to be held, still gets to be yours.

you take one step. then another. and for a moment, he forgets about the burns, the pain, the way his legs shake beneath him like twigs in a storm.

because you’re here. and you’re walking toward him.

and when you place your head on his chest, finally, finally resting your cheek against him like you've been dying to do for weeks, your ears catch the thump of his heart—loud, steady, alive. his arms, uncertain at first, slowly wrap around you, one settling against your back, the other trembling but determined at your waist. he sighs, deep and full of relief. something unspoken in him settles.

“will you give me a shave?” he asks, voice low, breath stirring your hair.

you blink up at him, eyebrows raised, lips twitching. “i thought you didn’t want one.”

you say it with that teasing lilt he remembers from quieter mornings—back before the world turned sharp around the edges. and for a moment, it feels like nothing ever broke.

he breathes out a sound that almost resembles a laugh. his eyes soften, tender, threaded with affection. “i always want one,” he says, “if it’s you.”

you narrow your eyes, already stepping into the joke like second nature. “you have other people giving you shaves, nanami kento?”

he shakes his head, dry as ever. “ah, yes. i’m cheating on you with gojo.”

you gasp, hand flying dramatically to your chest. “how could you? with gojo of all people?”

“he insisted. said he had the better razors.”

you snort, half-laughing into his chest. “he uses a hair straightener on his clothes when they get too wrinkly. he doesn’t get to talk about razors.”

kento smiles then—really smiles—and something in the air shifts. the heaviness lingers, yes. the pain, the fear, the grief of what almost was—they don’t disappear. but they take a step back. they let the warmth through.

you squeeze him a little tighter. he leans into you a little more.

“go sit in the bathroom,” you say, grinning now. “i’ll be there in five minutes. and i’m using the aftershave that smells like that cinnamon candle you hate.”

“i deserve it,” he murmurs, voice light.

you kiss the underside of his jaw, just where the stubble begins to grow, and smile. “yeah,” you say, pulling away, “you kinda do.”

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ikeuluvr · 6 months ago

Text

Baby, can we make up now? || Park Sunghoon

synopsis - bf!sunghoon and reader comforting each other and making up after you walk out during a fight (part 2 of I don’t wanna go to bed mad at you…)

non-idol!sunghoon x reader / established relationship - angst + fluff / warnings - crying, fighting/arguments, mentions of neglect / word count: ~1k

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It was a rarity for you and Sunghoon to fight like this—so badly that swears are echoing off of the walls and choked sobs escape both of your lips. Any arguments the two of you may have were typically nothing more than about picking up dirty socks off of the bedroom floor or making sure to turn off the lights before leaving the apartment. In the three years you’ve been together, you had never had a fight so severe until tonight. The whole situation was surely a result of pent up frustration and exhaustion from your daily lives, but that didn’t make the words hurt any less.

You let out a shaky breath as you approach the door of you and Sunghoon’s shared apartment, resting your hand on the door knob as you try to suck in the tears threatening to already escape. With a gentle twist, you push the door open to enter the dimly-lit space. Before you could mutter a single word, make any sound, or even take off your shoes, the warmth of Sunghoon’s body was quickly being wrapped around you. The silence was immediately broken by the sound of his small sobs and sniffles into your neck, instantly making your own tears start to fall again. You wrapped your arms around his body and held him close as if he would vanish into thin air if you didn’t. The two of you stood in the doorway just like this; your bodies pressed together and choked cries filling the common area for a few minutes more.

“I’m- I’m s-so- I’m so sorry Y/N,” Sunghoon manages to stutter out against your neck, his arms squeezing you even tighter if at all possible, “I’m such a- I’m such a fucking idiot.”

You gently shake your head as you slightly pull away from him, making his head raise to look at your face. A pang of guilt rushed through your body at the sight of his red and puffy eyes, his nose a bright pink from all of the crying—his eyelashes soaked in tears as more kept falling down his face. You let out a deep sigh as you reached up to cup his cheeks, wiping away the tears with your thumbs. Sunghoon’s eyes fluttered shut, causing a few more to fall as he leaned into your touch.

“It’s okay my love,” you breathed out in a small whisper, “We are both going through a lot right now and just ended up taking it out on each other… I know you didn’t mean it.”

Sunghoon takes a deep breath and keeps his hands on your waist, rubbing small circles with his thumbs, “I know but I still shouldn’t have said what I did. It came out so wrong and it made you think I didn’t love you and that-” he pauses and squeezes his eyes closed tight while letting out another sob, “that is the last thing I ever want you to feel from me.”

“Oh sweetie…” you say under your breath before taking his hand into yours and walking a few steps to the couch to sit the both of you down, “Let’s take a few deep breaths first, hm?” you suggest as the both of you take a seat, knowing that if Sunghoon didn’t stop crying now, he never would. You take a couple deep breaths together, letting both of your emotions settle. A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips as Sunghoon nods to you, letting you know he’s ready to talk.

Sunghoon holds your hands in his, taking a brief second to collect his thoughts before he begins to speak, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. For the argument, for what I said, for making you feel the way you did, for causing you to walk out… I was just-” he pauses to take another breath, “I was frustrated and my mouth started working faster than my brain was.”

You give him a small nod to let him know you’re listening, your eyes never leaving his face even for a brief second, “I know, Sunghoon. I was irritated too, and I surely also said things that I know I shouldn’t have. Besides, I was the one who started it so it’s really my fault,” you say, your voice growing softer as you look down at your hands intertwined in your lap.

“What?” Sunghoon questions, his eyebrows furrowing, “Look at me baby,” he tells you as he brings one hand up to your chin, gently tilting your head up to look him in the eyes, “I deserved it, honestly. You were right. I’ve been neglecting you and treating you like a second priority to my work and that’s just unfair to you.”

“But I also need to be more understanding that you-”

“No buts,” Sunghoon immediately cuts you off, moving his hand from your chin to cup your cheek, “You are my life, Y/N. You are my first priority in every way possible, and I intend to make sure what’s what you receive from me until we’re six feet under. There is nothing on this planet that will ever be more important than you, understand?” he explains a bit more firmly, making sure your eyes never leave his.

“Yeah love… I understand,” you reply in a soft whisper, a tiny smile trying to make its way onto your lips.

With a soft sigh, Sunghoon plants a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls you in for another embrace, your head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck as his chin rests on top of your head, “Baby, can we make up now? Cause I can’t sleep through the pain.”

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you nuzzle impossibly closer into his chest, “Yeah babe… we’re okay.”

“I love you with my whole heart, Y/N. Never forget that.”

“And I love you with all of mine, Sunghoon.”

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masterlist

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen imagines #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #enha sunghoon #sunghoon drabbles #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon angst #ikeuluvrcreations #ikeuluvrsongseries #Spotify

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goonforgeto · 18 days ago

Text

🁪 ・HOTEL LOBBY

PAIRING — nanami x f!reader x gojo

SYNOPSIS — after traveling hours to see your long distance boyfriend, you end up feeling more like a burden than his girlfriend. so when two strangers you meet in the hotel lobby offer you a distraction, you can't say no. based off of this song.

WC — (13k)

CONTENT — infidelity, smoking, drinking, threesome kinda i guess, oral (f! and m! receiving), restraint, multiple orgasms, fingering, sub!gojo if you squint, consent is clearly given but all parties are (slightly) drunk, praise, slight hair pulling, nanami is yearning, mentions of masturbation, big dick, edging?, dirty talk, gagging, p in v, mentions of porn

a/n: i wrote this before the song got big on tiktok... beta read by @taomyou my goat and my hg helped write the freak m. list | divider | read this on ao3

"Hey, give me a minute," your boyfriend mutters, barely glancing at you as he pushes himself up off of you, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

The dim glow of the screen lights up his face, and you watch as a slow smile creeps across his lips.

"Shit," he chuckles, swiping at the screen. "I gotta take this. You can clean yourself up, right?"

You barely have time to nod before he's already tugging his boxers back on, running a hand through his hair as he heads toward the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you sprawled across the hotel bed, skin still warm from where his hands had been just moments ago.

Alone.

Tonight was supposed to be special.

You had been waiting for months to see him again, counting down the days, telling yourself the distance was only temporary. The two of you had only been together for two months before his job moved him to the other side of the country. Your years of friendship were supposed to turn into a whirlwind romance, but instead, it had left you with late-night calls that always ended too soon and half-hearted I miss yous over iMessage.

Before he left, you never had the chance to sleep together. It wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to, life just got in the way. So, when you both finally found a break in your schedules and decided to meet halfway (though, if you were being honest, you had done most of the convincing), he booked a hotel room.

Tonight was supposed to be different.

But here you were, sheets tangled around your legs, body aching for a release that never came. You had already made him cum twice, waiting, hoping, expecting him to return the favor—but it never seemed to happen. You glance at the clock on the nightstand. 12:13 AM.

Nearly four hours.

Four hours of kissing, touching, waiting, hoping that maybe he’d pay attention to you the way you did to him. That he’d notice the way your body tensed, the way your breaths hitched in anticipation, the way you kept giving and giving and giving without ever getting anything in return.

But, now, he’s gone, locked in the bathroom with his phone, laughing at something that clearly matters more than you. And you’re still here, lying in bed, unsatisfied and alone.

You sigh, lifting your hips just enough to pull out the dry towel from underneath you, wiping his cum off your stomach. The warm fabric feels clinical against your skin, scrubbing away the last remnants of a night that was supposed to mean something.

You slip back into your lacy black set—the one you had picked out just for him—before reaching for the dress you had spent way too much time choosing, hoping it would catch his eye, earn you a damn compliment, or at least some acknowledgment. But it hadn’t.

Not once.

Barefoot, you pad across the carpet toward the bathroom, hesitation lingering in your steps before you knock softly on the door.

There’s a pause, then the muffled sound of his voice. “One sec, man.” A beat of silence, then he adds, “Woman, I’m on the phone, I told you.”

You swallow, fingers tightening slightly at your sides. “I, uh… I’m just going to get some air.”

You don’t wait for a response, not that you expect one.

You grab your room key from the dresser by the door, slip into your shoes, and step out into the hallway. The air feels different out there. Less stifling, less heavy.

By the time you make it to the lobby, you know you don’t want to stop there. You push past the glass doors, stepping outside into the cool night air. The city hums softly around you. Distant traffic, the occasional laugh from a passing couple, the buzz of a neon sign flickering just above you.

You take a deep breath, wrapping your arms around yourself, letting the cool air settle on your skin. It’s quiet out here, peaceful in a way that makes you feel alone, but not lonely.

The sound of a door creaking open breaks the silence.

You glance over as a man steps out of the hotel, flicking a lighter open with one hand and slipping a cigarette between his lips with the other. He looks about your age, maybe a little older, with dark, tired eyes and a suit jacket slung lazily over his arm like he had just come from something important but didn’t care enough to keep up the appearance.

He catches you staring, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before offering a small, knowing nod.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Something like that.”

He nods, tapping ash onto the pavement. “Yeah. Me too.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that doesn’t feel awkward or forced. The distant hum of the city fills the gaps where conversation doesn’t, the occasional flicker of his lighter, and the soft crackle of burning tobacco the only real sounds between you.

A few minutes pass before you speak again.

“What’re you here for?” you ask, shifting your weight slightly as you glance over at him.

“Work,” he says simply, taking another drag of his cigarette. He exhales slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. “Meetings, schmoozing, pretending I care more than I actually do.”

You huff a quiet laugh, crossing your arms. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it is.” He smirks, flicking the cigarette between his fingers before glancing at you. “What about you?”

You hesitate, your fingers grazing over the hem of your dress before you sigh. “Vacation.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “You don’t sound like you’re having a very good one.”

You let out a small, dry laugh, looking away. “Yeah. Guess not.” "That’s a bummer," he says, his voice light, like he’s making an observation rather than prying.

You don’t respond.

He places the cigarette between his lips again, inhaling deeply before pulling it back and holding it out to you. The glowing ember flickers in the dim light as he tilts his head slightly.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You hesitate for a moment before reaching out, plucking the cigarette from his fingers. You bring it to your lips, inhaling, and immediately regret it as the smoke burns down your throat. You cough, turning your head away as you try to compose yourself.

He chuckles, amused. “Been a while?”

You clear your throat, exhaling the rest of the smoke in a slow breath. “High school, maybe.”

He hums, watching you for a beat before you finally say it.

“My boyfriend’s a dick.”

There’s no hesitation in your voice, no need to sugarcoat it. The words sit in the air between you, hanging there like smoke.

He doesn’t look surprised. Just nods, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “Yeah?”

You take another drag, this time slower, letting the taste linger before you exhale. “Yeah.” You hand the cigarette back to him, watching as he takes it between his fingers with ease.

“You?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“My colleague’s annoying.”

You huff out a small laugh. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirms, taking another drag. “Got stuck sharing a room with him. Guy doesn’t shut up. I’m supposed to grab a drink with him right now.”

You shake your head, smirking. “I feel like that’s not quite on the same level as my problem.”

He grins, tilting his head toward you. “Maybe not, but hey, annoying can be exhausting.”

You hum, leaning back slightly against the hotel’s brick wall, the cool surface grounding you.

The silence between you stretches again, but it’s easy, natural. You find yourself watching the cigarette glow between his fingers, the way the smoke curls into the night air, disappearing just as quickly as it came.

“Why’s he a dick?” he asks, not looking at you this time. It’s casual, like he’s just making conversation.

You think about it for a second, then shrug. “Because I flew across the country to see him, and he’s currently locked in a hotel bathroom on the phone with someone he clearly enjoys talking to more than me.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, that’s a dick move.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right?”

He offers you the cigarette again without a word. You shake your head.

"That’s a shame," he says, exhaling smoke as he flicks the cigarette between his fingers. His gaze flickers toward you, unreadable yet intent. "Pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve that."

The compliment catches you off guard. It’s casual, effortless, like he didn’t even have to think about saying it, but something about the way he says it makes your stomach tighten.

You let out a soft scoff, looking away. "Guess not."

He hums, taking another slow drag. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"

You blink, glancing back at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, like it’s the simplest question in the world. "You flew all this way for a guy who won’t even give you the time of day. You planning on spending the rest of the night waiting for him to remember you exist?"

You stay quiet.

Because you don’t know.

You had come here with a picture in your mind, an expectation of what this night was supposed to be. But now, standing outside a hotel with a stranger who smokes like it’s second nature and looks at you like you actually matter, you’re starting to think maybe… you had it all wrong. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the hotel door swinging open.

You whip your head around, eyes landing on the man stepping outside.

He’s handsome, no doubt. Tall, broad-shouldered with sharp features, but something about him is off. He’s wearing a compression shirt tucked into dress pants like he couldn't decide between casual or formal. And then there are the sunglasses. Tinted so dark you wonder how the hell he can even see through them.

It’s night, after all.

“Nanaminnnn,” he calls out, voice loud and exaggerated. “There you are!”

