#instead its like. “i love you for yourself” and it was never really put into question anyways because he'd have to have a lot of
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sonderveiled · 12 hours ago
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— his car isn't yours.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 mydei x gn!reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖
contains: 881 wc, breaking up, angst, hurt/no comfort, trying (and failing) with someone new, staying friends after breaking up, reader drinks alcohol, implied to be tipsy, short fic
notes: WHWHWHWH I FEEL LIKE I KINDA . RUSHED THIS ACCIDENTALLY ??? was busy spending time with my family and wanted to write this SOOO BAD. discussed this with @millucid a day or two ago and now its here !!! i've never written an angst fic before so this is . attempt #1 . shout out to wendy from red velvet for being my inspo (same song title, def recommend listening to the song as well ^_^) i hope u all enjoy !!!
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you and mydei broke up on good terms.
no shouting, no arguing, no swearing, no insulting. you and your ex-boyfriend broke up in the most civil way possible, and yet, it didn't change how much it affected you.
"i… fell out of love, [name]. i'm sorry."
his words still ring in your head. you sit in your living room and wonder what went wrong. you wanted to hate him, but…
"is… there someone else, mydei?" you asked, your fingers fidgeting in nervousness. it hurt to even imagine. he was supposed to be yours — your boyfriend, your future fiancé, your future husband.
mydei shakes his head. "no, no, there isn't. you know that."
it's been six months now. you still talk. as far as you know, he's still single. but mydei has never seemed like the type to get with someone else immediately. he takes things slow. he gets to know people before even thinking about getting into a relationship with them. he doesn't fall in love at first sight. does he find people attractive at first sight? yes, but that's different, is it not?
a guy in your workplace asked you out on a date. you accept, but you don't exactly thrilled about it. not to say he's a bad guy — he's very kind, really — but…
…he's not mydei.
you still give him a chance. you wait outside your house, phone in hand, updating mydei about your life. it's a habit that never stopped, even after separating.
mydeimos: im happy for you, [name]. i hope you have fun :)
you want to throw up after reading the message. it felt wrong, reading a text from 'mydeimos' instead of 'MY love <3', but you changed it the night he put an end to your three-year relationship, an hour after he left your house.
a car pulls up to your driveway. you hide your phone, the small smile on your face slowly curves downward, turning into a frown. a part of you was still expecting to see him.
your date opens the door for you. he's a gentleman, and his car seems clean and, in a way, sort of cozy. you force yourself not to look at the driver's seat.
you just want to have a good night with this guy, even if it results in nothing.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
it's two in the morning now. your date drops you off at your house, expecting a kiss that you don't give.
"can i at least walk you to the door?" he asks with a small, awkward smile. he's clearly embarrassed about that failed kiss attempt. you can't help but pity him, too.
"no, it's fine, thanks."
"did i do anything to make you uncomfortable, [name]? i'm sorry, that wasn't my intention at all—"
"you didn't! nothing's wrong, i promise. i'm just… tired, i guess."
the moment you open the car door, you make a beeline to your door, grabbing your keys and unlocking it. you leave your bag by the door, turning your living room lights on to check on a text you got while on the way home.
'one new text from: mydeimos' mydeimos: how was your date?
you open the conversation, taking note that mydei is, for whatever reason, still online.
you: i did you: he was nice mydeimos: that's good. sounds like it went well.
before you know it, you're pouring yourself a small glass of wine, wanting to forget the awkward incident that just occurred less than 10 minutes ago.
you: guess it did. idk. nothing srs mydeimos: still, i'm happy for you. you deserve something good.
you can already feel the alcohol taking over your system. your eyes blur for a split second, losing focus. maybe it's not just a small glass, after all.
you: so do you mydeimos: yeah. but i'm content where i am right now.
despite your tipsy state, you feel a pang in your heart. was he not satisfied with you? were you just a burden to him towards the end of your relationship?
you: it feels weird. talking like this mydeimos: i get that. i like hearing from you, though.
your hand grabs the wine glass, taking a gulp. almost like you're preparing yourself.
you: can i say something kind of stupid mydeimos: you usually do you: ok screw you you: but i thought i could do this you: be your friend and be chill ab everything mydeimos: [name], are you drunk?
you pause, the room feeling heavier as you realize you're just spilling all your pent-up emotions to your ex-boyfriend. your fingers type words, but don't hit send. not yet. your thumb lingers on the 'send' button, knowing that you shouldn't be doing this.
you slip up. you hit send. he reads the message
you: i'm still in love with you. i miss you.
it's like you froze. your heart is beating too fast for someone who's sitting on the living room floor. you stare at the texts as if they'll delete themselves with your gaze alone.
he doesn't respond, and you don't blame him.
you: im sorry, dei
the text doesn't go through. it even turns red. it feels as if your stomach started churning as soon as you read the red text right below the speech bubble.
You can no longer send messages to this person.
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lightlycareless · 3 days ago
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Naoya would definitely cry after yelling at little naomi then call y/n crying to tell her that he yelled at naomi😭
this is so sweet and unknowingly angsty for naoya ahaha oh i love these small domestic things between the two 😫💗
warnings: fluff. domestic fluff. naomi is your and naoya's baby, from a happily married family :))) naoya is a bit tsundere too which i'm glad to have written a bit because him being smooth all the time is... funny lol.
happy reading!
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We all knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time before Naoya yelled at Naomi—
No, I’m not saying that he was going to lose it with his baby girl… but rather, because he’s been so lenient and conceding with her, it’s honestly surprising Naoya hadn’t done anything he immediately regretted because of how quickly it backfired.
He just loves his baby so much that he can’t ever imagine himself saying no to her—until he eventually does.
“Hm—wha—what??” you yawn, slowly opening and rubbing your eyes upon hearing the loud noise of your cellphone ringing; its peculiar ring tone lets you know who exactly is the one reaching out to you so early in the morning, which only wakes you alarmingly after realizing this. “Naoya? Is everything alright—“
“I’m so, so sorry Y/N…” he begins, not exactly the kind of reassuring words you expected to hear after days of incommunicado, more so when you had an adorable baby girl back home you couldn’t wait to get back to. “I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t….”
“Naoya, what happened?!” you cried, feeling seconds away from your heart bursting out your chest.
“I… I did something horrible, my love. Something unfathomable, I am unworthy of being your husband—!”
You didn’t want to think of that.
You didn’t want to entertain those evil perceptions that once plagued Naoya, but… but if he was saying this, then maybe… maybe all this time—
“I yelled at Naomi and now she hates me!”
You almost want to slap yourself for even considering your husband capable of doing something so vile, when he’s long demonstrated that he’s gone past that; in fact, he’s even proved how willing he is to go to the end of the world just to make the loves of his life happy.
It takes a great deal for you to not laugh at yourself for this foolish misconception, or to appear inconsiderate of Naoya’s clear struggles as a first time parent, and someone that is unfortunately not around the estate that much—yet, there’s not a single day that goes by without him reminding his daughter and wife how much he loves them.
“Let me guess, she was doing something she shouldn’t? Like putting something in her mouth?”
Naoya hums.
“Oh, Naoya…”
“I kept my eye off her for one second, and before she knew it, our baby was reaching out for something she wasn’t supposed to! I didn’t mean to frighten her, but the only thing I could do at the moment was yell her to stop and then… she cried.” He says, and for a brief moment… you think to hear his voice crack. “I should’ve used my technique to stop her instead of this!”
“There’s nothing wrong with what you did, Naoya. You reacted instinctively”
“Not enough, apparently. I’m a trained sorcerer, I live to react in fractions of a second! How come I didn’t think of that with Naomi??”
“Well, it’s a different scenario, it’s not like you’re thinking of curses when our baby is around, are you?”
No. He thinks of her bubbly smile and squeezable round cheeks he can stop himself from teasing whenever possible.
And while you were right to remind him that this moment doesn’t define his parenthood… it still hurt. To see his princess’s eyes widen with fear, before they filled with water and followed with sharp cries he never wants to be the cause of again.
It’s a blow that hurt even worse when considering it tackled one of his persistent insecurities: the one that constantly reminds him he isn’t deserving of a family as loving as you and his daughter. That he’d never amount to anything worthy beyond a sorcery career…
Or that he’ll grow up to be just like his father.
Even when miles away, you could hear the turmoil unfolding in his mind.
“Naomi loves you, Naoya. She loves you so much, that whenever she hears your name or voice, her eyes widen and she makes this adorable smile… I get kind of jealous because she never does that to me!
She loves you so much, that whenever you’re around, she only wants to spend time with you. She pays me no mind; all she cares about is her papa.
And of course, Naomi loves you so much… she’s named after you.
You’re an amazing father, Naoya. You’ve come so far, none of this would’ve happened if that weren’t true.
So don’t be too harsh on yourself, it’s only our first time being parents, after all.”
“It comes so naturally to you…”
“No, it doesn’t. I get frustrated too! The only difference is that you’re not there most of the time to see it, and my staff helps me out a lot too.” You smile, it’s almost bittersweet to say all this, for there’s nothing that you wanted more than be near him and comfort him. “I feel awful when I have to scold Naomi too… but I’m at peace knowing all that I—we do is for her own safety.”
“What if I hurt her? What if she ends up hating me because of this?”
“She won’t; in time, she’ll understand. But don’t forget I’m also here, Naoya. To help you up whenever you trip.” You reassure him. “Or to let you know it’s ok to cry.”
“I’m not crying.” He sniffles, you giggle.
“No, of course not. It’s just static.”
Naoya keeps quiet for a few moments.
“Hurry back home, I need you.” He eventually confesses, you could almost hear him pout.
“Oh, how the tables have turned.” You tease.
“Just hurry.”
“Of course, I can’t keep my prince waiting any longer.” You respond, Naoya rolls his eyes, seemingly annoyed… and unequivocally useless when stopping his heart from skipping a beat.
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them figuring out the ups and downs of being parents is something i rarely dive into; in my mind i think i put them as perfect but come on naoya aint perfect by any means (he struggles but he's well natured at this point) and you... sometimes solitude gets the best of you :)
anyways here's to more domestic fluff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i have other things that I want to write that cover those moments where one says "oh shit, we're parents now."
thank you so much for sending in this adorable ask!! I hope it was to your enjoyment. take care and hope to see you soon💗
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clumsypuppy · 1 month ago
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trying to decide how i feel abt my rune factory 3 experience
#rn it feels like eating a bag ofmixed nuts. sometimes i eat a pecan and sometimes my throat feels itchy <- im allergic to peanuts#I wasnt even going into this expecting the Stardew experience I genuinely did not know what rune factory was about beforehand#I actually thought it was gonna be like a turn based rpg based on the name and visuals. ironically ive also been playing secret of mana#(snes version) which uses real time combat instead of turn based like the other mana games. but anyway#i got curious and looked at clips of extra features in the remake like special episode and newlywed mode but i had it muted#i preferred the original voices bc they felt much more lively and suited their personalities. especially for micah bc stuff like#his nervous laughter and good mornings sound right in my mind. like they suit his straight man type personality without making him#sound too young. but also for Carlos because of his sup bro and surfer dude voice. and I like Marjorie’s witchy laugh and old lady voice#ravens voice is also much deeper and more monotone in the original. collette saying WHAAT is REALLY funny to me. also the RAINBOWWW#it souds like a nitpick but voices feel important to me i think. it gives it a quality you cant get from reading dialogue on its own#actually i realized micah will have a voice line for each bachelorette that triggers if he has a close relationship with them#i noticed it when i was checking playthrus and realized ive never heard him call marian or collette's name in my gameplay#its a really cool feature that becomes seamless the longer you play and i would like to see it in more sim games#whenever I run through dialogue it helps me to imagine how it plays out as a cutscene in my head than as my own actions#another thing that stuck out to me is how secondary the NPCs feel so that more attention goes to the bachelorettes#it makes sense bc the game wants you to pick and marry one for plot purposes. but i wanna do friend quests platonically too :(#the whole time im thinking like 'damn this twink is swimming in women.' and i realized it puts me off bc micah doesnt have much of a#backstory to work with so you can imagine yourself playing as him from scratch. if i had to compare it to smth its not like ace attorney bc#phoenix already has a set personality & history and although you can decide his actions he has a way of acting them out which is#out of the players control. and from that im also the kind of person who gets invested in a romance if im an observer <- partly bc im aspec#i can appreciate wrightworth more in this comparison because i like their chemistry as characters than if it was me in that position yk#OH AND BUTTERFLY SOUP. if were going into dating sim type games i love that because it leans more on personal relationships than#romantic love. you get to play as each of the characters in different segments too and think their thoughts which makes it fun to watch#i went for raven because i liked how her personality plays off with micah's mild mannered type and its fun to watch their chemistry#i did spend a lot of time on this game so it feels like the type of thing id play to keep myself occupied than just for story#although i will say i made pudding udon and prelude to love to give to the desert settlers as thanks for attending the unity festival#yapping#playthru#rune factory#rf3
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aeimygdala · 9 months ago
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man. i never comment on posts, but im going to be insane for a minute, ok? Ok. So people in the notes are talking about the first Shrek and I think that's kinda stupid ngl, always have. like the ending in the first one where she stays an ogre yes is good and I think applies to this but like.
the thing is that Shrek is ALSO an ogre? why would it be strange for him to find ANOTHER OGRE beatiful? it was a really nice twist that she stayed an ogre, but the point would've worked better if she was some different kind of magical creature seen as "ugly" instead. and if she ALSO stayed looking like that creature. but not ANOTHER FUCKING OGRE? which like of course shrek would find beautiful?? he's a fucking ogre?? now she's just the same species??
how is it subversive or strange that he'd find her beautiful. when I first saw the movie as a dumb kid, I 100% thought that the idea was that she was supposed to take the form of the species of person that loved her, and that's why she stayed an ogre, because it's that fucking stupid that it's apparently strange for him to "still" love her as an ogre, which he also is
people give that dogshit plot too much credit. she should've been some weird monster and stayed that way. but its like why praise the movie for how he loves her when she isnt a beautiful Human Woman when it would actuslly be Weird if he didnt like her as an ogre? you just Know DreamWorks wouldn't have let her stay a "monster" if she wasn't the most conventionally attractive an ogre can get and it sucks
Shrek 2 is better and actually fits the post nicely etc etc etc
too many stories about turning yourself into a monster as a metaphor for pretending to be something you aren't and losing yourself in the process. not enough stories about turning yourself into a monster as a metaphor for choosing to openly embrace yourself even if it's strange to other people
#sorry for being the most annoying commenter alive but#i know this is stupid and insane but#i feel like it speaks to beauty standards women are held to#like its somehow incredibly fucking subversive that he loves her as an ogre#when HE is a fucking ogre#im going to hit post and everyone can pretend this doesn't exist#to the point that he thinks shes talking about HIM when calling herself ugly#the second movie actually does remedy a lot of this by shrek giving her the choice to have him be a handsome human man#and she wants to be the way they were when they married#but like that only came into question later on after they were married#why was it so subversive that he still love her when shes not a beautiful human woman#literally they should've made her actually sone sort of wretched beast#instead its like. “i love you for yourself” and it was never really put into question anyways because he'd have to have a lot of#internalized self hatred to find another orc not beautiful#i cant fucking believe im talking about shrek's potential internalized ogrephobia or something#why is it subversive that a man not be Utterly Repulsed when a woman way out of their league turn out to be in the same league or smth?#and like irl you have the nastiest fuckers out there shit on women who they think are below them even if the guys themselves are similarly#not “conventionally attractive”#but they expect All women to meet Their Standards to be deceiving of respect#let alone attraction#at most you get a narrative where i guess shrek doesn't think other ogres are disgusting? good for him???#ok im hitting post#i apologize to everyone and esp op
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koalemoslepus · 4 months ago
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//Warning I have a tendency to accidentally hide my true vents in the tags by total accident
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I just saw an AI bot meant to give you the AI prompts to write AI image generations like at what point do we literally just get to revoke brain if you're not going to do it like literally we don't need you to copy and paste the machines could do that quite easily with a script and frankly I vote we pay them instead of you because shit maybe we could get some deflation in here if the money starts disappearing and it's not like you're fucking doing a damn thing for it also in my like in my warped verision of reality I cling to maybe?? If we let everyone go down this rabbit hole of the tech we have at present being sentient we could somehow crackpot loop our way back around them being regulated more than a worker maybe we'd help curb the cash incentives cause I know they'd get more protections / freedoms than a woman would in my lifetime FUCK anyway
#vent post#also I love you my fellow nd babies but dont correct me on stuff thats wildly inaccurate in this post#i know this is me 100% letting me go off the deep end#ironic Im using a ghibli gif after just having ranted about everyone using Miyazki as their weird anti ai art grand daddy#when like the profit incentive of art is the issue plus the politics but like#among other reasons its weird to use him for this but like#only that gif really emcompassed the actual feeling in my soul#and like much to both sides vehement like always Im not even anti anything#i feel like I have measured takes on AI#but with evidence generative AI has been provable to be theft as outlined by copyright yada yada whatever it also just has its fucking#problems right theres a lot about it thats fucked up because of the way it was built and is used inseparably from certain aspects#of capitalism#but even so I do think a lot of people take the outright hate and disgust to far to the point it doesnt help the arguement more importantly#lead to any solutions or actionable change that fill in the gaps AI is purposefully coming in for while our world is being dismantled#basically a lot of people are bitching about people being Lazy for Using AI instead of examining the purposeful new flaws crammed#in our faces that would cattle shoot large swaths of people into doing so that cant be summarized as pure laziness and it is pure hypocrisy#to do so and shame doesnt get us anyway again something we've studied and researched and also all you art bitches love to write and draw#religious traumas but never actually dissect it maybe#but even I can agree with all my endless what abouts that this this is a step too far and this we can just call lazy cause what the fuck#except even then fuck I came back into the tags for this#even then I sort of get it even if I hate it right like a villian you fucking hate but you understand the pyschology cause we said it we#keep repeating it#profit incentives#its like when I see those horrendous youtube videos of horrible mean awful pranks and Im disgusted but I know why they do it#because our world is terrible and awful and cruel and money feels like the only way to carve out a place of peace in it and money is evil#you must make some level of moral trade off for it somewhere and some people literally are more morally bankrupt because they are scared#right they are exchanging themselves for a false sense of freedom#but its all deals with the devils and its not these romantic verisions of them where youre clever or the devil sets you free in the end or#giving up parts of yourself is...worse than we could ever put into metaphor I dunno#content warning
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willyoubemycherryy · 3 months ago
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TAKE 1🎬 -> + Stack. M x Reader +
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Since I’ll be in the hospital for a while, I figured I’d post some my drafts for entertainment :)!
Summary: You and a troublesome man you like more than you let on…in the end it’s easy.
Contains: smut, a dash of degradation, established enough relationship, fat d!ck Stack because LOOK at him, country accents, rough s€x, manhandling, multiple ørgasms, overstimulation, he puts it zowwwwnnnn, gives you some of that “move yo hand”, mating press dirty talk, petnames, fucking filthy kissing, cuddles, and as per usual- this is for the ✋🏽 strictly for the ✊🏽
Y’all thank @dollerin <333!
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⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉
“Damn baby, you always this easy?”
Stack purrs out against the bare leg that’s currently hiked over his broad shoulder, voice dripping with condescension that’s a lot sweeter than the way he’s fucking into you.
The question is mean but it has its intended effect.
Goosebumps break over the surface of your flushed skin, choking on a whiny moan, cunt pulsating so tightly around him that he can feel you in his bones. A flurry of hiccuping sobs pour from your mouth cause you’re close. Again. Ordinarily, you’d try to defend your good name since you really were in fact not easy…or at least not until you’d met Stack. You’d heard of him before but never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance until he came strolling through your moms shop one day and found you instead.
At first you were stunned just making eye contact with him. Lidded brown eyes, dimples, plump lips- the gold on his teeth glinting at you and damn he was tall. Strutting up to introduce himself to you, accent thick with charm. However, you’d already heard of him and his way of giving women the roundabout and you’d decided right then and there that you’d be damned 11 ways to Sunday before you ever caught yourself on your back or knees for him.
Unfortunately, he was as relentless as he was gorgeous. Steadily pursuing you with the devil in his eyes and a grin on those full lips. Always hanging around- then, he’d disappear. As indifferent as you tried to be, dancing around his advances with light giggles and playful hands, when he’d vanish, you’d find yourself missing his face- or rather- his way of being, more like. See, Stack had this carefree almost cavalier demeanor but he was firm too. To you, that was his most attractive quality.
And he’d picked up on it. That you liked when he was a little firm with you.
From there all it took was a kiss.
Just barely brushing your lips when he leaned down, whispering teasingly against your lips, finger underneath your chin and you couldn’t keep the want from dripping out your eyes if you tried.
“Stop playing with me.”
To your surprise but not his- you listened.
Funny how you were so determined not to fall into his gravity and now look at you; sweat out hairstyle, sheer stockings ripped to hell along with your bra and underwear, being manhandled every which way, stretched out and creaming around the fattest cock you’ve ever had in your life as you moan in bliss- loving it.
Stack’s thrusts are deliciously brutal, hips snapping into yours while your legs hang over his shoulders like some harlot and sounding just like one, mouth dropped open while you cry and whine real pretty for him. Hissing through his teeth at the sight you make, Stack wedges his hands underneath the arch at the base of your back and grips tight- using your body as leverage to fuck into you even deeper. If the heat of the room wasn’t making you delirious then the way the fat head of his was smushing rough kisses into that soft patch of nerves would definitely do the trick. If this is what playing hard to get gets you then you’re seriously considering becoming a professional.
It gets to the point where your pussy is almost as loud as you are, prompting Stack to look down. A loud whistle barely makes it through the fog in your head and you try to bring your vision to focus. Your heart is going at least 100 miles per minute and you squeak as your legs are pushed so far back that your knees are touching your ears, Stack moving directly on top of you. Where the sudden flexibility came from you had no clue- but your awe is almost immediately overtaken by how full the new position has you feeling.
“O-oooh!”
Stack bites his lip as he watches your pretty face melt in pleasure, your normally sleepy eyes pop wide open, brows drawn together like you’re about to cry, lips forming that sexy ‘o’ as he slows down his strokes- letting you feel every inch of him. You were so gorgeous. Naked curves and soft skin crashing and rolling back into him then wrapping around even though you initially wanted damn near nothing to do with him. The thought makes him smirk in satisfaction until he’s brought out of his thoughts by the feel of your trembling hand just above where your bodies are connected. He pulls out halfway nice n slow, looking down to see what the fuss is and his heart almost pounds out of his chest.
Slathered all over his dick, is milky white. It streams out generously from your hole around where he’s stuffed in and Stack feels himself start to lose his mind a little bit as he moans out,
“Yeahhh mamas, she’s real easy f’me…”
He doesn’t take his eyes off your cunt as he slams back in with a wet ‘plap’- throwing his head back with a deep groan. The sound is so primal it sends nasty shivers up your spine but you don’t move your hand and he’s folding you even deeper, lowering his upper body almost completely against yours, pelvis grinding against your clit and you gasp wetly. Stack is wild, sucking bruising kisses into your neck, tongue trailing hotly up to your mouth to claim it in a deep kiss. It’s consuming. His big tongue flattening against yours in maddening swipes, sucking the muscle sloppily into his own mouth making you lightheaded- blood rushing through your ears as he starts his hips up again, grinding away at that spot inside you but not quite as deep and he pulls away.
He watches you gasp desperately, moving not even an inch away from your face as he nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue before whispering inside your mouth- eyes glazed,
“Move that hand, baby.”
Your name might as well be Sunday morning cause that’s exactly how easy you are, body obeying him before you even tell it to. As soon as you do, he doesn’t waste a second, big hands hook underneath your knees- railing you stupid. He’s not even trying to think straight, caught up in in not just the heat but how tight- how creamy- you are. Letting out a string of swears, he captures your mouth in another overwhelming kiss, cock aching while he swallows your wails as you twitch and shake around him.
You can’t take anymore. Stack gives another harsh, slick roll of his pelvis into your swollen nub while battering that tender spot inside you and you’re coming. And Jesus Christ on a bike- you’re coming hard. Clawing at Stack’s beefy muscles, a swarm of stars completely eclipse your vision while you’re shocked with wave after wave of vicious pleasure. You’re so loud you struggle recognize your own voice but Stack’s is clear as the ecstasy pumping through your body. Filthy words of praise and encouragement directly in your ear, prolonging your orgasm.
“Thaaat’s it, dollface.. aalll over me…”
Tears spill from your eyes and you’re close to tapping out when Stack buries his head into your chest, taking one of your puffy nipples into his mouth, thrusts slowing as he shoots deep inside your heat with a muffled groan, stuffing your hole to the brim until he pops off your tit with a satisfied sigh.
You’re tired, your back is killing you, and your shaking like a baby deer but a grin makes its way onto your lips regardless as Stack kisses all over you, pulling out slowly, warm eyes checking over your form for any sign of discomfort while you bask in the coziness after, closing your eyes to enjoy a much needed break until he interrupts it. Kissing your cheek in that tender way he does when he’s fixing to look after you.
“You okay? Ain’t hurtin’ none?”
You shake you head, eyes closed even as he pats you dry gently with his shirt, tossing on the floor when he’s done. Less sweaty, it’s easier for you to nap but something was missing. Reaching up, your hand swipes though the air as you blindly reach for him, eventually catching his chain as you yank him down next to you with a soft pleased little hum. Yes, you’d sleep just fine now.
And when you wake up?
You’re face to face with a big rock on your finger.
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Stay tuned for take 2, 3, 4 and more yall🤠🫶🏽!!!
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slvqtore · 3 months ago
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⟢ pairing. draco malfoy x fem!gryffindor reader. ⟢ summary. draco realizes that he may or may not have feelings for you, and that scared the hell out of him. ⟢ enemies to lovers. he fell first, he fell harder. draco being in denial. ⟢ wc. 2,8k
you and draco had been sworn enemies ever since you stepped foot into hogwarts. it all started when draco decided it’d be an entertainment to make fun of you very first friend—ron. of course, you stood up for him. sharp words. sharper glare. you made a few snarky comments about draco, and that pissed him off, really pissed him off. because not only was he embarrassed by anyone, no, but rather a girl. sure, he’s met loads of people who are brave enough to stand up for themselves, but never did he ever meet a girl bite him back. you really got under his skin.
you felt bad enough soon afterwards, so you decided to apologize to draco, maybe it was just a bad start, and you could become friends, you thought. wrong. instead, when you approached him that day to apologize, he and his friends greggory goyle and crabbe decided to play a little ‘harmless’ prank on you. you spotted him in the great hall during lunch, lounging at the slytherin table with goyle and crabbe. you took a deep breath, mustered your courage and walked over, ignoring the ugly stares around you.
“draco, i just wanted to—”
before you could finish, he cut you off. “oh, look! she’s in love with me,” he drawled, loud enough for not the entire table to hear, but rather the entire hall. he and his friends burst into laughter, but that wasn’t enough for them. you tried to hide your face in pure embarrassment. but as you stood there, he flicked his wand under the table, and suddenly your shoes stuck fast to the floor, as if someone had put a magic superglue on them. you tried to move, but your feet wouldn’t budge. at this point, everyone was laughing at you, and it made your cheeks burn from embarrassment, well except for your friends hermione, harry, and ron.
and with another flick of his wand, your bag flew open, its contents scattered all over the floor. your books, quills, ink, parchment, and at last, a photo of you and ron. “hey, look! looks like little y/n has a boyfriend!” he flew his arms up in the air, photo in his arms so that everyone could see. everyone burst into laughter, snickers echoing through the hall, and all you wanted was the world to swallow you whole. you tried your best to contain the tears threatening to spill, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. you could feel both sadness and anger bubbling up in your chest. oh you were so going to get him back.
and that’s what basically started your little rivalry with draco.
the rest of the years, you two just continued on with this silent hatred towards each other. endless arguments in the corridors. snickering remarks passed in classes. glares exchanged across the great hall. It became a sort of a game neither of you would admit you were playing, but neither of you would back down from. you knew it was childish and pathetic, you tried—tried to stop this childish nonsense by ignoring him but he just wouldn’t stop either. if he didn’t stop, why would you? you never wanted to back down from a malfoy, and you never wanted to let him walk over you like you were some sort of dirt.
── .✦
you were bolting across the castle corridors with books clutched tightly to your chest. oh you were so dead. you had already been late to professor’s snape class twice this week, and there was no way he’d let you off a third time. your shoes skidded slightly on the stone floor as you rounded a sharp corner, and slammed straight into something solid. books went flying as you stumbled backward, barely managing to keep yourself upright. you winced in pain, rubbing your forehead. “sorry i didn’t mean—”
“watch where you’re going!” an unfamiliar voice spoke up, cutting off your sentence. you looked up slowly, only to see crabbe and goyle towering over you, smug expressions plastered across their faces. without a word, you kneeled down, gathering the books scattered everywhere. you knew better not to stir things up, you honestly just wanted out. but then goyle took a slow step forward. and then another. until the thick sole of his boot landed squarely on the cover of your defense against the dark arts book. he shifted his weight onto it, grinding it slightly. “going anywhere, sweetheart?” you let out a slow, controlled breath, calming yourself down.
“aw, is she going to cry?” crabbe mocked, his voice thick with fake concern. goyle laughed, still grinding his boot into your book. hearing this, something in you snapped. you stood up, fists clenched at your sides. “you—”
“back off.”
you froze—everyone did. goyle turned his head slowly, his smug expression faltering. there, stood none other than draco, just a few steps behind them. “seriously? picking fights in a hallway with someone who’s not even trying to fight back? pathetic.” crabbe opened his mouth to argue before shutting up upon seeing draco’s deathly glare.
crabbe and goyle exchanged a look, clearly unsure whether to stay or follow his silent command. sure enough they got their answer once draco sent them another death glare, sending them goosebumps. the two lumbered off, still grumbling to each other as they disappeared around the corner.
you just stood there, eyebrows raised, your expression that in a mixture of confusion and disbelief as you stared at him. “what are you looking at?” he asked, his tone sharp. you scoffed, still wearing a confused-disbelief-weirded out face. “i had it under control, by the way.” you kneeled down once again to gather the books and papers scattered across the cold stone floor. now it was his turn to scoff. “yeah right you did.” he inched closer, kneeling down across from your figure as he reached for a few books near your hand. you simply shot him a look. “i didn’t ask for your help.”
“i was expecting more of a ‘thank you’ rather than endless chattering.” he replied coldly, causing you to roll your eyes. soon enough, you’d gathered the last of your books, hugging them tightly to your chest as you stood up, draco following shortly after. “here’s your.. stuff.” he muttered, tossing a few of your books at you without a care as you caught them just in time, almost dropping your potions book.
“thanks? i guess.” you muttered, catching his gaze one last time before hurrying past him, almost forgetting about professor snape’s class. oh you were so getting detention.
he let his gaze linger on your figure as you slowly disappeared into the castle corridors. “did i really just help that pathetic girl?” he scoffed at himself, clearly confused and annoyed at his obnoxious actions earlier. he brushed it off soon enough—dismissed it as nothing more than a moment of temporary insanity. “whatever,” he muttered under his breath, tugging his robes tighter around him as he made his way through the castle corridor.
meanwhile, you crept silently down the hallway once you got near enough, clutching your books like they might somehow make you invisible. with every step toward the potions classroom, you prayed snape would be too deep in his lecture to notice the door creak open. unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side this time.
the second your hand touched the handle and you slipped through the barely opened door, all eyes turned—well except for one. he didn’t even have to look up to know it’s you, of course it was you, who else would it be? “ah… miss y/l/n,” snape drawled, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked up from the papers on his desk. “how generous of you to grace us with your presence. tell me, did you spend the last fifteen minutes perfecting your dramatic entrance, or are you simply incapable of reading a clock?” you let out an awkward chuckle, eyes darting from here to there out of nervousness.
“i can explain, see—”
“five points are deducted from gryffindor,” he interrupted flatly, his voice cold. “for your inability to arrive on time,” his gaze flicked to you now, slow and deliberate. “and another five for believing your excuses are worth wasting class time.” you froze, lips parted, but he wasn’t done. “detention. this evening. you’ll report to the hospital wing, madam pomfrey is in need of assistance.”
you only nodded, sighing in defeat. quiet whispers and sucked breathes could be heard around you, causing your ears to burn in embarrassment. well, you did see it coming, just didn’t thought you’d end up with madam pomfrey. honestly, you were just grateful you didn’t have to scrub the toilets.
── .✦
inevitably, you being you, you snuck out of detention. it was pretty easy actually, all you did was slip out the back quietly when madam pomfrey got distracted with a student coughing up slugs. you could have stayed—should have. but it was the quidditch finale! there was no way you were missing this.
so now, here you were, standing at the edge of the stands with hermione and ron by your side.
“do you think they’re going to make it?” hermione asked, her expression was filled with worry, not taking her eyes off of harry. “don’t worry,” you said softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “you know they always do.” she nodded slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver. the roar of the crowd echoed in the distance, today was the quidditch finale, after all. everything was riding on this match. victory or defeat, it would be remembered.
your gaze was fixed on harry, watching his every move as he soared through the sky with focused determination. that was, until he knocked malfoy clean off his broom. you winced as you watched him tumble toward the ground. “bloody hell, that must’ve hurt!” ron too, winced watching the scene play out. and of course, being the crybaby he is, he whined and cried out in pain, causing you to erupt into laughter. “what a crybaby,” you snorted, nudging hermione and signaling her to look down.
she too, laughed, watching the scene unfold. “i mean honestly, can he be more pathetic?” you giggled, watching his body got dragged away before averting your attention back to the game. however, your stolen moment of freedom didn’t last so long. because just as you were starting to relax, a chillingly familiar voice spoke from behind.
“enjoying the game, are we miss y/l/n?”
you froze, already knowing who’s voice that belonged to. slowly turning around, you came face to face with the one and only: professor snape himself. damn it, just when things were starting to get fun. “abandoning your assigned detention to sneak into a quidditch match,” he said coldly. “how very brave of you.”
he was expecting you to come up with thousands of excuses, but no, this time, you kept your head low, not daring to make a sound as you accepted your ‘defeat.’
“since madam pomfrey has apparently been relieved of your assistance, i’ll see to it that your punishment continues under my supervision. expect extended hours, and fewer excuses.”
and just like that, your fun came to a very swift, painful end. but fairly speaking, it was worth it. you didn’t regret sneaking out on detention, not even a little.
you pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, trying your best to act casual, like you hadn’t just snuck out of detention. “well, well. look who decided to show up.” madam pomfey looked up from her cabinet with a raised a brow. you gave her a sheepish smile, rubbing the nape of your neck. “sorry, got.. held up?” you muttered, giving her an awkward-apologetic look. “mhm,” she obviously didn’t buy your excuse, but thankfully she didn’t press it.
“you can start by helping me here, basic salve application, wound cleansing, the usual.” you listened intently at her orders, nodding in response as you let your eyes wander around the room. your eyes then landed on a certain blonde whom you’d recognize, sitting on one of the beds with a scowl and a rather dramatic ice pack pressed to his forehead.
you replayed the moment where he had fallen oh so dramatically and whined like a baby, and you couldn’t help but let out a snort—unfortunately enough, loud enough for him to hear. his head snapped toward your direction almost immediately. “what are you laughing at?” his tone was cold, firm, as he was trying to act as cool and intimidating as possible. but then again, that never worked on you.
“nothing.” you shrugged, averting your attention back to madam pomfrey, who’s now explaining how to treat minor surface wounds. on the other hand, draco scoffed at you, clearly annoyed and irritated. “now, you’ll be helping malfoy with his wounds.” you blinked, still not able to process what she had just said. “wait, what? can’t i help neville? or seamus?” you practically begged her not to put you with draco.
“no buts. malfoy’s wounds are all but minor ones.” before you could negotiate or even complain, she immediately gave you a tray full of supplies before promptly walking away, leaving you alone.
you dramatically sighed, rolling your eyes as you made your way toward draco, who didn’t look much pleasant either. “you look thrilled to see me,” you muttered dryly, setting the tray beside him. “i’m overjoyed,” he deadpanned. “can’t you tell?” you ignored him, grabbing the cloth. you fought back the urge to just choke him right here, right this moment.
“shut up and hold still,” you murmured, bringing a cloth to his cheek. he winced as you gently dabbed the cut on his left cheek. you rolled your eyes, still not looking at him. “your wound is as small as a goblin’s nail, you’ll live.” now it was his turn to roll his eyes. your presence alone infuriated something inside him.
eventually, the two of you fell into a quiet silence. you were too focused on cleaning his wound, and as for him, well, he was too busy fighting himself from looking at you. he couldn’t help but steal few glances, his eyes drifting toward your face every now and then. not that he’d admit it. he’d constantly lean back once you got too close, way too close.
he didn’t understand it. didn’t want to understand it.
his heartbeat had picked up without warning, thudding awkwardly in his chest. and the worst part? you were just there, close, calm, completely unaware that you were quietly driving him insane. and that unsettled him more than anything else. he looked away, jaw clenched, silently begging himself to get a grip. this was you who he was talking about, you! the person he has hated from the very beginning, the very person who infuriated him more than anyone. so why, why was his heart racing—beating so loudly for you? he gulped once your face inched closer, looking away almost instantly.
snap out of it, draco.
“done,” you said finally, stepping back and setting the supplies aside. just as you were checking if you’d missed any wounds, you noticed the faintest shade of pink dusting the tip his ears. “you good?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. “i’m fine,” his tone was sharp and defensive. “haven’t you got somewhere else to be?”
you blinked. okay. rude.
your brows lifted slightly, folding your arms. “as a matter of fact i do.” with that, you made your way across the room to madam pomfrey, not giving him another glance. “all done,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. “he’s not bleeding out or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
she glanced over her shoulder with a nod, clearly picking up on your tone but not commenting on it. “good. i need you to stay and help with the other students. and once you’re done, tidy up the room, will you?” you gave a quick nod, already moving to the next patient, someone from hufflepuff with a nasty bruise forming on their temple.
that night, draco couldn’t sleep at all. who else would he be thinking about if not you? you had invaded his mind that it made him go insane. no matter how many times he turned over in bed, no matter how tightly he shut his eyes, it was always you he saw. it was maddening, really. he groaned and threw his pillow over his face. “this is ridiculous,” he muttered into the fabric. “completely mental.”
he hated to admit it, but if he were to say he just now thought you’d grown up to become rather attractive—he’d be lying. truth was, he’d known for years. he just never let himself acknowledge it.
he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “no. absolutely not. this is not happening.”
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szatears · 4 months ago
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comfort zone, modernau!smoke.
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summary: just smoke spoiling his girl.
pairing: modernau!smoke x fem!black reader
warnings: some descriptions of reader, cunnilingus, also munch!smoke because we all deserve it.
notes: this sinners brainrot will not leave me alone and i love it !!! also we hit 100 followers after just a couple days... i love you all so bad 🫶🏾
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It was around 6 in the evening when Smoke came home to you. He'd been away in Atlanta for two days, a business trip as usual. You knew what he did, the type of people he worked with and what that came with. You didn't really care because at the end of the day, the most important thing to you was your relationship with him.
Everyone knew him as Smoke, but to you he was just Elijah. As soon as he walked through the huge doors to your shared home, he stopped being Smoke and Elijah came out instead.
Whenever he was away, you'd usually occupy yourself with something just fine. Going out with your girls, catching up on your own work, visiting family and so on. Anything to help take missing him off of your mind.
Today, as you waited for Smoke to come back, you decided to get a manicure. A little touch up on your nails could never hurt. It didn't take too long either, a half hour drive there and back in just under two hours. God, did you love your nail tech.
You had them done blue, Smoke's favourite colour on you.
You lounged around the house waiting for him, your only other companion being the small rottweiler puppy that Smoke had gifted to you. He whined as you patted him, rolling over next to you.
"I know, baby, daddy's coming home soon." You frowned, scratching behind his floppy ears.
The sound of keys turning in the door had those floppy ears turning straight real quick. Before you could even turn your head to the door, your puppy was already there, scratching at the back of it whilst Smoke attempted to get through.
"Man, move───" he muttered, trying to get through with a bunch of shopping bags and a puppy nipping at his legs.
You smiled, a part of you exhaling a sigh of relief that he'd come back to you in one piece.
It was never easy to see Smoke leave, the thought of him never coming back to you was always looming over your head. But just like he always reassured you he would, he came back seemingly fine.
You walked towards them, Smoke's facial features gradually relaxing at the sight of you. "Hi," you spoke smoothly, your arms around his neck as you pulled his face towards yours, kissing his lips.
You took a moment to run your hands over his body, the black compression shirt that he wire doing wonders for him. It always drove you crazy.
"Hey, baby," he kissed you back, dropping the bags gently on the floor giving his hands space to grab at your ass. "You been good?"
"Mhm," you answered, letting your nails scratch gently at the back of his neck. That always did the trick. You looked down at the puppy by your feet, breaking away to pick him up. He was getting heavier as each day went by.
You held him up to Smoke's face. "Say hi to your son, Elijah."
"That ugly ass thing ain't my son," he kissed his teeth, waving you off as he started moving the bags into the living room.
Laughing, you carried your puppy to its playpen, giving you snd Smoke some peace of mind for now.
You came back to find him emptying his pocket contents on the coffee table: gun, wallet, keys, and stacks of money. Instead of putting the money on the table with the rest of his stuff, he walked over to you.
He pulled the strap of the tank top that you wore, using it to tuck the money into your bra.
"What's this for?" you smiled, looking up at him. He was always giving you money randomly, various amounts for various reasons.
"For looking pretty," he kissed your cheek. "That's for you too," he nodded his head towards all the shopping bags that he brought in.
Your eyes followed to the bags, feeling so much appreciation overwhelm you. Smoke's love languages were most definitely gift giving and acts of service; he would use any and every opportunity to spoil you, but the minute you bought anything for him, he'd be telling you off for spending your money on him.
"You didn't have to," you pouted, sitting on his lap as you kissed all over his face. "You spoil me too much, I don't even have space for it all."
"I don't spoil you enough," He mumbled, kissing you back. "Come on, do your lil' try on thing you always do for me." He tapped the back of your thigh.
You giggled, "You mean a haul?"
"Yeah, that."
And that you did. Smoke had gotten you bags, clothes, lingerie, new makeup products... things you already had but according to him, could never have enough of.
You tried on each item, except for the lingerie. You said you wanted to surprise him with it another day, and he wasn't complaining.
At the end of your haul, Smoke helped you put everything away, making a comment to himself about having to expand your walk in wardrobe.
Now you two lay on the bed, cuddled up as a random show was on the TV. You loved moments like these, when he was yours. Not the rough Smoke that everyone else knew him as, but as your soft and loving boyfriend.
"You good?" Smoke stopped rubbing his hand gently on your body when he noticed you let out a sigh.
"I'm more than good," you smiled dreamily, like you were drunk just off of his affection.
He took your word for it, lifting your body onto his. His hands wrapped around your lower back whilst your chin rested on his chest, looking right at him.
"You know I love you, right?" He said.
"Yeah. I love you too."
Smoke smiled, his large hands squeezing at your ass. "And I love this ass too."
"You can never stay serious, can you?" You laughed, reaching back to move his hands. Instead, he flipped the two of you so he was now on too, your hands pinned on either side of your head.
"You know damn well how serious I can be."
And that you did. There was only a handful of times when Smoke had gotten serious with you, times when he was more Smoke than Elijah with you. One of the things he loved most about you was that you brought out the side of him that didn't immediately resort to violence, the one that still had hope that he could be loved like he once thought.
He leaned down, kissing you gently, softly. You kissed him back, your hand pulling his head even closer, nails grazing over his low cut. He caught a flash of blue as he pulled back from the kiss, removing a hand from your side to look at your hand properly.
"Look at you repping me," he teased you, running his fingers over your nails.
"Had to let 'em know," you shrugged.
"Damn straight," he mumbled against your lips. He could never get enough of you, you were like a drug to him.
He kissed from your lips down your neck, to your collarbone, nipping and sucking as he went. He loved marking you, you don't know when it started but you knew sure as hell it wasn't gonna stop.
Smoke let his runs run all over you, until you tugged at his shirt, frowning. "Why you poutin', baby?" He tilted his head, knowing the answer but wanting to drag it out of you.
"Take it off," you said.
"Yes ma'am."
As he pulled his shirt off, you watched on, smiling at your man's toned body. You let your hands rake over his abs as he leaned back down to you. "Your turn," he tapped your side.
You sat up a bit, pulling down the straps of your tank top before taking it off, no bra underneath. Smoke wasted no time, latching onto your breasts before you could even lay back down.
You let out a loud moan, like you haven't felt his touch in ages. Whilst he worked on your breasts, sucking and biting, he let his hand slide inside the shorts you wore, grazing over your clothed pussy. He could feel how wet you were just from a few touches.
"Fat ma missed me, huh?" he joked. You kissed your teeth, groaning as he rubbed gently.
"Elijah... do something," you moaned.
"Aight, baby, lift up for me." he took your shorts off when you lifted your hips, along with your panties. He settled in between your legs, lying down so he was face to face with your seeping pussy. He looked at you, knowing he was absolutely about to devour you.
The first lick had you throwing your head back, your thighs immediately closing around Smoke's head. If he could've died right then, he would've died a very happy man.
As he licked up and down, sucking your clit, you writhed underneath him, struggling to stay still with how he was doing you.
He gripped your hips, forcing you to stay in one spot. "If you keep moving, I'ma stop." he mumbled with his lips still on you, sending vibrations through your body.
You nodded, knowing he was dead serious about that. One thing about sex with Smoke? The overstimulation was real.
He continued to lick bold stripes up and down your fold, kissing at deeply as he went. You could feel that coil deep in you about to snap, your whimpers and moans getting louder as Smoke used his fingers to rub your clit.
"Fuck, baby, I'm almost─── Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" you moaned as you came, but Smoke still didn't let up, lapping up all your juices as you rode out your high.
You panted, trying to push his head away, already feeling like you could tap out. But when he looked at you, his moustache and goatee coated in your cum, you knew this was only the start.
"You boutta tap out on me? Hm?" he asked.
You shook your head, guiding him back to your folds. You felt his smirk on you, his lips going back to doing what they did best.
You always did love when he came home to you.
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pearlzxx · 14 days ago
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like sugar on my tongue .°˖⋆ ℧ .°˖⋆
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pairing: butchcowboy!sevika x fem!reader
content warning: munch!reader, eating out, multiple (2) orgasms, cursing, strawberry juice involved, petnames (doll, baby, sugar, etc.) lesbianism.
wc: 2029
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the sun was high. rays of heat beat down onto your shoulders, freckles turning a slightly darker shade of brown over the last hour or so. you were tending to your garden, the one sevika generously helped you build the boxes for, and helped you plant everything in a way that would ensure that they actually grew.
you had your sheers in one hand, a basket that was slowly but surely filling up with strawberries. holding the stem of the strawberry, you carefully separated the calyx of the berry from the bushel.
"doll?"
you immediately turned around to see your wife, sevika. god, she looked great. flannel shirt, unbuttoned at the top. bootcut jeans clad to her thighs that you wanted to crush you right then and there. boots that you would let step all over you, even though you would never admit that. never in a million years.
"hey, love. picked some strawberries, they're real' good. want one?"
"mhm. d'love one, actually."
you grabbed a sizable strawberry, one of a deep shade of crimson. you pressed it against her lips gently, waiting for her to take a bite. she bit into the ripe, juicy strawberry, and its sweetness burst across her palette. the vibrant red fruit dripped slightly, leaving a sticky trail of summer on your fingers and sevika's chin.
"theyre great, doll. a little messy, yeah?"
a small huff escaped your lips, a smile creeping onto your face. "yeah, they are. need some help?"
a low chuckle escaped her throat "wouldn't hurt."
you got onto your toes, grabbing her chin and licking the juice straight off of her face.
she stared at you, wided eyed. "doll...?"
"mhm?" you answered, cocking your head to the side. you knew exactly what you were doing.
"nothing. think i could get another strawberry?"
"will you let me feed it to you?"
"yes."
you picked another strawberry, this one being slightly bigger in size and seeming to be more ripe. she took a large bite, not even attempting to be clean about it. the juice dripped down further this time, reaching her jawline and dribbling down onto her collarbone, exposed by her unbuttoned flannel.
"made a mess again. might need help cleaning this one too."
"you sure? you really don't think you can do it yourself, vika?"
"don't think so, no."
you leaned over, gripping her shoulder for support, and you began to run your tongue from her bottom lip, down to her chin, to her jawline.
"you made a mess, huh, vika? shit."
"your mess though, right?"
"mhm, yeah baby. my mess."
you licked down her neck, attempting to clean up the juice dripping down her neck.
"ya' think we could take this inside? s'about lunch time." you said, pulling back to look at her
"mhm.. yes, doll."
you both walked back to the house, immediately making way to the kitchen. you sat down the basket, and had sevika sit on a stool.
"strawberries sound good?" you said, giving her a smile with something else behind it.
"yeah, sounds great. thanks."
"y'must be hot, huh? flannels protectin' you from the sun but it's not doing much in here but making you sweat." you remark, unbuttoning the rest of the buttons on her flannel.
"youre right, sweetheart. thanks." she replied as her flannel was discarded by you.
"strawberry time, yeah?"
you said, putting a strawberry up to her mouth. "take a bite baby, cmon."
she finally did, biting in slow, her teeth sinking in with a wet sound. juice spilled instantly, not just into her mouth but over her bottom lip, gliding down her chin before she could catch it.
she didn’t bother wiping it away.
instead, she looked at you, eyes half-lidded, tongue darting out to chase the juice across her lip with no particular urgency.
you reach for another, smaller than the last, but just as ripe. its skin gives a little under your fingers, soft and warm from sitting out.
sevika watches you, eyes curious, like she’s waiting to see what you’ll do with it. her mouth quirks, just barely.
you hold it up to her lips.
she doesn’t move at first. just looks at you, then the berry, then back. then she leans in, slower this time, lips brushing your fingers as she takes it in. her teeth bite clean through, juice spilling again, this time catching on the corner of her mouth and running down toward her chin.
your hand stays there, close to her mouth. too close.
she hums low in her throat, chewing lazily as she watches your eyes flick to where the juice is starting to drip.
she eats another. then another, and another. each one slower than before, as if she’s savoring more than just the flavor. the red stains spread across her lips, face, neck, and down her torso, glistening in the soft kitchen light.
with every bite, her eyes meet yours a little longer, a little deeper, like she’s daring you to say something or do something.
finally, she leans back against the counter, a slow smile spreading across her face, the faint trace of strawberry juice still gleaming on her skin.
"made a mess."
"i can see that, sev."
"you know what to do."
you straddled her denim covered thighs, licking the juice on her lips, tongue moving in soft, little motions. she grabbed the back of your head, taking your tongue in between her teeth.
she grabbed another strawberry, crushing it between her fingers until the juice dripped down her wrist. she held it up, her eyes gleaming with something new. “cmon now, get to work.”
you didn’t need to be told twice. you took her wrist in your hands, your tongue trailing along the sticky trail of juice with slow, deliberate strokes.
“fuck,” sevika muttered under her breath, her free hand gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself. “you’re doing so good.
you looked up at her through hooded eyes, your lips glistening with the remnants of the strawberry, and your eyes lit up with an idea.
“think i could try something?”
“yeah, doll. go ahead.”
your eyes trailed down, looking at the juice dripping down her abdomen.
“you’re gonna lick every last drop off me, aren’t you?” sevika’s voice was low and smooth as she leaned back against the kitchen counter, her hands gripping the edge for support. her undershirt was pushed up just enough to reveal the smooth, taut expanse of her stomach, where a trail of bright red strawberry juice glistened in the sunlight streaming through the window
you didn’t need to answer. the way you were staring; hungry, desperate, was response enough. your fingers trembled as you reached out, brushing lightly against her skin, feeling the warmth of her body beneath your flanges. a soft sigh escaped her lips
you tongue darted out, tentative at first, then you dragged it slowly up her stomach. the taste of the fruit was sweet, tangy, but it was overshadowed by the intoxicating flavor of her musky, earthy, and yet still a bit sweet. she shivered under your touch, her breath hitching as you swirled your tongue around her navel, lapping up every drop.
“fuck..” she murmured, her voice thick and her head thrown back. her hands tangled in your hair, urging you on, and you didn’t need any more encouragement. you kissed lower, tracing the curve of her hipbone with your lips, feeling her muscles quiver beneath. her scent was overwhelming now, and you could feel the heat radiating from between her legs, calling like a siren’s song.
her fingers tightened in your hair as you undid her leather belt. you unbuttoned those jeans, that fit her so well it was almost sinful, pulling them down slowly, inch by agonizing inch. she stepped out of them without hesitation, kicking them aside, and there she was.
you pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, feeling her pulse flutter against you lips. she tasted even better here, her skin a mix of sweet and salty, but warm nonetheless. you couldn’t wait any longer. you immediately pulled her boxers down, burying you face between her legs, inhaling deeply before your tongue found her folds. she gasped, her hips jerking forward instinctively, and you moaned against her as her flavor flooded my senses.
her thighs clamped around you head as you licked her slowly, savoring every moment. she was already wet, her juices mingling with the faint taste of strawberry that still lingered on your tongue. you circled her clit with the tip of your tongue, teasing her relentlessly, and she let out a strangled cry that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your own core.
“gods, you’re so good at that,” she panted, her voice breaking as you slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right. her walls clenched around your digits, and you added another finger, fucking her slowly while your tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit. her moans grew louder, more desperate, and you could feel her body tensing as she teetered on the edge.
she came with a cry that echoed through the kitchen, her body trembling as she gripped the counter for support. you didn’t let up, licking her through her orgasm until she finally pulled away, breathing hard and looking down at me with a mixture of awe and hunger.
“again.. please.. you taste so fuckin' good..” you pleaded, needed another taste of her.
even though she was fucked out, she still nodded. "yes, dolly.. please."
you didn’t need to be told twice. your hands found her hips again, gripping them tightly as you knelt before her. your tongue traced a slow, deliberate path up her inner thigh, teasing her with the promise of what was to come. sevika’s fingers tightened in your hair, her hips shifting restlessly as anticipation coiled in her body.
when your tongue finally flicked against her swollen clit, she let out a low, guttural moan that sent a shiver down your spine. you circled the sensitive nub with slow, deliberate strokes, savoring the way she trembled under your touch. her sticky thighs pressed against your shoulders, holding you in place as you continued to lavish attention on her.
“more,” she begged, her voice rough with lust. you obliged without hesitation, your tongue delving deeper into her folds as you explored every inch of her. her breath came in ragged gasps, her body writhing with pleasure.
sevika’s grip on your hair tightened painfully, but you didn’t care. all that mattered was the way she felt against your tongue, the way her body responded to every flick and stroke. you could feel her muscles tensing, could hear the way her breath hitched as she teetered on the brink of her second release.
“don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “please, fuckin' don’t stop.”
and then she was falling, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over her. her moans filled the room, raw and unfiltered, as she came undone beneath your tongue.
for a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of her ragged breaths and the pounding of your own heartbeat. then sevika looked down at you, a softer smile playing on her lips.
you smiled back at her, looking at her sticky form. "think i might have to run you a bath, yeah?"