The man beside you, Nanami, apparently, closes his eyes for a brief second, inhaling like he’s summoning patience from the depths of his soul. He takes one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it onto the pavement and crushing it under his heel.

You glance at him, amused. “Colleague?”

“Unfortunately,” Nanami mutters, his voice carrying the distinct tone of a man questioning all of his life choices.

The new guy approaches, a wide grin stretching across his face. “I thought you ditched me, man.” He finally notices you standing there, and his grin only grows. “And who’s this?”

Nanami exhales through his nose. “Gojo, don’t.”

Gojo ignores him entirely, turning his full attention to you. “Are you a friend of Nanami’s, or did he just get lucky tonight?”

You blink, caught between amusement and secondhand embarrassment as Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, looking like he regrets every decision that led him to this moment.

You raise an eyebrow, biting back a smirk as you glance between the two men.

“Lucky?” you repeat, tilting your head toward Nanami. “Is that what you call sneaking out for a smoke?”

Nanami exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gojo, I swear to—”

“Relax, relax,” Gojo says, waving him off before turning his attention back to you. “I’m just messing with him. But, seriously, what’s a pretty girl like you doing standing out here alone at this hour?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Who says I’m alone?”

Gojo grins, looking way too pleased with himself. “Oh? So you are with Nanami.”

“She’s not,” Nanami interrupts flatly.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No, I’m not.”

Gojo hums, clearly interested. “Then what’s the story?”

Nanami starts to interject, but you beat him to it, shrugging. “Came here to see my boyfriend, but he’s not really paying attention to me.”

Gojo whistles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ouch. Hate to see it.” He tilts his head, a teasing lilt in his voice. “And here I thought Nanami was the sad one tonight.”

Nanami exhales through his nose. “I’m leaving.”

Gojo ignores him completely, leaning in slightly toward you. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna wait around for him, or…” He lets the question hang in the air, like he’s daring you to finish it.

You pause, looking down at the pavement. Just an hour ago, the answer would’ve been obvious. But now, after standing out here, talking to Nanami, having Gojo barrel into your night like a wrecking ball of energy.

You’re not so sure anymore.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

Gojo nods, rocking back on his heels. “Well, lucky for you, I do.”

Nanami sighs. “Gojo.”

Gojo waves a hand dismissively. “Come hang out with us.”

You blink. “What?”

“Come out,” he repeats easily, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You flew all the way here just to be ignored. Might as well have a good time instead, right?”

You hesitate, glancing at Nanami, who looks entirely done with this conversation.

Gojo grins. “C’mon, we’ll get drinks. Nanami can complain about work, you can complain about your boyfriend, and I’ll make fun of both of you while looking ridiculously good doing it. Win-win-win.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, considering. You should probably go back to your room. Wait for your boyfriend to finish his call. Try to salvage whatever’s left of the night.

But something about Gojo’s grin and Nanami’s barely-contained exasperation makes you hesitate.

And maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to go back.

"Alright, but," you say, crossing your arms. "I have to be back upstairs in an hour. I don’t want him to worry."

Gojo lets out an exaggerated groan. "Oh, come on, he’s clearly not worried about you."

Nanami exhales sharply, already regretting every decision that led him here. "Let it go, Gojo."

"Fine, fine. One hour. But if I do my job right, you’re not gonna want to go back upstairs."

You roll your eyes. "Uh-huh."

The hotel lobby bar is quieter than you expected, dimly lit with sleek, dark wood furnishings. A few businessmen sit hunched over their drinks at the counter, murmuring among themselves. A jazz tune plays low in the background, barely cutting through the hum of conversation.

Nanami leads the way, choosing a booth toward the back, away from the other guests. Gojo, of course, slides in beside him, sprawled out comfortably while you take the seat across from them.

A waitress comes by almost immediately, taking your orders.

“Sake,” Gojo says without hesitation, flashing a grin. “And keep it coming.”

Nanami sighs. “One bottle is fine.”

Gojo ignores him. “Two bottles.”

The waitress nods, clearly unfazed by their dynamic, before turning to you.

“I’ll have the same,” you say, deciding to lean into it.

Gojo beams. “That’s the spirit.”

When the waitress walks away, Nanami leans back against the booth, leveling you with a look. “So, you actually plan on going back up there?”

You shrug. “I mean… yeah. He’s my boyfriend.”

Gojo scoffs, resting his chin in his hand. “And yet, here you are.”

You glance away, suddenly interested in the menu lying on the table. “It’s complicated.”

Gojo hums, clearly amused. “Isn’t it always?”

Nanami, ever the pragmatist, doesn’t bother commenting, choosing instead to check his watch, probably counting down the minutes until he can leave.

The waitress returns with your drinks, setting the bottles and small cups in front of you. Gojo is the first to pour, filling his and yours before pushing the bottle toward Nanami, who takes his time before finally conceding.

Gojo raises his glass. “To… uh?”

Nanami gives him a flat look. “To making it through the night without regretting this.”

You smirk, lifting your own cup. “To free drinks.”

Gojo grins, and the three of you clink glasses before tossing back the first shot.

The sake is warm and smooth, a slow burn spreading through your chest. You exhale, setting your cup down as Gojo immediately pours another round.

“So,” he says, resting his elbow on the table, “tell me about this boyfriend of yours. What exactly makes him worth all this effort?”

You hesitate, fingers playing with the edge of your sleeve.

You’re not sure if you have an answer. “See what I mean,” Nanami says after downing his glass.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “About what?”

Gojo leans in slightly, swirling the sake in his cup. “That you’re putting way too much effort into a guy who wouldn’t do the same for you.”

You scoff, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You don’t even know him.”

Nanami sets his glass down with a quiet clink. “Neither do you, apparently.”

That one stings a little.

Gojo smirks, watching your reaction as he refills your cup. “Ouch. Brutal, Nanamin.”

Nanami ignores him, his gaze steady on you. “If he actually cared, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out.

Because he’s right.

You shouldn’t have to sit here wondering why your boyfriend hasn’t checked his phone, why he hasn’t even noticed that you left the room.

You toss back the second shot, the warmth spreading faster now, numbing some of the frustration curling in your chest.

“Okay,” you admit, setting the glass down. “Maybe he’s kind of an asshole.”

Gojo grins, topping off your drink again. “And there it is.”

Nanami sighs, rubbing his temple. “Took you long enough.”

“It’s a real shame, you know,” Gojo says, rolling the cup between his fingers before exchanging a glance with Nanami. His smirk is playful, but there’s something sharper lurking beneath it. “If I had a girl as sweet as you, I’d make sure I knew how to treat you right.”

You let out a soft scoff, setting your cup down on the bar. “Big words from a guy wearing sunglasses at midnight.”

Nanami huffs, shaking his head. “Don’t encourage him.”

Gojo grins, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying. If I had a girl fly across the country for me, I wouldn’t be locked in a bathroom taking some other call.”

The words shouldn’t sting. Not when they’re coming from Gojo, of all people. But somehow, they do.

You swallow, tilting your head. “And what exactly would you do?”

Gojo leans in just slightly, that ever-present smirk still tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

Nanami lets out a quiet sigh, finishing off his drink in one smooth motion. “I’m going to need more alcohol for this.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You two really know how to make a girl feel better.”

Gojo refills your cup, his grin widening. “That’s what we’re here for.”

And just like that, you take another sip, letting the sake settle warm in your chest, pretending, just for a little while, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. “Can we talk about something else?” you ask, setting your cup down on the table. The warmth of the sake helps, but not enough. You don’t want to think about him anymore—not when you’re sitting here, feeling lighter than you have all night.

Gojo leans back, tapping a finger against his glass. “Alright, fine. New topic.” He pauses, thinking, before his lips curve into a smirk. “How about… the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

Nanami exhales, already looking tired. “This is going to be insufferable.”

You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s easy. High school, blind date, the guy showed up twenty minutes late and spent the entire night talking about his fantasy football team.”

Gojo winces. “Brutal.”

Nanami nods in agreement. “That is bad.”

You glance between them. “Alright, your turn. Worst date?”

Gojo grins. “Oh, mine’s legendary. Took a girl to dinner, she spent the entire night texting her ex under the table. Didn’t even try to be subtle about it.”

You snort. “Ouch.”

Nanami, to no one’s surprise, takes his drink and says, “I don’t go on bad dates.”

Gojo scoffs. “You mean you don’t date.”

Nanami ignores him, pouring himself another shot.

You shake your head, smiling. “Alright, so if you’re too perfect to have a bad date, what’s the worst night out you’ve ever had?”

Nanami considers for a moment before sighing. “This one.”

Gojo barks out a laugh, clapping him on the back. “See? Now that is the kind of honesty I respect.”

You smile, taking another sip of your sake. The conversation flows, easy and natural, the weight of the night slowly fading into something lighter.

Maybe you don’t have to go back upstairs just yet. Gojo watches you over the rim of his cup, his smirk lingering, eyes sharp behind those ridiculous sunglasses. He hasn’t stopped looking at you all night. Not in an obvious, predatory way, but in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. Like he’s sizing you up, playing a game you don’t quite know the rules to yet.

You meet his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before turning back to Nanami. “You seriously never had a bad night out?”

Nanami exhales through his nose, giving Gojo a pointed look. “Every night I spend with him qualifies.”

Gojo grins, unbothered. “Oh, come on, Nanamin. You love me.”

“I tolerate you,” Nanami corrects, taking another slow sip of his sake.

You chuckle, leaning forward slightly, fingers tracing absent patterns against the rim of your cup. “You two always like this?”

Gojo hums, tilting his head. “What, charming?”

You roll your eyes. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Gojo smirks, but he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he refills your cup, fingers brushing lightly against yours as he passes it back to you. The touch is fleeting, barely there, but it lingers, warm against your skin.

You swallow, taking a small sip.

Gojo notices.

“So,” he drawls, shifting slightly toward you, his knee knocking against yours under the bar. “What’s your best night out, then? If this—” he gestures vaguely around the bar, “—isn’t the worst, what’s the best?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Mmm. There was this one night, years ago, a guy who actually paid attention to me.”

Gojo smirks. “Sounds like a rare breed.”

You shrug, swirling the sake in your cup. “Maybe.”

His knee stays pressed against yours. Not an accident.

“You know,” Gojo says, voice dropping just slightly, smooth and playful, “I could make sure tonight is one of your better ones.”

Nanami groans. “Jesus Christ.”

You let out a breath of laughter, but your fingers tighten slightly around your cup. Because Gojo is still looking at you like that.

Like he already knows how this night is going to end. You arch a brow, smirking slightly over the rim of your cup. “Oh yeah? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Gojo grins, tilting his head toward you, his knee still pressing against yours. “Well, for starters,” he says, voice smooth as silk, “I’ll actually pay attention to you.”

Your breath catches just slightly. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you see the way his smirk deepens. He caught it.

Nanami groans, rubbing his temple. “I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

You chuckle, but your eyes stay locked with Gojo’s. He’s enjoying this. The push and pull, the way your lips curve just slightly, like you’re considering playing along.

And maybe you are.

Gojo leans over a little more, just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne— something warm, woodsy—intoxicating in a way that makes your head feel a little lighter. His fingers drum against the table before he reaches for the sake bottle again, pouring another drink for you, slow and deliberate.

“Tell me something,” he says, watching the liquid rise in your cup. “Why exactly are you still giving that guy upstairs the benefit of the doubt?”

You exhale, glancing down at the drink in front of you, the answer heavier on your tongue than it should be. “Because I want to believe he’s better than this,” you admit.

Gojo hums, setting the bottle down. “And do you?”

You hesitate.

Nanami exhales sharply. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Gojo ignores him, leaning closer, his knee pressing more firmly against yours, like he’s testing you, waiting to see if you’ll pull away. You don’t.

“That’s the thing about people like him,” Gojo murmurs, voice low enough that it’s just for you now. “They make you wait. They make you think if you’re just patient enough, they’ll change.”

Your fingers tighten around your cup. You know he’s right.

He tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression before his gaze drops. To your lips, just for a second, before flicking back up to your eyes.

“But you don’t have to wait,” he adds, the words slow, deliberate. “You could make tonight about you for once.”

Your breath catches again, and this time, there’s no chance he didn’t notice.

You arch a brow, smirking slightly over the rim of your cup. The alcohol takes over “Oh yeah? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Gojo grins, tilting his head toward you, his knee still pressing against yours. “Need me to say it again, pretty?” he says, voice smooth as silk, “I’ll actually pay attention to you.”

Your breath catches just slightly. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you see the way his smirk deepens.

He caught it.

Nanami groans, rubbing his temple. “I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

You chuckle, but your eyes stay locked with Gojo’s. He’s enjoying this. The push and pull, the way your lips curve just slightly, like you’re considering playing along.

And maybe you are.

But then you glance to your left, catching the way Nanami’s fingers tighten around his cup.

He hasn’t spoken, hasn’t even looked at you since Gojo started playing this game. But there’s something about the way his jaw is set, the way he takes a slow sip of his drink—like he’s listening to every word being exchanged, carefully dissecting them in that sharp, calculating way of his.

Gojo notices too.

His smirk widens.

“See?” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles lazily along the rim of his cup. “Even Nanami agrees with me.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Gojo tilts his head toward the man beside you. “Nanamin’s got that look on his face,” he continues, as if he’s letting you in on a secret. “Like he wants to tell you the same thing I just did but doesn’t wanna say it out loud.”

You turn toward Nanami, raising an eyebrow. “That true?”

Nanami exhales through his nose, setting his drink down with a quiet clink. “I think your boyfriend is an idiot,” he says simply.

Your breath catches for a completely different reason now.

Gojo grins. “See?” He nudges your foot under the table. “Told you.”

Nanami sighs, but he doesn’t deny it.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of everything. The heat of Gojo’s knee pressed against yours, the solid presence of Nanami sitting at his other side, the way the air feels thicker now, like something unspoken is settling in between the three of you.

And neither of them seem in any hurry to break it.

You grip your cup a little tighter, rolling your tongue along the inside of your cheek as you glance between the two of them. The weight of their attention is different now; Gojo’s is teasing but pointed, sharp like a blade wrapped in silk, while Nanami’s is quieter, steadier, like he’s waiting to see where this goes before committing to anything.

The three of you sit in the dim bar, the soft hum of the hotel lobby just beyond, but it might as well be a world away.

Gojo leans in slightly, voice smooth. “So? What do you think, sweetheart?” He tilts his head, watching you. “Are you gonna go back upstairs and wait for a guy who clearly doesn’t give a damn, or…” He trails off, his fingers drumming once against the table once again before he lazily gestures between the three of you.

Your stomach tightens. The implication is there, laced in his tone, in the way his gaze flickers toward Nanami just long enough to mean something.

Nanami sighs across from you, rubbing his temple. “Gojo, you’re being obnoxious.”

“Am I?” Gojo hums, taking another sip of sake before setting his cup down. His eyes flicker back to you. “She doesn’t seem all that opposed to the idea.”

You exhale slowly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle in, your inhibitions loosening ever so slightly. There’s a part of you that knows this is probably a bad idea. That this is dangerous in ways you haven’t even fully considered yet.