"would be nice, sugar."
you made your way to the bathroom, running a warm bath for sevika. you added one of your many bubble baths you've gotten from your town's farmer's market, and this one was appropriately strawberry scented.
you threw your now juice-stained babydoll dress into the wash, then going into the kitchen to grab sevika.
"cmon, love. bath is ready."
she got up, legs a little wobbly and head a bit foggy. she leaned on you for support, even though you were about 3 times smaller than the behemoth of a woman.
you helped her lower her self into the bath, running a hand through her slightly sweaty hair. you cupped some water into your hands, letting it trickle down onto sevika's hair.
"you did so well, your body is so sweet."
"sweet?"
"sweet."
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an: GUYSSS THIS TOOK LIKE 6 HOURS TO WRITE. (im dyslexic) butttt, here she is! i might write more butchcowboy!sevika, as i really like the character and it reminds me of the farm i grew up on :C thank u for all the love on the preview, i hope you like the full just as much!!!
taglist (lmk if you wanna be on the permanent or just the butchcb!sev one!): @cvntyaddi @babydeertears @djena1d @katthehunter02
requests open btwww
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oddlylovingaddiction · 5 months ago
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; Coming Full Circle.
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CLEARLY you all are desperate for an actual story on this blurb I quickly wrote up ♡
Part 1: (You are here!) , Part 2: Here! , Part 3: Here! , Part 4: Here! , Part 5: Here!
CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don’t have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this potential series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family. reader is somewhat introverted and is describe loosely as attractive. Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest. READER ALSO HAS NO IDEA THAT THE WAYNE FAMILY ARE SUPERHEROS (for now…)
TW: Abuse in the form of emotional neglect, Reader’s mom is dead, Pregnancy and rich people.
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You weren’t a kid anymore. Part of you wonders if you ever got the chance to be one. Your mom died when you were pretty young, barely 6 at the time, you don’t remember much about her. She was pretty though, maybe that’s where you got your looks from?
You spent 4 years at an orphanage after her passing, until one day a car came and picked you up and took you to a big manor. Apparently Bruce Wayne was your father, but not just an adoptive one, your biological father. That was definitely shocking, You looked so much like your mother that you really couldn’t see the resemblance, maybe if you really focused you could see some aspects of the new father you suddenly gained.
You only met Bruce a handful of times, the first time was to greet you. He seemed particularly disinterested, you were only just a bit younger than Jason which he was currently focused on at the time. Bruce showed you to your room it was way bigger than your room in the orphanage then promptly disappeared, Alfred (who you came later to learn was the butler and NOT your new grandfather.) showed you around the rest of the Manor, claiming that Bruce had paperwork that needed more attention than his newly gained child, okay, he didn’t put it like that but that’s basically what he ment.
The Manor was big and rather empty, you wonder what the point of all this space was as a child. As you grew older you grew to understand and appreciate its big and emptiness, because then you couldn’t run into any of your other siblings. Whenever you meet them, it’s awkward, like you’re an outsider. Which you suppose you are, but it’s different because you later learn that all of your siblings were adopted, minus Damian but you only gained him as your sibling towards the end of your stay in the Manor. So why did they treat you like you were the odd when out, when they all should know perfectly how that feels since they were also outsiders at one point? To this day you have no clue.
You quickly grew adjusted to not being around your family. The first the phew years was difficult, you craved their attention like any normal child. You remember you used to cry at night as a kid wondering what you did wrong for them to barely even glance your way, to not even love you… but after the third birthday with the exact same gift you got on previous birthdays from Bruce, continually getting rejected by all your siblings on your offers to hang out and occasionally catching wholesome moments between your siblings and Bruce where they were chatting and laughing without you, You naturally gave up on trying.
You instead grew as a person without them, you made friends at school, developed your own personal fashion taste, you discovered your hobbies and your personality. You occasionally heard news about your family from Alfred (You never got used to only hearing news from him), like how Jason died, Tim was brought in, turns out Jason was alive and at some point Damian was also brought in. The timeline was messy. Honestly you didn’t think much about why Bruce adopted so many damn kids nor did you bother to concern yourself with their affairs.
Instead you discovered somethings more important. Number one is your huge allowance, you knew Bruce was a billionaire and filthy, disgustingly rich, but not to the point your allowance was in the MILLIONS. The second thing is nobody cares about you, to the point one time when you were around 17 you stayed at a friend’s house for two days without telling anyone, came back and apparently no one had any idea you even left when you asked Alfred.
Those two things got you to where you were now, a stunning and safe apartment with the most beautiful view in the whole of Gotham, a loving husband who would do practically anything for you, heavily pregnant in your 20s and currently surrounded by your shocked family.
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You had a fight with your husband and you were livid at him deciding to spend some time at the Wayne Manor just to cool off (and to somewhat teach him a lesson), You honestly thought that nobody would care when you came waltzing back. Since nobody cared any other time.
However you were sorely mistaken. To the point you regret not just staying at a hotel or something. When you first walked through the door, Alfred greeted you. You were occasionally in contact with him, but you neglected to tell him about the pregnancy, let alone the fact you were married mainly because you knew he’d run and tell the entire family and you’d rather keep your life private from them. Which is probably why he stopped mid greeting to stare at your belly. It looked like he was buffering as he let you in and led you to the kitchen, you texted him on the ride there that you were a bit thirsty, so he prepared you some tea.
“My word, you’re really pregnant?” Alfred finally said once you sat down at one of the counters, which earned a chuckle from you as he slid your tea over to you.
“Last time I checked… which was in a mirror and when I felt the little gremlin kicking around in me on the drive here, I am.” You say with a smile before proceeding to chug your tea. “May I ask-” Alfred starts but before he can finish he’s interrupted by Damian, who entered the kitchen to grab some snacks at some point but instead noticed you.
“What on earth is that.” Damian hissed, he looked disturbed and disgusted as he pointed at your belly, like he just discovered a bug. Which ticked you off.
“An Alien, no use your head what does it look like?” You sarcastically reply. Normally Damian would’ve retorted however you quickly decide that you want to relax in the living room where you could continue your conversation with Alfred. As you and Alfred quickly leave, abandoning your empty tea cup, and finally settling in the living room. However you suddenly hear a STORM of footsteps from inside the house. You turn around and realize Damian followed you to the living room, phone in hand and clearly had texted the entire family about his new discovery.
“Fuck me…” you mutter softly, your peaceful days of being ignored were probably officially over. All thanks to your one dumb decision to come here. While you silently regretted your choices, almost the entire Wayne family had run into the living room, Tim was the first to run in shouting “WHO’S PREGNANT?”
You only really snap out of it when you notice the entire Wayne family staring at you, they got here faster than expected. Not all of them were here but most of them.
‘Maybe I really am carrying an Alien’ You ponder momentarily before you begin to speak, “Listen I’m only here momentarily because I had a small disagreement with my husband—” “HUSBAND?” Dick squeaks out his voice breaking in shock. “Yes— wait why are you all here anyways?” You say as it dawns on you how ridiculous this whole reaction was. Hell even BRUCE WAYNE, the supposed father you were under the care of, that you never saw for the majority of your life was even here.
“Well cause you know Bruce is always bringing home kids it’s the first time someone other than him is bringing home one, let alone an unborn one.” Cassandra pointed out, which you promptly agreed nodding your head. That explains it, to this damn family it must be pretty alien.
“Okay, well I’m pregnant. I get it shocking and stuff but there’s no need to—“ You say trying to calm down the situation when you are interrupted by Damian who’s pointing at your belly where your baby, as if sensing the crowd of spectators, decided to do its own acrobatic routine.
“Ew why is it moving….” Damian said, You’re starting to wonder why you even talk. “Don’t say ew. It’s just kicking, if you want you can touch my belly—” you regret those words instantly as around 20 hands immediately fly to touch your belly where the baby continues to kick. You’d almost find the whole situation adorable if it weren’t for the fact they were your family who previously didn’t give a flying fuck about you.
All of a sudden Bruce, noticing your uncomfort, clears his throat. When he does the 20 hands resend from touching your belly, “How far along are you?” He asks calmly but you can clearly hear his voice shake slightly. “7 months.” You reply calmly to which Damian opens his mouth again.
“Jesus when is it going to come out— wait how does it come out…” He still look horrified to which you suppressed a laugh. “Did no one teach you where babies come from?” You laugh and then pause when the room goes silent.
“Oh my god…” you mutter, no wonder he’s so disturbed. You hear Bruce quickly whisper to Selina “I thought you told him!” To which Selina fires back, “Me?! It’s your job!”
That’s your cue to leave before you have to witness a very uncomfortable conversation. “Okay, I’m going to go to my room, I’m tired.” To which everyone nods giving you space to leave.
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Phew hours had gone by and you were relaxing in bed on your phone, when you heard a knock on your door.
“Come in!” You call, assuming it was Alfred but instead the one who came waltzing in was Damian. He looked awkward and you definitely felt that as well.
“Hello.” He said as he walked over to you staring at you where you were lying down.
“Uh… Hi Damian… how can I help you?” You ask praying he just going to briefly insult you and walk away like he did in the past. Instead he looks curious.
“I have been educated on where kids come from. It is very disturbing.” You chuckle at his statement and at his face full of regret while putting your phone away.
“It’s not too bad, at least you learned from your parents and not your friends half way into high school.” You say smiling reaching out and patting his small shoulder at your own memory of your shocked friends as they held your hand in the bathroom and slowly explained it to the poor naive you.
“Yes that sounds way worse.” He admits as you laugh at his sentiment, to which he scowls a bit before snapping out of it. “Anyways, like I said, I have been educated and although it’s very disturbing I commend your bravery for creating life.”
Damn it, he made it awkward again. You resend your hand awkwardly and place it back on your chest, Damian continues speaking though. “I also did some research and apparently the fetus can hear around the 5th month, and since you said it’s in the 7 month stage it can hear. Which means it heard me insulting it.”
You nod at his words, encouraging him to get whatever he’s planning on doing over with already. When he sees your nod, he removes his hands from behind his back, he’s holding a book.
“So to replace my negative words I have brought an educational book, normally I know perhaps the other parent my read so the baby gets used to both your voices, however since your a single parent—“
you give him an incredulous look “no… I have a husband.” To which he stares at you like your pants are on fire, that’s how much of a liar he thinks you are.
“Yes… right.. well since this supposed husband isn’t here to read to your child I shall.” He plops himself beside you, not accepting any protests from you about how you really do have a husband, he begins to read, you give in closing your eyes, clearly you’re going to be here awhile. “Law 1. Always make those above you feel comfortably superior…” you scrunch your face at his words as he reads. Half way into chapter one your eyes fly open and realize that he’s actually reading.
“Are you reading 48 laws of power right now?” You say staring at the book he’s holding as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He gives you a look like you just said the sky was blue.
“Yes of course? It needs to come out smart. Now please lie back down.” He says pushing you to lie back down. You give in once again, you’re too tired to protest against Damian anyways…
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At some point both you and Damian passed out, the book could only hold both your interests long enough and the warmth of your room was just perfect for a nap. You stare down at the still sleeping Damian, whose head is currently resting on your belly, contemplatively. In someways you were jealous he fit in perfectly with the Wayne family and was actually treated like their sibling and child. However on the other hand you were honestly glad you were not loved like he was, because if you were you would’ve never met your husband (that you are now starting to miss…) and you also would’ve never been given the opportunity to create your own family, one that will love you truly.
You didn’t like the fact that Damian used to insult you occasionally in the past, but it’s not like you held it against him and you also don’t regret making fun of him back. Although he was a brat at times, he was still a child. A child in a huge messy family that just happened to be your little brother. Perhaps that was the gnawing feeling in your heart. The knowledge such a small kid like him will probably struggle in someways you used to is weighing heavy on you. He was earnest, and clearly tried his best from the fact alone he came to your room to read a book that he knew would help the baby… even if that book was the laws of power and was incredibly boring (in your opinion.)
He was just like you when you were smaller. That thought made you gently reach down and stroke his head. “I hope you’ll only make smart choices, but even if you don’t I’ll still love you, my dear. Just remember, don’t hold onto people who will never hold you gently and lovingly. After all, You are the most precious thing to me and you will be precious to so many others. You are worth your weight in gold.” You whisper to the sleeping boy, the same words your mother said at her passing. You feel yourself getting chocked up, after all this day was full of emotions for you. And you aren’t quite ready to face those emotions so you close your eyes.
After saying all those words and remembering the things you’d almost rather forget you find yourself pulled back into sleep. This time though, Damian had a small smile etched on his face as he slept..
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kitimeq · 5 months ago
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°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・ better than revenge 🤍 rafayel 祁 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
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ೃ࿔pairing: lads rafayel x reader
ೃ࿔summary: rafayel did not come home to me three banners in a row so i gave him a mommy kink and delayed gratification out of pure spite. how about this u shrimp i’m so mad.
ೃ࿔word count: 1.9k
ೃ࿔tags: 18+, smut, pure smut, let him suffer the consequences of his actions, i wrote it in like 20 minutes don’t take this seriously, p in v (because i’m a good person at the end of the day he should be grateful), delayed gratification, mommy kink, i love my men a little bit pathetic, pure filth i’m sorry, argument, but they love each other of course they do!!! begging, it somehow got angsty??? What the HECK is going on in my head i’m not sure anymore. i freaking hope i will get that god of the tides or else…….
NOT checked for errors, i’m sorry!! It is a crime of passion this time.
!!DON’T you DARE read if you’re not 18+!!
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
Rafayel was so regretful and you could see that—in the way his brows furrowed, his arms holding your frame tightly, his eyes never leaving yours, tears already glistening on his eyelashes. You could also hear that— in his whimpers and mewls, soft moans and whines that were leaving his lips uncontrollably at this point. And you could definitely feel that—in the way he was desperately kissing at your cheeks, neck and shoulders, leaving wet skin behind; in the desperate rutting of his hips against your closed thighs.
And this one time you allowed yourself to feel satisfaction because of the state you managed to put him in.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, please.” He whined against your skin, his face nuzzling into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His arms held you tightly, his hips never stopping its erratic movements against your leg, sliding your skirt up in the process, desperate to feel your bare skin against his hard member. “Cutie, please. I already apologized so many times, just—please. Please, cutie? Let me in, yeah?” He looked into your eyes again, his gaze full of pleading and desperation, and you forced yourself to stay indifferent.
“Raf, no.” You answered, even though you wanted him too. But you couldn’t give in yet, not when you wanted to mess with him more for the way he treated you not so long ago. “First you scolded me for not talking to you, even though you knew that I had a rough week at work. And then, when I visited you, you called me, and I quote Rafayel, irritably clingy.” You answered, keeping your face turned away from him.
You still remember how you came into his home today, ecstatic to see him because you missed him the whole time you were away, hugging him and kissing at his mouth and cheeks happily only for him to push you away. The image of him turning his head away from you, his hand slightly pushing you away, a pout on his lips, is still vivid in your mind, making your heart squeeze painfully.
He didn’t care that you were truly busy, your legs aching from a whole week of fighting SSS-class Wanderers, your head begging for some rest. And instead of comforting you, he gave you his attitude, rejected your affection, called you clingy. You knew that most of the time he was not speaking seriously, and that he was prone to exaggeration and dramatics, but this time, you knew that you didn’t deserve such treatment.
You decided to give him a taste of his own medicine: you waited until he calmed down, then proceeded to seduce him, and when he became desperate and ready to get down to business, you were the one who pushed him away this time, refusing to let him in.
And he wasn’t taking it very well, especially after your time apart. Your previous touches ignited a flame within him, filling him with desire so tangible it was practically pouring out of him.
“So, let’s see who the clingy one really is now.” You added, and squeezed your tights even tighter, his hot breath warming your left cheek.
“Nooo, no, no, no. You know that I didn’t mean it, cutie. It was just, just a bad joke. A mistake I really regret. I really do.” His face nuzzled your cheek, hips still moving against your leg. His whimpers never-ending. “I love when you touch me. Kiss me. Hold me. I love it, you know that, you do.”
“Well, sometimes it would be great if you actually showed it to me instead of being mad at me for having a job.”
“I will! I promise, I will. I promise. I’m sorry.” He brought your body closer to himself, his arms going up and down your waist in a comforting gesture. “Let me in, please, you—you riled me up and—and left me, and I can’t, I can’t, I need to be inside you, please.”
“Rafayel…” You breathed out, your hands going to cup his warm cheeks, his pleading eyes meeting yours. You couldn’t give in that easily. “No.”
He choked out a cry.
And you saw how he snapped, his jaw tightened and eyes closed, one tear slipping away. Then another, and another, until he completely broke down, his face now wet, a pout on his lower lip, his hands touching your whole body erratically.
“Please. I’ll be good. I will.” He whimpered, completely out of control. You knew that until you gave him your consent, he would not force you to do anything. And the way he respected your wishes, although his whole body was trembling while he knew, he felt that you wanted him too despite your negations, was starting to made your resolve wither. “I’ll make you feel s’good. S’good like I always do, just—please. Open up for me?”
You shook your head and his lower lip trembled in response, his head going to rest on your shoulder, his hair wet and cold, making you shiver. He was sweating so bad. His hips were still rutting against your leg, but you knew that it wasn’t nearly enough for him; the friction only made him feel more impatient.
He choked out another broken cry, took your hand in his, kissed your knuckles, and continued kissing up your arm. You didn’t know how long you’ll be able to keep denying him, it was the first time you saw him acting so desperate, so pathetic for you and your need to comfort him was starting to become unbearable.
His glossy eyes met yours and you saw how red his lips were from how much he had been biting them. He leaned down and placed a soft, wet kiss on your lips. One. Two. Three kisses. All of them gentle, all of them apologetic.
“Please.” He whispered into your lips. Another kiss came, as soft and warm as the ones before. “—M—Mommy, please. I’m sorry.” The word that slipped from his lips was new, your eyes widening, your core squeezing on nothing but air.
Oh, god.
“Will you forgive me? Mommy, please, w—will you?” You looked at his face between his soft, gentle kisses and you’ve noticed how red he was, the embarrassment spreading up from the tips of his ears, down to his chest. “L-Let me make you feel good. I’ll be a good boy. The best boy.”
Your head was spinning, your cheeks turning red too. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hide how much you liked when he called you that way. God, what was he doing to you?
“Mommy, let me in. I need you. I need you s’bad I—” He opened his eyes and pressed a kiss to your brow and eyes, his hands shakily caressing your hair. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? I just—I just can’t live without you that’s why I—That’s why I said these things. I always worry that you’ll forget about me and that’s why I’m gettin’ so defensive and mean. But I know you won’t, because you love me, and I love you and—i’m sorry.” He looked into your eyes and you had a feeling that if he won’t stop talking he was going to make you cry too.
You hugged him to yourself tightly and he reciprocated the hug immediately, his head resting on your chest. He sniffed and started to calm down, his body no longer shaking.
“I do love you, Rafayel.” You said into his hair, and you made him look up again, your hands going to grab his wet cheeks. His eyes glistened with hope, his lips swollen and wet. He looked so adorable that you couldn’t be mad at him anymore. “Next time you’ll miss me, just text me okay? Tell me how you feel, and no matter how busy I will be, I will find time to at least send you a voice message. And I will try to keep you updated when I’m away on missions.” He nodded happily, and you swiped the tears off of his cheeks. “But please, don’t push me away when I miss you just as badly. I get hurt too.”
“Yes. Yes, I won’t, I promise. I do.” He answered and kissed the palm of your hand, nuzzling into it. “I’m really sorry. I will never do that again. I swear.”
“Okay.” You answered quietly and then loosened up your thighs, making a place for him between your legs. His breath came out shakily, his cock immediately landing on top of your panties. Your skirt had been pushed up long ago, the material now resting on your stomach, giving him an easy access to where he wanted to be buried in from the very beginning.“Now come to me, my little fishie.”
He pressed a wet kiss on your mouth once again, and before you knew it he quickly grabbed your panties to the side and slid right into you, making you gasp both in surprise and out of pleasure.
He slipped the tongue between your lips and kissed you without mercy, his hips snapping quickly and erratically, the rhythm uneven, the force of the thrusts relentless.
Suddenly, he cried into your mouth, his whole body shuddering and then going completely still. You felt the reason why a second later.
The warmth spread inside you, overwhelming your senses.
“F—Fuck, sorry, I—I didn’t mean to…So fast…” He managed to utter, his body still shaking in the aftershocks of his sudden orgasm. Your hands went up to his hair, stroking the strands gently, showing him that you didn’t mind, wanting him to calm down and let himself drown in the pleasure.
“Shh, it’s okay. You did so well.” His face was red, his eyes avoiding yours, and you smiled gently at him. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and swiped your hand on his chest affectionately. “My sweet baby boy.”
“Yeah, yours.” His hips started to move again, making you moan in surprise. You wrapped your legs around him and he put one of his arms under your back, lifting you in order to make his thrusts reach deeper. “Always, yours. Only yours.” The pace was getting quicker, your moans mixing with his grunts, your heartbeats although unsteady, seemed to match each other’s tempo.
“M-mommy can I—Can I come inside again? I—I can’t stop.” He almost whispered into your ear, and you shuddered, the pleasure spreading throughout your whole body in the form of goosebumps. His lips were not leaving your body, pressing kisses on any patch of skin he could reach. “I missed you too much. You’re so warm. So safe.”
Rafayel’s beautiful eyes met yours, the purple somehow standing out in the darkness of the night. He send you a gentle smile, his thrusts slowing down, the movements becoming more precise and controlled.
“I don’t want the night to end, cutie.” He said quietly, as if he was sharing a secret. His hands cupped your cheeks and he studied your face, searching for any sign of pleasure. He wanted to know if he was making you feel as good as he promised he would. “Let me make it all better. I will show you how sorry I truly am, my love.”
The night was just getting started. And after several hours of moving rhythmically against each other, loosing yourselves in your passionate embrace, the sunrise was a witness to Rafayel’s vow; your wet bodies and tangled limbs a good enough proof of his fulfilled promise.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
GOD i’m so embarrassed. I wrote it in like half an hour and it SHOWS forgive me. I’ve never in my life written something so short and filthy. If u liked it screenshot it bc i’m not sure i will let it haunt tumblr for long 💀 UPDATE: OKAY I HEAR U I WON’T DELETE IT I SWEAR!!!! I had no idea it would be SO therapeutic for all of us thats actually so sad dndbsb ENJOY!
Better hope i’ll get that god of the tides or else rafayel will not know peace…. I will continue to bully him with my pen i swear to god.
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saintobio · 1 year ago
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blank canvas. (2)
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after offering a painful ultimatum to finally be enough for him, things ultimately get worse as he decides between keeping you or losing you as the only resolution.
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pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader
genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract
tags/warnings. strong language, defloration (kinda), explicit smut, undertones of manipulation and gaslighting, toxic relationship, undertones of cheating
notes. 11.2k wc! thanks for the love on bc1, i didn't expect it to gain traction at all but tyty. last part will come soon, but that will be the final chapter to this mini-series.
part 1 | part 3
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The ride back home was uncomfortable. 
It wasn’t because you had promised to give yourself to him that night, but rather because his uncharacteristic silence was not what you had expected after delivering your ultimatum. You already proposed a wonderful solution to his needs, so why was he acting like you were the one being ridiculous? This was why you hated it whenever Sukuna chose silence over open communication, as it left you a hard time guessing about what was running through his mind. His expression didn’t offer any clues either, because he did pretty well at concealing his emotions behind a facade of indifference.
When you said you would do it with him, you meant it. But what did he think of it? 
The sharp wind cut through your skin, the roar of his motorbike deafening your ears as your boyfriend accelerated his vehicle upon entering the tunnel. The vibrant yellow lights offered a cinematic view, tempting you to imagine yourself embracing the wind with open arms, though you knew better than to do so. Instead, you held onto him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning forward as he sped through the empty lane.
It was nearing midnight, and the sparse traffic allowed Sukuna to indulge in one of his habits: riding his bike in the late hours of the night through this particular tunnel and onto the highway. You knew this ritual helped him clear his mind since it offered a rush of danger that sharpened his focus on the road. His choice to take this route tonight also only confirmed to you that he was grappling with internal thoughts. The last time he rode this fast was when your parents made you choose between them and him, slapping it in his face that he was and would never be welcomed in your family. 
To be honest, it frightened you. The speed at which he was riding was dangerous for both of you. Moreover, his bike was a YZF-R1, although street-legal, it was still a high-performance sport bike more suited for the track. It required agile and precise handling with its 1000cc engine. Yet, no other vehicle seemed more fitting for Sukuna than this. 
Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t care to let you know. You two didn’t really speak throughout the ride while you clung to him like a backpack, praying in your head that you two wouldn’t get into an accident. Thankfully enough, he did safely take you home as you arrived at your shared apartment at exactly midnight. 
“Please don’t ride like that again,” you muttered as he helped you out of his motorbike. “You could’ve gotten us killed.” 
His fingers then reached to unclasp your helmet, pulling it up to reveal your face. “Well, we’re still alive.” 
You looked at his face despite his best effort to avoid yours, standing centimeters apart while he switched off the engine. He didn’t return your gaze as though he was drowned by guilt. Should you speak at this? Or should you let him do it first? 
“Baby.” After a minute or so, it was your boyfriend who sighed and finally gave in, pulling you close and resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed even when he was cupping your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.” 
Yes, you certainly shouldn’t. You didn’t have to do things unwillingly, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this on-going issue was putting a strain on your relationship and this would be your last shot at trying to salvage it. And you couldn’t have him looking for sensual gratification from anyone else other than you, so what other option did you have, really? 
“I want to do it.” 
“Not if you’re forcing yourself like this.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m forcing myself?”
“Your face tells me you are,” replied he, staring at your face in defeat. “So, let’s not—”
“What, and let this issue haunt us over and over?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head adamantly. “This has to be done. I need to experience it so I’ll finally understand.”
Understand what? His face almost spelled out those words, but he chose not to say anything of the sort and instead leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright. I’ll make it memorable.” 
— —
Easier said than done, of course. You kept overthinking about whether your performance would be satisfactory to him given that you didn’t have enough experience to learn anything at all, aside from the make out sessions that you did once in a blue moon. Around thirty minutes of your time was spent hyperanalyzing your situation in the shower, while the other half of it was spent doing a little more than your nightly routines. Since Sukuna liked powdery scents, you placed a good effort in applying lavender-scented oil and perfume on every inch of your body. You also shaved any unwanted hair, especially on all the intimate places you knew he would be seeing. And by the time you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom blooming like a fresh flower, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel that hugged your womanly figure. 
It didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel good knowing that you were preparing yourself like that, when these things should only happen on the first night after your wedding. It didn’t feel great that you were going to lose your virginity to a man who had not even proposed to you. This wasn’t even your honeymoon, but you had to pretend like it was. 
Did Sukuna feel the same? 
He wasn’t lying in bed when you walked out of the bathroom. Instead, he had just returned from outside—shirtless, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, and holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube in his hand. It was clear he had made a quick visit to the convenience store nearby and got the essentials for your first night.
Immediately, he eyed your towel-wrapped body with restrained lust, clearing his throat as he walked towards the nightstand. “You look nice.” 
Really? Did he really have to make this more awkward than it already was? 
“Thank you,” was all you could softly reply. It was funny how he pretended to be busy placing the box and tube above the bedside table instead of lunging at you like a desperate man. But because you wanted to get this over with, you were the one who approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, and touching the firmness of his abs. For someone who had zero experience, you were definitely trying hard enough and that should please him. “You have to help me out here, my love. Guide me.” 
When Sukuna turned around, your heart started racing. Of excitement? Maybe. Of anxiety? Perhaps. He made it better though when he finally caved in and looked straight into your eyes, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before lifting your chin with his hand. “You smell extra nice, too,” he added, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. 