But there’s another part of you—the part that’s spent the last few hours feeling unappreciated, neglected, unwanted, that finds itself staring at the two men in front of you: one playful, cocky, and completely shameless; the other composed, unreadable, yet not stopping any of this. And wondering if, maybe, just maybe, Gojo is right.

Maybe tonight should be about you for once.

You swirl your sake in your cup, glancing toward Nanami, whose fingers are resting against the bar, his expression unreadable. “And what do you think?” you ask, voice softer, testing.

Nanami doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifts his gaze, meeting yours evenly. “I think you’re looking for an excuse to do something reckless.”

Your lips curve slightly. “And if I am?”

He exhales through his nose, reaching for the sake bottle. “Then I’d tell you to be sure it’s what you actually want.”

Gojo chuckles, watching the exchange like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world. “Gosh, Nanamin. You make it sound so serious. I think she deserves to let loose a little, don’t you?”

Nanami doesn’t respond immediately, but you catch the way his fingers tighten just slightly around his glass before he takes another slow sip.

Gojo grins, eyes flicking between the two of you before settling back on you, amusement dancing behind his dark lenses. “So, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. “What do you want?”

The weight of the question settles over you, thick and expectant.

You hold Gojo’s gaze, the weight of his question lingering between the three of you, thick and unspoken. Your heart is beating a little too fast now, not just from the sake, but from the shift in the air, from the way both men are waiting, watching, giving you the space to decide.

You could end this now. Laugh it off, finish your drink, head back upstairs like a good girlfriend should.

Or you could let yourself have this. Just once.

Just tonight.

Your fingers trail lightly along the rim of your cup before you set it down. You turn to Nanami first, watching the way his jaw tenses slightly when your eyes meet. “And if I do say what it is I want?”

Nanami doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t answer right away either. Instead, he exhales slowly, setting his own cup down with precise control. “Then I’d tell you to be sure,” he says, voice steady. “Because once you go down that road, there’s no taking it back.”

Gojo hums, watching him with amusement. “Damn, Nanamin. Didn’t know you had such a dramatic side.” He turns back to you, smirking. “But he’s right, you know. No turning back.”

You already know that.

You know this is dangerous, that this is a choice that will change something, whether you want it to or not. But for the first time tonight, you feel seen. Wanted. Like you’re not just something to be forgotten in a hotel room while someone else makes you an afterthought.

And you don’t want to be an afterthought anymore.

You inhale slowly, fingers tightening slightly against the edge of the bar as you look at both of them.

“I’m sure.”

Nanami watches you carefully, as if giving you one last chance to take it back. Gojo, on the other hand, just grins, like he knew you’d say that all along.

“Good,” Gojo murmurs, voice dropping just slightly. “Then why don’t we get out of here?”

He stands first, tossing a few bills onto the bar without looking. Nanami hesitates for a fraction of a second before sighing, following suit.

And then you’re standing too, heat curling low in your stomach as Gojo leads the way out of the bar, his fingers grazing the small of your back just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

Nanami lingers just behind you, quiet, unreadable.

The elevator ride up is thick with tension, the air between the three of you charged and humming with something you don’t quite have a name for yet.

You stand between them, acutely aware of the space (or lack thereof). Gojo leans against the mirrored wall, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lazily against his thigh. His sunglasses are still perched on his nose, but you can feel his gaze on you.

Nanami stands on your other side—still composed, still unreadable—but his fingers twitch just slightly at his sides. He hasn’t looked at you directly since you left the bar, but his presence is solid, grounding, deliberate.

A soft ding echoes through the elevator as the doors slide open to the highest floor of the hotel.

The suite is exactly what you expected; large, sleek, and expensive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city below. Dim lighting casts long shadows across the space, the glow from the skyline outside flickering against the glass.

Gojo kicks off his shoes lazily, stretching as he walks toward the minibar. “Well, now that we’ve successfully escaped your trainwreck of a night, I’d say this calls for a proper toast.” He reaches for the stocked bottles, pulling out something dark and expensive-looking. “Whiskey? Wine?”

You hover near the entrance, heart still beating faster than it should be. Nanami steps inside after you, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

His eyes meet yours, steady, calculating.

One last chance to walk away.

But you don’t.

Gojo glances back at the two of you, smirking as he unscrews the cap of the bottle. “You’re looking a little tense over there, sweetheart. You sure about this?”

You inhale slowly, fingers brushing against the hem of your dress.

And then, finally, you meet his gaze.

“I’m sure.”

Gojo hums, pouring a drink. “Good,” he murmurs, stepping closer, pressing a glass into your hands. His fingers brush yours, lingering just a second too long.

Nanami exhales quietly from behind you, but he doesn’t step away and neither do you. You take the glass from Gojo’s hand, the warmth of his fingers lingering against your skin for a second too long. The whiskey is smooth when you take a sip, but it does nothing to cool the heat curling low in your stomach.

Gojo watches you over the rim of his own glass, amused, patient, expectant.

Behind you, Nanami is silent, but you feel his presence, the steady weight of his gaze, the way he hasn’t moved from where he’s standing, like he’s anchoring himself, like he’s still waiting for the moment you change your mind.

You won’t.

The room hums with unspoken tension, and it only grows heavier when Gojo finally steps closer, plucking the glass from your hand with an easy smirk. “You’re overthinking, sweetheart.”

His voice is smooth, almost teasing, but there’s something deeper there, something that makes your breath catch when he leans in just slightly, his presence overwhelming in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

His fingers trail lightly along your arm, slow and deliberate.

Gojo hums, satisfied, and then he’s closing the space between you, his hand finding the curve of your waist as he presses his lips against yours.

It’s slow at first, teasing, coaxing, like he’s savoring the moment, like he knows you won’t pull away. His other hand lifts, fingertips ghosting along the side of your neck before threading into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss.

And then a shift. A presence at your side.

Nanami.

You barely have time to react before you feel the weight of his hand settle against your thigh, warm and steady through the fabric of your dress. It’s not forceful, not urgent. Just there, just waiting.

Gojo smirks against your lips, pulling away just enough to murmur, “Looks like Nanamin finally made up his mind.”

You exhale shakily, caught between the heat of them both.

Gojo’s lips are still hovering near yours, his smirk lazy, smug—like he already knew this was going to happen, like he had seen this moment playing out before you had even realized you wanted it.

But it’s not just Gojo anymore.

Nanami’s hand on your thigh is solid, warm, his touch deliberate. He hasn’t moved beyond that, not yet, but the weight of it alone sends a shiver up your spine.

You turn your head slightly, glancing at Nanami through the dim light. He’s watching you, eyes dark, unreadable, lips pressed into a firm line like he’s still debating the morality of this even while his hand tightens slightly against your leg.

“Relax, Nanamin,” Gojo murmurs, his fingers still tangled in your hair, tilting your head just enough that he can brush his lips over your jaw. “She wants this.”

You do. You don’t even hesitate when you reach for Nanami, your fingers brushing against his wrist, encouraging. His chest rises and falls slowly, measured, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he exhales through his nose, his fingers slipping just a little higher against your thigh.

Gojo chuckles, clearly pleased, his breath warm against your skin. “See?” he muses, trailing soft, teasing kisses along the side of your neck. “You’re already making her impatient.”

Nanami’s fingers flex against you, but he doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t have to.

Because the next thing you know, his other hand is tilting your chin toward him, and then his lips are on yours.

Gojo pulls back just enough to watch, his thumb skimming along your collarbone, his smirk widening. “Now that’s what I like to see.”

Gojo downs the rest of his drink, the sound of the glass being placed back down against the counter barely audible over the way your breath hitches against Nanami’s lips.

Nanami tastes like cigarettes. He kisses you slowly, carefully—he’s trying to commit this moment to memory, like he already knows he shouldn’t be doing this but can’t bring himself to stop. His hand on your thigh tightens just slightly, grounding, steady, possessive.

Gojo watches, his smirk widening, amusement flickering behind those ridiculous sunglasses that still haven’t left his face. “Nanamin,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’re being greedy.”

Nanami exhales through his nose, slow and measured, but he doesn’t pull away. Not immediately.

Gojo leans in, his fingers ghosting along your arm before trailing up to your chin, tilting your head just enough that you have no choice but to look at him. His voice drops, teasing and smooth.

“You have to share.”

Nanami huffs, finally pulling back, his lips barely inches from yours. He says nothing, just watches as Gojo closes the space between you, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before his lips press against yours.

Where Nanami was steady and sure, Gojo is teasing, playful, his kiss slow but purposeful, drawing you in, taking his time, making sure you feel every second of it.

Nanami exhales sharply beside you, but his hand doesn’t leave your thigh. If anything, it only moves higher. Your hand moves up, fingers curling around the delicate strap of your dress, pulling it down one slow inch at a time. The fabric slips over your shoulder, baring more of your skin to the cool air, to the weight of their stares.

Gojo makes a low noise in his throat, somewhere between approval and amusement. “Now we’re talking,” he murmurs against your lips, his fingers ghosting along the newly exposed skin before trailing lower, teasing the edge of the dress as if testing how far you’ll go.

Nanami doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. His fingers, firm and unwavering, move higher along your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress up in the process. There’s a tension in him, tightly wound, he’s trying to convince himself that this is a bad idea even as his body betrays him.

Gojo, on the other hand, has no such reservations. He chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips before leaning back slightly, his smirk downright wicked.

“You look real pretty like this,” he muses, watching the way your breath catches when Nanami’s fingers tighten just slightly against your thigh. He reaches up, slipping the other strap of your dress down, letting the fabric slide lower, leaving you more bare beneath their gaze.

Nanami exhales slowly, his eyes dark, half-lidded, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to move even further. Gojo's lips ghost along your ear, his voice a low murmur. “Think he likes what he sees, baby.”

Your breath catches, a shiver running down your spine as Nanami’s fingers flex against your thigh. He still hasn’t spoken, but his silence speaks louder than words.The tension in his body, the way his grip tightens just slightly, the heat in his gaze when your eyes flicker toward him.

Gojo chuckles, pressing a teasing kiss just below your jaw. “You’re getting shy on us now?” He tilts his head, brushing your hair back over your shoulder, exposing more of your skin. “Didn’t seem so shy downstairs.”

You swallow, fingers curling against the fabric of Nanami’s sleeve, anchoring yourself. You feel the way his arm tenses beneath your touch, the restraint he’s barely holding onto.

“I’m not shy,” you murmur, your voice steadier than you expected.

Gojo hums approvingly, slipping a finger under the loose strap of your dress, dragging it down your arm. “Good.”

Nanami exhales through his nose, his hand on your thigh unmoving, still waiting, still watching. His other hand lifts, fingers skimming along your arm, tracing a slow line up to your shoulder. His touch is careful, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath his fingertips.

Gojo leans back just enough to watch you, his smirk lazy, his amusement laced with something deeper. “You gonna let Nanami touch you, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitches, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. You don’t need to think. You already know the answer.

You turn your head toward Nanami, eyes locking with his. His expression is unreadable, his lips slightly parted, his grip still firm but hesitant. Like he’s still waiting for something.

So you give it to him.

You reach for his hand, guiding it higher along your thigh.

Nanami exhales, slow and measured, but his restraint cracks just enough for his fingers to move on their own, pressing into your skin, claiming the space you’ve offered him.

Gojo whistles lowly, dragging his thumb along your collarbone. “Now that’s more like it.”

His voice is smooth, teasing, but you barely register it, because Nanami is finally touching you like he wants to.

And you don’t think you’ve ever felt more wanted in your life.

His hand slides higher, fingers splaying possessively over your hip as Gojo’s lips ghost along the curve of your neck. Every touch feels electric, igniting a fire that courses through your body. The world shrinks to just this: Nanami’s steady, grounding heat; Gojo’s playful, teasing desire; and the way they consume you completely, leaving no room for anything else.

Your breath catches as Nanami’s rough hand glides over the soft skin of your thigh. His touch is deliberate, his calloused fingers tracing slow, maddening circles that send shivers racing up your spine. A shaky exhale escapes you before you can stop it, and your eyes dart to Nanami’s face in search of his reaction.

His brow furrows, not with annoyance or anger, but with restraint. The intensity in his gaze is palpable, his pupils blown wide with barely contained want. Your eyes trail downward, from the tension in his jaw to the undone collar of his shirt, to the way his slacks strain against him. The realization hits you like a spark to dry kindling, he wants this. He wants you. Badly.

When he notices your lingering stare, his eyes lock onto yours, dark and unyielding. The air between you thickens as you grip the sheets beneath you and nod silently, giving him permission.

“Come on, Nanami,” Gojo’s voice breaks the silence from behind you, low and edged with impatience. “Don’t keep her waiting.” He tries to sound casual, but the desperation lacing his tone betrays him.

Gojo’s touch and teasing voice keep you distracted. Before you can fully process what’s happening, you feel your panties being slid aside. Nanami’s movements are deliberate, his hands steady as he gently pulls the fabric down your legs, discarding it without ceremony. The absence of the barrier leaves you feeling exposed, vulnerable, and achingly desperate for more.

His hands return to their place on your thighs, grounding you with their rough warmth. The anticipation is unbearable, a tension coiling tighter in your core with every passing second. You’re sure Nanami can feel it, sense it, because just as the thought crosses your mind, his fingers find you.

A loud gasp escapes your lips as he positions his hand, and the first experimental brush of his thumb against your clit sends a jolt through your body. The sound you make is involuntary—a soft whimper that betrays just how much you need this. Nanami’s lips twitch into a faint smirk at your reaction, the first hint of amusement he’s shown all night. His composure cracks just enough to reveal the satisfaction he takes in unraveling you.

He doesn’t stop there. His movements grow more confident, his pace quickening as he watches the way your body responds to him. Each touch feels like a revelation, a reminder of what it’s like to be truly seen and cared for in such an intimate way. The noises you make are uncontrollable now, soft cries spilling from your lips as pleasure builds inside you.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Gojo murmurs against your neck, his voice low and soothing despite the hunger behind it. His teeth graze your skin lightly as he adds, “You’re so good for him, huh? Is he making you feel good?”

You want to answer him, to tell him how good it feels, but every attempt at forming words dissolves into pathetic whines. Gojo chuckles softly at your struggle and cups your chin in his hand, tilting your face toward him. His lips capture yours in a kiss that steals what little breath remains in your lungs. His tongue brushes against yours, deepening the connection as the tension inside you threatens to snap.

Just when you think you’re about to fall over the edge, Nanami stops. The sudden loss of contact makes you whine in protest, your eyes darting down to meet his with frustration painted across your face.

“Can I do something else?” he asks softly, his gaze searching yours for permission. You nod quickly, desperately, needing him to finish what he started.

But what comes next catches you off guard. Nanami leans closer and closer until you can feel the heat of his breath against your inner thighs.