You were feeling it now. The equal lust. The carnal desire. The feeling of his sweet kisses, which he made true as soon as he crashed his lips onto yours. His kisses usually ranged from tender to rough, but this time, it was an altogether different type of kiss. It was passionate and demonstrative, as if showing you exactly what he had been wanting to do to you the first time you got together. This must be the result of being celibate in over a year. He was clearly a man deprived of sexual pleasure, and you were responsible for it. You actually turned him into a monk. 
Now, he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. With his hand on your nape, he deepened the kiss to the point where you could feel his tongue exploring your mouth. You followed whatever he was doing like a good girl, like a very good girl, as he completely devoured your mouth with his. It didn’t take long for him to advance his kisses in other places too, being your jawline his next target, and then your neck as he feathered kisses around the soft flesh, leaving marks that would need a few days to be concealed. 
Because his arms were tight around your waist, yours were locked around his neck. Where else should you be putting them? What does the girl usually do in this situation? You tried not to think much of it and listened to your own body while your boyfriend was sucking the skin around your collarbone. At first, your hand traced his toned chest, then it moved southwards to feel his abs, and further down to his…
“Y-You’re hard.” Your eyes widened as you felt his growing erection behind the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t your first time seeing his boner, but it was the first time you touched it with your own hand. It was the first time you had your palm stroking his length, swallowing hard as you realized just how hard and thick he was. 
“It wants to be inside you,” he whispered through your mouth, kissing you back again, “so bad, baby.” 
Gosh. Your knees felt weak and you two hadn’t even really started yet. How much more when he starts putting that thing of his inside you? You were breathing hard, trying to catch air as your boyfriend continued to lap his tongue with yours, guiding your hand to continue fondling his wood while it grew bigger the more stimulated it got. By letting you touch his hardened crotch together with his own, you realized that you had just unlocked a newfound fetish of yours. “D-Do you… do you think about doing it with me often?”
He bit your lower lip before pulling away, animalistic eyes sending you into an orbit of pleasure. “Do you mean if I touch myself to the thought of you a lot?” he teased, chuckling darkly at the obvious heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel excited at how vulgar he could be with his words. “I do jack off a lot, angel. And it’s always you in my mind.” 
You didn’t even have the time to melt from his words, because before you knew it, he was already peeling the towel off your body to reveal your completely naked figure. Obviously, your first reaction was to get shy—with your heated cheeks, your inability to look him in the eyes, your little efforts in covering your breasts and crotch, but he made sure to pull your hands away while keeping his eyes on you. “…Don’t stare.” 
Sukuna, however, didn’t listen. His dark eyes scanned every curve of your body, particularly around your chest area before he sighed and threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t believe no other punk has seen you like this.” 
Your confidence grew little by little because of his praises. “But isn’t that a good thing?” 
“For sure.” He almost laughed at his own words, more so in disbelief, before he reached out to touch your bosom. “No one can touch you like this, either, baby.” 
“That’s—”
“Hmm?” Your boyfriend smirked at your reaction. While his other hand went to squeeze your breast, the other traveled to your bum, squeezing the cheek with equal fervor. “Can I have a taste of you, baby?”
He fondled your breasts with both hands now, massaging the rounded mass like they were his property. You had to admit to yourself that the feeling of being touched actually transcended your expectations. Or maybe it was only because of how erotic it was, but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were as his veiny, manly hands cupped your bosom. 
And as soon as you nodded and permitted him to ‘taste’ you, he took no time in gently pushing you down the mattress, allowing you to lay at a comfortable position under him and his wanton stare. Taste you? He was more like eating you, when he pinned you against the mattress and sucked the skin on your chest. At first, his tongue rolled along your cleavage, inching closer and closer to your right breast while he had his hand squeezing the left. Your body naturally gravitated towards him as you arched your back so he could have better access to your chest. Not only your chest, but also your crotch as he started grinding his clothed manhood in between your folds. 
“Mm…”
Sukuna’s mouth was on your breast now, suckling on your flesh and playing his tongue around your nipple. You couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful because his tongue felt ticklish on your skin, but the suction definitely was an entirely different feeling. Both weren’t bad, anyway. They were just new to you. But even if they were foreign, you were curious and all the more interested, studying every little thing he was doing with your body and trying to make mental notes out of it. 
Maybe you should have watched porn. That way, you could have been more aware of the step-by-step process of having sex. Who knew there were steps to follow at all? You didn’t think that foreplay could draw this much delay in your session because all you thought was that he was going to insert his cock straight inside you as soon as he saw you naked. 
With all the touching, fondling, and kissing… what were you supposed to do? He was doing all the work here. 
“Baby,” you spoke softly, staring at the ceiling, “C-Can I… touch you?” 
Instead of pulling away, his mouth latched onto your left boob, giving it the same attention before moving south. “Not yet.” 
When he said that, you didn’t expect his hand to land on your crotch. Your heart was thumping at an irregular rhythm as you felt his fingers moving in circles around your bud, playing with your clit before spreading your folds apart. “Nghh—!” you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, eyes widening at the sound of your voice, but your boyfriend shushed you by placing a peck on your lips before spreading your legs into a V. 
“You’re so wet,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading your labia to reveal your entrance. Something about the situation made you increasingly self-conscious, but his undeniably hungry gaze kept you from covering your most sensitive area. It seemed like he was enjoying the sight of your pussy, especially with how wet and ‘untouched’ it was. “Your pussy’s so pretty, baby,” he mumbled, lowering his face closer to the area, “Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.” 
You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue in between your folds. No, you couldn’t even think straight after he started teasing your vagina, alternating between flicking his tongue around your bud to french kissing your entrance. His tongue was so deep in your cavern that you were raising your hips involuntarily, going insane from the pleasure it sent your body. Your hands even gripped the sheets and your back arched into a C as you held back from moaning like a wild animal. At some point, the slurping sounds and the feeling of his mouth kissing your vagina had your legs shaking. 
Though, you could ask yourself: what turned you on the most? Was it him actually eating your pussy or just the idea of him doing it? 
And just when you thought he was done, he replaced his mouth by inserting a finger inside your cunt, garnering a much louder whimper out of you. “B-Baby!”
“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved his middle finger in and out. “It’s so tight.” 
“It hurts…” You nodded, feeling his finger moving in circles inside your cunt as though he was trying to get a feel of your walls, measuring the tightness and such. 
He kissed you for a good minute. “Relax, angel. Don’t clench too much.” 
Clench? You didn’t even know you were doing such a thing. “How to…?” 
“Just relax.” Sukuna placed a hand on your abdomen, pressing it down while he was inserting yet another finger inside of you. “This’ll help you prepare so it won’t hurt as much later.” 
Now, you were goddamn nervous. What did he mean it wouldn’t hurt as much? Because you were overthinking the pain of having him his actual cock inside of you. If you couldn’t even bear having his two fingers inside you, how much more with his clearly thick shaft? It was ridiculous to feel both anxious and yet aroused at the same time. Anxious, because you knew he could rip you open. Aroused, because his fingers were currently doing a great job at hitting your most sensitive spot. Whatever it was that he was reaching, it was certainly sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body. 
His fingers continued to move. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Around. When he pulled his digits out, he sucked the juices on them, tasting every drip of your essence from his fingers. “Sweet.”
Were you? You started to get curious at how he tasted, too. Sweet? Salty? Bitter? You seemed to be moving on autopilot when you pulled yourself up and sat in bed on your knees. “Your turn?” 
You asked the question as if you knew what you were doing, which was why Sukuna found it adorable and humorous at the same time. He did help you pull down the sweatpants that had been covering his erection for what felt like eternity, only to reveal a monstrous size that sprung out of the garment. 
Holy fuck was all you could say. 
He stood at the edge of the bed, a devilish smirk displayed on his saintly face as he saw the length of his cock compared to your face. You obviously hadn’t seen many cocks in your lifetime to be able to compare his size, but in your eyes, he was definitely big. He was girthy. He was lengthy. He was veiny. Meaty. 
“Wanna suck it for me, baby?” he encouraged, pumping his shaft while looking at you. Fuck. “Open your mouth.” 
You did as told, wrapping a hand at the base of his length while placing his tip on your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat on the surface of his tip, rolling your tongue around the head as if it were a lollipop. Was that what you were supposed to do?
“Eyes on me.” His voice deepened an octave. And it was also raspier. 
Why did he want you to look up at him? It was already embarrassing. 
“I said, eyes on me, angel.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to lock eyes with his darkened ones. Damn. No wonder girls were desperate to see him in his shop every single day. This was probably what they had been daydreaming about. “Suck my cock.” 
In your head, you became a slut. In reality, you were still a shy, inexperienced virgin who didn’t know what to do. You relied on his instructions and looked at his expressions to know if you were doing a good job and to see what he liked and didn’t like. He definitely liked it when you sucked the head, liked it even more when you started to let him go deeper in your mouth, and surely liked it a hell lot better when you gagged after his cock hit the back of your throat. But in spite of the string of saliva that left your mouth after gagging from his cock, his arousal only grew harder, this time holding your hair in his fist as he began thrusting his hip forward. You were bobbing your head at a rhythm that satisfied him, feeling the stretch on your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair. 
“Tighten your mouth around it,” he instructed, fucking your mouth senselessly like hitting your throat was driving him nuts. Your eyes were already filling up with tears because of your urge to gag again, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop now while he was just starting to pleasure himself. 
This was the first time in your life to give someone a blowjob, and you weren’t sure what to make of that experience. It personally didn’t give you pleasure, but you liked hearing his desperate moans. You liked hearing him curse and get vulgar with his words. You liked seeing him get rough. His taste, on the other hand, was somewhat a different experience. Since you were only sucking his flesh, it was a tad bit salty at first contact but didn’t taste anything much after tongue got used to the skin around his shaft. Perhaps his cum would have a stronger flavor, though it looked like he had no plans in releasing his load into your mouth as he pulled his member out. 
“Fuck it,” he grunted, gently pushing you back and spreading your legs wide open again, “I wanna feel your pussy so bad. Can I fuck you raw, babe?” 
All those condoms, and he wanted to have you raw? 
“But… I don’t wanna get pregnant.” 
His face was full of assurance, shaking his head and denying any chance of knocking you up. “You won’t be. I’ll pull out, I just… I have to feel you raw the first time. I have to.” 
“Okay…” 
You were nervous as hell. You had butterflies in your stomach, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t silence. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, the reality of it was too overwhelming. Your mind yet again raced with a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities, and every nerve on your body seemed to be on high alert while you watched him getting occupied with rubbing his entire length with lube, ensuring a smooth entrance inside you. 
He was nervous too, right? You couldn’t be the only one. You couldn’t be. 
You just wanted everything to be perfect. To show him how much you cared. To feel that you were enough. But the thought was paralyzing. Tonight was more than just physical intimacy; it was a step forward in your relationship, a moment of connection you wanted so badly to cherish. This first intimate encounter should be filled with love, respect, and mutual understanding. 
But what if after this, he’d come to realize that you weren’t the one? What if he’d get disappointed and tell you that you weren’t worth it? What if he’d leave you for someone else who could pleasure him better? What if, after you had given yourself to him, no one else would ever appreciate you anymore? 
You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your connection. You wanted to explore this uncharted territory with him, to dive headfirst into the unknown and discover what lay on the other side. But were you really ready for this? Did you truly want this? Would it be everything you had imagined, or would you regret losing your virginity to him?
The fear of inadequacy gnawed at your confidence as Sukuna positioned himself back in between you, his tip rubbing at your slit a couple times before he finally sunk it into your entrance. 
“Haaa—!” 
“Shh. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”
“N-No, I—!”
It felt like your walls were being stretched so painfully, like your flesh was being torn open in the most agonizing way. This was not the kind of pain you pictured out when he put his member inside. Sukuna even tried to grab hold of your hips to keep you steady, but you were withdrawing your hips back, wanting nothing but for him to remove his cock. 
“It hurts… It hurts… please, stop. Please!” 
“Baby, I’m trying to be gentle—”
“I SAID STOP!” 
Both of your eyes widened at the same time, and that was the only time you two were ever in sync. He was clearly shocked by your outburst, while you yourself were surprised at how you raised your voice at him. Neither of you expected that situation. As a result, he did pull away and completely withdrew himself from you. 
Frustration was evident on his visage and he couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Fuck this,” he spat in exasperation, taking a deep breath as he reached to slip his sweatpants back on. “I knew it.” 
“No, I…” You swallowed. “It just… You kinda forced it, I wasn’t ready.” 
“I forced it, really? I forced you?” His laugh was out of complete disbelief. “I never forced you into anything, angel. I’ve asked you since the beginning if this is really what you want.” He took a pause, a very uncomfortable one, before he went on murmuring, “It was just my tip and you’re overreacting like this. I’m not even halfway in.”
His agitation had finally awakened you to your senses, realizing that you did end up doing what you were scared of doing. You ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your bubble of negative thoughts that you had once again failed to fulfill what you were supposed to do. No wonder he was aggravated, now sitting away from you and wearing his clothes as if telling you that he was done. Done being blue balled by his own girlfriend. Done expecting something he was never really bound to have. 
You reached out to touch his arm. “Baby, I’m sorry… I just got scared, but we can still—”
“Still do it?” he continued your sentence by ironically cutting you off, “No, the fuck, I won’t. I’m not in the mood anymore.” 
His reaction brought tears to your eyes, because the way he was acting stung your fragile heart. You didn’t mean to ruin anything. More importantly, you didn’t wish for everything to just turn out like this. “I-I’m sorry. Let me try again, please.” 
The weakness of your voice seemed to have softened him, becoming calmer and more composed after a few minutes of contemplation, but he still held his ground when he massaged his temple and sighed. “Let’s just not push it, Y/N.” He looked at your eyes, with hurt and rejection reflecting on them. “Even if you say you wanna do it, you think I can’t see it in your face that you’re not really into it? You’re never ready for me and maybe it’s my fault, maybe there’s something about me that you’re so scared of. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel secure with me, maybe you wanna save yourself for someone better, someone who can give you a brighter future—”
“That’s not true!” You shook your head desperately, your eyes blurring from the pool of tears while you clung to his arm. Where was all this coming from? It sounded like he had been harboring those feelings for so long. “That’s not true. What are you even saying?” 
“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just…” Trying to give a reason why you won’t give it to me. That must be what he had wanted to say. “Look, I don’t wanna pressure you into this bullshit anymore. I don’t wanna make it look like I’m begging for your affection like this. Intimacy should happen normally for couples, and if we can’t have that, then we can’t. That’s it.” 
Why did he sound like he was giving up? 
You tried to keep your emotions at bay while listening to him battling with his internal thoughts. “I understand I disappointed you tonight, but…”
He was adamant at shaking his head, distancing himself from you by getting up from the bed. “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for. It’s your body and your choice. I’d never force you into anything.” 
Then… then…
“I just think it’s not the perfect time,” he continued, shooting you a glance before looking away. Each step he took added another crack on your fragile heart. “From now on, I’m never gonna initiate anything intimate nor will I expect anything from you, aight? I’m over it.”
Alone in your vulnerability, you could feel the cold air hugging your naked body as you watched him walk towards the door, leaving you in the dark both literally and figuratively. “Where a-are you going? Come on… Please.” 
He no longer cared to turn around. He no longer bothered to comfort you as he walked away, muttering, “Just gonna go for a ride. Don’t wait on me.” 
— —
Nearly three weeks had passed since that night and you would be lying if you said everything was okay. 
No, everything was not okay. You could feel the distance growing each day even when you two still did everything together. Your normal routines didn’t feel normal anymore because he was acting too detached ever since he told you that he wouldn’t initiate anything intimate ever again. And to be honest? It hurt. A whole fucking lot. Hearing your partner say that they would never wish to do anything intimate with you was probably the worst way to experience heartbreak. Because he was truthful with it, and he showed it very openly. 
Now, he’d lock the door whenever he would take showers. He’d spent most of his time outside riding his bike until midnight. He stopped texting you sweet messages while on tattoo shop duty. He seldomly joined you to eat breakfast and dinner together. His back would face you whenever you two slept in bed. His eyes avoided you even when you walked around in underwear. His hand wouldn’t touch you even when you were centimeters close to him. There were no kisses exchanged either, unless obliged to do so when leaving the house. No hugs. No hair-stroking, hand-holding sweetness ever shared. You were simply cohabiting in your shared apartment like strangers who had barely even said I love you’s. 
“Man, that’s rough,” remarked Suguru Getou, your cousin and the barista, as he tidied up the counter behind the elevated bar. Having just served his friend an Americano, he listened intently as you vented about your situation with Sukuna. “I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. It’s not looking good for you.”
You knew that. You just refused to acknowledge it. “I mean, all couples fight.” 
Suguru shook his head, however. “You two aren’t even fighting. Dude just gave up and started detaching himself from you. If that’s not a sign already, then I don’t know what is.” 
“What sign?” you asked, hiding the obvious worry in your voice. You need not be dense about his words, but you wanted to have some kind of hope to grasp on. 
“Sign that he’s falling out of love?” he continued. 
And somehow, his white-haired friend thought it would be okay to chime in. “More like a sign that the tool's not interested anymore and is about to dump her.”
Your face felt hot and in the most terrible way. “Sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You hadn’t expected the guy to suddenly chime in, considering he had been quietly typing on his laptop just moments before. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, so don’t go listening to somebody else’s business when you’re not part of the conversation.”
“Jeez,” said the albino guy, grinning at your cousin as if amused by your barrage of a response. “She’s a yapper, too. I thought she was supposed to be this sweet and innocent type, Suguru?”
“Not always.” Suguru chuckled at his friend before turning to you, apologetic eyes now attempting to soothe your nerves. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Satoru just likes to tease people. Don’t mind him.”  
You kept a straight face. “Well, then maybe tell your friend to keep his nose out of conversations he’s not invited to.” 
“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru gave you a playful salute before extending his hand towards you. “Look, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I actually sympathize with you. If it were me, I’d never do that to you, baby.”
Oh, God. You were so bad at this. Was he flirting with you or was he simply playful like this? 
Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and ignored the hand he offered, essentially brushing off his advances. “I don’t need sympathy. All I’m here for is to talk to my cousin to try and have his advice on the matter,” you emphasized pointedly, making it clear to Satoru that he was the last person you wanted advice from. “I don’t need a stranger listening to my personal life.” 
“Doesn’t hurt to receive advice from another guy,” countered Satoru, shrugging. “Right, Suguru? I mean, we’re both guys. We can give you some insight into how men think.” 
You felt the urge to bury your face in your hands. It was clearly a mistake going there and putting yourself in that situation, and now having two guys aware of your sex life with your boyfriend. That alone was so wrong on many levels. But could it be helped? Suguru was your closest cousin, the only one who didn’t turn his back on you after you left your parents’ home. He was working at a cafe three blocks away from your flower shop and you happened to be delivering a batch of fresh floral decorations for their cafe. You obviously found it a good opportunity to open up to him about your struggling relationship and hoped he could offer some male perspective on Sukuna’s behavior. You just hadn’t anticipated his friend eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time.
Well, that should have been expected anyway, since only the three of you were in that cafe on a lazy Wednesday afternoon. 
“I don’t kiss and tell, by the way.” Satoru was beaming as he gave you that assurance and you couldn’t help but admit that the man had some charm in him. He was attractive, no doubt about it. He was also tall, toned, and seemingly well off based on the way he dressed. He had a casual yet preppy style, something you would normally see from guys who went to private school. 
“Do you work?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t seem like the type.” 
“Oh, now she’s interested.” Satoru seemed to have found your sudden interest in him humorous. “I’m finishing my MBA, miss. Thank you for asking.”
“He’s a privileged rich kid with generational wealth and a family business,” Suguru remarked, playfully gesturing a cutting motion across his neck. “Definitely not your type, huh, Y/N?”
“Why, what’s her type?” The white-haired man looked intrigued, pulling his stool closer. He had that stupid grin on his face as though the topic just sparked his curiosity. “What’s her boyfriend like?”
Suguru, who wanted to play along, jokingly hummed in deep thought. “He’s got tattoos, likes to tattoo other people, is a college dropout, rides a big bike, smokes and drinks, listens to heavy metal, was probably a delinquent and a juvie alumni—”
“Excuse you, he’s never been in a juvenile detention center,” you defended your man, feeling like your cousin’s categorization of Sukuna was becoming a little too derogatory and you had to correct him for that, “and he’s a good man. He’s sweet and caring, he’s passionate, and he loves me sincerely.” 
“Sincerely, not?” Satoru quipped, earning your glare in return. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I'm just joking. If you believe he’s all that, that’s your choice. I don’t judge booktok girls who romanticize typical bad boys.”
You rolled your eyes at his audacity. Each word that left his mouth seemed to stoke the flames of your irritation. “You’re so offensive, I’ll have you know that.” 
The white-haired guy smugly took a sip from his coffee. “At least I don’t make girls feel guilty for not having sex with me.” 
“Oooh.” Suguru was clearly enjoying the show, unaware that you were one step closer from smacking his friend across the face. “Touché. He kinda has a point, Y/N.” 
“Be serious,” you warned. 
To which he agreed to. “Okay, I am being serious now,” he said, abandoning his playful stance to lean in on a more solemn posture against the counter, “If you think Sukuna makes you feel guilty for not doing it with him, then shouldn’t that speak for the kind of relationship you two have? He wants something you can’t give. His reaction tells you everything you need to know about him.” 
You tried to absorb his words with a better understanding and without any bias. “Isn’t his reaction normal? He’s a man, too. I understand his needs and I made him feel somewhat rejected.”
“It’s all about respect, Y/N,” answered Suguru, “If he’s a decent man, he wouldn’t make you feel that way. No mixed signals, no guilt tripping, no nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.” 
“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t feel the same if your girlfriend keeps rejecting sex with you?” 
Suguru smirked. “I never said I’m a decent man, either. All I’m saying is if what you want isn’t exactly aligned to what he wants, then maybe it’s best you break it off with him because this shit won’t get you anywhere, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna dump you before you know it. I mean, it’s one thing to pretend he’s all fine with it, and it’s another to distance himself from you like he’s silently protesting.” 
“Yeah, that’s true,” Satoru joined in once again. “It’s impossible for a guy like that to be in a relationship for so long and not have any pussy. We think of sex 24/7, some of us are just better at restraining ourselves than others. He’s putting up with it now, but it’s only a matter of time he gets sick and tired of waiting. You do realize he can get any girl he wants, anytime he wants, right?” 
Although you were still uncomfortable at Satoru casually chiming in on the conversation, it was true when they said they could give you the exact male perspective you needed to hear. This allowed you to go deeper into Sukuna’s psyche and understand why he was acting that way. You just didn’t know how to save the connection you have with your boyfriend when both your cousin and his friend were describing all the red flags on Sukuna’s behavior. 
“I don’t know,” you spoke in a tone of defeat. “I kinda understand where he’s coming from, so I can’t just leave him for it. I love him.”
Satoru looked at your cousin like you couldn’t be saved. “She’s in too deep.” 
“Yeah, gaslighted as fuck.” Suguru was shaking his head in disappointment. 
The taller man chuckled and brought up a ridiculous offer to lighten the situation up. “Honestly, Y/N. I know we just met and all, but if you ever need someone to teach you how to do good in bed, just hit me up. He’ll never know.” 
“Shut up,” you shot back at Satoru, eyes rolling at his remark. 
“You’re out here feeling bad for that guy when he could be fucking his clients at the tattoo shop.”
You argued. “No, he’s not—”
“Are you sure he isn’t?” 
It wasn’t Suguru nor Satoru who posed that question; it was Yuki Tsukumo, the café’s manager and Suguru's respected senior. She was in a relationship with one of your boyfriend’s stepbrothers, Choso, and was also a fellow biker, which allowed her to cross paths with Sukuna in their community. Despite this connection, she was never particularly close to him. In fact, Yuki didn’t personally get along with Sukuna and she was very vocal about it. She was, however, a regular client of yours and ordered floral arrangements from your shop on a weekly basis.
It had been awhile since you last saw her, and didn’t expect that the first greeting you would give her was a question. “Yuki, what do you mean?” 
Great. Now, three people know about your relationship quagmires. 
She was placing her helmet at the counter and sitting on a stool before answering you, “I really think you should talk to him about it, Y/N.” 
No, no. Why did you suddenly feel a pang of anxiety out of nowhere? Something about the sympathy in Yuki’s eyes felt unsettling, and it sent a wave of fear through you. She definitely knew something. What was Sukuna doing behind your back?
“Can you please just tell me?” 
Her gaze studied your face intently, as if deliberating on the right thing to do. “Well... I spotted him riding with a girl the other night. Initially, I thought it might be you, but last night, I saw them together again. I recognized her... because it was his ex. I think he’s been giving her rides home lately.” 
Amidst the quiet of the room, your heart felt like it was breaking in two. The sudden revelation sent you into an abyss of pain.
“You might wanna visit his tattoo shop later.” Yuki encouraged me with a comforting smile. “It may be best to confront him about it.”
— —
Sukuna wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding you, but he just didn’t feel comfortable acting like everything was fine and dandy. Because if he was damn honest, the sexual frustration was fucking with his head. So much so to the point where he started questioning himself if he should still put up with a relationship like this. 
First of all, there were pros and cons involved. He had to consider that it was a special connection filled with special memories, too. 
If he was talking about the pros, he knew he would have a loving lifetime partner with you. You were beautiful, kind, and pure. You inspired him and motivated him to be better. You were unmaterialistic and happy with the littlest things. You gave his dominant side the urge to be a better man, like he was made to protect and provide for you. You became his muse; a blank canvas that was all for him to paint on. A canvas that no one had ever touched. Or, in your world, a white lily that was associated with chastity and virtue. 
But then, there were also cons, and the foremost of it being you were too conservative for your own good. You grew up in a strict environment with uptight parents who wanted to control your life. He could never voice it out, but he really hated that you were square like your parents sometimes. You were too traditional and afraid to explore new experiences, oftentimes policing him for living his life as free as he wanted it to be. The ��opposites attract’ thing did seem to work in your relationship at first, with your differences being exciting for each other, but as time went by, it became clearer to him that you two were too different to actually be in sync together. 
Hence why your relationship became rigid and suffocating, forcing him to take a breather by distancing himself from you for some time. He did this for your benefit, because he had to clear his head before risking losing you for good. He didn’t want to jeopardize a relationship that he knew meant the world to him. Perhaps this was just a phase, a challenging period following the honeymoon phase, where all your differences seemed to become more pronounced.
But to repeatedly make him look forward to sharing intimacy with you, only for you to back out at the very last minute? Man, was that so frustrating. 
It didn’t help that it was destiny itself that seemed to be stirring the pot. Because while you two were going through a rough time in your relationship, the irony presented itself outside of Sukuna’s tattoo shop late at night just as he was about to close. 
“Ryo?” A tall woman with athletic build, long dark hair, and beautiful doe eyes came into view with a wide smile on her face. 
His ex-girlfriend of three years. 
Sukuna held the door for her albeit the confusion in his eyes. “Yorozu?” 
The only difference he noticed was that she had become a lot sexier, with the curves on her body more womanly than ever. It was obvious that she was active in the gym to achieve such a fit physique. But other than that, her facial features were the same. Her heart eyes still shone bright at the mere sight of him, as if they carried stars and galaxies. 
“I think I came too late,” said Yorozu, smiling in disappointment, “I should probably just return tomorrow.” 
“No, you’re good.” Sukuna insisted on letting her enter his shop, closing the door as soon as she was inside. “What brought you here?” 
She stood confidently in front him, wearing nothing but a blank tank top and some loose white pants. “Funny story ‘cause I actually just moved to this city recently and I just found out you had a shop in this area.” 