“Wait, you don’t have to—” Your protest dies in a moan as his tongue runs between your folds. The sensation is overwhelming, and all you can do is surrender to it. A hand finds yours amidst the chaos; Gojo’s fingers interlace with yours as if anchoring you against the storm of pleasure crashing over you.

Nanami’s hands creep up your thighs until they settle firmly on your hips, holding you in place like he’s afraid you might escape him. But escape is the last thing on your mind as wave after wave of sensation pulls you under.

Nanami’s tongue continues its relentless work, his movements precise and deliberate as he adjusts his position. When his tongue flicks over your clit, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you instinctively cover your mouth, trying (and failing) to muffle the sounds spilling out of you. The sensation is overwhelming, so much better than his fingers alone.

Then, you feel it—one of his hands leaves your hip, and a finger gently prods at your entrance. Slowly, he dips it inside, pushing deeper with care before curling it just right and beginning to thrust. Your back arches off the bed at the sensation, but Nanami’s firm grip on your hips keeps you grounded. He presses you back down against the mattress with a quiet authority that only makes the heat pooling in your abdomen burn hotter.

When he adds a second finger, the stretch is perfect, just enough to make you gasp again. His mouth works in tandem with his hand now, lips and tongue lapping and sucking at your most sensitive spots. His fingers curl inside you with precision, hitting that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. The pleasure builds impossibly fast, and the sounds spilling from your lips grow louder and more desperate.

Before those cries can echo too loudly, Gojo leans in to capture them with a rough kiss. His lips press against yours hungrily, swallowing every moan and whimper as if they belong to him. His tongue pushes into your mouth, dominating the kiss even as Nanami drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami’s pace quickens, his fingers thrusting faster, his tongue working harder, and it’s too much. You try to pull away from Gojo to catch your breath, but he only deepens the kiss, holding you firmly in place. The next thing you know, a loud moan tears from your throat into Gojo’s mouth as the tension inside you snaps. Your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling as you spill into Nanami’s waiting mouth.

Nanami doesn’t stop, not immediately. He continues to lap up every bit of you with an almost reverent hunger until the overstimulation becomes too much. Your body twitches involuntarily as you pull away from his mouth with a soft whimper.

Completely spent and breathless, you collapse against Gojo’s chest with a sigh. “Fuck…” is all you manage to say between ragged breaths.

Gojo chuckles softly, his voice low and teasing as he plants featherlight kisses along your face and neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Nanami slowly sitting up at the edge of the bed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable but undeniably satisfied.

It takes a few moments for you to collect yourself enough to sit upright again. Your gaze shifts to Gojo, who is lounging back against the headboard like he owns every inch of this moment, and maybe he does. His lazy smirk only adds to his infuriatingly cocky demeanor. The top buttons of his expensive collared shirt are undone (of course he’d wear something so effortlessly stylish), revealing just enough skin to tempt you further.

You reach out to cup Gojo’s face in both hands before shifting onto his lap to straddle him. His smirk widens slightly as he watches you move, but there’s an unmistakable hunger simmering beneath those impossibly blue eyes—eyes that seem even more piercing without his signature glasses.

Smiling softly, you let your hands trail down his chest toward the remaining buttons on his shirt. One by one, you undo them slowly, deliberately, before sliding the fabric off his shoulders and letting it fall away completely. You study him carefully as you do this: every flicker of emotion in his gaze, every subtle shift in his expression.

Without the barrier of clothing, your hands roam freely over him. You trace each scar and muscle on his chest and abs with reverence, memorizing every inch of him under your touch. Leaning forward slightly, you press soft kisses down his chest as your fingers continue their exploration.

The sharp intake of breath he takes when your hands dip lower sends a thrill through you. His stomach tenses beneath your touch, and when he exhales through gritted teeth, a soft hissing sound, you can tell he’s trying hard not to let any more noise escape him.

But that cocky smirk still lingers on his lips, and, oh no, you can’t have that.

Your hands trail down his chest, teasingly slow, until they reach the waistband of his slacks. You glance up into Gojo’s eyes as your fingers brush over the hard length straining against the fabric. His jaw tightens, and you watch with satisfaction as his hands grip the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white.

“Come on, princess,” he growls through gritted teeth, his brow furrowed in frustration. “No need to be such a tease.”

“You just need to have some patience, hmm?” you reply sweetly, though there’s a playful edge to your tone that makes his lips twitch into a strained smirk.

Your fingers move to his belt, taking your time undoing the loop and sliding it free. The deliberate pace earns you a low groan from him, but he doesn’t stop you. Once the belt is in your hands, an idea sparks in your mind. You wrap it around his wrists, looping it securely before fastening it back with the hook. It’s not the tightest restraint, you know he could snap it easily if he wanted, but when you look at him, all he does is let out a low laugh.

“Really?” he asks, raising an amused brow. “You know this won’t hold me, right?”

“I know,” you say with a sly smile. “But you’re being so good for me right now…I have a feeling it will.”

His smirk widens slightly at your confidence, but before he can respond, you turn back to Nanami. The moment your eyes meet his, your newfound boldness falters under the weight of his gaze. There’s something feral in the way he looks at you, like he’s been holding himself back for far too long.

“You didn’t forget about me, did you?” His voice is deep and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. The hunger in his tone makes your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“I—” You try to form a coherent response, but the heat pooling in your core makes it impossible to think straight. Your brain feels fuzzy, consumed by thoughts of what lies beneath his pants.

Nanami leans closer, his large hands finding your waist as he pulls you toward him effortlessly. “Let’s give him a show,” he murmurs against your ear.

You manage a small smile before glancing back at Gojo over your shoulder. “Watch closely, sweetheart,” you tease with a giggle.

Gojo tsks but doesn’t move an inch; instead, he leans back against the headboard with a lazy grin that doesn’t quite mask the fire in his eyes.

Turning back to Nanami, you reach up to cup his cheek. The moment your hand touches him, his lips crash onto yours with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs. Unlike Gojo’s playful teasing kisses, Nanami’s are raw and consuming, he kisses like he needs you more than air itself. It’s messy and desperate and so intoxicating that you never want it to end.

Your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt as his hands slide around to support your back. A soft moan escapes you when he latches onto your neck again, sucking and biting at the already sensitive skin like a man starved. His warm breath fans over your skin as his teeth graze along your pulse point, making it nearly impossible for you to focus on anything else.

Still, despite the distraction of his mouth on your neck and the way his hands grip you so firmly yet tenderly, you manage to pull off his shirt at last. Wasting no time now, you move to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants with an urgency that surprises even you. You don’t think you’ve ever stripped someone this quickly in your life.

Once his slacks are discarded onto the floor alongside Gojo’s belt and shirt, your hands trail down Nanami’s chest again. His breath hitches when your fingers trace over each defined muscle before dipping lower toward his waistband. You take note of every reaction, the way his breathing quickens slightly when you brush over his v-line; the way his lips part ever so slightly as if trying to hold back a sound.

When your hand finally slips beneath the fabric of his boxers and wraps around him fully for the first time, you freeze for just a moment. He’s thick, so much so that your hand doesn’t fully close around him, and somehow that realization only makes the ache between your thighs burn hotter.

You pull him free from the confines of his boxers and guide him away from your neck so you can kiss him again. This time it’s slower but no less intense, your lips moving against his as if savoring every second of contact. As soon as he relaxes into the kiss, trusting you completely in this moment, you give him an experimental stroke.

The sharp inhale he takes against your lips sends a thrill through you. His hips twitch slightly under your touch as if instinctively seeking more friction, but for now, all he does is kiss you harder in response.

Nanami groans into your mouth, the sound deep and guttural, sending a jolt straight to your core. Everything feels so hot, so overwhelming, you almost can’t take it. With steady movements, your hand works him, using the slickness of his precum to glide smoothly up and down. The way his breath hitches and his grip tightens on your waist tells you he’s close, so close.

But, just as he’s about to tip over the edge, you pull your hand away. His head falls back with a frustrated groan before he looks down at you, his blown pupils locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze sends another wave of heat through you.

You flash him a soft smile before shifting further down the bed until you’re face-to-face with his erection. His chest rises and falls heavily as he watches you, realization dawning in his eyes. Before you can move any further, his hand reaches out to cup your face, turning it so you’re looking back at him.

“Wait,” he murmurs, voice strained. “You don’t have to—”

His words are cut off by a sharp groan as your tongue glides up the length of him, slow and deliberate. His hand moves to grip your hair instinctively as his head tilts back, the muscles in his neck straining with pleasure.

You open your mouth wider, taking him in inch by inch. The stretch is intense, but the sounds he’s making spur you on, low moans and curses spilling from his lips like music to your ears. You go as far as you can until you feel the urge to gag, using your hand to take care of what you can’t fit.

The noises filling the room are obscene, wet sounds from your mouth mixed with Nanami’s ragged breaths and quiet curses. Spit dribbles down your chin, mingling with the precum leaking from him, but none of it matters. All you can focus on is how beautiful he looks above you: flushed cheeks, furrowed brow, and parted lips that let out the most sinful sounds.

“Shit,” Nanami mutters through gritted teeth. “It feels so good, baby. You’re doing so fucking good, taking my dick like that.”

His hips twitch slightly as his restraint starts to falter. He grips your hair tighter, guiding your head down just a little more as his breathing grows more erratic.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna—you gotta get off…” His voice is desperate now as he tries to pull away before losing control.

But instead of stopping, you move faster, determined to push him over the edge. It doesn’t take long before his groans turn into a deep growl, and with one final thrust of his hips, he spills into your mouth. The warmth floods down your throat as he comes undone beneath you.

You slowly pull off him, swallowing everything before meeting his gaze again with a satisfied smile. Nanami looks at you with a mix of awe and apology as he cups your cheek gently. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he murmurs softly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You scoff lightly at his words and lean into his touch. “If I didn’t want it,” you reply with a playful smile, “I wouldn’t have done it.”

Leaning forward, you kiss him again, a slow kiss that reassures him there’s nothing to apologize for.

Nanami pulls back slightly and glances over at Gojo still sitting at the head of the bed with an exaggerated pout on his face. “You should probably do something about that,” Nanami says with a small smirk.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you press one last kiss to Nanami’s lips before crawling over to Gojo. “You didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?” you tease with a soft giggle as you straddle him again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gojo replies smugly, though there’s an unmistakable edge of impatience in his tone.

Smiling sweetly at him, you tug down his boxers to free him completely. Reaching over to grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand (because of course Gojo has one conveniently nearby), you quickly lather your hand before wrapping it around him and stroking at a ruthless pace.

“Fuck—” Gojo gasps sharply but doesn’t get far before you shut him up with a kiss. His lips crash against yours hungrily as if trying to distract himself from how good your hand feels on him. You feel him struggle against the belt still binding his wrists together, the tension in his arms mirroring the way his legs tense beneath you.

Breaking away from the kiss momentarily, you trail kisses down his chest and stomach until you reach his abdomen. Without hesitation this time, you take him into your mouth easily, your movements smoother now after earlier practice with Nanami.

“Fuck… beautiful,” Gojo groans softly above you. “Please…”

You move teasingly slow at first just to savor every little sound spilling from his lips, the low moans and sharp intakes of breath that only spur you on further. But when he suddenly thrusts up into your mouth without warning, catching you off guard for just a moment, you react quickly by pressing a firm hand against his hips to hold him down.

Your pace quickens then, your mouth working in tandem with your hand as Gojo’s breathing grows more ragged by the second.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck,” he chants breathlessly between moans. “Please, sweetheart. I’m so fucking close, you’re doing so fucking good, I feel so fucking good right now… please—”

With one final groan that sounds almost like a plea, he spills into your mouth. You stay there for a moment longer before pulling off slowly as he finishes releasing completely.

Quickly swallowing and wiping your mouth, you wrap your hand around Gojo again, stroking him with deliberate precision. His reaction is immediate, a sharp groan muffled as he turns his face into the pillow, his body trembling beneath your touch.

You frown slightly, leaning closer. “Come on, Satoru,” you tease softly.

His flushed face turns toward you reluctantly, his breath coming in short gasps. His pupils are blown wide as he meets your gaze. “Please,” he whimpers, his voice strained. “I just came, it’s too much. I can’t.”

You giggle at his vulnerability, but before you can respond, strong hands grip your waist from behind and lift you effortlessly off Gojo’s lap. You let out a surprised yelp as Nanami pulls you back against him, settling you onto his lap instead. The sudden shift makes you release Gojo’s length, much to his visible relief.

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” Nanami’s deep voice rumbles in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His tone is calm, but the heat behind it makes your stomach twist with anticipation. “Well,” he murmurs smoothly, “don’t stop on my account. Keep going.”

You glance back at Gojo, who lets out a soft whimper as you take hold of him again. His hips twitch as though trying to escape your touch, but it doesn’t last long.

“Really?” he mutters breathlessly. “In front of Nanamin? This is pretty embarrassing, you know he’s an underclassman, right? Fuck—”

Your giggle fills the air as Gojo squirms under your hand. But before you can respond with another playful remark, a gasp escapes your lips as Nanami’s hand slides down between your thighs. His fingers trace over your heat with an almost maddening slowness.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” Nanami whispers in your ear, his tone laced with amusement. “You have to finish what you started.” You can hear the smile in his voice, cocky and self-assured, and it only makes the fire inside you burn brighter.

‘Cocky bastard…’ you think to yourself before refocusing on Gojo.

Your hand moves faster now, stroking him with an intensity that has him whining and writhing against the belt restraining his wrists. But as Nanami slips a finger inside you, curling it just right, a groan escapes your lips despite yourself. The dual sensations threaten to overwhelm you—Gojo’s soft whimpers blending with the way Nanami’s touch sends sparks shooting through your body.

When Nanami adds a second finger and presses firmly against your stomach to hold you in place, it’s almost too much. Your movements on Gojo falter slightly as your mind goes fuzzy with pleasure.

“Don’t stop now,” Nanami murmurs behind you, his voice low and commanding.

Whining softly at the loss of Nanami’s fingers as he pulls away suddenly, you glance back at him in protest. But all he does is smirk at your frustration.

Turning back to Gojo, whose flushed face is now framed by sweat-dampened hair sticking to his forehead, you grumble under your breath before gripping him again. This time there’s no teasing, your hand moves impossibly fast, drawing out broken cries from him as his body tenses beneath yours.

It doesn’t take long before Gojo lets out a strangled moan and spills over your hand again. His head falls back into the pillow as his eyes squeeze shut tightly in the throes of release. You watch him intently as he rides out his high, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly; the way his lips part slightly as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Good girl,” Nanami whispers from behind you, his warm breath brushing against the shell of your ear. “Your reward now.”

Before you can process his words fully, you feel him enter you in one smooth motion. A gasp tears from your throat at the sudden fullness as he sets a relentless pace almost immediately. His hands grip your hips firmly to keep you steady against him as he moves deeper with each thrust.

Nanami holds you firmly against him as your body trembles in the aftermath, his strong arms keeping you grounded while you catch your breath. His lips brush against your ear, murmuring softly, “You did so well, darling.” The praise sends a lingering shiver down your spine, even as your muscles feel like jelly against him.