Oh? That was interesting, indeed. Sukuna wondered how she even found his shop in that case, while he was leading her to the tattoo chair. “Are you here to get a tattoo or?” 
“Yeah, yeah I am.” She was sprinkling some charm in her grin. He knew her too well. “I think it’s amazing that I’m gonna get it from you again.”
While Yorozu was talking to him, he couldn’t help but ask: was it wrong for him to be in the same vicinity as his ex? Considering how jealous you could get, this was definitely wrong in your eyes. But as he wasn’t doing anything sketchy, he figured there was nothing wrong about what he was doing. Yorozu was technically a client and he couldn’t deny her his services since she was basically a friend of his, too. So, was he breaking any code here? 
“Well, only if you have time now, of course,” she added out of consideration, “It’s kinda late so I can always come back.” 
Sukuna shook his head and headed to get his book of tattoo art samples. “It’s fine. I got clients lined up all day tomorrow, so,” he said, placing the book on her lap, “You wanna check that or do you have a design in mind already?” 
Yorozu’s eyes fell on the tattoos marking Sukuna’s body, her gaze landing on every familiar inch as though she had seen them all the time before. It was true. She had seen more of him, actually. She had done more with his body, too. “I kinda wanna get a sleeve, but I want you to choose the design for me.” 
A tattoo sleeve? Damn. It was something he would never in a million years see from you, but for Yorozu, it was totally normal. She was as obsessed with ink as he was. And although she’s had a couple of tattoos in her body already, which were done by him, it would be her first time to get a full sleeve. 
“I get to choose, really?” Sukuna chuckled lightly. If he were to think of Yorozu’s traits, she was definitely a classic red rose. A seductress, alluring woman was how he saw her and the said flower would be a true-to-life representation of her personality. She was passionate when it came to loving someone, and was completely devoted to him back when they were together. The only reason they broke up was because they were too similar, as if she was his counterpart, and he saw fit to leave a relationship where they both constantly battled for dominance. Yorozu could get too aggressive on loving someone and he didn’t particularly like that. He made her understand why they weren’t working as a couple, and it took her some time, but she eventually accepted his decision. Now, you could say, they were somehow on good terms. “Alright, I’ll do your sleeve, but I’ll keep the design as a surprise.” 
Her eyes sparkled in excitement at the thought. “I’d love that!” 
“Since you want a sleeve, we’re gonna do some stencil application today.” Sukuna didn’t waste any more time in getting ready with his equipment, biting on the glove while wearing the other on his hand. “It’ll take fifteen to twenty hours to complete a sleeve, and each session could last two to six hours depending on your pain tolerance. My schedule’s actually full all day until next week, but you can come around the same time every night so I can finish yours.” 
“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with that,” she enthused. For some reason, Yorozu was happy with the idea. The idea of coming to visit Sukuna every night in his shop. The idea that they get to be alone. The idea that they would be able to reconnect just like old times. Those were the things that Sukuna assumed was going through her head. 
And as he did start with his ‘client’, it was probably best to admit that the sexual tension was high. The room felt stuffy as the both of them remained there until midnight, with her sitting on the tattoo chair, and him doing her tattoo to her left. His eyes were intently focused on the intricate patterns he was doing on her arm, but also couldn’t avoid seeing the contours of her breasts since she was wearing such a thin tank top. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He’d seen every part of her body from her neck down to her toes. He’d put her in every position from missionary to doggy. Goddamn, he could even remember how warm she felt around his cock. Didn’t she like it when he came inside her? Or when he made her swallow every drop of his seed? 
Sukuna cleared his throat, shaking his vulgar thoughts away as he continued with Yorozu’s arm. He may not be cheating, but thinking back on those intimate experiences with someone else other than his girlfriend was definitely not morally right either. But what sexual experience could he reminisce about with you? That ridiculously embarrassing night you two had shouldn’t even be counted since he was trying so hard to forget about it. 
He cleared his throat. Again. For the third time. “What, uh, what’ve you been up to?” 
Yorozu, who had no clue about his thoughts, turned her face to look at him happily. “Not much, actually. The bar I worked at closed down, but I got myself a new job in this club as a full time hostess and part-time promoter. You should come by. Drinks on me.” 
By not exactly accepting or refusing, Sukuna decided to just smile it off. “That’s why you moved to this city?” 
“Yeah, I mean… obviously, the rent here is higher, but it’s closer to my job. I get paid decently, too.” 
“That’s nice.” He was just trying to make small talk at this point. “Do you know your way ‘round here? How are you gonna get home?” 
She considered her options. “Probably a bus or something?” 
Sukuna paused, contemplating the situation. “There's no bus here at midnight,” he remarked, concerned for the girl who would have to navigate her way home alone at such a late hour. She was new to the area and clearly still adjusting to the commuter lifestyle. Unlike her, he had a vehicle that could safely transport her home. There would be no harm in offering, right? “Look, I have a bike and I usually take midnight rides, anyway. I can drop you off on my way home.”
“Really?” Her voice echoed excitement in them. “I’d appreciate it, Ryo. Thanks so much.” 
Life was ironic, truly. He didn’t see this situation coming because he never expected that he would even come across Yorozu ever again. They didn’t have any contact prior, but he still saw her on social media whenever he (on very rare occasions) decided to check his accounts. He never had her blocked, either, which was why you knew about Yorozu after snooping through his phone and reading through some of his old messages with her. Sukuna used to tell you not to worry about her, and that she was just his ex, and that she had nothing on you—which were all true, of course, but it was funny to him now that the woman his girlfriend was most threatened by was back in his life. 
And she was riding at the backseat of his motorbike, her arms latching at nothing else but around his torso. She was seated at the seat reserved for you, wearing the helmet that was bought for you, and holding onto a man that was rightfully yours. It all didn’t feel right. 
But because Yorozu delighted in his habit of speeding on the highway, he had somehow forgotten about the guilt that was forming in his heart. 
**
“You still have your ex’s Instagram?” Your questioning eyes met his defensive ones as he joined you in the living room, finding his space on the couch next to you. “I read your dms. Why haven’t you blocked her?” 
Sukuna’s breath remained steady. “Only toxic people do that shit.” 
“But I’m not comfortable with it!” you nagged, letting him snatch his phone from your grasp. 
“Do you see me talking to her still?” he asked, trying to be as patient as he could be, “Baby, I don’t even talk to her. I don’t think she’s active there, either.” 
You crossed your arms. “Then, block her?” 
“You’re being ridiculous.” 
“I’m being fair. You shouldn’t be keeping tabs with an ex.” 
“What are you—” Sukuna decided to cut his own sentence after realizing that the argument was plain stupid. “You know what, I’ll just delete my insta.” 
**
“How many times do you two do it?” you asked out of nowhere, sitting at the waiting area while he was closing his shop. “Your ex. How often do you have sex with her?” 
What kind of trap were you setting now? If he told you an honest answer, you would get mad. If he lied or even sugar coated it, you would also get mad. 
“Does it matter? Why do you keep asking questions about her and then get upset with me?” Sukuna’s frustration resonated in his sigh as he tidied the space where he tattooed his client a few minutes ago. “She’s an ex for a reason, so get over it.”
He was starting to get annoyed by your never-ending questions about his past experiences, but he knew you were simply coming from a place of no experience. You probably wanted to know what he liked in bed, what pleased him the most, what kept him from wanting more. Was that too much? No. Were you overdoing this entire thing? A little bit. 
“Why are you defensive?” you asked softly, still sitting on the couch as you watched him avoid your eyes. “You make me feel so insecure every time.” 
He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned around. “I don’t know, baby. If you’re feeling insecure, then do something about it.” 
**
“Thanks so much for the ride, Ryo.” 
Yorozu stood by her door, returning the helmet back to him while she kept her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was inviting, tempting him to give in and submit to his carnal desires. Any man would read her intentions the same way; Yorozu stared at him like that because she wanted to invite him to her place. She wanted him to spend the night and do unforgivable things. To remember the passionate exchange they once shared. 
But Sukuna wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t a cheater. “I, uh, gotta get going.” 
“Oh…” Disappointment clouded Yorozu’s face. “Okay, then.” 
“See you tomorrow?” 
“...Alright.” 
“Okay.” 
“Wait!” Yorozu pulled his arm just as he was heading back to his motorbike. The sudden closeness in their proximity made his heart race fast. He knew what was coming. “I missed you, Ryo.” 
He knew what she was about to do next. 
And holy fuck did he guess right, as he was taken aback when Yorozu suddenly leaned in to press her lips onto his. Her soft, cherry lips moved desperately to taste his sweet kisses. 
But he didn’t return it. Instead, he immediately pushed her away. “Yorozu,” he spoke softly, “I have a girlfriend.” 
“You do?” She didn’t need to hide it. He could see the heartbreak on her face. 
“Yeah,” Sukuna confirmed, maintaining a more appropriate distance now. “We’ve been together for some time, and I live with her.”
Yorozu tried to maintain her facade of indifference, making it appear as though she was unfazed by his revelation. “That’s... That’s cool,” she said, “I’m sorry for, uh, the kiss.”
Sukuna nodded, “It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner.”
“You’re alright,” she reassured him, “It's totally my fault. I hope she won’t be upset with you or something.”
Sukuna had no plans to tell you, knowing well the additional turmoil it would bring to your already strained relationship. However, he realized the importance of clarity in his intentions and the need to set boundaries. “We’re just friends. We’ll keep things civil. I’ll finish your tattoo in a couple more sessions, and then we’re done. Sounds fair?”
Yorozu nodded her head with a reluctant smile. “Fair enough.” 
— —
5 more days. Her sleeve required five more sessions, and days went by too fast for him to count. He had busied himself with his clients, while you had busied yourself with yours. He couldn’t even spend time with you because his shop took a chunk of his time from him, and even at home, things had become too awkward ever since your unspoken night. 
So, in some ways, Yorozu became his routine. She visited his shop for the past four nights and he had taken her home afterwards. She was in absolute love with her rose sleeve and they weren’t even complete yet. He still owed her one last session and told himself that it should also be the last time she should be around him. It wasn’t right and he didn’t want to create another source of argument with you. 
And in truth, he certainly felt a little guilty for spending more time with his ex than his own girlfriend. But did he purposely do it? No, it was fate that brought her to his door about a week ago. 
In spite of his stubbornness to admit his wrongdoing, he still ended up stopping by the flower market to get you a nice bouquet of white lilies. He knew you could make a prettier bouquet than that, but he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to surprise you with flowers that didn’t exactly come from you. Besides, he had some making up to do. 
Later that night, when he returned to your shared home, he found you sitting at the couch seemingly waiting for him to come home. The lights were dimmed and the television was turned off. For some reason, you were wearing outside clothes and had a somber expression on your face, too. That alone caused the loud thumping of his heart. 
“Hey,” he greeted, nonetheless, sitting next to you on the couch and kissing your cheek. “Everything okay, baby?” 
Your eyes carried sadness in them as you looked at him and searched for answers you couldn’t find. “Where were you?” 
Sukuna handed the bouquet over. “Got you flowers.” 
You didn’t accept them. Instead, every second seemed to torture you. “Where were you before that?” 
“In the shop…?” He didn’t know where to start, but he was definitely scared. “Why? Sorry I’ve been busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, angel.” 
“You close your shop at nine,” you pointed out, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Why do you always come home at two in the morning?” 
Fuck. Fuck! What should he say? Should he make an excuse for it? Should he say he’d been checking on Yuuji after his shifts? Should he say he’d been riding to other cities to clear his mind? He didn’t fucking know what to say, especially not when you were clearly on the verge of bursting out. 
“Answer me!” you cried, finally releasing the bottle out in the open. The tears that welled in your eyes now streamed ceaselessly down your face. “You’re an asshole. I-I hate you! I fucking… you think I don’t know? You think I’m too stupid to know?!”
Sukuna calmly received the fists you had swung on his chest as he tried to grab ahold of your arms. “Baby, I’ll explain everything.” 
“No, damn y-you!” The tremor in your voice squeezed his heart in the most painful way because he hated seeing you breaking down in front of him and over him. This wasn’t the first time he had made you cry, but this was the first time he had seen you actually sob like this. “I-I gave myself to you! I left my p-parents for you! And this is what you do to me? You’re cheating on me with your ex?!” 
He was desperate to hold you, hug you, cage you in his arms. He wanted to take your pain away. Wipe your tears away. However, you didn’t allow him to touch even a strand on your hair as you kept on pushing him off. Sukuna felt like he was going to lose his mind. “Baby, listen to me please. It’s really not what you think—”
“I don’t care!” you spat, moving away to wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t fucking care! You sleeping with her or not doesn’t change a thing. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be enough for you!” Despite your loud voice, the cracks in her facade only revealed your longing for validation and acceptance, etching into every tear-stained moment you two had shared over the course of your relationship. He watched you, paralyzed by the sight of you breaking down, as you grabbed a luggage you had been hiding behind the couch as if you were ready to leave. “I’ll never be the person you want me to be and staying with you will always remind me of it!” 
“No, no, no… Let’s talk.” Sukuna had to suppress his own tears while he tried to reach out for you. “Baby, please. I don’t feel anything for her, or anyone. It’s just you. You are enough for me, baby. I’m sorry, please.” 
You, on the other hand, were adamant at your decision. “I can’t stand what you’re doing to me anymore. I don’t like how you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me question my own choices!” Tears continued to flow, and your voice wavered, transitioning from anger to a more subdued, pained tone. “I hate… I hate that I love you so much, that I lost all my backbone just to make you happy.” 
“You don’t need to.” He was feeling more and more miserable now, his heart sore from all the emotions he had seen from you. “Y/N, you don’t need to. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”  
“It’s over, Sukuna,” were the last words he could recall hearing before passing out drunk in his bed that afternoon. “We’re done.”
— —
It was your first heartbreak. Your first actual relationship. Your first everything. Surely, people shouldn’t expect you to move on easily, especially not when the subject of your heartache worked across the street from you. 
You were a mess. You had cried enough tears after you moved out of his apartment that night, screamed your heart out as you suffered from the pain of loneliness once more. You couldn’t even bear the thought of returning to your parents and hearing them say they told you so, because loving Sukuna was a choice you thought was good for you. 
In the end, he was just a poison without any antidote. A toxin without remedy. The most effective solution was to sever all ties to prevent further contamination.
But strangely enough, you hadn’t seen him in his shop ever since that night, either. The tattoo parlor remained closed for more than two weeks without any notice. While a small part of you worried for him, a bigger part of you cared for yourself. He no longer held any importance to your life, and you should let it remain that way. 
What you should focus on, instead, was living your life without any trace of him. A life of independence, away from the toxicity of a manipulative man who constantly made you doubt yourself and what you offered. As they say, you have to learn to love yourself first before you can fully learn to love others. 
And in your journey of knowing the truth of that saying, a certain white-haired man entered your floral shop on a somber Friday afternoon just as you were arranging preordered bouquets for multiple customers to pick up. 
“Hey,” you greeted the man, surprised at his sudden appearance at your shop. 
Satoru grinned as he approached you closer. “I’m here to pick up two bouquets.”
“Oh, it was your order?” Your eyes widened. Silly you. Of course, Suguru would order on his friend’s behalf. He wouldn’t even get his girlfriend some flowers, let alone his mother. So this being Satoru’s order made much more sense. “Okay, you got a bouquet of blush peonies and another bouquet of pink tulips, am I correct?”
He smiled handsomely, displaying his set of perfect white teeth while listening to you talk. “Correct.” 
“For your mom?” you asked before you made your way to pick up the bouquets, handing them to him carefully. 
His response came with a soft, affirmative hum. “Mhm. One for her,” he said, taking only the bouquet of tulips, “The other is for you.” 
Oh, no, no, definitely no. You had seen this before and it didn’t go well. 
“That’s lovely, but…” You offered a smile. “I’m not taking those peonies.” 
Satoru acted innocent, his vibrant blue eyes coruscating under the ambient lights. “But it’s mother’s day.” 
You playfully shook your head. “I’m not even a mother.”
“Yes, you are,” he went on teasing, “the mother of my future kids. I like to think in advance, you know.” 
Honestly? This man started off with a bad impression on you, but he wasn’t actually so bad. He was an easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who carried positive energy around him. That, and he was decent, too. He was the type of guy your parents would have surely approved of. He was a degree holder like you, even pursuing graduate studies to run a business that was already generating an income that you could only imagine of getting. He was set for life with no uncertainty with what he wanted for his future. 
“Satoru?”
He met your gaze. “Yeah?”
“About your offer last time,” you recalled, recalling his earlier jest about teaching you some things in bed, “I think I'd like to take you up on that.”
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moonstruckme · 4 months ago
Note
hi!! if you’re up for it could i please request a poly marauders (or really any of the marauders) x passively depressed/apathetic reader. like reader being nervous about a doctors appointment and having health anxiety but then saying “oh i don’t even know why i’m scared because it’s not like i’ll care if i die,” and the boys just being like ??? just a lot of comfort pls!! love your work btw!! (sorry if that’s kinda confusing 😖 english isn’t my first language)
Thanks lovely <3
cw: depression, reader has some passive suicidal ideation but it's from an outside perspective
Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 850 words
Remus rubs your shoulder after you get off the phone call confirming your doctor’s appointment. You sink into his side like dough softening at rest. “Would you like me to go with you?” he offers. 
You hum, quiet and complaisant. “You don’t have to.” 
“I don’t mind. It’s after I get off work anyway, isn’t it?” 
“Yeah.” 
“So what else would I be doing but being with you?” He says it with some levity, hoping to inspire a similar feeling in you, but you don’t crack a smile. 
Instead, you sink deeper into his side, the collar of your jumper rising up to bump your chin in the process. You look like a tortoise retreating into its shell. Remus kisses your hair. 
You’ve been rather in your own head lately. Quiet, passive, not really laughing. It tears at Remus’ heart to see you so upset with yourself, but he’s not very worried. You’ll come out of it. He’ll help you. And he’ll be here with you in the meantime. Even if it doesn’t always seem like you care for him to be. 
“Do you not want me to come?” he asks, trying not to let insecurity leak into his tone. 
“No.” You finally look up at him, your sweet eyes guilty. “No, I’d like you to come. If you want to. I just, I know it’s not fun, so if you’d rather stay home…” 
Remus makes a dismissive sound, relieved. “Don’t be silly, I always have fun with you. Sweetheart, you could make the doctor’s office fun.” 
This time you hear the humor in his tone and smile. It looks like it costs you some effort. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 
He shushes your thanks away, going back to rubbing your shoulder. “Are you nervous?” he asks. 
You sigh as though disappointed with yourself. “Yeah. I don’t know why.” 
“That’s alright, lovely. It’s not how anyone wants to spend their time. And you always worry that something awful’s going to be wrong, but it never is.” 
“I know,” you say dully. “But I don’t get why I’m worried. I don’t even really…” 
You trail off, your mouth wincing like you wish you hadn’t said anything at all. You won’t look at Remus. 
He knows what you wanted to say. 
I don’t even really care. 
You don’t care about much these days. What you eat for dinner, how long your commute from work takes, what film your friends want to see at the cinema. But Remus thought you still cared about some things. The important ones. A heavy, sick feeling takes form in his stomach. 
“Hey,” he says softly. It takes you a few moments to look at him, but you do. You look the tiniest bit afraid. Not in the same way he is; not for yourself, only for what you might’ve revealed. “Can I give you a hug?” 
You frown, nodding like of course. Remus uses the arm already around your shoulders to bring you into his lap, your knees folded on either side of his hips. When he rubs your back, you curl forward to put your face in his neck like you’ve been waiting years to do it. 
Your warm breaths tickle against his skin. He loves you so much he thinks he could collapse under the weight of it. 
“Thank you for making the appointment,” he says, making broad, sweeping circles on your back. “It matters to me that you’re healthy, and that you’re taking care of yourself. It’s important.” 
You deflate a bit against his front. He can nearly picture you shutting your eyes, brows pinched. “Remus…” 
“I love you,” he presses his lips to the side of your head, “so much. We’re going to be old and feeding birds in the park one day, you know? I need you to be able to come sit on our bench with me.” 
There’s a prolonged silence, wherein Remus begins to worry he’s frightened you into reticence, but then, “We already feed birds in the park.” 
He smiles. “We do. But it’ll be much more becoming when we’re all feeble and grey, won’t it?” 
“You’re feeble now.” 
“Oi,” he laughs. Utterly delighted with you. “When did you get so sharp?” 
“Sorry.” Your cold nose bumps his throat. 
“That’s alright.” Remus kisses your head again, not wanting you to begin feeling guilty. “I know you don’t mean it. My sweetheart.” 
You go quiet again after that. Remus tries again. 
“So, it’s a date then? Me, you, park on the corner in fifty years?” 
“I’ll have to check my calendar,” you mumble lazily. 
“Mm, do that. See if you can pencil me in.” He rubs your back. 
“Who knows if there’ll even still be birds then.” 
Remus hums. “God, yeah. I hope there are. We’ll still be there, at least, won’t we?” 
It’s transparent, this plea for reassurance. He cringes with the audaciousness of it, worries you’ll decide now to stop sharing anything with him at all, but after a beat of quiet you sit up. 
“Yeah,” you murmur, laying a simple kiss on his lips. “Course we will.”
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all-my-love-for-harry · 2 months ago
Text
Strictly Professional
pairing; ceo!jake seresin x fem assistant!reader
summary; Jake Seresin was power wrapped in expensive suits and sharper edges, and you were the calm in his perfectly calculated storm. But one unexpected week away was all it took to turn the game into something dangerously real.
word count; 13.5k
warnings; power imbalance, an asshole to everyone but you trope, smut, overstimulation, one bed trope, oral (fem, sooo much pussy eating), dom!jake, lowkey bossy!reader, age gap, i have no idea about business talk so inaccurate references (i wacthed a video and prayed for the best), i think that's it
a/n; this was so fun to write. i'm actually loving writing smut HAHAAH i have soooo many smut fics planned it's crazy, can't wait for you to read them!!! also the smut in this is SO good, let me know what you think!
masterlist
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The elevator doors slid open with a polished chime, and the day officially began with the low hum of fear and productivity that seemed to follow Jake Seresin wherever he went.
Outside, Manhattan was barely awake — sunlight bouncing off steel and glass, yellow cabs honking like it was a contact sport, steam rising from subway grates like the city itself was sighing. But up here, on the 49th floor of the Seresin International Building, the air was already thick with nerves.
You stepped into the marble-floored hallway with two coffees in hand and your phone pressed to your ear, rattling off a list of calendar edits to Jake’s London liaison without missing a beat.
“No, push the Barclays call to Wednesday. He’ll never make the 10:00 if that acquisition meeting runs long. And tell them not to call his personal line again — he blocked the last intern who did.”
Your voice was calm. Unbothered. Efficient. Unlike the junior staff who all glanced up with wide eyes the second they saw you approaching — not because they were scared of you, but because they knew he was close behind.
Jake Seresin: thirty-something billionaire, CEO of one of the most influential private investment firms in the country, and, as Forbes once lovingly put it, “a nightmare in Tom Ford.”
He was brutal in boardrooms. Sharp-tongued, sharp-jawed, a little too good-looking for everyone's comfort. Most people around here called him Mr. Seresin. You just called him Jake — mostly with a sigh, sometimes with a threat, and often through gritted teeth.
You passed by your own desk — a minimalist sanctuary of Post-its, color-coded files, and exactly three pens you would murder someone over if they were taken. You didn’t stop. You never did. Your stilettos echoed on the floor as you beelined straight for his office.
You didn’t knock.
“Someone’s already behind,” you said brightly, breezing in and placing the coffees on the polished walnut desk like it was your damn job — which it was, but only barely. “This was supposed to be our twenty minutes of silence. Instead, you scheduled yourself a breakfast call with someone who thinks you’re charming. You see the problem here, don’t you?”
Jake looked up from the sleek screen of his tablet, eyes narrowing like you were the most exhausting thing in the world.
He was wearing a black button-down — sleeves rolled to the elbows, top button undone — and a watch that probably cost more than your apartment.
“How generous of you to bring me coffee and insults before 8 a.m.,” he said, voice low, smooth, and laced with sarcasm.
You dropped into the chair across from him. “This one’s decaf. I figured you’d appreciate a gentle decline into madness today.”
Jake didn’t look amused. Which, to be fair, he rarely did — unless he was toying with someone. Like now, with that infuriating tilt of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair.
“You really should be nicer to your boss,” he said, sipping the coffee anyway.
“I would, if my boss wasn’t a corporate gremlin in Prada.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “I wear Tom Ford.”
You sipped your own drink, unimpressed. “Exactly.”
Their routine was practically scripted now — one whole of constant sparring, matching each other beat for beat. Everyone in the building knew better than to interrupt when the two of you got going. There had been rumors for a while. Whispers by the elevators. Speculation about whether it was all professional or if there was something more, something physical, simmering under the surface.
You’d deny it, of course. He was your boss. He was impossible. He was infuriating.
...And okay, yes, sometimes he made you want to throw your phone out the window just to get his attention. But still.
“You have ten minutes before your call,” you said, rising again. “Try not to insult anyone’s intelligence until after your second coffee.”
“I make no promises,” Jake said, watching you go like it was his favorite part of the day.
There was a reason no one lasted long as his assistant. Jake Seresin was demanding, short-tempered, impossible to impress. You, however, had never blinked.
You were always five steps ahead. The first one in, the last one out. The type of person who carried three chargers, memorized schedules like a Rolodex, and had the uncanny ability to keep your cool while your billionaire boss told the Wall Street Journal to go to hell — mid-interview.
And unlike everyone else, you didn’t fear Jake.
You handled him.
Which made him insufferably interested.
You hadn’t seen that look in his eyes lately — not since the night of the company gala, six months ago, when you’d worn that black velvet dress and he’d stared at you for so long, you’d excused yourself just to stop the tension from combusting.
Nothing had happened. You didn’t let it. But sometimes — when you passed each other in the hallway, when you handed him his notes in the middle of a meeting — you’d feel it again.
That spark. That ridiculous, inconvenient something.
But this was New York. This was work. You didn’t have time for a crush on your boss, especially not one who wore power like a cologne and treated meetings like cage matches.
So instead, you kept things exactly where they were.
Snarky. Functional. Professional.
By 6:42 p.m., the office had emptied. Jake was still in his office, sleeves still rolled, jaw tight from a day full of idiots.
You dropped a folder on his desk without looking up.
“Your itinerary for the quarter’s investor presentations,” you said. “You’ll find the files for each city tabbed and color-coded. Also, your mother called again.”
Jake groaned. “What did she want this time?”
“Apparently, to know if you’re ‘still incapable of forming an emotional connection.’ Her words, not mine.”
He shot you a look. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Oh, immensely.”
There was a beat of silence as he looked down at the folder, thumb resting on the corner of the cover. “Did you include the San Diego conference dates?”
You blinked. “Conference?”
“Next month. I’ll be presenting on private equity trends. They just confirmed I’m the keynote speaker.”
You rolled your eyes. “Because of course you are.”
Jake didn’t argue. Just smirked.
“We’ll need to book travel,” he added. “Hotels. Make sure they don’t stick me in one of those soulless penthouse suites again.”
You jotted it down. “Anything else, Your Highness?”
His smile widened. “Yeah. Don’t forget to book your ticket, too. You’re coming.”
You froze. “What?”
“You’re my assistant,” he said simply. “I need you there.”
You stared at him. “Fine. But I’m picking the hotel. If I’m stuck on a conference trip with you, I at least want decent lighting and room service that doesn’t come with attitude.”
Jake raised his brows, amused. “Sounds like someone’s already looking forward to it.”
You turned to leave. “Sounds like someone’s getting replaced by a tablet app next fiscal quarter.”
-
If there were sirens for a CEO meltdown, they’d be blaring by 9:13 a.m.
Jake Seresin strode into the office like he’d personally been wronged by God, Wall Street, and the concept of Mondays. He was a vision in black-on-black, suit jacket flaring behind him like a villain in a corporate thriller, hair perfectly in place despite the wind, jaw set like he was going into battle.
Everyone else? They ducked.
Phones were slammed onto receivers. Lattes were hidden like contraband. One poor intern accidentally closed her browser and had to restart her entire system.
You didn’t flinch. You barely looked up from your screen when he stormed past your desk with a barked, “Meeting in fifteen—move it.”
You calmly took a sip of your espresso. “Someone didn’t get their avocado toast this morning.”
Jake didn’t respond. He never did when he was in this kind of mood. That was fine. You’d learned to give him space — and then handle him like a bomb technician once the smoke cleared.
The shouting started ten minutes later. You didn’t get involved.
It was Madison this time — sweet, slightly shaky, probably one of the better interns. You heard her voice crack through the frosted glass wall, her attempt to explain a scheduling mishap met with Jake’s low, clipped tone slicing through her like ice. You didn’t go in. You didn’t even glance up.
Because that wasn’t your job — not right now.
You’d learned long ago that Jake didn’t respect people who tried to save him from himself in public. But when the doors closed and the boardroom was empty — that’s when he listened.
His office door clicked shut. You gave it exactly one minute before walking in.
Jake was seated at his desk, elbows on the edge, hands steepled in front of his mouth. His eyes were locked on the city outside, but you knew he wasn’t seeing any of it.
You walked in without knocking and set the correct file on his desk — Petter-sen, not Peterson — and then sat down across from him without a word.
He finally looked over. “She gave me the wrong file.”
“I noticed,” you said flatly.
Jake scowled, but you didn’t blink.
“You know,” you said calmly, “if you yell at every new hire, HR is going to make you do another empathy seminar.”
“They always get it wrong.”
“And maybe that’s a training issue, not a screaming issue.”
He looked at you like you’d just suggested building a treehouse in Times Square.
“Madison will recover,” you added, flipping open your tablet. “But maybe next time just raise an eyebrow. You have a very intimidating face. Use it.”
Jake leaned back in his chair, watching you. The heat in his expression was still there, but it simmered into something cooler — thoughtful, almost amused.
“You never take my side,” he muttered.
“I’m on your side,” you corrected. “Which is why I don’t let you self-destruct.”
Jake didn’t apologize. He never did. But he muttered something about getting Madison reassigned — not fired — and sent her a gift card for that overpriced pastry place on 3rd without saying who it was from.
You saw the email. You said nothing.
That was the arrangement.
He yelled. You didn’t flinch.
He stormed. You let the storm pass — then walked in with calm hands and sharp eyes and fixed it all.
You didn’t make a scene. You didn’t call him out in front of his team. You were his person, and you’d learned to wield that power precisely: never too loud, never too soft, always effective.
The rest of the day went smoother.
Jake signed documents. You handed him coffee and didn’t bring up the intern again. He glanced up only once — when you told him his 4:30 was pushed to 5:00 — and gave you the barest nod, but you caught it.
Thank you, it said.
You nodded back, and went on with your day.
The office was quiet in that eerie, after-hours way — lights dimmed to save energy, the city glowing like an electric dream outside the glass walls. Most of the building had emptied hours ago. The only sounds now were the hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic clack of your keyboard.
Jake sat at his desk across the room, sleeves rolled up, tie long gone, and jaw clenched in concentration as he flipped through reports that had been marked URGENT for no good reason. His blazer was draped over the back of his chair, and he looked — unfairly — like the villain in a very expensive noir film. Rumpled. Rich. Slightly dangerous.
You, on the other hand, were perched on the low credenza by the window, balancing your dinner in one hand, your tablet in the other. A white takeout box sat on the floor beside you — a perfectly timed delivery from the hole-in-the-wall Thai place that knew your order by heart.
Jake glanced up without looking at you directly. “If this curry melts a hole in my stomach, I’m suing.”
You didn't even look up. “It’s medium heat. You’ll live.”
He poked at his noodles suspiciously, fork halfway to his mouth. “You said that last time.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You’re underpaid.”
That made you smirk. You took a sip of your drink, not bothering to argue. “Eat. You’re less of a tyrant when you’re fed.”
Jake’s lips twitched as he stabbed at his food again. “Do your boyfriends know you talk to your boss like this?”
You blinked.
It wasn’t a loaded question — not the way he said it — but it still managed to feel personal. Jake Seresin never asked about your life outside of work. Ever. You were his assistant. A well-oiled machine. You scheduled meetings, filtered emails, anticipated moods, and made sure he didn’t combust in a boardroom.
Small talk? Not your thing. Not his either.
Still, you didn’t let your surprise show.
You let out a laugh instead. “That’s assuming I have time for a boyfriend.”
Jake’s eyes flicked up at that.
You raised a brow. “Do you see how much of my time you take up?”
“Are you suggesting I’m needy?”
“I’m suggesting you’re high-maintenance.”
He snorted into his drink and leaned back in his chair. “So no boyfriend?”
You shook your head, returning your attention to your tablet. “No time, no patience, no desire to babysit someone who doesn’t know how to send a calendar invite. Next question?”
Jake just hummed like he was satisfied with the answer and went back to his food. You didn’t press it. You didn’t ask why he’d suddenly grown curious about your love life. And he didn’t offer anything back.
As always, you both stayed in your lanes.
By the time you were packing up, the city had fully slipped into night. The windows reflected the office like a ghostly double — you brushing crumbs from your skirt, Jake slipping his laptop into his leather case, rolling his shoulders with a quiet sigh.
You reached for your coat. “I’ll call a car.”
“No need,” Jake said, already grabbing his own.
You blinked. “What?”
“I’ll drive you.”
There was no question in his tone. Just a statement. Like the meeting’s moved to Thursday or I signed off on that memo. Neutral. Decisive.
You stared at him. “Since when do you drive me home?”
He held your gaze like it wasn’t even a little strange. “Since now.”
You gave him a look. “Is this because I insulted your spice tolerance?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t even like Midtown traffic.”
“I like not letting my assistant get murdered by a freelance Uber driver more.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. You weren’t in the mood to hail a car anyway.
So you followed him down to the parking garage — your heels clicking against the concrete, the tension just a little different than before.
Not romantic. Not dramatic.
But new.
A shift.
And neither of you said a word about it.
The elevator pinged in the garage, echoing through the cold concrete structure like a cue from a spy movie. You followed Jake past the sea of sleek black SUVs and mid-tier sedans… until he stopped in front of an Aston Martin.
You blinked. “Are you serious?”
He didn’t look at you. Just hit the unlock button. The car chirped back, smug as hell.
“This is the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever seen,” you said, arms crossed. “You drive an Aston Martin to the office like you’re late for a martini and an assassination.”
Jake finally turned, smirk firmly in place. “Would it help if I told you I have a license to kill?”
You scoffed. “Only thing you’re qualified to murder is a quarterly report.”
He said nothing else. Just stepped around and opened your door for you like it was the most normal thing in the world. You stared at him for a beat before sinking into the butter-soft leather, equal parts impressed and annoyed.
The car purred to life like a predator. Quiet. Sleek. Very on-brand for the man who hated being questioned and made grown men sweat in boardrooms.
You gave him directions quietly, your voice the only thing cutting through the low hum of city traffic. He nodded once at each turn, no GPS needed — just a surgeon’s precision behind the wheel, the same control he exercised in every room he walked into.
Jake Seresin was not a man who did small talk. Not at work. Not in his car. And certainly not after 10 PM.
So you didn’t bother. You let the silence stretch out between you like a silk ribbon. Strange, how comfortable it felt. How normal.
No posturing. No awkward filler. Just the city glowing around you, painting soft reflections onto his sharp profile.
He looked good behind the wheel. Of course he did. Hands loose on the leather, watch catching the occasional flicker of streetlight. Calm. Focused. Ridiculously attractive, in that completely infuriating way of his.
You crossed your legs and looked out the window.
Eventually, you pulled up in front of your building.
You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Bond.”
Jake leaned back slightly, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. “You’re welcome, Miss Moneypenny.”
That earned him a smirk from you. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”
You stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement again as you made your way toward the lobby doors. For a moment, you didn’t look back. You assumed he’d already peeled off into the night like the man on a movie poster he so clearly thought he was.
But something made you glance over your shoulder.
He was still there.
Engine running. Lights low. Waiting.
He didn’t drive off until you pushed the door open and disappeared inside.
You stood behind the glass a second longer than necessary.
And then, with a blink, he was gone.
-
The Aston glided through the city like a knife through silk, each green light bending to his will. The tires barely whispered over the pavement. Inside, the cabin was still, insulated — like him.
He tapped the pad by the garage and drove into the private elevator, where the lift recognized the car and started rising. No buttons. No human contact. Just convenience.
It should have felt like power.
Instead, it felt like procedure.
The elevator doors opened directly into his penthouse. All glass and steel, floor-to-ceiling views of the New York skyline twinkling like a billion-dollar constellation. Marble floors that echoed with every step. Furniture handpicked by a designer he couldn’t remember the name of. The whole place looked like a GQ cover — immaculate, minimalist, and cold.
Too big for one man.
He tossed the keys onto the tray near the entryway, walked past the abstract art on the wall that cost more than some people’s cars, and went straight to the bar. Crystal decanter, aged scotch. He didn’t bother with ice.
The amber liquid caught the light like gold as he poured. He swirled it once, then took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat.
The silence was deafening.
He stared out the window at the city that never shut up. Sirens, traffic, laughter rising from the streets below — all of it just barely muffled by the triple-pane glass.
He could have stayed at the office. But he'd offered to drive you home. Didn’t even think twice. Just said it like a fact and expected you to get in the car.
And you had.
Jake leaned back against the bar, drink in hand, replaying the last few minutes in his head.
That damn smirk of yours when you called his car “obnoxious.”
The way you slouched in the passenger seat like you didn’t care he was your boss.
The quiet, easy rhythm of your voice as you gave directions.
The laugh when he mentioned a boyfriend.
I don’t have time for boyfriends.
Neither did he. That wasn’t news.
He took another sip and ran a hand through his hair.
You were sharp. Always on. You called him out when no one else dared, but never in public. You were smart enough to survive him and confident enough to annoy him, which somehow earned his respect and drove him insane in equal measure.
Most assistants were scared of him by week two. You weren't.
You were still here.
And now, against all logic, he was thinking about the way you looked in the reflection of the passenger-side window. Your silhouette illuminated by the soft dashboard lights. The way you disappeared into your building with that little half-wave.
Jake exhaled a quiet laugh under his breath.
“You’re losing it, Seresin,” he muttered, setting the glass down with a soft clink.
You were just his assistant.
Brilliant. Efficient. Unbothered by his moods.
And yet —
There you were, in the middle of his penthouse silence, sharper than the scotch on his tongue.
The offices were a study in quiet fear.
On the fortieth floor of a sleek Midtown skyscraper, the air was crisp with money and nerves. Polished concrete floors. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Art that cost as much as the employees' annual salaries. A minimalist color palette that made everyone feel like they had to speak in hushed tones or risk being escorted out.
Jake Seresin’s name wasn’t just on the letterhead — it bled into every corner of the building like gospel. The staff practically snapped to attention when the private elevator chimed. Conversations died. Keyboards stilled. Backs straightened.
You didn’t bother looking up from your computer.
He walked past reception in that deliberate, unhurried way that somehow made everyone more tense — Armani suit sharp enough to cut glass, jaw set, eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses despite the indoor setting. He barely acknowledged the hushed greetings from various VPs, just a flick of his hand here, a grunt there.
But when he passed your desk?
He paused.
You kept typing, only glancing up when you felt him stop beside you.
“You forwarded the call with Simpson to 11:00?”
You nodded, tapping a final key before turning in your chair to face him. “And moved your investment committee to 2:30. I already prepped the file for you.”
Jake pulled his sunglasses off. His eyes — always sharp, always scanning — softened slightly.
“You leave anything for me to do?”
A dry smile tugged at the edge of your mouth. “Just show up and look like you don’t want to kill someone.”
He exhaled a quiet huff — a laugh by his standards — and kept walking.
From across the room, eyes followed the interaction like hawks.
Behind you, one of the junior analysts whispered to another, “Did… he just smile? At someone?”
You pretended not to hear.
Later, in the boardroom, the air was tense enough to shatter. A mid-level manager was stumbling through a quarterly report, stuttering over projections and missing key numbers. Jake leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Everyone could feel it coming — that low, blistering scorn he delivered like a scalpel.
Until—
You cleared your throat. “I think what he meant to say is the forecast accounts for the foreign currency losses, which is why it’s skewed in Q3.”
Jake’s eyes cut to you. You met his gaze, cool as ever, as if daring him to contradict you.
Silence. Then—
“Fine,” Jake muttered. “Keep going.”
The manager looked like he’d just avoided the electric chair. The rest of the room stared at you like you’d just tamed a lion.
Jake, of course, didn’t say thank you — he never did. But the fact that he hadn’t shredded the poor guy into a cautionary tale was proof enough: your voice was the only one he listened to without question.
Later that day, a new hire accidentally spilled a triple-shot espresso over the edge of her desk and into the hallway — mere moments before Jake’s routine midday sweep of the floor.
Chaos erupted.
A blur of paper towels, mumbled apologies, and sheer panic rippled through the space. The poor girl was scrambling on her knees, trying to mop up the mess when Jake turned the corner.
He stopped.
The girl froze like a deer in headlights.
Jake’s brows lifted just slightly. “Are we redecorating?”
She squeaked.
You appeared behind him, holding a dry cleaning bag over one arm.
“She spilled coffee,” you said calmly, like you were talking about the weather. “But don’t worry. It’s not on the rug. And that stain over there was already there — you just never noticed.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but not at you. At the fear in the intern’s face.
Jake turned to the girl. “Clean it up. And get another one.”
Then he walked away.
You followed after him, casually tossing over your shoulder, “Maybe decaf this time.”
He shook his head, biting back a grin he didn’t want anyone else to see.
In private, in the safety of his glass-walled corner office, Jake watched you through the tinted glass. The way you moved through the chaos like it didn’t touch you. The way people instinctively leaned closer when you spoke. The way you never once bowed your head when he barked orders — and how he never barked at you.
He hated inefficiency. Hated incompetence. Hated noise.
But you?
You were calm. You were sharp. And he trusted you in a way that unnerved him more than he cared to admit.
Jake’s jet was waiting for them at Teterboro, gleaming beneath the late morning sun like it had rolled off the pages of Forbes. A sleek Gulfstream G800 — the kind of aircraft that screamed I could buy your entire existence and not blink.
You adjusted your sunglasses and tilted your head as you took in the sheer absurdity of it.
“Let me guess,” you said, rolling your suitcase behind you. “You named her ‘Ego.’”
Jake barely glanced at you as he handed his bag off to the pilot. “No. That’s the yacht.”
You snorted. “Of course it is.”
He gave you a smirk as he walked up the stairs, impossibly confident in his custom-tailored navy suit. You followed — slowly. More slowly than usual.
Jake noticed.
At the top, he turned to glance back, one brow raised. “Need a hand, sweetheart? Didn’t know heels and staircases were such mortal enemies.”
“It’s not the heels,” you muttered, taking another cautious step up. “It’s the whole... flying death machine thing.”
Jake’s mouth twitched. “You’re afraid of flying?”
You scowled. “I prefer being on the ground where the oxygen lives.”
That earned a low, amused laugh. “You work for a man who travels every other week and you’re scared of planes?”
“I suffer in silence. Like every underpaid woman in a capitalist society.”
He ushered you inside with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “You’re not underpaid.”
You paused just long enough to smirk back. “I am a woman in a capitalist society, though.”
Inside, the jet was a study in excess: leather seats like thrones, dark walnut trim, gold fixtures. A glass decanter of scotch sat ready beside a small fridge stocked with Evian and green juices — your green juices, you noted with a raised brow. Jake really did take notes when he wanted to.
You plopped into a seat across from him and immediately buckled in.
Tightly.
Jake settled across from you, stretching his legs out like he owned the sky. Which, technically, he did.
“Should I be worried?” he asked, his tone dry as he loosened his tie. “You’re looking at the safety card like it’s a will.”
You were, in fact, gripping the laminated sheet like a lifeline.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” you said again, but it came out through clenched teeth.
Jake watched you for a beat longer, then leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “You trust me?”
That caught you off guard. Your hands faltered for a second on the armrest. You narrowed your eyes.
“You fly with me,” he added. “You work beside me. You’ve seen me fire five people in a single afternoon. You know what I’m capable of. Do you trust me?”
You stared at him, throat suddenly dry.
“…I do.”
Jake smiled, and it was softer than you were expecting.
“Then relax.”
The engines roared to life.
You flinched.
Jake tried not to laugh — and failed, just a little. “You know we haven’t even left the runway, right?”
You flipped him off.
He laughed again — full and rich this time — then unbuckled long enough to reach into a side drawer and toss you a small pillow.
“For your comfort, princess.”
You looked at the pillow. Then at him.
“I swear to God, Seresin—”
But then the wheels lifted.
And you gripped the armrest like it owed you money.
Jake’s smirk lingered as he watched you close your eyes, tense from head to toe. And yet, when you peeked one eye open, his gaze was already on you.
Not taunting this time.
Just watching.
Like he was trying to figure you out.
At cruising altitude, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly — mostly thanks to the glass of champagne Jake poured for you himself, with an arched brow and the sort of slow smirk that made you feel like the main character in a rom-com you hadn’t auditioned for.
“You know,” you muttered, sipping carefully, “this doesn’t feel like the same man who once threatened to fire an entire marketing team because someone used Comic Sans in a pitch deck.”
Jake, reclined in his leather seat with a glass of neat scotch balanced in one hand, didn’t even flinch. “That font is a war crime and you know it.”
You smirked into your drink, legs crossed, your laptop bag at your side like a shield. You were trying — very hard — to maintain normalcy. Which was hard considering your boss had not only poured you champagne, but now looked… interested in talking.
“So,” he said after a moment, eyes still on you, “do you have siblings?”
You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Siblings. Brothers. Sisters. Weird cousins. You strike me as the oldest child.”
“I am the oldest child,” you said slowly. “How did you—?”
“Control freak energy. You read entire emails, and you reply in full sentences. That’s classic firstborn behavior.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, what BuzzFeed quiz did you pull that from?”
Jake just smiled and sipped his scotch.
Your jaw clenched, brain short-circuiting slightly. “Why are you asking about my family?”
He shrugged. “Just trying to distract you.”
“I have champagne. I’m not distracted. I’m alarmed.”
Jake tilted his head, amused. “Do you ever turn it off?”
“Turn what off?”
“The smart-ass act.”
You gave him a faux-sweet smile. “Do you ever stop acting like Patrick Bateman with a Rolex?”
That made him laugh — really laugh — and you had to admit it was… nice. It lit up his face in a way that made you feel like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to. Something human.
“I’m serious,” you said after a beat, still watching him warily. “What’s gotten into you? You’re being almost…”
“Charming?” he offered.
“I was going to say ‘suspiciously non-sociopathic,’ but sure, let’s go with that.”
Jake leaned his head back against the seat, one arm slung lazily across the armrest. “Maybe I just like messing with you.”
“That I believe.”
He tilted his head slightly to watch you. “You know, I never figured you for someone who was scared of anything.”
You swallowed, gaze drifting to the window for a moment, then back to him. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”
“And yours is… heights?”
“Crashing.” You corrected. “Falling. Not being in control. Take your pick.”
Jake was quiet for a second, eyes scanning your face. You wondered — uncomfortably — what he was thinking. And then—
A slight shudder through the cabin.
You stiffened instantly, grip tightening on the champagne glass.
Jake didn’t miss it.
“It’s normal,” he said calmly. “Just turbulence.”
“Yeah,” you said through gritted teeth. “Normal. Totally fine. Great.”
The jet bounced again, more aggressively this time.
You sucked in a sharp breath and set the champagne down on the tray table. Your hand was shaking, and you hated that he could see it.
Jake shifted.
Without asking, he unbuckled and moved to the seat next to you, settling beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Your eyes widened. “What are you—?”
“Helping,” he said simply.
You stared at him as he reached across the seat and took your hand — not forcefully, not dramatically, just… gently. His palm was warm, steady.
You blinked down at your joined hands, then up at his face.
Jake Seresin, who once fired an intern over an incorrect lunch order, was now holding your hand mid-flight like this was something he did.
“What the hell is happening?” you whispered.
“Shhh,” he said, eyes on yours. “Just pretend I’m your emotional support billionaire.”
That startled a laugh out of you, even as the plane gave another gentle sway.
Jake kept his eyes on your face. “Better?”
You exhaled slowly. “A little.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
You looked at him again, hard. “You don’t… seem like the kind of man who does hand-holding.”
Jake smirked faintly. “I’m full of surprises.”
And for once, he didn’t follow it up with a jab or a condescending remark. He just let the silence settle — and somehow, it wasn’t uncomfortable.
The turbulence passed. The cabin smoothed out. The fasten seatbelt sign dimmed.
But Jake didn’t move his hand.
And you… didn’t pull away.
Eventually, you relaxed back into your seat, fingers still laced with his. The leather was soft against your back. The champagne glass stayed untouched. And Jake — infuriating, complicated, impossible Jake — sat beside you quietly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
It should’ve been weird.
But it wasn’t.
Not even a little.
The plane touched down with a gentle thud on the tarmac of San Diego’s private airport, and the moment the wheels kissed the runway, you could finally breathe.
Jake had let go of your hand somewhere over New Mexico — slow, almost reluctant — and gone quiet after that, returning to the cold, closed-off version of himself you were more familiar with. You didn’t mention it, but you felt it like a cold draft beneath a door. The shift. The boundary snapping back into place.
The ride from the airport to the hotel was sleek and silent, chauffeured in a black SUV with tinted windows and complimentary bottled water that probably cost more than your rent. Jake answered emails on his phone. You reviewed the presentation schedule on your iPad. The world settled back into its roles: you, the assistant; him, the untouchable boss.
But something still lingered — like phantom warmth on your palm where his hand had been.
You pushed the thought away as the SUV pulled up to the grand circular driveway of the hotel. It was the kind of place that looked like old money and smelled like eucalyptus and exclusivity. Bellboys in tailored uniforms moved quickly to grab luggage, the doorman nodded with practiced elegance, and the marble lobby gleamed under high chandeliers.
Jake strolled in behind you, casually tucking his sunglasses into his jacket pocket, leaving a trail of silent awe as hotel staff and guests alike registered the CEO of Seresin International in their lobby.
You, already in full assistant mode, approached the front desk with your confirmation emails at the ready.
“Hi,” you said to the impeccably dressed receptionist. “Reservation under Seresin International. It should be for two rooms — a suite and a standard.”
The woman at the desk smiled warmly and began typing. Her perfectly-manicured nails clacked softly on the keys.
“Welcome. Yes, I see it right here—one-bedroom suite, single king bed.”
You blinked.
“No—sorry. It should be two rooms. One suite, one standard.”
She frowned slightly and turned the screen to check again. “No, I have only one reservation. One room.”
Your spine stiffened. “That’s not possible. I booked two rooms. I have the confirmation right here—”
“I understand,” she said patiently. “But I only have one reservation under your company name. It’s the executive suite with a single king bed.”
You stared at her, mouth open slightly. “So not even two beds? Just one? That’s ridiculous. We don’t even need a suite—”
“Ma’am,” she said with a placid smile, “the reservation is nonrefundable.”
You were already pulling up the email confirmation, about to weaponize your most condescending lawyer-voice even though you were not a lawyer. “This is ridiculous. Someone in your booking department obviously screwed this up—”
“Problem?” came a drawling voice from just behind your shoulder.
You didn’t even turn. “Yes. Your hotel is apparently incapable of properly reading a reservation form.”
Jake stepped up beside you, arching a brow at the receptionist who, now clearly recognizing him, looked like she was about to offer him her social security number if he asked nicely.
Jake looked back at you, entirely unbothered. “So they only have one room?”
“One bed, Jake.”
He nodded slowly, then looked at the receptionist with that infuriating, charming smile of his. “Honest mistake. Just give us the key.”
You turned to him so fast your earrings nearly hit your face. “What?”
He didn’t even flinch. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. We’re not—this isn’t—we’re not sharing a bed.”
Jake turned to you, calm and borderline amused. “It’s a king. I don’t snore. We’ll survive.”
“You don’t snore,” you repeated, scandalized. “You’re Mr. ‘I Demand Excellence’ and now you’re just—just letting this slide?”
“Would you rather argue about it for the next thirty minutes while they try to ‘look into it’ and tell us they’re fully booked anyway?” he asked dryly, signing the check-in paperwork. “Or would you rather go upstairs, shower off the recycled air, and have room service deliver a $50 salad?”
You opened your mouth to protest, to fight, to shout about principles and boundaries—
—and then the receptionist handed Jake the keycard, smiling like she’d just handed over her firstborn.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Seresin.”
Jake turned to you and extended the key.
“Shall we?”
You stared at him. “Who are you?”
Jake only smirked. “Just trying not to scare the staff.”
“Since when?”
He didn’t answer. Just gestured toward the elevators with a gentlemanly flourish.
You narrowed your eyes, snatched the key from his hand, and stalked toward the elevator with your carry-on rolling behind you. Jake followed, quiet but smug.
And as the elevator doors closed behind you, sealing you both in a mirrored box with plush carpeting and soft jazz, you found yourself wondering—not for the first time—if maybe Jake Seresin was full of surprises after all.
The elevator dinged softly as it reached the 21st floor, the penthouse level.
Jake stepped out first, rolling his sleek black luggage like he was gliding down a runway, while you followed with a mixture of dread, exhaustion, and righteous fury still bubbling under your skin.
When you reached the door at the very end of the hall — naturally, the nicest and most dramatic door on the floor, with an ornate brass handle and a discreet “Presidential Suite” plaque beside it — Jake gestured gallantly for you to do the honors.
You ignored him and slid the keycard through the reader. The light flashed green with a soft click, and you pushed the door open.
The suite was… gorgeous.
High ceilings, sweeping city views, walls of floor-to-ceiling windows. A modern, chic living room with a gas fireplace, a dining nook with a marble table, and a full bar that looked like it belonged in a Bond villain’s lair. To your left was the sprawling bedroom, where a single, painfully luxurious king-size bed sat dead center, flanked by two nightstands and a soft Persian rug.
You stared at the bed.
It stared back.
Jake rolled his luggage inside like he had not just volunteered the two of you for a week-long game of platonic cohabitation Olympics. He dropped the handle and stretched lazily, spine cracking in at least three places.
You slowly turned toward the couch — low-backed, designer, obviously worth more than your yearly rent — and tilted your head, considering the probability of it being even remotely comfortable for sleeping. Not great.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jake said behind you.
You turned. “Think about what?”
“The couch.”
You crossed your arms. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”
“You absolutely were.” He dropped onto the bed, bouncing a little with the sheer cloud-like give of the mattress. “If you’re waiting for me to offer to sleep on the floor, I’m not doing it.”
You blinked. “You’re not serious.”
Jake toed off his shoes, then reclined like he owned the damn suite. (He probably did own the suite. Or the chain. Or the continent, who knew.)
“Your back will seize by midnight on that couch. I’ll be asleep, and then you’ll writhe around dramatically and blame me for it.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I would not blame you for my bad back.”
“You would. And you’d whine about it for at least 72 hours.”
“I don’t whine.”
Jake gave you a look. “Sweetheart, you once complained about the espresso machine at the office like it had personally offended your ancestors.”