Gojo, still sprawled out on the bed with his wrists bound by the belt, lets out a breathless laugh. “Well,” he says through ragged breaths, his voice tinged with amusement despite his exhaustion. “I guess I wasn’t the only one completely wrecked tonight.”

You glance over at him, his flushed cheeks and disheveled hair making him look uncharacteristically vulnerable. The smirk tugging at his lips is still cocky, but there’s a softness in his gaze now, a rare glimpse of sincerity beneath the teasing exterior.

Nanami shifts behind you, his hands sliding down to your thighs as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t let him fool you,” he murmurs quietly enough for only you to hear. “He’s already planning his next move.”

Gojo catches the tail end of Nanami’s comment and grins lazily. “What can I say? I’m a man of ambition.”

You roll your eyes at him but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Slowly, you push yourself off Nanami’s lap and crawl back toward Gojo, who watches you intently as you approach. His wrists are still bound, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his gaze—the way his eyes follow every movement like he’s already imagining what comes next.

“You’re insatiable,” you tease softly as you lean over him.

“And you love it,” Gojo replies without missing a beat. His smirk widens slightly as he tilts his head up to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s slower this time—languid and unhurried—but no less consuming.

Nanami watches from behind you with an unreadable expression. You can feel his presence even without looking, his steady gaze burning into your skin like an anchor that keeps you grounded amidst Gojo’s chaos.

When Gojo pulls back from the kiss, he glances down at his restrained wrists and raises an eyebrow at you. “So… are we keeping these on all night?” he asks playfully.

You giggle softly before reaching over to undo the belt around his wrists. As soon as it falls away, Gojo stretches his arms above his head with a satisfied groan before pulling you down onto the bed beside him. His hands find your waist immediately, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

Nanami moves closer then, settling beside you both with an air of quiet confidence that contrasts sharply with Gojo’s playful energy. His hand brushes against yours briefly, a subtle gesture that feels grounding amidst the lingering heat in the room.

For a moment, everything feels still, quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing and soft murmurs between kisses. The tension has eased now, replaced by something softer.

“I should go,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you tug your clothes back into place, already feeling the distance growing between you.

Before either of them can protest, you lean in and press a kiss to Gojo’s lips, soft, lingering, just enough to say everything you can’t. Then to Nanami, whose hand is still resting on your thigh, unmoving, as if letting go might make this real.

They don’t argue. They know why you have to go back.

“I said an hour,” you murmur, slipping your shoes on with trembling fingers. “And it’s been more than that. I can’t just abandon my boyfriend.”

The word tastes bitter in your mouth. Not out of guilt, but because for the first time, you’re starting to understand what you want, and it isn’t where you’re going back to.

Still, you gather your things, smoothing your dress, brushing your hair back into place like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just come undone in the hands of two men who made you feel more desired in a single hour than your boyfriend had in months.

Gojo watches you with unreadable eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to say something, joke it off, maybe, or ask you to stay.

Nanami just watches you, jaw tight, shoulders tense beneath his button-down.

You open the door.

“I’ll see you around,” you offer softly, not sure if it’s a promise or a lie.

Then you step out, leaving behind the warmth, the tension, the ache. And walk back into the cold of the hallway. Just as you reach the elevator and press the button to go down, your name echoes down the hallway, low, steady, and unmistakably familiar.

You turn, startled, and find Nanami striding toward you. His shirt is now buttoned, his pants back in place, but there’s something different about him. The cool, composed confidence he carried in the hotel room is gone, replaced by something quieter, almost unsure.

“Did I forget something?” you ask, brows slightly raised.

“No,” he says, stopping a few feet in front of you. His hand rubs at the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the side. “God, this is awkward.”

You smile a little, trying to ease the tension. “What’s up?”

He exhales, then meets your gaze. “Can I get your number?” he asks, voice softer now. “Or... you give me yours.”

You blink, surprised.

“I know you have a boyfriend,” he continues, the words tumbling out quicker now. “But if it doesn’t work out, or, hell, even if it does and you just want to talk sometime, I’d like to hear from you.”

There’s no pressure in his voice, no expectation. Just honesty. A flicker of hope.

You hesitate, then reach into your bag and pull out your phone.

“Here,” you say, handing it to him. “Put yours in.”

Nanami’s shoulders ease as he takes it, quietly typing in his number. He hands it back without a word, but there’s something a little lighter in his expression now.

The elevator dings behind you, doors sliding open.

“Thank you,” he says.

You nod once, stepping inside.

“Goodnight, Nanami.”

“Goodnight,” he murmurs.

Two days later, just before you’re supposed to head out for dinner, your boyfriend tells you he’s not feeling well.

“I think I’m gonna stay in,” he mumbles from the hotel bed, one arm slung over his eyes, his phone clutched loosely in the other. “Headache, stomach’s off. You go, though. Enjoy it for the both of us.”

You hesitate in the doorway, one earring in, the other between your fingers. “Are you sure? I can cancel the reservation, grab takeout—”

“No, it’s fine,” he cuts in quickly. “Seriously. You were looking forward to this.”

Were you?

The truth is, you don’t even remember what restaurant he picked. The excitement that had fluttered in your stomach when you first arrived in this city with him is long gone, replaced by a heavy, restless guilt that sits just behind your ribs. A cold, quiet voice that’s been whispering you crossed a line every time you look at him.

So maybe you are a little relieved when he insists you go without him. Maybe you’re glad for the space.

Dinner is uneventful. The server is nice, the wine is fine, the food is probably decent—you can’t really tell. You scroll through your phone between courses. Check messages you’ve already seen. Re-read texts that don’t mean anything. You don’t post a picture of your meal to your story. That used to be your thing.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet. Your driver doesn’t say much. You stare out the window, the city passing in blurred smears of gold and red lights.

It’s only when you slide your key card into the lock and step inside the room that something shifts.

The lights are low. Not off, but dimmed, your boyfriend’s usual preference when he's watching something late at night. The curtains are drawn shut. The TV is playing, but muted.

You hear a sound before you see anything. Something faint. A pattern of breath, uneven and fast.

And then, from the corner of your eye, you spot movement. A silhouette in the bed. His back propped against the headboard, the blanket low on his hips, one hand moving under it.

You stop in your tracks.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, turning away instinctively. “Seriously?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even pause.

“Didn’t think you’d be back yet,” he says casually, breathless, not even looking at you.

Your stomach twists. You glance back, just for a second.

His phone is still in his hand. Unlocked. Lit up.

It’s not porn.

It’s photos. Messages. Videos.

Not yours.

You stare for a beat too long, your brain slowly catching up with your eyes. His screen shows a string of open messages, a conversation so explicit you don’t even need to scroll to know exactly what it is.

“What the fuck,” you say, your voice quiet. Too quiet.

He finally meets your eyes then, and you expect guilt. Embarrassment. Something.

But there’s none.

“Does it matter?” he says flatly. Like the answer should be obvious. Like it’s your fault for being shocked.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The room feels too small. Too loud, even in its silence.

“How long?” you ask instead.

He shrugs, indifferent. “I don’t know. A while.”

The words don’t fully register, but the meaning does. Your mind flashes back to the months of phone calls, the “I miss you” texts, the effort you put into visiting him here, halfway across the country. Every part of you that twisted with guilt after that night, and now it turns to something else.

Anger. Clarity. Sadness, maybe. But mostly just done.

You grab your purse, your jacket, and your phone.

And you leave.

The door slams behind you, the echo sharp in the quiet hallway.

You don’t cry. Not yet.

Your legs carry you to the elevator before you’ve even made the conscious decision. You press the button, then press it again. Like that’ll make it come faster.

Your phone is still in your hand. It buzzes. A calendar reminder. You swipe it away.

Your fingers hover over your contacts. You scroll past his name. Then past a few others. Then stop.

There it is.

The one you shouldn’t be thinking about. The one who looked at you like you were wanted. Who touched you like he meant it.

Nanami.

You don’t let yourself hesitate.

[You]: Hey. Are you still in town?

You stare at the screen after you hit send, your heart thudding behind your ribs.

For the first time in days, it’s quiet and the guilt no longer eats at you.

pls do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own :) if you have any issues with what i wrote or noticed any mistakes, let me know privately. thank you for reading <3

434 notes · View notes

lady-djarin · 10 months ago

Text

independent contractor

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

fully inspired by this post

warnings/tags: no outbreak au, no sarah mentioned, but we can always pretend she’s at collage or something, infidelity by reader(reader’s hubby is an asshole), contractor!joel, age gap (late 20s/mid 50s) , masterbation (m), smelling of panties(?), sexting, oral (receiving), p in v (unprotected- don’t do that!!) general smut so children leave!! mdni 18+

word count: 6.1k

a/n: i understand not everyone is going to dig the infidelity thing so i get that, if you are not into that please just scroll on, thank you :)

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It was a beautiful dress but damn if it wasn’t complicated, the back had all these complicated buttons and clasps to hold it closed. You had managed to get yourself into the thin fabric but just as you needed your husband to close the dress, he had conveniently disappeared. He had been dressed for the party for a while and had been running around the house trying to organize the vendors. It was all for some charity thing he was throwing through his company. He was the CEO of some big company that even after 5 years of marriage you still didn’t understand. Something to do with finance? Maybe.

“Hon? Are you up here?” You huffed as you realized he was not in ear shot. Your husband had a habit of doing this, leaving right when you needed him in favor of something he needed.

You can now admit to yourself that the marriage you were in was a little rushed. Ok, maybe more than rushed. You were engaged within three months of meeting and married in less than a year. The first year of marriage was amazing, he would shower you with gifts and trips and practically worshiped the ground you walk on. It now felt like he only did this to rope you in. He began to take multiple long ‘work trips’ every month and you soon found evidence of an affair (or multiple). Once, there was long hair all over his clothes that was definitely not his or yours along with red lipstick smudged on a white shirt. Was he not even trying to hide it or did he just not care?

You had always told yourself that ‘you’d never be with a cheater’ and you wouldn’t fall prey to men who used women. Well, after a quick marriage, that you begged your parents to go along with, you felt like you had nowhere else to go. Your parents would not be happy and would surely find a way to blame you, and all your friends were also his. So, you kept your head high as your husband did as he pleased. You were now a forgotten trophy on the shelf he felt didn’t need polishing anymore. So you did as you pleased, with his money. One of the things you liked spending his money on was renovations to the house that you were usually alone in.

Currently, you were renovating the other side of the house to become a library/craft area for yourself. The contractor was actually at the house doing a walk through before the party got started. He happened to hear you calling for your husband from down the hall and came to your rescue.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am, I think he went downstairs,” he was looking down when he first walked in, probably to make sure you were decent. What a gentleman.

“Of course he did, uhg,” you fumbled with the clasps behind your back and failed to make a difference.

“I can go get ‘em for ya?”

“No that’s ok Joel, thank you,” Joel Miller, one half of Miller Construction. He had been so great from the beginning, knowing exactly what you wanted for the library, seeing your vision immediately. He was very much the southern Texan gentleman, ‘yes ma’am, no ma’am’, no matter how many times you told him you hated it. “and please, Joel. I’m not a ma’am.” Your smile drew his eyes up.

”My mama would kill me if she heard me call ya’ anythin’ but, ma’am,” he stepped into the room, already coming to help even with your refusal. “I’m more delicate than ya think, im sure i can handle some buttons,” he came up behind you in the mirror and his soft touch on your shoulder blade made you inhale. You held the dress against your chest making sure he had room to fasten the small clasps. You caught his gaze in the mirror that was fixated on the dip in the front of the dress.

He matched your smile.

His surprisingly nimble fingers secure every last fastening and it feels like you can hear your own heart beating out of your chest. It had been a long time since you were looked at the way Joel was looking at you. He was a handsome man, big and rugged but soft in his features. He had these deep brown eyes that you could get lost in and lips that would make a nun blush. He was affecting you in ways your husband hadn’t done in years, he was turning you on. A complete stranger was turning you on and you didn’t really feel guilty.

Did that make you a terrible person?

You know what, fuck it. Your husband cheated and left you alone in life, you were entitled to some flirting every now and then.

“There ya are darlin’,” dear lord, his voice. The deep southern drawl made your panties wet.

“Thank you… Joel.”

”Enjoy the party,” watching him walk away was the hardest thing all night, aside from having to laugh at all your husband’s bad jokes all night. All night your mind was occupied by the sexy contractor.

It had been about a week since the party and the library reno was well underway. Joel and his team, including the other half of Miller Construction, his brother Tommy, were working tirelessly. In that last week your husband had been in and out of the house at weird times. On this particular day he left early in the morning without saying so much as a word to you. You used the day to mope around on your phone or read but what kept stealing your attention was the attractive contractor.

His team wasn’t around so the house was truly empty, the quiet was starting to drive you mad. As you wandered up the winding staircase, you found a sweatshirt draped over the railing. That damn husband, he leaves shit everywhere. Without thinking much of it, you threw the hoodie on as you found the library under construction.

The sweatshirt smells like sawdust and something distinctly man. That's different from what your husband normally smells like. The thought of him buying new cologne for some mistress almost made your blood boil, if you truly loved him anymore it would.

The library was really starting to come together, the plans on the table laid out the new shelves and built in table being put in and you dreamed of the days you would spend in there. The rest of your day was spent inside, no husband in sight so you did what you wanted, camped out on the couch with snacks galore and bad tv. Your husband eventually came home, after midnight, to find you passed out on the couch. You were roused by him, he woke you to send you off to bed. He used to carry you.

“Hey, get to bed, it's late… New hoodie?” Your eyebrows narrowed and you looked at him confused.

“What? It’s yours?”

”No it's not, I don't work at ‘Miller Construction’…” his tone felt like sandpaper against your skin. Also, have you been wearing Joel’s sweatshirt this whole time?

You wore it almost every day. Refusing to even wash it, it would get rid of the smell. The smell of him. It was like a drug, anytime your husband left you alone in that big house you wrapped yourself in Joel.

The rumble of the engine told you someone was at the house, but the deep southern drawl was what told you it was Joel. You felt giddy, like a girl with her first crush. You were already wearing the sweatshirt because you were expecting him today. He was leading his team of guys up to the library, telling them what to get started on. You made your way up there, under the guise of greeting Joel and asking if they need anything. In reality you wanted to see his reaction to you wearing his clothes.

“Morning Joel, you guys need anything?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. He noticed right away, scanning the hoodie and his gaze set your skin on fire. You felt your cheeks heat up as he stepped closer, the air was thick with tension and you immediately felt the mood change. His lips curved up in the corner slightly as he lowered his voice.

He looked handsome as always, the salt and pepper in his beard and hair was somehow very attractive to you. He was older for sure but you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t part of the attraction.

“Nice sweatshirt you got there…,” you could practically feel his heart beating just inches from you. “Miller.”