“That’s because it sucks, and if we’re being honest, it’s not espresso—it’s burnt sadness in liquid form.”
Jake smirked. “Exactly.”
You glared. “This is deflection.”
He shrugged, rolling onto his side. “Just share the bed. I won’t bite.”
He paused, then added with a devil-may-care grin: “Unless you want me to.”
You blinked. Once. Twice.
Your brain blue-screened for half a second before it caught up with your mouth. “Excuse me?”
Jake didn’t move. Didn’t even look at you. Just reached for the remote on the nightstand and turned the TV on like he hadn’t just casually lobbed a sexual innuendo into the air between you like a grenade.
You stared at him in disbelief. “Did you just—was that—was that a joke?”
“I don’t know,” he replied lazily, flipping through channels. “You tell me.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your thoughts were screaming but none of them were coherent.
He was still not looking at you. Still pretending like this was the most casual, innocent exchange in the world, like he hadn’t just cracked the entire foundation of your professional tension with a single perfectly delivered line.
You turned toward the bathroom before your face could betray the tiny flicker of heat crawling up your neck.
“I’m taking the first shower,” you snapped, marching toward the door.
“Take your time,” Jake called after you, voice smooth. “I’ll just be here. Not biting.”
You slammed the bathroom door behind you with more force than necessary.
And inside the oversized, spa-like space, you stared at your reflection in the mirror — at your wide eyes, your flushed cheeks, the flustered energy vibrating in your chest — and muttered, “What the hell just happened?”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind Jake, and the sound of running water started a moment later.
You were already in bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows like a fort, your iPad balanced on your lap. Work was open, glowing quietly in the dark, a spreadsheet in desperate need of organization. But you were very aware that no amount of pivot tables would distract you from the fact that Jake Seresin was about to exit that bathroom… in what? A robe? A towel? Nothing?
You swallowed and focused hard on the screen.
He was taking forever. On purpose, you were sure.
And then, finally, the water stopped.
You refused to look when you heard the door open. Refused.
You could hear him padding softly across the room — barefoot — and that was fine. That was normal. You didn’t even blink when he dropped something onto the dresser with a casual thud. But then he walked into your peripheral vision, and all your self-restraint disintegrated like sugar in hot tea.
He was shirtless.
Of course he was.
Just a pair of black boxer briefs riding low on his hips, skin still damp from the shower, hair a little tousled and curling faintly at the ends. He smelled like his cologne — expensive and devastating — and something clean and citrusy from the hotel shampoo.
You looked once. Just once.
And regretted it immediately.
Because damn.
He was obnoxiously fit. Broad chest, defined abs, and a deep V that disappeared under the waistband of his underwear like an arrow pointing straight to hell. You could see the towel slung casually over one shoulder, the way he ran one hand through his wet hair, like he was starring in a shampoo commercial and knew it.
You focused on your screen. “You couldn’t wear a shirt?”
“I could,” Jake said, walking past the foot of the bed to plug in his phone, “but I just took a shower.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He smirked, not looking at you. “Are you scandalized, sweetheart?”
“Mortified.”
“Don’t worry,” he said lightly, finally climbing into the other side of the bed. “I won’t bite.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”
“I’m very consistent.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t look up. Not even when the mattress dipped as he settled beside you.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who should use a three-piece suit as armor for his personality. Out of the office, without the power tie and the thousand-dollar watch, he just looked like a man — a smug, annoyingly gorgeous man — with muscles for days and way too much confidence.
Jake leaned back against the headboard, stretching one arm behind it and casually brushing his fingers through his damp hair again. The whole room suddenly felt warmer.
He glanced over at your iPad. “You’re still working?”
“Yes,” you said, not looking at him. “Because one of us has to make sure the merger doesn’t implode.”
“You’re off the clock.”
“I’m never off the clock.”
Jake tilted his head slightly, watching the way your fingers flew across the screen. “You know, most people in bed this late are watching trash TV or texting their exes.”
“I don’t have an ex. Or time for trash TV.”
He hummed. “Tragic.”
You didn’t reply. Just kept typing, ignoring the fact that his thigh was maybe one inch away from yours under the comforter. Ignoring the slow, almost casual way he let out a low exhale, like he was perfectly at peace while you were dying inside.
The tension was thick. Almost painful.
Your iPad screen dimmed.
Jake was still watching you. Or maybe not watching, but aware. You could feel his presence like static electricity. Like if either of you moved too suddenly, something might snap.
You exhaled slowly and turned off the iPad, setting it on the nightstand.
Then, as if on cue, Jake shifted slightly, laying fully onto his side now, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting across his waist. You could feel his eyes on you again.
“What?” you asked quietly, staring up at the ceiling.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m admiring.”
You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes narrowed. “That’s worse.”
Jake just smiled, low and lazy. “You look good when you’re annoyed. It’s cute.”
“Go to sleep, Seresin.”
“You first, boss.”
You rolled to your side, back facing him, cheeks burning, heart thudding like it was trying to escape.
And behind you, Jake shifted too — just enough that his knee brushed the back of yours.
He didn’t move it.
Neither did you.
The silence stretched. Comfortable and tense all at once.
And somewhere deep in your chest, where irritation usually lived when it came to Jake, something softer settled in its place — like a seed waiting to take root.
This trip was going to ruin you.
The next two days passed in a blur of hotel carpets, endless coffee, and conference rooms so aggressively beige they made your soul shrivel. Jake glided through it all like the cocky CEO he was — perfectly tailored suits, cool confidence, answering every question like he owned the building. Which, to be fair, wasn’t a stretch. He had sponsored half the event.
You were at his side every moment. Clipboard, tablet, schedule, presentations. Managing him like always — flawlessly — and for the most part, nothing changed.
Except it did.
It started small.
The first morning, he handed you your coffee with a smirk. “One sugar, no cream, just like your soul.”
You blinked at him, brows raising. “You remembered my order?”
“Of course.” He sipped his own. “I like my assistants caffeine-dependent and emotionally unavailable.”
You stared.
He walked away like nothing happened.
The second shift came that afternoon, during a panel. You leaned in to whisper something — a reminder about time — and Jake turned his head slightly toward you, close enough that your words brushed the shell of his ear. His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable.
And then he said, completely straight-faced, “If you whisper in my ear like that again, I can’t be held responsible for my behavior.”
You recoiled, flustered. “What the hell, Seresin?”
“I’m just giving you a heads-up,” he said, shrugging and refocusing on the speaker like he hadn’t just short-circuited your entire nervous system.
That night in the hotel room, he stripped off his shirt like usual, casually tossing it onto a chair. You didn’t flinch anymore. You’d trained your eyes to stay up.
Mostly.
He climbed into bed beside you, gave you one of those lazy, lopsided grins, and said, “Just so you know, you talk in your sleep.”
You froze mid-scroll on your tablet. “…I do not.”
“Last night you mumbled something about… spreadsheets and betrayal. It was dramatic. Very you.”
You shoved the comforter higher and glared at him. “If you ever repeat that, I swear I’ll poison your green juice.”
Jake just chuckled and turned onto his side, back facing you, his shoulders shaking slightly from silent laughter.
You did not stare at his back muscles.
Much.
The second day, it only got worse.
He held open every door, casually pressing his hand to your lower back each time.
He handed you pens like he was placing rings on your fingers.
At one point, when you were mid-conversation with a client, he stepped behind you and adjusted your blazer collar, fingers ghosting over your neck like it was nothing.
But it was not nothing and you nearly dropped your tablet.
Even now, walking beside him through the hotel’s long marble corridor after the evening keynote, you were still off-balance. Still trying to figure out what the hell was happening.
“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” Jake commented, his hands in his pockets, voice smooth.
You shot him a sidelong look. “Are you flirting with me?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Would it work if I were?”
You stopped walking. “I’m your assistant.”
Jake paused too, turning toward you, the dim hallway lights casting a soft glow over his face. “So?”
You blinked. “So, what’s gotten into you?”
He smiled slightly. Not smug — not this time. Just… amused. “Nothing. I just like messing with you.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Right. Of course. God forbid you go five minutes without being insufferable.”
Jake leaned in, close enough that your breath caught. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, boss.”
And with that, he turned and kept walking, leaving you frozen in place, rethinking your entire existence.
That night in the suite, you didn’t speak much. Jake showered first. Came out shirtless, as usual. Didn’t even acknowledge it. He scrolled on his phone, tossed you a bottle of water without looking.
But the tension was there.
Unspoken. Crackling. Pressed into every inch of the shared air between you.
You crawled under the covers, flicked the lamp off, and stared at the ceiling.
Jake lay next to you, one arm behind his head, gaze fixed on nothing.
After a moment, he said quietly, “We’re a good team, you know.”
You turned your head slightly, catching the outline of his profile in the dark.
“…Yeah,” you whispered. “We are.”
He glanced over at you, eyes searching yours in the low light. “Try not to dream about me too loudly tonight, boss.”
You groaned into your pillow. “You’re insufferable.”
And yet, your lips curled into a traitorous smile anyway.
The third day dawned with pale gold light bleeding through the suite’s sheer curtains. You were already awake when Jake emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, steam following him like a cloud. His usual smirk was missing — replaced with a yawn and a scratch to his abs that you definitely didn’t notice.
Much.
You’d both fallen into the rhythm of the conference. Meetings, panels, coffee breaks, networking events. Coordinated in your chaos, like always.
Except now, something was different. Jake had been quieter that morning. Not cold, just… watchful. You caught him glancing at you more than once as you got ready — his gaze trailing from your heels to the neat twist in your hair. But every time you looked up, he was already pretending to check his watch or adjust his cufflinks.
By noon, the two of you were at a rooftop luncheon hosted by some fintech giant. The catered food was suspiciously pretty, the kind of salad that made you crave a burger just by looking at it. You and Jake had split up momentarily — he was across the space, talking to some board member in a navy suit, expression sharp and unreadable. You stood by a tall cocktail table, sipping something vaguely citrusy and waiting for him to finish.
And then he appeared.
You hadn’t even noticed the older man until he was suddenly beside you, all fake charm and far too much cologne.
“Well, hello,” he said, giving your figure a slow, pointed once-over before offering his hand. “Didn’t realize this event came with such… lovely scenery.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I’m Marcus Klein. Real estate investments. And you are?”
“…Just here for work.”
He grinned, undeterred. “Bet you make a hell of an assistant, huh? Do you come with the suit, or is that just part of the fantasy?”
Your spine went stiff. You took a step back, glancing subtly around for Jake.
“Let me buy you a drink,” the man continued, eyes still traveling places they had no right to be. “Maybe slip away from all this corporate crap, get a little more… comfortable.”
You opened your mouth — ready to tell him off — but before a single syllable could escape, a hand landed firmly on your waist.
“Is there a problem here?”
Jake.
The tone of his voice was low. Dangerous. Like the hum of a storm before it cracked open the sky.
Marcus turned, clearly unimpressed. “We’re just talking, buddy—”
“No,” Jake said, deadly calm, “you were talking. She wasn’t interested.”
Marcus chuckled nervously. “Didn’t realize she was spoken for.”
Jake stepped forward, blocking your body with his, hand still planted at your hip. “She’s not a piece of property. She doesn’t need to be spoken for. But you do need to fuck off before I forget where I am and put your ass through that railing.”
A stunned silence fell over your little corner of the rooftop. A few heads turned. Marcus went a shade paler.
“Alright,” the man muttered, backing up with hands raised. “Message received.”
He disappeared into the crowd.
You exhaled, only then realizing how tightly you’d been gripping your glass.
Jake turned to face you, jaw still clenched.
“You okay?” he asked, voice tight.
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Thanks. He was just—”
“I saw.”
You glanced up at him. His expression was still stormy, eyes narrowed, chest rising and falling faster than normal.
You touched his wrist gently. “Jake.”
That broke the tension — a little. He looked down at your hand, then back at your face.
“He shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” he muttered. “I should’ve been—”
“It’s not your fault.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you like the wind had been knocked out of him. Then his hand — the one at your waist — shifted, almost without him realizing it. His thumb brushed a light circle against your dress.
“We’re getting out of here,” he said quietly. “Come on.”
You didn’t argue. You just followed him, pulse still racing for reasons that had nothing to do with Marcus Klein.
You didn’t say much on the ride back to the hotel.
Jake was still worked up — you could feel it radiating off him like heat from asphalt. His jaw was tight. One hand on the steering wheel, the other flexing restlessly in his lap. You tried to thank him again for stepping in, but he only gave a clipped, “Forget it,” and turned up the AC.
So you rode in silence.
When you reached the hotel, he didn’t wait for the valet. Just tossed the keys and stormed inside, not looking back to check if you were following. You were.
The elevator ride up was thick with unspoken words. You stood at opposite ends of the cabin, your reflection fractured in the mirrored walls. Jake was breathing hard, like he’d just come off a sprint.
By the time you entered the suite, he still hadn’t cooled down.
Jake yanked off his suit jacket and threw it over a chair. His fingers tugged loose the first two buttons of his shirt, then he stalked to the minibar and poured himself a drink — straight scotch, of course. No ice. No words.
You stood by the window, arms crossed over your chest, watching him.
“What is wrong with you?” you finally asked, sharp but confused.
Jake didn’t answer. Just took a long swallow of scotch, then tossed the glass down a little too hard.
“Jake.”
He looked at you — really looked at you. Like he was seeing you for the first time. Like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say.
And still… he said it anyway.
“You’re mine.”
The words punched the air between you.
You blinked. “What?”
Jake didn’t flinch. Just took a step closer, eyes locked on yours.
“That guy—” He exhaled sharply, like just remembering it pissed him off all over again. “He looked at you like you were something to take. Like you were just decoration. And it made me want to rip his fucking head off.”
Your throat went dry.
“Jake…”
“I know you’re my assistant. I know I’m your boss. I know I’m the last person who should be saying this, but fuck it.” He ran a hand through his hair, the raw edge in his voice shaking something loose in your chest. “You’re mine. I feel it every time you roll your eyes at me. Every time you hand me a coffee and mutter some smart-ass comment under your breath. Every time I walk into a room and the only thing I’m looking for is you.”
You stood frozen.
“I don’t want anyone else touching you,” he said, softer now. “Talking to you like that. Hell, even looking at you like they’ve got a chance. Because they don’t. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Your mouth parted, but no words came out.
Jake took a step forward.
“I know it’s not part of the job description,” he said, voice lower now. “I know it’s complicated. But I had to say it.”
Another beat passed. Then two.
And finally, you spoke — voice barely above a whisper.
“You’re serious.”
Jake gave a bitter little smile. “Dead serious.”
You swallowed hard. The tension between you had always been there — unspoken, electric — but this… this was a spark to a powder keg.
Slowly, you stepped toward him. Each step measured, hesitant, until you were standing just a breath away.
“Say it again,” you said quietly. “Say it like you mean it.”
Jake stared at you — then reached out and touched your wrist, fingers light and tentative, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.
“You’re mine,” he said, low and certain. “And I’m yours.”
His mouth was on yours before you could even fully process what he’d just said. One hand curled possessively around the back of your neck, the other flattening against your lower back, dragging you flush against him with no space left to think, to breathe, to do anything but feel.
Jake kissed like he did everything — with confidence, with precision, like he already knew exactly what you liked. He tilted your head, deepened it, exhaled into your mouth like he was finally getting a taste of something he’d been craving for too long.
You could barely keep up. His touch was firm, practiced, but there was an edge to him now. A hunger beneath all that control.
You stumbled back toward the bed, bumping into the edge as Jake’s hands slid down your hips. He paused just long enough to press his forehead to yours, his breath uneven.
“You sure?” he asked, voice low and rasped. “Because once I start—”
You didn’t let him finish. You surged forward and kissed him again, tugging him down with you as your knees hit the mattress. “Shut up, Seresin.”
A deep, throaty laugh vibrated against your lips. “Yes, boss.”
Clothes came off in rushed, frantic layers. Your blouse unbuttoned halfway before Jake got impatient and yanked it over your head. His shirt was already long gone, leaving his golden skin and sculpted chest on full display. You barely had a second to ogle him — all abs and muscle and smugness — before he lowered his head and dragged his mouth along your jaw.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, lips brushing down the column of your throat.
You arched toward him, heat curling in your belly. “Maybe I do.”
His hand slid up your thigh, coaxing it higher as he knelt between your knees, his body caging yours without fully pressing down yet.
“Always so mouthy,” Jake murmured, fingertips ghosting over the waistband of your underwear. “Bet you talk back in bed, too.”
“I give orders,” you shot back, breath catching.
Jake’s eyes flared, his smile devilish. “Then tell me what you want.”
That made you pause — blinking up at him. He wasn’t teasing. Not really. His voice was low, quiet. Like he meant it.
You swallowed. “Take your time.”
Jake raised a brow. “Not what I expected.”
You smirked. “I’ve waited this long. I want to feel everything.”
His pupils dilated. “Say less.”
And then he lowered himself, dragging his mouth over your stomach, down your thighs, spreading you open with careful, reverent hands. His fingers splayed against your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch. And when his mouth met you — slow, deliberate, hungry — your hands flew to his hair, anchoring yourself to the only thing in the room not spinning.
Jake was good. Too good. Focused. Intent. Like the only thing he cared about in the entire world was the sound of your breathing catching and the way your thighs trembled. He didn’t rush. Not once. Just built you up and held you there, murmuring soft praise against your skin, coaxing every sound out of you until your voice was wrecked and your back arched clean off the bed.
You were still trying to remember how to breathe when he kissed his way back up your body — lips slick, eyes dark.
“That’s once,” he whispered, nipping your bottom lip.
You blinked up at him, dazed. “You’re counting?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’re not done yet.”
You gasped as his fingers slid between your legs again, teasing.
“Jake—”
“Say my name like that again,” he groaned. “Swear to God.”
You gripped his shoulders, dizzy. “I thought you were in control here.”
He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “I am. And you’re gonna let me take care of you — over and over again.”
His words — low, possessive, tender — sent another jolt through you.
And he did. He made good on every promise, every smirk, every arrogant line he’d ever thrown your way. Until you were tangled in the sheets, pulse stuttering, nails dug into his back, your voice raw from saying his name too many times to count.
At some point, you ended up curled into his side, heart still racing. Jake reached for the comforter, pulling it over the both of you before pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Bossy little thing,” he murmured fondly.
You breathed out a laugh, cheek pressed to his chest. “Don’t get used to this.”
He grinned, trailing his fingers down your arm. “Too late.”
They didn’t go back to the conference.
In fact, they barely left the suite.
The only time the bed was made was when they peeled the sheets off just to toss them to the floor again. The minibar had been emptied, room service was left untouched, and the Do Not Disturb sign stayed firmly on the door — like a warning, like a promise.
Jake had a one-track mind and a laser focus, and unfortunately for your legs, it was entirely directed at you.
He’d wake you with slow kisses down your spine, hands gliding under the sheets, brushing between your thighs like he was just checking if you were still as soft and warm and wet as he remembered. (You were.)
And then he’d disappear under the blankets with a sinful little chuckle, like a man on a mission.
“Jake,” you groaned more than once, half-pleading, half-scolding.
“Mhm?” he’d reply lazily, nuzzling closer to your hipbone. “Still not done tasting you.”
Because that was the thing: Jake Seresin loved eating you out like it was the last meal he’d ever have. Like your body was a map he needed to memorize, one moan at a time. He’d pin your thighs open with those strong, broad hands of his, settling between them like he belonged there. And at this point, maybe he did.
He never rushed. Not once.
There was something about the way he watched you — sometimes with eyes half-lidded, sometimes sharp and focused like he was cataloguing every reaction. He’d lock eyes with you when you tried to squirm away, when your hands fisted in the sheets or in his hair, when you whimpered his name and gasped out how good it felt. And then he’d smirk, just a little, and go right back to driving you out of your mind.
“You always this bossy in bed?” he asked, voice low, teasing, right before dragging his tongue over you again.
“Only when you’re being too slow,” you shot back, breathless, trying to glare but failing miserably.
Jake laughed — a warm, gravelly sound against your skin — and doubled down, making it his mission to wring every reaction out of you.
There was one afternoon, the fifth day maybe, where he laid you back on the bed and kissed down your body with something close to reverence. He paused at your navel, then further, parting your thighs like he owned them.
You were already panting, fingers twitching against the comforter.
“I ever tell you how pretty you sound when you fall apart for me?” he asked softly, lips brushing over the inside of your thigh.
You tried to sass him, to throw out something snarky, but then he did something with his tongue and your brain just… fizzled.
And when he didn’t stop — when he kept going long after you thought he would, long after your voice had gone hoarse from calling his name — you felt tears prick the corners of your eyes.
It wasn’t just the overstimulation. It was the way he held you, touched you, the quiet hum of satisfaction in his throat every time your hips stuttered or your body trembled under him. Like he didn’t just want you unraveled — he wanted you adored.
At some point — some long, dizzy stretch of afternoon light — you finally begged him to come up and kiss you, tugging on his shoulders, your limbs boneless and trembling.
He did. Mouth slick, eyes gleaming, grinning like a man who’d just conquered a city.
You pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “You’re gonna kill me.”
Jake just smirked. “Not yet, sugar. I’ve got plans for after dinner.”
You rolled your eyes and tried to shove him off you.
He didn’t budge. He just wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you on top of him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he needed to feel your heartbeat against his to remind himself you were real.
And as the sun dipped outside, painting the curtains gold, you realized something that scared you more than all his teasing ever could:
You were starting to hope he didn’t stop.
The final night settled like a soft sigh over the city, the glow of the skyline bleeding in through the sheer hotel curtains, casting the room in dusky gold. It should’ve felt like the end of something — the last page of a chapter — but in that quiet space between dinner and packing, it just felt still.
Jake was behind you, his hands at your waist, thumbs stroking the bare skin above the waistband of your sleep shorts. You stood at the window like you’d done every night, pretending to admire the view when really, you were buying yourself a few more moments — moments before the spell broke, before you went back to being his assistant and he went back to being your boss and none of this could happen again.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he murmured, voice low against your neck.
You didn’t answer right away. Because if you turned around now — if you looked at him — you weren’t sure you could keep pretending this was just a fling. Just an accident.
“Just tired,” you lied, soft.
Jake’s hands tightened slightly at your waist. “Liar.”
That one word sent a flicker through your belly.
You turned your head a little. “Excuse me?”
He moved closer, chest flush to your back now, and when he spoke again, his mouth brushed your ear.
“You’re not tired,” he said, voice dark, almost smug. “You’re overthinking.”
You hated that he was right. You hated that he knew he was right.
“Jake—”
“I get it,” he cut in gently, but firmly, arms sliding fully around your waist to pull you against him. “We go back tomorrow. It’s back to boardrooms and meetings and pretending we don’t look at each other like we want to rip each other’s clothes off in the elevator.”
Your breath hitched.
He turned you slowly in his arms, eyes scanning your face with quiet focus, his hands staying at your hips.
“But I’m not pretending anymore,” he said, the honesty in his voice knocking the wind from your lungs. “I don’t want to go back to pretending. Not after this.”
You blinked up at him, lips parted.
“I know you feel it too,” he added, voice rough now. “The way you melt for me. The way I can’t stop touching you because I’m scared I’ll forget what it feels like when we’re back in that damn office and you’re making snide comments about my suits again.”
A breathless laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.
Jake grinned.
And then — like gravity had its own rules around the two of you — you were kissing him again.
This time, it was slower. Less frantic than the other nights. More intentional.
Jake kissed like he had all the time in the world, like you weren’t leaving tomorrow, like he could memorize you piece by piece if he just took his time. His hands mapped your back, your waist, the curve of your hips — warm and sure and patient. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to your mouth.
“Take your shirt off,” he murmured.
You raised an eyebrow. “So bossy.”
“Only matching your energy, sweetheart.” He grinned. “Besides, you know I like to watch.”
You did.
You also knew exactly what he meant.
You peeled the fabric over your head slowly, relishing the way his eyes tracked your every movement, how his tongue flicked across his lower lip when your bra followed.
He growled, low in his throat. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You smirked, stepping back toward the bed. “Then come die happy, Mr. CEO.”
He was on you before your back even hit the mattress — mouth on yours, one knee between your thighs, hands pinning your wrists above your head.
“You know, I had every intention of going slow tonight,” he whispered against your neck, dragging his lips along the skin there. “But then you had to go and get all bratty.”
You gasped as his teeth grazed your collarbone.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he interrupted, licking the sting away. “But that’s alright. I like you mouthy. Gives me more reason to shut you up.”
“Jake—”
His hand slipped between your thighs, dragging the waistband of your shorts down just enough to slide his fingers over you.
“God,” he groaned. “Still so fucking wet for me.”
You moaned, arching into him.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, lips brushing your ear.
“I want you to—”
“Uh-uh,” he cut in, teasing again. “Be specific. You’re the bossy one, remember?”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Fine. I want your mouth. Now.”
He laughed — dark and thrilled — and then disappeared between your thighs with a reverence that made your skin shiver.
Jake worshipped you. That was the only word for it. His mouth moved over you with purpose, with precision, tongue teasing and flicking and curling until your thighs trembled and your hands clawed the sheets. He held your hips down, humming like your moans were his favorite song, eyes locked on you when you dared to look down at him.
When you came, he kept going — slow, lazy licks that made you writhe, that dragged the heat in your belly back to life.
“You can give me another,” he said, like a promise, like a challenge.
You whimpered, already overwhelmed.
“Don’t you want me to come back with you?” he teased, mouth still on you. “Then let me ruin you properly. Let me make sure no one else even tries.”
Another climax rolled through you with a cry.
He didn’t stop until you begged.
And then he finally moved back up, bracing himself above you, his lips red and slick, his pupils blown wide.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured, kissing you softly now, almost sweetly. “About not wanting this to end.”
You looked up at him, heart thudding painfully.
“I don’t either,” you whispered.
His forehead pressed to yours. “Then let’s not.”
And when he sank into you that final night, slow and deep and grounding, you both understood that whatever had started in a sleek corner office back in New York had evolved into something else entirely.
-
The hum of the jet engines filled the silence like a secret.
You sat across from Jake in the plush leather seat, your legs curled beneath you, the afterglow of the trip hanging in the quiet air between you. Below, the world stretched endlessly — clouds scattered like silk across the sky, cities tucked beneath them, unaware of the shift that had happened in the space between takeoff and landing.
Neither of you had said much since boarding. There hadn’t been a need.
Your body still hummed from the way he’d touched you last night. The way he’d looked at you. Like you weren’t just his assistant anymore. Like you were something else entirely — something sacred.
Jake sat across from you, a tumbler of water in his hand instead of scotch this time, the sleeves of his black button-down rolled up, throat bare where the first few buttons had been undone. His jaw flexed when he glanced at you. You were in one of his shirts — his favorite shirt, in fact — sleeves too long and hem brushing your bare thighs. You hadn't meant for it to feel intimate, but it did.
Everything about today felt intimate.
“You’re quiet,” you finally said, voice soft but steady.
Jake looked at you slowly, eyes darker than usual, thoughtful. “So are you.”
“Just… thinking.”
He nodded once. “Same.”
You tucked your chin into your palm, watching him. “About what?”
Jake let out a breath — not quite a sigh. “About how I’m supposed to go back to pretending you’re just my assistant again.”
That made your heart do something complicated in your chest.
“I don’t want to pretend either,” you said softly, honesty slipping through before you could edit it.
His eyes flicked up at you at that — something tightening in his jaw. “Then don’t.”
You didn’t answer.
Instead, you rose slowly to your feet.
Jake followed your movements like you were gravity itself. His eyes never left you as you stepped over, climbed into his lap, and settled your knees on either side of his thighs.
It was quiet for a moment.
Just your breathing
Just his hands finding your waist, sliding beneath the hem of the shirt to touch skin he already knew by heart.