You had to strangle down a breath hearing his voice drop an octave like that, teasing you. This was real… Joel Miller, your contractor, was flirting with you. And you liked it, a lot. Not only the blatantly wrong flirting but the fact that your husband could come home at any time. It was making your skin flush with arousal and it felt like he could sense it somehow.

“I can wash it and get it back to you,” you wanted to gauge how into this he was. He did not disappoint.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jesus christ.

“Keep it sugar, looks better on ya anyway,” he left you there, finally with enough room to breathe without inhaling his intoxicating cologne. Holy shit, holy shit!

Your mind never strayed far from the older man, you seemed to fixate on the memory of him crowding you in your own home. The rest of the day went smoothly, you went about your business as the Miller Construction crew worked on your new library. You could hear the men working upstairs and every time you heard that one specific rumbling southern drawl your heart stopped for just a beat.

You were screwed.

Joel’s day could not have been longer, though he was the only one that noticed. The rest of the crew worked through the day, trying to get their tasks done sooner rather than later to be able to go home on time. Meanwhile, he was thinking about the pretty wife of the man who is paying him. He knew it was wrong but damn if it didn’t feel good. He saw the way your husband acted around you the last few weeks, he was engaged in every conversation except ones with you. Joel could even tell that the man was cheating, he clearly wasn’t trying to hide it. That’s really the only reason he was letting himself indulge with you, that and you seemed to be on the same page as him.

He knew he was in trouble, he had already memorized your features, your lips haunting him most of all. Every time you spoke he was entranced, unable to look away from your mouth. This was so wrong, he was working for you and your husband. He couldn’t help it, you were perfect, everything he could ever want. He dreamed about feeling you under him and that thought kept him half hard in his jeans all day.

By the time he was set to leave he felt like if he didn’t get himself taken care of he was going to explode. All he could think about was you in that damn hoodie, and how he would bend you over with it on. He knew it would smell like you now, it would smell like both of you. As he hopped into his truck he was so distracted that he didn’t see you coming down the driveway towards his car.

“Hey Joel…” Fuck. “I just wanted to get this back to you before I forget.” The gray fabric already smelled like you from where you held it by his car window. Why were you giving it back? He told you to keep it.

”Oh thanks darlin’,” it wasn’t lost on him how your eyes sparkled at this nickname. You were in the most delicious little shorts, showing just enough of the tops of your thighs as you walked back into the house. Fuck, he felt like such a dirty old man. You were so much younger and bright and kind. He felt like he could never deserve you.

He threw the hoodie on the passenger seat as he felt another surge of guilt and arousal settle into this stomach. Just as he was about to pull onto the street, he noticed something much darker than the hoodie sticking out of the pocket. He pulled it to reveal a pair of lacy black panties.

His heart nearly stopped. He would have never expected this, a sweet girl like you leaving her panties in her contractors sweatshirt. His jeans became even tighter than before as he pulled the panties up to his face.

He really was a dirty old man.

They had clearly been worn and it made his head spin, they smelled like heaven and you, he worried he might cum at the smell alone. He needed to get home.

As he raced home with your underwear gripped in his hand, he battled his thoughts. He knew it was wrong to mess around with a married woman but he felt different with you already. You were like the light at the end of his very lonely tunnel, no one ever looked at him the way you did. He practically tore his front door off the hinges as he rushed up to his bedroom. He felt like a teenager with an uncontrollable boner trying to find release.

The black lace was tight in his grip as he shucked his jeans off, the constricting fabric making his blood boil. He pulled himself free and the first touch to his hard length caused a gravely moan to slip from his lips. Tension and heat gathered in his stomach as he stroked himself. His fingers were rough as they circled his weeping tip but he needed to feel relief. He couldn’t even get himself into the shower, he just dropped onto the edge of his bed and never stopped moving his hand.

Those dark panties were teasing him, you were teasing him. You had to be, maybe you were making fun of his obvious crush. No, there was no way you would have grinned like you did if you didn’t feel the same way. It was an offering, a way for you to make a move without being apparent.

Holy shit. You wanted him.

That made his lower muscles spasm suddenly and his orgasm started to barrel down his spine. He pictured you in your small shorts earlier that day and he lost it. A deep groan escaped his throat as he spilled all over his knuckles. He pumped until he was oversensitive, his whole body reacting until he fell back into the bed.

All night his brain juggled wanting nothing but you and telling himself it was wrong. And it was wrong, at least on paper, of course he shouldn’t be messing with a client's wife. Even if she wanted him back.

Last time you saw Joel outside his car was almost a week ago. It was driving you crazy. You worried that he took it the wrong way or didn’t even see them. You couldn’t decide if you should be mortified, nervous, turned on or all the above. Then your phone went off.

Usually the texts between you and Joel were regarding what materials or paint you wanted. Now it was something totally different.

5:04PM >Joel: Sorry I have not been to check on the progress of the library personally. There was an emergency at another job.

>Joel: Also, thank you for my gift.

Only someone like Joel would thank you for sneaking him a pair of your panties.

5:09PM <You: im glad you liked them

<You: i was a little worried…

Your heart was thundering in your chest. Your husband was right across the couch, engrossed in his baseball game more than you, per usual. Was it wrong to like this so much, the fact that he had no idea you were texting another man right now, in front of him.

5:12PM >Joel: Why would you be worried? It's the best gift anyone’s ever given me.

>Joel: Any man should be so lucky.

Your pulse kicked up again somehow. He was making it all sound so meaningful. Maybe it was to him. Maybe he never took it the wrong way. Maybe he took it exactly the right way.

5:14PM <You: did you use them?

There was a pause for a few minutes.

5:20PM >Joel: Jesus…

>Joel: I’m at work, darlin.

5:22PM <You: so?

5:25PM >Joel: You got a mouth on you, huh?

5:26PM <You: and i know how to use it

5:28PM >Joel: We might just have to have you prove yourself then.

5:30PM <You: just tell me when

5:31PM >Joel: You are dangerous, angel.

>Joel: I have them in my pocket right now.

>Joel: I couldn’t help myself.

Jesus, this man was going to be the death of you. He was carrying your panties around in his pocket, while he was at work. Your thighs instantly squeezed together and it was at that moment you decided.

Fuck it, he made you feel good and your husband clearly didn’t care about your needs. You needed a divorce, and not just because of Joel. It was about you finally doing what’s good for you.

Suddenly an idea came to you, admititly a very bad idea but again, fuck it.

5:36PM <You: hey, do you have any plans tonight?

5:37PM >Joel: You know darlin, I don’t.

Thank god.

5:38PM <You: what’s your address?

5:38PM >Joel: 7 Oak Village Rd. I get home at 7.

5:38PM <You: see you then

You needed a plan. Your husband wouldn’t really care if you made last minute plans, you just needed a reason. Since he barely takes the time to pay attention to you, he definitely doesn’t know your friends very well.

“Hey, I know this is super random, but my friend Ashley”(totally a fake friend) “just got dumped, Isn’t that awful? She wants me to come over so she’s not alone. Would you care if I spent the night with her?”

It wasn’t really an odd thing, you spent the night with friends before. You should feel bad for lying so easily like this but the thrill of it all was keeping you going. You knew he wouldn’t object but he barely even looked at you. A quick glance back before he focused on the tv again as he waved you off.

”Yea, I don’t care… Johnny’s coming over anyway. Have fun.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, you knew you should be upset but you were too used to it at this point. You went upstairs to pack a bag and get ready. It had been a long time since a booty call and you forgot how giddy it made you feel. Knowing you were going to a man's house who actually wanted you there and actually wanted you.

Once you showered and finished packing, you went down to head out the garage. Apparently while you were upstairs Johnny and many more came over and had taken over the couch as they all debated over some play in the game. You tried to get your husband's attention, calling his name and waving at him. Anger boiled over in your gut. Just another reason not to feel guilty about tonight.

You loaded up into the car and pulled out of the massive driveway without a regret in your heart. This was the beginning of a new chapter and it felt right in so many ways. Your skin was buzzing with arousal, you had been thinking of Joel’s thick hands that would soon be on you, throughout your whole shower.

Before you left the neighborhood you sent Joel a quick text.

7:13PM <You: on my way

7:14PM >Joel: Can’t wait.

You felt the heat creep up into your cheeks and down your neck. Your nerves did start to wear on you though, all the usual stuff; Will he like me? Do I look nice? Did I miss a spot shaving my legs? You decided to wear a thin silk slip dress/nightgown under a baggy zip up hoodie. You figured it was a good way to look ‘sloppy’ enough that your husband wouldn’t care, if he even looked your way. You made the short drive over to Joel’s neighborhood and your nerves seemed to melt away as you got closer. It was odd, normally this kind of thing would send your pulse skyrocketing but the thought of seeing Joel made you calm, almost serene. He definitely made your head swim with giddy arousal though.

You found the beautiful house marked ‘No. 7’ and knocked on the perfectly painted door. Of course his house was gorgeous, he was a contractor. Only moments went by until the door was pulled open by that very sexy looking contractor. His brown curls were slightly messy on his head and he wore some kind of faded shirt and loose sweatpants that hung way too low. You couldn’t look away.

“Hi darlin’,” he rubbed his neck and his cheeks went red. He was nervous.

“Hi,” you couldn’t help the smile spreading on your face.

“Come in, here let me.” He gently took your bag from your shoulder and guided you to the couch where he had a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table. The inside of his home was just as beautiful as the outside; the couch was large and comfortable, there was quiet music playing in the corner from an old school record player and books and plants littering the shelves. He came back and poured you both a glass and clinked the two together before you each took a long drink. He finally sat down and you turned so your feet were up against his leg, quickly feeling comfortable with him.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be ok… with me coming over.”

“Why?” God his southern accent was like honey.

“I don’t know, maybe it was…I was too forward.” You were sure why you felt the need to bring this up, maybe clear the air somehow. “I’m divorcing him, I can't do it anymore.” Saying it out loud made your heart lurch.

“I get it sweetheart, it ain’t fair that he treats ya’ that way.” You were leaning into each other at this point, unable to stop the magnetic pull between you. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, his hand near your shoulder. He started to entwine his finger in your hair, his big brown eyes danced over your face and it made you almost want to shy away from his gaze.

“You don’t think I'm a terrible person?” You looked into his eyes finally, wanting to know how he felt about you, how he felt about this.

His fingers left your hair as his thumb brushed over your lips. “Y’not a terrible anythin’ darlin’,” then he moved.

He was on you before you could take another breath. He slotted his lips over yours, his tongue sliding between them. He devoured you, stole the breath from your lungs. It was all consuming the way he kissed you, it felt like he was starved and you were all he wanted to consume. He sat back and pulled you with him, your legs wrapping around his hips leaving your core right in his lap. His hand cupped both cheeks as you pressed yourself fully to him, your hips grinding down into his. Your baggy sweatshirt was obstructing your skin from touching his, you needed more and the fabric was too warm.

You leaned back and you finally got a good look at his face as you pulled the zipper down. His lips were swollen and red and his eyes were almost all pupils. After ripping the bulky fabric off he finally moved his hands to the rest of you. He traced your arms down to where your hands laid on your thighs, he then lightly ran his fingers up your back over the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“You are so… fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He sounded like he couldn’t catch his breath and yours caught in your throat. He pulled you into him again but it still wasn’t enough skin. As his soft lips worked over your pulse and his rough beard scratched at your neck you knew you needed more of him. You groaned as you pulled away again and tried to pull his shirt off yourself but he was just large enough to make it difficult. He smirked at you as he leaned forward to remove the shirt and your skin finally made contact with his.

You both groaned as you came together once again, finally able to feel his warm solid chest against yours. He explored your body again as your mouths did the same, he kissed down your neck, over your shoulders and between your breasts. The thin straps holding up the nightgown were quickly pulled down, revealing your chest to him. He lavished you and you felt the vibration of his groans as he licked the crevice between your breasts before closing his mouth around a peak and sucking. Your whole body arched into his, your fingers carding through his hair which made him groan deeper.

“Fuck— Joel,” your skin was on fire and you were lightheaded. You knew somewhere deep down you should feel bad or guilty but it was the furthest thing from your mind. He made you feel like you were floating, your soul somehow detached from your body.

He pulled back from you, just enough to catch his breath and look into your eyes. His hands however never stopped roaming your skin. His pupils were blown wide, almost none of the deep brown in his eyes were left now. He dipped his head and dove back into your skin, his lips attaching to your neck and it made you groan and your core clench.

He groaned into you and you felt it rumble through his chest. You felt like you were losing grip on reality, you couldn’t tell someone your own name if they asked. It was all worth it because you were lost in the pleasure of feeling him under you, but you needed more of him.

You dropped to the floor, the carpet soft under your knees. You tried to pull Joel’s pants down his hips, almost frantically as if you didn’t see all of him now you would die.

“Hol’on darlin’,” he kind of giggled as he slipped the fabric off his hips and he fell back onto the couch and looked down at you with his mouth hanging open in awe. You met his gaze before looking down at his hard length.

Fuck, he was big.

You lowered your mouth to him, teasing your lips over his silky skin. His breath caught in his chest. You ran your tongue up and his hand came up to hold the back of your head, not to force but support. Eventually his fingers grabbed into your hair when you wrapped your lips around him and pulled him in. You felt his rough moan reverberate into your body every time you dropped your head. It was difficult to take him all at once but you had to feel him, everywhere.

“Fuck, oh my—gooood…” he dropped his head back onto the couch but you knew he was watching you, his eyes never left you. You felt your arousal spread between your thighs knowing you were driving him mad. Before you even got a chance to really do much Joel pulled you up on your feet. He stayed seated and looked up at you through his lashes and your heart stopped for a second seeing him below you like this made your stomach dip and your panties wet.

His eyes were blazing a path over your body, nightgown bunched around your waist with your entire chest exposed. You should be cold but you felt like you were on fire. He ran his palms up the backside of your legs until he reached the lacy fabric of your underwear. His eyes never left yours as he slowly pulled the fabric off your hips and over your ass, his hands touching skin the whole way down and helped you step out of it. That swooping feeling settled into your stomach again as he slid his fingers back up the inside of your leg until he reached your hot center, eyes never leaving yours. You both moaned as he dipped into the slick that coated your skin.

“Mhmmm, this all f’me?” He looked at you with a mix of arrogance and pure desire as he moved his fingers in a slow circular motion. It was made easy by just how wet you were, you didn’t know if you had ever been this wet before. That’s the effect he had on you, or maybe this is just a primal kind of desire that you never had with your soon-to-be ex-husband.

Either way you were spiraling fast. You knew once you two came together you wouldn’t last long. You needed to feel him, it was driving you mad.

Joel seemed to be taking it slow, which you can admire as this is very new and he probably wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. While you admired him taking the time to make you comfortable you couldn’t wait anymore. As he kissed your chest and his fingers kept moving in agonizing circles across your sensitive bundle while you straddled his lap. His hard length rubbed against your center and both of your bodies shook with desire.

He groaned as he wasn’t expecting you to be on him so fast. His hands ran along every inch, taking you into him and never wanting to let go. You rocked your hips and slowly dragged your core across his length causing you both to stutter and moan. You were sick of waiting for the thing you had been thinking about non stop for weeks.