“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low, rough.
You nodded. “I just want to feel you again.”
He leaned in, his forehead pressing gently to yours. “Then ride me, baby.”
The way he said it made your breath catch.
Slowly, you reached between your bodies, unbuttoning his slacks, your fingers careful but aching with need. He helped, lifting his hips just enough so you could free him, and then he sat back in the leather seat, watching you through half-lidded eyes like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
You slid your panties to the side and sank onto him slowly.
Jake’s head fell back, a quiet fuck escaping his lips.
He felt so good — thick and warm and grounding. You paused for a moment, adjusting, breathing. His hands were already on your thighs, thumbs stroking lazy, soothing circles.
“Take your time,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You moved slowly at first, rocking your hips in steady, rolling motions. Jake didn’t try to take control — not yet. He let you lead, but his hands never left your body. One traced up your spine, fingers curling around the nape of your neck. The other gripped your hip, steadying you, guiding you with soft pressure when you faltered.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”
Your hands were braced on his shoulders, your breath stuttering each time you sank down. His praise made your body clench around him — and he felt it.
“Oh,” he groaned, grip tightening. “Do that again.”
You did.
And again.
And again.
The rhythm grew messier, needier. You leaned forward slightly, your forehead resting against his. Jake brought a hand to your jaw, holding you there.
“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “So warm. So perfect.”
His lips brushed yours, just barely. Not quite a kiss. Not yet.
You whimpered, the tension coiling tighter in your belly, your thighs starting to tremble with the effort of holding on.
“Jake—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, sliding his hand between your bodies, finding the place he knew would undo you completely.
You gasped.
“Let go,” he whispered. “I wanna feel you fall apart on top of me.”
And you did.
The orgasm hit like a wave, stealing your breath and your balance. Jake held you through it, one arm around your waist now, cradling you to his chest as you shook. You collapsed against him, burying your face in his neck as he murmured praise into your hair.
“You’re okay,” he said, kissing your temple. “I’ve got you.”
You were still coming down when he shifted beneath you, lifting you gently as he thrust up once, twice, chasing his own release. His fingers dug into your hips as he groaned into your skin, spilling inside you with a shudder.
The cabin was silent except for your breathing.
You stayed like that — tangled together in the middle of a private jet, a mess of limbs and sighs and promises you hadn’t made out loud yet.
Jake finally leaned back to look at you.
“You know we’re not pretending anymore,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question.
You nodded.
And smiled.
“Good,” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because I don’t want to sleep another night without you.”
You kissed him softly, sweetly, like an answer.
And then you stayed in his lap the whole way home.
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bonzirella · 6 days ago
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SUGAR TALKING, YOUR EYES ONLY ft. Michael Kaiser + Mikage Reo
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Summary: You get into a stupid fight with the Blue Lock boys, and later, when they’re dressed for an event, they show up with their ties undone—dramatically demanding you fix it for them as their way of making up.
Includes: kaiser x gn!reader, reo x gn!reader, fluff, a little crack if you squint, a little flirty, little steamy at times, but nothing crazy wc: 824 for kaiser, 770 for reo
a/n: @narcjsistx for you maya bc i pulled up to your page and saw some rude ppl that pmo. also if anyone wants more charas just lmk! i love enhypen
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michael kaiser
The fight had been stupid. Really stupid. You told him he takes too long getting ready, “No one cares if your hair is styled at a perfect 37 degree angle.” He shot back, “Of course you’d say that, your hair has never looked as good as mine.” Now you weren't speaking to him. It was silly, ridiculous even, because his words were true. Kaiser was infuriatingly flawless. Every strand of his stupid platinum hair was in place, gleaming under the lights like it had its own telenovela. Even the fuckass rattail he had somehow worked for him, like the universe had conspired to make sure he could pull off the one haircut no other man alive should dare attempt. 
He had an event, and you made it very clear you weren’t going. Crowds, fans, lights, paparazzi—you hated all of it. And you most certainly didn’t want to deal with all that when you were pouty and upset at him. So, when he strutted out of the bedroom in his immaculate suit and made his way into the kitchen, his tie hanging loose around his neck, you didn’t even bother looking up. 
“Schatzzzzz,” he groans, placing his hands on the counter and caging you in like he was trying to get you to put money in his Ponzi scheme, “do you even realize what you’ve done to me? Two days, two whole days, without holding your hand and now.. now.. my fingers.. they’re useless! Lifeless. I can’t tie my tie. I can’t breathe properly. I can barely… exist.” He whispers that last part, getting close to you for dramatic effect with his pretty face, “This, Schatzi, is on you. You ruined me. So now..” he leans in even further, lips inches from yours, eyes darting down to your lips before up to your eyes and glinting with an exaggerated tragedy, “...you’ll have to take responsibility.” He murmurs. Your breath hitches, and you look like the human equivalent of a shocked lemur.
The corner of his mouth curls as he studies your wide-eyed face, and a low chuckle escapes him. “Gott. You’re so fuckin’ cute when you’re flustered,” he drawls, amusement dripping from every word. Yet, there’s an intensity in his eyes that’s reserved only for you. He looks at you like you’re his moon and stars, as if you’re the angel that saved him from his own misfortune. Then softer, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it, he murmurs, “Makes me want to forget the event and just stay here with you instead..” 
Meanwhile, you’re trying to recover from the lethal visual attack he just gave you. Your face is red, your heart is beating out of your chest, and you’re certain you rank lower than a prokaryote on the visually attractive scale right now. So naturally, you blurt, “Can’t you just tie your tie yourself? Don’t be dramatic!”
You don’t want him to see you right now, because Kaiser is a man who loves teasing—and your reactions are like a drug for him. However, Kaiser, ever the opportunist, notices the higher pitch of your voice, your eyes avoiding his, your throat bobbing as you turn the color of a tomato. He smirks. “But it’s not the same if you don’t,” he says smoothly, leaning in again with that infuriating smile that makes your knees weak. You groan, spin on your heel, press your palms against the cold counter behind you, and take one deep breath before turning back to face him. 
You give him the glare of the century and he throws his hands up in mock surrender. With a groan dramatic enough to rival a dying opera singer, you loop the fabric around his collar. To be extra petty, you yank on it to bring him down to your level. Unfortunately for you, Kaiser seems to like that. He looks at you with half-lidded eyes, “Don’t be so rough, Häschen. I might get turned on~” You try to focus on the tie instead of the way his breath fans across your skin. He doesn't make it easy though. Kaiser leans in closer than necessary, his eyes fix on you like he’s drinking in your every move. When you finish and try to pull back, his hands fly to your waist and keep you there effortlessly. 
He dips his head into the crook of your neck and inhales softly. His cologne wraps around you, something woody and cold. “Perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, softly nipping it. You yelp and tug on his hair, but he doesn’t move. He soothes the area with his tongue, and his voice takes on a lower, more sincere edge. “You’re perfect. Don’t ever let anything I say make you think otherwise.” The moment is soft, almost unbearably tender—until he ruins it in true Kaiser fashion, lips brushing your cheek as he adds, “Now hurry up and put on your lipstick. The outfit’s incomplete without your kiss as the finishing touch.”
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mikage reo
The argument had been over snacks. Not just any snacks—imported specialty chocolate bars he had flown in from Switzerland because he’d caught you looking them up once after watching a TikTok. And yes, maybe that’s part of why you’re extra salty about it. Reo eats the last one without asking, and you accuse him of “never respecting the sanctity of the kitchen stash.”
He swears up and down he’ll buy more, that he can literally have a private jet bring them by tomorrow morning, but that isn’t the point. The point is that you’re pouting at him, and he hates it. Operation: Turn-That-Frown-Upside-Down begins, and Reo is determined to see it through like he’s starring in his own Mission Impossible spin-off.
He comes downstairs in a suit worth more than the rent he pays for that stupid formal soccer event he’s supposed to attend later. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his grin nervous and boyish. You’re sprawled across the sheepskin couch with a book, deliberately ignoring him. You turn your head away.
“My princess pumpkin pie sweetie bell sugar sapppppp,” Reo whines, dragging out the syllables like he’s been sentenced to death. Then he flops—yes, the six-foot-tall pro athlete actually flops—onto you and nearly crushes you. You curse. Maybe attempt to hit him once. He dodges, laughs, and props his chin on your chest with eyes wide and pitiful. “I need help with my tie.”
You stare at him flatly. Reo Mikage, heir to the Mikage Corporation, can’t tie his own tie? Puh-lease. He was practically born in one, probably swaddled in silk at the hospital. You try to push him off again, but he clings like Velcro.
“You can do it yourself,” you mutter, tilting your book higher to block him from view. He plucks it neatly from your hands, folds the page corner, and sets it on the table with infuriating care. Gentleman, even when being a pest. “It’s not the same if you don’t!” he insists, voice dipping into a whine as he buries his face into your chest like a puppy demanding attention. And then, because he’s dramatic, he slides off the couch and kneels beside you. The spoiled Mikage heir, on his knees, staring up at you with those devastating violet eyes like you’ve just told him that his private jet emissions are fucking the entire world over. 
You groan, sitting up and giving him a pout that could rival his. He pouts harder. You try, but fail. Reo Mikage wins.
“You’re impossible.” You huff, but your hands already betray you, reaching for his tie. Reo’s grin blooms wide, triumphant before you’ve even begun. He leans closer than necessary, his cologne, something expensive that smells like cedar cut with citrus, curls around you until your chest feels too warm.
“You know,” he says softly, his breath brushing your cheek as you work the knot, “I could hire a hundred stylists to tie this for me. But…” He tilts his head, lips quirking upward. “None of them are you.” You roll your eyes so hard you nearly see the inside of your skull, but the twitch of your lips betrays you anyway.
When you finish, you try to lean back, but Reo catches your wrist. His fingers are warm, gentle but firm. “Hey,” his voice drops lower now, stripped of theatrics, “thanks.” Before you can retort, he lifts your hand and presses a slow, lingering kiss to your wrist, right above your pulse point. He then brings your wrist to his forehead, lashes brushing your skin as his eyes stay locked on yours. His lips find every single finger and knuckle on your hand even as he maintains eye contact with you. They all get a kiss, slow and devoted. The grin fades into something softer, something so private it feels like it belongs only to you.
And then, before you can even process it, he tugs you forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath is hot, uneven, his voice cracked with boyish desperation. “Don’t stay mad at me,” he whispers. “I can’t stand it, baby.” Your chest tightens, your breath hitches, and the fight over candy bars dissolves into nothing.
When he finally straightens, adjusting his suit jacket like nothing happened, the smirk slides back into place. “By the way, I already ordered more of your stash. Five boxes. Private shipment. First-class cargo.” He brushes his thumb over your knuckles before letting you go. “So technically, I win.” But then, quieter, almost sulky, he adds, “And if you’re still mad, I’ll cancel the whole event and stay here until you forgive me.”
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© 2025 bonzirella . . . . . . . . interested? read more here!!
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sosa2imagines · 1 month ago
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We are in this together...
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Warning- Angst, martial problems, assault at workplace, mean boss, miscommunication.
You never imagined that love could feel like this.
Raw, tender, and yet so fleetingly out of reach. The first six months of your relationship with Bucky had been nothing short of magical. He was sweet, attentive, and utterly devoted. When he proposed, it felt like your heart had found its forever home. Marriage only strengthened that bond, and for the first year, life together was a dream.
After every mission, Bucky would come straight home, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting for him. He’d sweep you into his arms, murmuring how much he missed you. The nights would be filled with whispered stories of his day, and the mornings with lazy kisses.
But then, something changed.
At first, it was subtle. One night, instead of coming home after a mission, Bucky texted, “Gonna hang with the team for a bit. See you tomorrow, doll.”
You smiled at the message, reminding yourself that he’d had a rough few weeks. Surely, he deserved some time with the team. When he came home the next day, you greeted him with open arms, brushing aside the faint sting of his absence.
But it didn’t stop there.
Every mission began to follow the same pattern, a quick text, a brief explanation, and days spent waiting for his return. He’d still come back eventually, wrapping you in his familiar warmth, but the rhythm of your lives had shifted.
The bed felt colder without him. Dinners grew quieter. You found yourself pacing the living room, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for an update.
When you finally gathered the courage to ask him about it gently and carefully, he dismissed your concern with a frustrated sigh.
“I just need some time to unwind with the team, alright? You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is!”
The sharpness in his tone cut deeper than you expected.
So, you stopped asking.
You told yourself it was okay, that this was just a phase. He needed space, and you wanted to respect that. But the loneliness crept in like a cold draft, and you couldn’t ignore it.
The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice. At the compound, the team talked about how happy and in love you both were. Natasha teased Bucky about how eager he always seemed to get home to you.
You wanted to laugh at the irony.
You didn’t tell them the truth. Not because you didn’t trust them, but because you didn’t know how to put it into words. How could you explain that the man who once couldn’t wait to be by your side now seemed so distant?
One night, after waiting for hours, you curled up on the couch, his favorite blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The television buzzed faintly in the background, but you weren’t really watching.
You stared at your phone, willing it to light up with a message. Anything. But the silence stretched on.
When Bucky finally walked through the door the next day, you greeted him with a soft smile, hiding the hurt deep within your chest. You didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to push him further away.
“Hey doll…” he said, dropping his bag by the door.
“Hey…” you replied, your voice steady despite the ache in your heart.
And so the cycle continued.
The cracks in your marriage weren’t gaping fissures, they were small, subtle fractures that had begun to quietly chip away at everything you’d built together.
Bucky had been so adamant about having a home, just the two of you. You’d offered to live in the compound, even reassured him that you didn’t mind being surrounded by the team. You loved them like family, and the energy of the compound had always made you feel safe.
But he’d been resolute, “I want a place that’s ours, doll. Somewhere quiet, away from the chaos.”
You’d smiled at his determination, thinking it was sweet. You didn’t need the white picket fence or the quaint suburban dream, but if it made him happy, it made you happy.
For a while, it did.
But now, it felt like you were living in a shell of a dream.
Bucky didn’t realize how hollow the house felt when he wasn’t there. How the silence pressed down on you like a weight. You spent your days going through the motions, trying to fill the void he left behind after every mission.
And it wasn’t just his absence, it was the loneliness that followed you everywhere, even when he was home. He didn’t ask about your day anymore, didn’t notice the way your shoulders slumped or how you fidgeted with your hands when you were nervous.
The one person you’d always relied on was slowly slipping away from you.
You thought about bringing it up again, about telling him how you felt. But the memory of his irritation the last time held you back. You didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to seem needy or clingy. So, you buried your feelings, telling yourself that this was just a rough patch.
Meanwhile, work was becoming a nightmare.
Your boss had started making comments. Offhand, seemingly harmless, but enough to make your skin crawl. A hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. Compliments that felt less like appreciation and more like something sinister.
You wanted to tell Bucky. You wanted to see the fire in his eyes, the way his protective instinct would flare up whenever he thought someone was mistreating you.
But he wasn’t there.
When he did come home, his mind was elsewhere. You’d try to start a conversation, but his replies were curt, distracted. He’d drop into bed with a heavy sigh, barely sparing you a glance before falling asleep.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, you knew he did. But somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten how to show it.
And you couldn’t blame him entirely.
You saw the way his face lit up when he talked about the team, about the camaraderie they shared after a successful mission. It was the kind of joy that used to fill your home, too.
You wondered if he missed his bachelorhood, those carefree days of laughter and bonding with his friends. Maybe he didn’t realize how much he’d given up when he chose this life with you. Maybe he regretted it.
The thought clawed at your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him.
So, you stayed quiet.
You carried the weight of your days alone, retreating further into yourself. You told yourself you didn’t want to burden him, that he had enough on his plate. But deep down, you were terrified of what his answer might be if you asked him outright.
“Are you happy with me? With us?”
The house was no longer a home. It was a waiting room, a place where you counted the hours and days until he came back, only to feel lonelier when he did.
You stood in the kitchen one evening, staring at the untouched plate of food on the table. Your appetite had long since disappeared, replaced by a gnawing ache that no amount of distraction could soothe.
The sound of the front door opening startled you. Bucky walked in, his hair damp from the rain, his expression tired.
“Hey.” he said, barely glancing your way. He dropped his bag by the door and headed to the bedroom without another word.
You didn’t follow him.
Instead, you sank into the nearest chair, your head in your hands. The weight of everything you’d been holding inside finally broke through, tears spilling silently down your cheeks.
The worst part wasn’t that he didn’t see you crying.
The worst part was that he didn’t even notice.
The compound buzzed with life, laughter echoing through the halls as the team celebrated yet another successful mission. For Bucky, this had become his sanctuary, a place where he could unwind, shed the weight of his past, and lose himself in the camaraderie of his friends.
Natasha sat across from him, swirling a glass of wine, her sharp eyes trained on him. She noticed the way he laughed at Sam’s jokes, how relaxed he seemed, but something felt off.
“Where’s Y/n?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the chatter.
Bucky blinked, momentarily caught off guard, “She’s fine. At home.” He shrugged.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, “Alone?”
He waved her off, “She’s okay. She likes her space.”
Natasha didn’t buy it, “You’ve been here more than usual, Barnes. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
Bucky shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze, “It’s fine, Nat. Don’t make it a thing.”
She narrowed her eyes but let it drop for now.
Meanwhile, at your workplace, everything fell apart.
Your boss’s behavior had been escalating, his comments growing bolder, his touches more invasive. You’d tried to ignore it, to handle it on your own, but today he crossed the line.
He cornered you in the break room, his hands gripping your arms as he leaned in too close, his breath hot and disgusting against your skin.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t act like you don’t want this.”
Panic surged through you, but you fought back. Your hand found the edge of your laptop, and without thinking, you swung it at him, the sharp crack of plastic and metal connecting with his head echoing in the room.
He stumbled back, cursing, calling you slut and many other things but you ran.
Your feet carried you to the one place you thought you’d be safe.
The compound.
The drive was a blur, your heart pounding in your chest as tears blurred your vision. All you wanted was your husband, his arms around you, his voice telling you it was going to be okay.
But when you arrived, your world shattered all over again.
Through the large windows of the common room, you saw them. Bucky, relaxed and laughing, a drink in his hand. He was surrounded by the team, but your eyes locked on the young trainee leaning too close to him, her hand brushing his arm as she laughed at something he said.
Your breath hitched.
You’d never doubted Bucky’s loyalty, but seeing him like this, so carefree, so oblivious to the storm inside you, broke something in you.
You froze, rooted to the spot as the trainee leaned in, clearly flirting, her hand lingering on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t push her away, though he didn’t encourage her either. He just let it happen, a small smile tugging at his lips as he sipped his drink.
Your chest tightened, the air around you feeling suffocating. This wasn’t the man who used to race home to you after every mission, who couldn’t wait to tell you how much he missed you.
You turned and ran.
Back home, the silence welcomed you like an old friend. You stumbled into the bathroom, your clothes still clinging to you as you sank to the shower floor. The cold tiles bit into your skin, but you didn’t care. You turned the water on, letting it cascade over you, freezing and unrelenting.
The tears came in waves, the events of the day crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Your boss’s vile hands, the fear that gripped you, the look on Bucky’s face as he laughed with his team, it was too much.
You wrapped your arms around your knees, your sobs lost in the rush of water.
Back at the compound, Natasha had had enough. She watched the trainee closely, her sharp instincts picking up on every calculated move she made toward Bucky.
When the girl leaned in again, Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “That’s enough!”
The trainee blinked, startled, “What? I wasn’t…”
“Out!” Natasha ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The trainee stammered something, but Natasha’s glare silenced her.
“You’re done here. Pack your things and leave the compound by tomorrow.”
Steve watched the exchange, his brows furrowed. Once the trainee scurried off, he turned to Bucky, “What the hell, Buck? You didn’t think that was inappropriate?”
Bucky shrugged, clearly annoyed, “It’s not a big deal. I wasn’t flirting back.”
Steve’s jaw tightened, “It is a big deal. You’re married. What the hell is going on with you?”
Bucky rolled his eyes, “I’d never cheat on her, Steve. You know that. She knows that.”
But Steve wasn’t convinced, “Does she? Because from where I’m standing, you’re barely around to remind her.”
Bucky’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t respond.
Neither Steve nor Natasha knew just how deep the damage had already gone.
The days blurred into a haze of hollow routines and sleepless nights. You’d managed to get through the aftermath of your boss’s attack in one piece, but the scars it left on your mind and heart were harder to ignore.
It was Tony who first noticed something was wrong. You hadn’t intended to tell him, but when he called to check in on you, his usual playful tone laced with genuine concern and you broke.
Between sobs, you told him everything.
The line went silent for a moment, and then his voice came through, steady but seething with anger, “Pack your things. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Tony, no. I can’t…”
“Sweetheart…” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, “You’re family. Do you hear me? Family. And no one gets to treat my family like that.”
The next day, Tony and Pepper arrived at your doorstep. You were still raw, trembling as you recounted the incident in more detail. Pepper wrapped you in a warm hug, her soft words of comfort threatening to break down the walls you’d built around yourself.
“We’ll get you out of there.” she promised, her hand stroking your hair, “You don’t have to go back.”
Tony, true to his word, handled everything. He contacted your company’s HR department, made sure your resignation was swift and final, and ensured your former boss faced the consequences of his actions.
Pepper offered you a job at Stark Industries, something she said would align perfectly with your skills. But you hesitated.
“I can’t… I don’t want to burden you…” you said, wringing your hands.
Tony rolled his eyes, though his expression softened, “Burden? You’re like my sister, Y/n. You don’t ‘burden’ me. Now, take the damn job, or I’ll be forced to invent one just to keep you around.”
His words tugged at your heart, but you made them promise one thing, “Don’t tell Bucky. Please.”
Tony’s jaw tightened at your request, but he nodded reluctantly, “Fine. But only because you asked. He doesn’t deserve you keeping this from him, though.”
Unbeknownst to you, Tony confided in Natasha, unable to shake the worry gnawing at him. The moment she heard what had happened, her eyes flashed with fury.
“She doesn’t want him to know?” Natasha asked, pacing Tony’s workshop.
“Apparently not.” Tony replied, leaning against his desk, “And judging by the way Barnes has been acting lately, I can’t blame her.”
Natasha’s lips thinned. She vowed to keep your secret but decided to keep an even closer eye on Bucky.
Meanwhile, you tried to piece your life back together. You took the job with Pepper, though it felt like every step forward was weighed down by the nightmares that now plagued your nights.
The dreams were vivid, cruel reenactments of the attack. In them, you weren’t fast enough, weren’t strong enough. You’d wake up gasping for air, drenched in sweat, your hands trembling as you clutched the sheets.
You wanted to reach for Bucky, to feel his arms around you, to hear him tell you it was just a dream. But the bed beside you was empty.
Most nights, you stayed awake, unable to face the terror that waited for you in sleep. You buried yourself in work, trying to keep your mind occupied, but the exhaustion weighed heavily on you.
Bucky’s absence only made it worse.
He came home occasionally, offering you a distracted kiss on the cheek or a tired smile before retreating to the bedroom. He didn’t notice the dark circles under your eyes or the way your hands shook when you handed him a cup of coffee.
You tried to hide it, plastering on a brave face whenever he was around. But the weight of carrying it all alone was crushing.
One night, after yet another nightmare, you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. The silence of the house was deafening, pressing down on you like a suffocating fog.
You thought about calling Natasha or even Tony, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to remind them of how weak you felt.
So, you swallowed the pain and carried on, day after day, night after night. But inside, you were unraveling.
The knock on your door was unexpected. You hesitated for a moment before opening it to find Natasha standing there, her sharp green eyes scanning you with concern.
“Hey, love.” she said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, “You didn’t answer my texts.”
You’d forgotten. Your phone had been buried under a pile of papers for days, silenced to avoid the world.
“Sorry, I’ve been… busy…” you mumbled, brushing a hand through your disheveled hair.
Natasha’s gaze swept over you, taking in the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, and the slight tremor in your hands. Her expression softened, and she gently placed a hand on your arm, “Tony told me...”
Your stomach dropped. You turned away, the shame curling in your chest like a vice, “Nat, I…”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, her voice steady but kind, “Your secret’s safe. I’m not here to push you, but I am here to help.”
The dam broke. You sank onto the couch, tears spilling down your cheeks as you finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. Natasha sat beside you, her presence steady and grounding, letting you cry without judgment.
When the tears subsided, she spoke, “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. You don’t have to, Y/n. Let me help you.”
With her encouragement, you agreed to see a therapist she trusted, someone discreet, someone who understood the unique struggles of those close to the Avengers.
The sessions were hard, each one peeling back layers of pain you’d buried deep. But for the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope.
Natasha stayed in close contact, checking in on you regularly. She didn’t push, didn’t pry, but her quiet support was a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.
Meanwhile, Bucky returned from his latest mission, tired but in high spirits. He dropped his bag in the common room, greeted by the usual banter from the team.
But Steve wasn’t smiling.
“Hey, Buck. Got a minute?” Steve’s tone was calm, but his eyes were serious.
Bucky shrugged, “Sure, what’s up?”
Steve led him to one of the quieter corners of the compound, his arms crossed as he faced his best friend, “Why don’t you go home anymore?”
Bucky blinked, surprised by the question, “What are you talking about? I go home.”
“Not after missions. You stay here, hanging out with us, but you never invite Y/n. And when you do go home, it’s for a day or two at most.”
Bucky’s brows furrowed, his defenses rising, “She doesn’t mind. She likes her space.”
Steve’s jaw tightened, “Does she? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you don’t feel guilty?”
Bucky frowned, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face before he brushed it aside. “Steve, it’s not a big deal. She knows I’m not going anywhere. She’s fine.”
“Is she?” Steve pressed, his voice rising slightly, “Because I don’t think you’ve even noticed what’s going on with her. You’re so caught up in the team, in reliving your ‘bachelor days,’ that you’ve completely forgotten what it means to be a husband.”
The words hit Bucky like a punch to the gut, but he masked it with irritation, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Steve stepped closer, his blue eyes sharp, “Don’t I? Y/n was willing to live here in the compound, to be part of this chaos with you. But you wanted the house, the space, the life you said you both deserved. And now, you’re the one ignoring it.”
Bucky looked away, his jaw clenched, “I’m not ignoring her. I just… I need this, Steve. The missions, the team, it’s the only thing that makes me feel normal.”
Steve sighed, his voice softening, “I get that, Buck. I really do. But you’re not the only one in this marriage. You made a commitment to her. And right now, you’re breaking it.”
The words lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding.
Bucky didn’t respond, his thoughts swirling. Deep down, he knew Steve was right. But admitting it was another thing entirely.
At home, you sat by the window, staring out at the darkened street. Natasha’s words echoed in your mind, urging you to take things one step at a time. But as the days stretched on and the nights grew colder, the loneliness crept in again.
You wondered if Bucky even noticed you were gone, not just physically, but emotionally.
And for the first time, you wondered if he ever would.
The thought struck Bucky out of nowhere during breakfast at the compound. He realized he hadn’t been to your workplace in months, hadn’t seen where you spent your days or even asked how things were going. Guilt prodded at him. He decided to surprise you, to make amends for all the time he’d been away.
Pulling up to your old workplace, he entered with a small smile, half-expecting to see your familiar face light up at the sight of him. But as he approached the reception desk and asked for you, the receptionist gave him a puzzled look.
“Y/n? She doesn’t work here anymore.”
Bucky blinked, stunned, “What do you mean? When did she quit?”
The receptionist shrugged, “A couple of weeks ago, I think. You’d have to check with HR.”
Bucky left in a daze, the receptionist’s words looping in his mind. You’d quit? Why hadn’t you told him? Where were you working now?
What happened to you, that he missed so much? Was he really that absent?
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Part 2
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