“Will you… make me feel good?” Your voice was squeaky and horse from all the moans and his eyes fluttered at your request.

“Oh darlin’… that bastard ain’t taking care of you huh? When’s the last time you were properly touched?”

You turned your eyes away from him, slightly embarrassed that he was able to tell that so easily. “Uhm… a while.” He gave you a pointed look, clearly not liking your non-answer. “A… a year,” his eyes widened at your admission. “Over a year…” You cringed at your final answer. You weren’t proud of the fact that it had been so long but you haven't been attracted to your husband in a long time.

”Oh… you poor thing,” he bracketed your cheeks with his large hands. “Don’t worry darlin’.”

Joel was losing composure quickly, he was ready to give you everything you deserved. His nimble fingers reached between your bodies and slid along your center, drawing a wanton moan from your chest. You ground your hips into his hand trying to create the friction he wasn’t giving you. He slowly spread your lips and ran his fingers gingerly over your clit causing your body to shake in his grasp.

“Hmm… y’all wet f’me?” His southern drawl was making his lust-drunk words slur together deliciously. The scruff of his mustache scratched at your neck but his lips and tongue soothed over the sensitive skin.

“Mmhmm… Joel— oh god please,” you sounded just as lost. Your voice cracked and your hips never stopped moving over his hand, desperate for attention.

“Don’t worry darlin’, I gotcha,” he quickly flipped you and your back hit the plush couch. A soft ‘oomf’ escaped your lips and Joel was mesmerized as you lay beneath him. “Oh look at’cha, you’re so pretty baby.”

His words were like hot honey, warm and sweet. You shifted under him and wrapped your fingers around his hard shaft and the groan that reverberated through his chest made your breath catch in your throat. You kept stroking him as his fingers found your wet center again, spreading your release over your puffy folds. As you wrapped your legs around his hips, you guided his crown to your core and felt the sweet stretch of him entering you slowly.

He paused for a few moments and looked like he was trying to center himself again before pushing his hips fully into yours and held himself there. A deep rumbling groan broke through his lips as he began to move, the stretch was making you nervous at first but you felt more and more comfortable as he kept moving. When he started to rub your neglected clit, a bolt of pleasure shot down your spine causing your back to arch and nails to dig into his arms.

“Such a good girl, baby… ngh— you-you feel so good,” his syrupy words made your head feel fuzzy and limbs heavy. His hips started to snap into yours at a harsher pace and his fingers spent up between you in tandem. Your orgasm was quickly approaching with his movements, faster than you expected. Was this the norm for people with healthy relationships and sex lives, real attraction? You couldn’t even finish the thought before Joel sped up his fingers and started to hammer into you. He was surrounding you, hovering over with those dark eyes and large shoulders. The smell of him alone was about to send you over the edge, he smelled like soap and a little like sawdust, all over man. His voice broke you out of your hazy state.

“You’re gonna— cum for me darlin’, I—I can’t hold on…much longer baby.” His voice was rough and demanding and almost like your body listened, you fell over the edge. The lewd moans and shouts of Joel’s name coming out of our mouth surprised you both. At feeling you cum around him, Joel lost all of his remaining control. He stilled inside you and you felt his muscles contract in his release.

“Oh fu—fuck! oh my… god,” he slumped against you and you welcomed his weight. You both settled into the couch as you rubbed your arms up and down his back. “I’m— I’m sorry darlin’, it's been a while. Normally I'd have… taken my time.”

He sounded almost nervous, it made you smile.

“Joel, stop. You have nothing to apologize for.”

”I’ll redeem myself next time.”

Next time? He wants there to be a next time!

You smiled to yourself and hummed at the content feeling of being under him while he still filled you.

You drifted to a place of half consciousness and woke up in, what you were pretty sure was the morning to the smell of bacon. You turned over in a bed, Joel's bed, to find it empty. You looked around the room and found it to be just like Joel, cozy and masculine. You located a shirt of his and threw it on before heading down the stairs to find a very sexy shirtless Joel standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” his voice was thick with sleep and you walked up to him at the stove. With one large arm he pulled you into his side and kissed the top of your head. A slow smile spread on your lips at the familiarity of it all, the warmness of having someone to take care of you like this, emotionally. Something you almost never had with your husband, soon to be ex.

“Joel… thank you, for this.”

“What’cha mean darlin?”

“Taking care of me. Letting me come over last night.”

“Hey, look at me,” he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. “Anytime you need me, I’m here.”

You tried to blink away the tears gathering on your lashes but one managed to slip, Joel’s thumb catching it before it reached your cheek. Time felt like it stopped as you leaned in to each other, lips pressing together as you moaned at the feeling.

The day was spent lazing in bed and talking about all the things you two would do when your divorce was finalized. The idea of divorce was the scariest thing in the world when you first thought about it, but now, knowing Joel would be with you every step of the way… you couldn’t wait.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou #pedro pascal #fanfic #lady djarin

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rottingghosty · 3 months ago

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The Matriarch | DC X DP (again)

if you ever wonder in the future why most of my ideas come to me at night please let it be known i am a night owl and also i work graveyards and thats when my hamster wheel of a brain starts working. once again there will be errors cause its 2am as usual and i just write these when the idea comes and cannot bother to correct myself. this is an old draft

prompt: Gotham City is a hub where the supernatural gather, only few were allowed to establish a line in the very core of its being. It was notoriously picky about who were allowed, it was here where the Devin family- relatives to the Wayne family had settled briefly before a portion of the family separated from the main family. It was when Danny turns to attend Gotham University where he stumbles upon the who is the matriarch of his bloodline.

Danny couldn’t help but stare at the Dullahan before him, her head was on her neck but held on with ecto fishing line as stitches and a black ribbon tied around to hide them. The Dullahan gave a smile as she tilted her head curiously, a soft laugh escaping her.

“I’m uh Danny. Danny Devin.” He had abandoned the Fenton name quickly enough after he ran away a few years ago after the reveal went wrong, he remembered how his aunt Alicia mentioned that rarely anyone in the family drop the Devin name and that his mother was one of the few was a shock to the others. In Gotham, there were countless Devins— all relatives and non relatives but they took care of each other like it was nothing. He ignored the thought of aunt Alicia being disappointed how quick his m— Maddie had changed her tune about the supernatural.

“I don’t get why your ma changed her mind like that. She could’ve been the best in the family but meeting Jack changed her. She’s not the Mads I knew.” Aunt Alicia told him one night, when he called her to let her know he was okay but he couldn’t go back home.

She accepted, never questioned and its why she was one of the few he kept in contact with. She’d been the one to tell him about their bloodline— how attuned they were with anything involving the veil and how death tended to not keep them down.

“We’re an omen, our very essence is connect to those involved in death. Maddie forgot that.”

“You are one of mine, yes. I can feel it.” The Dullahan said softly as she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, his core releasing a pleasant trill at the affectionate touch. He hadn’t gotten affection like this often, his par— Jack and Maddie would pat his shoulder of give him a hug but it wasn’t enough. Jazz would try her best but she tended to avoid physical contact and he couldn’t blame her— not when the adults in their family were more focused on ectobiology over being there for their kids.

The touch was filled with motherly warmth and if Danny was in ghost form he believed he would’ve been floating off the ground and following the touch like those cartoons of people floating off to follow the scent of pies. It’s like his very core knew he wouldn’t get hurt, that the Dullahan would rather be Ended than cause harm on one of her own.

“My name is Maeve Devin, you can call me grandma or granny. If that feels uncomfortable, aunt Maeve is fine as well. As long as you are in this city, you are under the protection of mine just as the others are. Lady Gotham is a family friend.”

Aunt Maeve said as she brushed his bangs away to take a closer look at his features just as he took in hers as well. Her skin was pale and she had long red hair in loose curls and it stopped at her waist. He could see various streaks of white that peeked out whenever she moved her head. Blue eyes similar to his own, she was a bit shorter than him since he’s been gaining height after finally being able to catch up on the nutrients he needed when he was still in high school.

She wore clothing that was casual, a loose band t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants but he honestly wasn’t surprised cause it is a weekend and he hadn’t planned on visiting his mother’s side of the family yet but he somehow found his way here.

“Oh the Bats will adore you.” Maeve murmurs and Danny was kinda afraid, he doesn’t know what the Bats are but he can definitely hear the capital B in the word. Should he be worried? He wants to be worried but he decides to trust Aunt Maeve because he knows Fae can’t lie.

Oh wow his family are descendants of a Fae. Huh, is that why he’s horrible at lying? He mentally puts a pin on that thought for future Danny to handle.

“Come, the others wish to meet you.” Aunt Maeve tugs him along deeper into the house— it was more of a manor and Danny has a silent crisis over the fact that the Devin family are rich enough to afford a manor as he crosses the threshold of the house.

tldr:

i just like the idea that danny was bound to die at any point because his family is bound to death from maddie’s side and its why he got chosen to be a halfa by the realms when the portal opened and basically killed him enough to bring him back. death’s the grandmother who likes her grandbabies but definitely picks favorites on the ones near death to give them a gift thats basically ✨the very being of death (maeve for example)✨

maddie’s side of the family are heavily connected to the supernatural/death scene but maddie cut ties to that and became very anti supernatural because of jack and its why she’s that way today. alicia’s disappointed but doesnt fight maddie on it because everyone else cut maddie off and alicia worries for her sister yk. phantom reveal gone wrong, alicia called aunt maeve to take danny in and maeve pulled some strings so he has a ride to gotham u.

danny has yet to realize that since maeve is a dullahan, death was always going to come to him because she had visited once because the scent of death on danny was STRONG before his accident and he saw her briefly before it. once he realizes he has many feelings about this and it doesn’t help that the wayne family reek of death.

he’ll settle in the devin manor and claim it as his haunt one day but also danny’s silently like “what the fuck” because his bloodline is fae??? WHO THE FUCK SMASHED A DULLAHAN??? all while bruce gets a surprise visit from maeve who drops danny off to be babysat (despite him being 18) and is like “cousins. play nice, i have to hunt :)”

every supernatural in the devin family were human once before they were blessed (in a fucked up way) by death

#dc comics #dc x dp au #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dc universe #dcu #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #fae danny phantom #distant wayne danny #matriarch au #batfamily #batfam #the matriarch au

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everythingmp3 · 4 months ago

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secretly dating Nat during her antler queen era - headcanons 🦌💌

I’ve never written for her before but I love her and she’s clearly gonna go through hell this season, so I felt like imagining her having someone in her corner, being in love etc. I wrote down whatever came to mind and it’s kind of a narrative, so most of the points are rather elaborate! it’s mostly romantic/sfw - hope u enjoy <3

you and Nat go way back - you went to the same schools since you were kids but you only grew closer once you entered high school and both made it onto the soccer team

you were never best friends but there was always an implicit trust between you, you never got into fights or had weird tension, something about your temperaments just naturally fit together - you often joked around with her during practice and defintitely got told off more than once by Ben to keep your mouths shut (she’ the type to get the giggles and you for sure got her in trouble countless times by whispering out of pockets shit to her while he was talking)

over time, you ended up growing closer and closer, especially once you started going to house parties and somehow always ended up outside to share a cig and take a break from the chaos inside - you always had a sparkling chemistry, which was only intensified by having a few drinks in your system and opening up to each other in that tipsy state in ways you usually didn’t (she confided in you about her parents, you told her about your own issues, and you came to turn to each other when you needed some understanding)

your chemistry also showed on the soccer field, so opposing teams quickly grew to resent you and Nat because you somehow always managed to find her on the field to assist a goal, no matter how hard they tried to foul you or block her (one time she scored the winning goal during an important game thanks to you and in the heat of the moment kissed your cheek when you hugged to celebrate, which almost made you fuck up during the rest of the game because you were so flustered by it)

the summer before senior year was when you started spending time together outside of school/practice and group settings because neither of you had anything else to do, so you ended up biking around together, swimming in the lake nearby, driving to get gas station snacks at night before laying on her bed for hours while sharing a joint and listening to music with the window open, having sleepovers

something changed that summer - you didn’t even realize it was happening at first but you started feeling giddy before hangouts with her, you missed her when you went a few days without seeing each other and felt a tingling sensation whenever she touched your arm or knee during conversation - you also grew increasingly jealous whenever she mentioned a guy, since you hated the idea of her meeting up with one instead of calling you to hang out, so eventually you admitted it to yourself: you had a crush on her. a hopeless one.

you kept it to yourself, you enjoyed the time you had with Nat and ached for her in silence, stole glances when she laid next to you, tanning in her black bikini, soaked up her scent whenever she hugged you and made peace with the fact that that would have to be enough. still, you dreamed of her nearly every night that summer

the first time you got high together you coughed pretty obnoxiously on purpose so she’d offer to shotgun it for you, which you almost came to regret when you felt her lips mere millimeters from yours and couldn’t just close the distance - the memory haunting you for the weeks to come..

what you didn’t know was that she had similar feelings, that she ditched the idiot she’d been seeing for a while a bunch of times to come see if you were home and wanted to go for a ride because you were much better company and nicer to look at

it was hard not to get your hopes up sometimes because Nat was always very physically affectionate with you, she made you mixtapes, lent you her clothes, stole some of yours, hugged you in your sleep when you slept in the same bed, so you told you yourself "shes probably like this with everyone", even though your intuition told you she definitely didnt do all that with just anyone

once senior year started, you stopped hanging out that regularly and things kinda went back to how they were before, but you still talked a lot in school and spent a late night smoking and/or listening to new music together here and there with her, since it had become a ritual that you didn’t wanna entirely give up on, and it was the same for her, she loved those quiet hours of laughing and lounging around, especially when she was the one who snuck out to come knock on your window, since she always felt very at peace in your home, in your bed, away from her parents, distracted from that mess by your effect on her, which was always a calming one

one memory that stayed with her for a long time afterwards was when she showed up at your place at 2am one night, trashed, drunk and high and wrecked from a horrible fight she’d gotten into, shaking and scared, when you didn’t ask her any questions and just let her crawl into bed with you and sleep, holding her tight as she drifted off (she would always remember how bewildered she was by the fact that you didn’t seem to mind at all that she reeked of booze and smoke and sweat, that she’d felt disgusting and pathetic and that you had just pulled your blanket up to let her sleep, without making her shower or change - to you it was only natural, but to her it was a big deal, since she wasnt used to such gentle treatment)

during and after the crash you weren’t much closer to her than the other girls, since everyone was just trying their best to survive and you needed to be a strong group, but there were little moments here and there where you sought each other out, while sleeping on the cabin floor next to each other, or bitching about something while doing the laundry together

it pained you to see her and Travis get together the way they did, you didn’t let it show and you had worse things to deal with (starvation, lack of hygiene, general feelings of terror) but whenever you saw them sneak off, it ruined your mood, Van once looking at you and saying "damn, and I thought Jackie was in a foul mood today… what happened?" you waving her off and pretending it was just a migraine..

the winter was so horrible that you forgot about everything concerning desire and romance pretty fast, Shaunas birth and Javis death overshadowing any possible petty feelings you coulve been stewing on, Nat clearly also drifting apart from Travis more and more, both of you, like everyone else, falling into a deep hopelessness

then, when she was crowned, things shifted a little: when it was your turn to kiss her hand and vow your loyalty to her a sudden spark of affection and need rushed through your tired body, the way she looked down at you, the tears in her eyes, her look of disbelief, the subtle hint of tenderness, it made your crush come back in full force, even more intensely than before because you were so delirious from everything you’d gone through, hungry for any kind of passion and love you might get before possible dying out there

later on during the spring, it was like all of your senses were suddenly awake again and desire came crashing over you in violent waves while watching Nat walk around in shorts and cut-off shirts, seeing her try and take on her role as the new queen - it made you fall into an obsession that was even worse than during that summer back home, you couldnt stop staring at her to a point where you were scared the others were noticing

Nat was experiencing similar things, you weren’t aware, yet again, but you weren’t alone in your feelings, she realized it while watching you with the others that she got jealous whenever one of them hugged you or laughed a little too loudly at your joke, when someone cozied up to you and asked you to braid their hair, she didn’t wanna accept it at first but then one night when you were all eating dinner and she watched you, the way you looked in the candlelight, it hit her: I want her. I want her for myself. she should be mine. she dismissed the thought as silly and told herself to get a grip, to focus on being queen and surviving but it didn’t make her desire for you any less palpable whenever you sat near her or gave her a friendly embrace

one night, things changed. you had a spot near your hut, a particular tree stomp that you often used as a bench whenever you couldn’t sleep and wanted some fresh air, but that night Nat beat you to it, she was already sitting there when your turned up, so you joked "stole my spot, huh?", before joining her and sensing that she was going through it

"you fucking hate being queen, don’t you?" you bluntly asked her, which made Nat laugh a tired but genuine laugh because it felt good to have it out in the open, to be seen like that, she didn’t lie to you and used the moment to confide in you when you told her "come on, talk to me"

the moment that shifted the vibe was when you could tell frol what she saying that she was scared of Shauna, what might happen with her, and you told her "I swear if she lays a hand on you..." - she turned to you, curious then, and asked "yeah, what then?", so you said "I´ll flip the fuck out." in a tone that was serious and intense enough for her to be stunned by your protectiveness - for a moment she was quiet, but hearing that from you, the girl whod once been the for her at her lowest, in that moment where she felt broken down for different reasons, made her realize all of a sudden how much she’ missed you, talking to you, having alone time with you, how much she’d loved you all along, deep down, so she didn’t think at all before grabbing you to kiss you

that first kiss was so hungry and eager that she almost bit your lip, you were frozen up for a second because you couldn’t believe what was happening, so she pulled back and frantically apologized like "oh fuck sorry, I´m so -" but you quickly came back to your senses and interrupted her by pulling her in for another kiss, which ended in you two making our for a while, passionately, grabbing each other wherever you could reach, your thighs, your sides, you pressing yourself closer to her when you sensed some hesitation and wanted to signal to her that she should touch you wherever she wanted, which she did, finally allowing herself a moment of bliss amidst all the horror

after that kiss, you talked for a second, finally confessing how into each other you were, had been all along, Nat nudging you and saying "you should’ve fucking told me back then, during one of those many hours where I already had you in my bed. could’ve made good use of that time when we still had soft fresh sheets, you know"

you agreed to venture deeper into the forest the next night, for more privacy, both of you a bit nervous about sleeping with a girl for the first time, but relieved that neither of you had done it before, Nat getting a little jealous when you told her that you’d once gotten pretty close to having sex with a different girl back home, eager to drown out those memories with the ones you’d make with her (which worked, for sure..)

going forward you couldn’t help but sacrifice sleep to have at least a few nights each week where you spent an hour or two somewhere between the trees kissing and touching and getting lost in each other, Nat up against the tree as you knelt down to eat her out, you on the forest floor as she smiled at you from above before kissing your body all over and making you come undone with her fingers, both of you laughing when you attempted to find positions that would work in that enviornment, glowing and happy in a way that you never were during the day

it took you no time to develop a deep bond, the core of your trust had been there all along, so the romance was a natural progresssion, everything about it felt right and good to you, which was such a healing contrast to everything going on around you, such an unexpected gift after all the trauma youd endured out there, both of you showering the other in affection because you were just so grateful to feel held and loved and cared for in a way you hadnt during all the months before

during the trial it took every ounce of your will power not to just let everyone see that you’re together by defending her and stepping in to protect her but you managed to keep it somewhat subtle, only here and there saying things like "thats irrelevant" when someone went on a tangent or "damn, back off a little" when someone got too close to her face, things that a concerned friend would say, not just a lover - you also definitely made sure to communicate with your gaze, keeping eye-contact with her for a few seconds in a way that said "you got this, I am right here, we will get through this, I am so sorry this is falling on you"

in general you make sure she can sense your support and care whenver you’re near, even when you can say anything out loud in front of the others, and it does manage to calm her whenever she’s caught up in some argument or has to reel Shauna back in, the fact that youre watching and would step in if she was truly out of options

you made a habit of collecting flowers during the day whenever you have some time to just enjoy the sun or wander around, and you developed a ritual: waiting for a moment when nobody is paying attention to sneak into her hut and leave them on her pillow, and sometimes on particularly rough days thats the only thing that manages to get a smile out of Nat, when she steps into her little private space, drained and frustrated, and catches a glimpse of some lavender or yellow or pink flowers signaling to her that youd been in there, thinking of her, trying to cheer her up <3 (perhaps she braids a few of the flowers into her little braids, the others think she picked them herself, but you know better)

speaking of hair: I think she doesnt trust anyone but you to help her with it, she doesn’t like to admit it but even after everything you’ve been through out there, she’s still a little vain about her hair and hates that she can’t touch up her roots, so you help her out by brushing it out with the comb one of the girls rescued during the crash, you wash it for her in the river nearby, you give her one of your softer shirts to tie around her hair at night to keep it from getting frizzy. she also loveees to have her hair played with by you

she tires her best not to show you favoritism but it is hard, especially when someone else being bitchy to you for no reason, it is torture for her not to just use her power to punish them in some way, by denying them some privileges or finding some hard job for them to do the next day (it happened more than once that she dug her nails into her palm until she almost started bleeding from it because she was trying so hard not to just lunge at someone or tell them "shut the fuck up" when they were mean to you)

you tease her by calling her "my queen" when it’s just you two, she acts like she hates it and tells you to shut up, but her smile always betrays her, she does love it, when you jokingly bow to her, or even better get on your knees and hug her waist, something about the sound of your submission to her does get to her, even when its just in a playful manner (she cant help but tell you that you look good on your knees and ruffle your hair while grinning, and you have no issue using it to your advantage, the fact that she likes seeing you all devoted and eager..)

initially you werent one of the girls who were taught to hunt but once you and Nat got together she said that you should learn as well "never hurts to have as many people as possible learn a skill" was her reasoning (even though she would only be teaching you) - it was clearly the ideal cover to get some alone time far into the woods during the day and you always make the most of it, finding a nice spot to sit or lay and make out, undress and relieve each other of the stress you’re holding onto, getting lost in pleasure for one beautiful hour where nobody can interrupt, where shes not the leader, where its just you and her and the trees above you, the sounds of birds, the midday sun, her soft skin against yours, her lips, her smile, that smile that only you ever get to see, the smile you remember from before the crash and that you had feared dead during the winter, that you had finally brought out of her again once you started dating

even though you thought she didnt actually wanna teach you to hunt better, Nat does insist on teaching you a thing or two about how to handle the rifle because she wants you to be able to use it to defend yourself if it ever came to that in a moment of chaos, which you were amused by at first but she scolded you and told you to take it seriously, which was charming to you, her little moment of bossing you around (when she said it you corrected her and said "or to protect you" which charmed her, even though she always insists on never wanting you to risk your safety for her)

one might expect that youd be weird about Travis but he is so wrecked by grief and out of it in general that you never feel jealous when she talks to him, but you do make it clear to her that you hated watching her be with him when you still lived in the cabin and she looves seeing the flicker of envy in your eyes when you mention it, she loves knowing that you were watching all along, that you wanted to be in his place

whenever youre in charge of serving food you give her a little more than the others - she noticed one time and told you to knock it off, scared that someone might notice and target you for it, but you insisted that it was only fair considering that she was doing a hard job, that she needed it, and since you also noticed that she was not gaining weight back as fast as the others due to stress, which moved her, the fact that you had paid close enough attention to notice that (she pretends to be mad but she does feel a little rush whenever you serve her food and she knows you were liberal with her portion, makes her feel loved, tended to)

whenever Melissa steps in to act as Shaunas guard-dog, you do the exact same for Nat but more subtle, with the other two its clear to most of the others that something wild is going on there, but with you two nobody really suspects anything, so you are less aggressive than Melissa but whenever they gang up on her, you make sure to get a word in and refuse to leave Nats side until the conflict is over

since she doesnt have access to music, you got over your fear of sounding horrible when she kept begging you to sing for her - you caved and started doing it, her laying in your lap during your little moments of respite while you hum some of her favorite songs to her (those that you also know), and she adores it, soaking up the sounds as you sing to her forgetting the hell of your situation for a moment, almost as if she’s back home in her room listening to her favorite record, safe, at peace, relaxed

its torture for her when she sees you sunbathing with the others, half undressed, only in your bra, knowing that she cant go over and touch you or even just give you a kiss, but it became a game between you two, for you to lay there and give her a nice view whenever the sun was bright, while she watched from afar while pretending to do other things

you love her freckles and shower them in kisses <3 on her face, on her shoulder, her arms, her thighs, she used to feel a bit self-conscious about them but you made her appreciate that part of herself more with your consistent admiration

in general Nat is very protective of you. she has moments where the idea of something happening to you sends her into a spiral of dread and panic, especially when youre sick or seem weaker than usual, when she imagines you becoming the target of a sacrifice, so sometimes she wakes up from a nightmare about it, she has to walk by your hut for a second to check that youre sleeping peacefully

due to her antler queen duties she doesnt hunt much anymore but every now and then she wants to be on her own and clear her mind, and she realizes that she became more ambitious with her hunting after getting together with you, she will hold out for a little longer than she did during the hunts before because she wants you to eat well, specifically the food she is responsible for, she has more of a provider spirit with you than with the group in general

she collects little trinkets for you when shes out there on her own, she loves to bring you back some pretty feathers or rocks she found, she always keeps her eyes peeled for something that you might like to have as decoration because out in the wilderness thats the only way for her to give you gifts (it kills her that she cant just go out and buy you something nice, even just a book or a candle or a shirt, so she settles for whatever she can find, and after a while you have a little collection of souvenirs from her)

you both 100% get jealous as fuck of Tai and Van sometimes when you see them be openly affectionate, when they hold hands or Van lays on Tais lap for everyone around to see, when they share a brief kiss without worrying who might see, when they got to bed together, you and Nat have had more than one moment where you saw it and then locked eyes in a way that said "they dont know how good they have it"

I think she’s even more romantic than she lets on, she might do little things like using a knife to carve your initial or your full name somewhere only she can see (like the inside of her shoe or something, she wont even tell you about it, its just for herself, a secret sign of her devotion)

she doesnt tell you about this but she sometimes gets extremely paranoid about Shauna sensing a vibe between you and exploiting that knowledge to hurt her by targeting her obvious soft spot: you. she has nightmares about being humiliated in front of everyone, falling from grace and tearing you down with her in the process because she knows you would get blamed as well, for keeping that kind of secret, for trying to get special treatment from the leader, she knows Shauna or others who want her off the throne would have no trouble twisting the rhetoric around your being lovers to really do her in

so, she makes a point of not always sitting next to you during meals and finds little reasons to scold you in front of the others like "did you do xyz? no? then get to that please" - she’s a decent enough actress for the others not to clock how much she hates being stern with you, even just for show

you spend a lot of your one-on-one time dreaming together <3 neither of you are naive enough to count on a rescue, but you do remind each other to hold out at least a little bit of hope and especially after the horrible winter you had, it is healing in a way to be in each others arms under the night-sky and just let your mind wander off to better places, to stop being all pragmatic and realistic for a moment and just enjoy the nice scenarios you come up with together

your plan for a potential post-rescue life is simple: get the fuck out of your hometown and move somewhere nice and peaceful, far away, to get jobs and enjoy all the little mundane romantic things that you cant out in the wilderness, no crazy ambitions, just you and her and a bed to share, a quiet, soft life with the occasional road trip and adventure here and there

you also fantasize about more playful things for sure, sometimes when youre undressed or in your underwear together you tell the other person what kind of lingerie you’d like to see them in and you get really specific about it too, down to the exact colors and fabrics, you tell each other what outfits you’d like to wear during date nights, what perfumes notes would drive you crazy if the other wore it, its a little game you play, conjuring up very vivid images like that when youre alone and want to drift off into fantasies for a while

whenever you get self-conscious about the state of your appearance after that many months out in the wilderness (aware that she knows how you looked before) Nat makes sure to remind you that she finds you no less attractive then than she did back home, she might tease you a bit by pulling you closer and feeling you up while saying "and besides, this look kinda works for you, I always thought you looked pretty fucking hot after games when your kit was all dirty and torn up"

shes also definitely the type to jokingly cat-call you or whistle at you when its just the two of you - like when you take your shirt off to go swim in the river for a second with her and she eyes you up and down while letting out an appreciative "damn", you do the same to her and she gets endearingly flustered, which never used to happen with guys, not the way it does with you, something about your attention and praise gets her way hotter, probably because shes never performing for you and actually feels like you want her for who she is

you both definitely had a few moments of almost fucking up and calling each other nicknames in front of the others, you stopping yourself as you felt the word “baby” coming out of your mouth when you wanted to call her over, Nat saying “hey -” and pausing awkwardly for a few seconds after because she was about to call you “angel”

she’s the little spoon when you cuddle, for sureee, she has to put up a tough front in front of the others and youre the only one who gets to see her softer side, so she loves being held by you, the tighter your grip the better <3

you think it’s kinda hot when she’s in her antler queen get-up and she definitely made you try on the crown at least once, wistfully sighing “fuck. what I wouldn’t give for us to just switch roles..” clearly into the idea of following your lead instead of the other way around

you’re her advisor and she runs pretty much all of her important decisions by you, seeking reassurance that she’s doing the right thing, regularly panicking about something until you assure her she’s doing fine, so she jokes about it sometimes by saying things like "if they knew youre running things from the shadows"

you both of course have your fair share of horrible issues to deal with and her responsibilities as queen weigh heavily on her, so there are some truly horrible days where both of you are just trying to survive, literally, but feeling each other near and knowing that you will get through it all together, that you will be alone again eventually, makes everything more bearable than before you were together <3

#this was just a spontaneous experiment to try and write for a different yj character but I ended up having fun with it!#natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets

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