#it felt so repetitive boring and annoying

[ladysatoru]

I don't understand the rivalry between one piece and naruto fans. Watching one piece is about enjoying the adventure, friendship and comedy. Watching naruto is about emotional attachment to the characters and getting ur mental health completely DESTROYED

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. thinking about true form!sukuna having a huge size kink (+ corruption kink).

word count. 2.6k

note. super self-indulgent. cant rlly blame me for creating this. also do you see those big ass hands in the header i used? yeah.. says enough (this sucks ass)

tags. dom heian era!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut. porn with plot. size kink / size difference (reader gets referred to as ‘short’ & ‘small’). p in v -> unprotected. degradation. corruption kink (reader gets referred to as ‘naive’, 'shy' & innocent’-looking). tummy bulging. loss of virginity mention. hymen breaking mention. cervix fucking, ouch. lots of teasing. tiny bit of choking. tiny mention of blood tasting ? idk. hint at anal / double penetration. dirty talk. sukuna has two of everything btw mehehe. reader get called ‘woman, brat, slut, little'.

sukuna is intrigued by you. he’s always been, since the moment he’s laid his eyes upon you. your loyalty and devotion to him are two aspects that the king of curses likes most about you. .

. . after your innocence.

it nearly irked him. every time he saw you hanging around the estate without a single care in the world. sukuna would attempt to intimidate you with serious threats. he’d loom over your short stature and look down at you with a malicious glint in his eyes. though, none of it seemed to work.

you'd only bow your head at him and apologise if you’ve caused him any possible inconveniences. it annoyed the sorcerer. you weren’t trembling in fear like all the others would — it was like there was nothing going on in that head of yours. especially when you smile at him. which no one actually dares to do.

sukuna could crush you. with no effort. one big hand would be enough to pick your entire body up, lift you in the air and throw you around like a ragdoll. you don’t seem to fear the possibility of that happening, even when being faced with a pissed off sukuna.

it’s truly intriguing and amusing. that’s why sukuna kept you around every day — as a form of entertainment, he called it. one thing led to the other and you eventually ended up as one of his concubines. the king of curses himself decided to grant you that promotion.

why? because not only does your fragile body, reserved and polite personality and innocence secretly fascinate him — it also makes him crave you. crave to shatter that naivety of yours. to take that small body of yours and make it feel what it means to be overpowered by a man twice your size.

sukuna does not regret his decision to make you his concubine. the first night you spent together was one of the best nights he had ever had. in all his many years of living. not a single woman had ever succeeded in blowing his mind when it came to sex.

it was usually boring and repetitive for the sorcerer. he felt nothing for those women he’s had in bed before — it was solely for the fact of satisfying himself. though, that changed on the day you had given him your virginity.

he remembers every detail; from your little noises of both pain and pleasure, your tight and untouched pussy that bled faintly when the fat tip of his lower cock pushed through, your nails that dug into his arms and back, your thighs that he held to your chest, his large hands that could easily wrap around the fat of them, your aching cunt that was left spasming around air as it tried to keep his sticky cum stored in place.

sukuna didn’t think your tears would affect him as much. when he took your virginity and you whimpered in pain — he did feel a twinge of guilt. it was strange; he hadn’t felt that emotion before. he had stopped and wiped your tears away. roughly whispered some words of encouragement too.

he had never done so before. never. he had never told anyone how ‘good’ they were for him. how he’d be ‘careful’ to not make it hurt any more. the king of curses recalls vividly how slow he started with you. slow sex. instead of rough like he’s used to.

sukuna wasn’t chasing after his own pleasure in that moment like he’d usually have. his main priority was to make sure the girl below him was comfortable enough to continue. you’re strange. the things you make him do, say and feel are strange. and yet. . .

it was an amazing night. the best. however sukuna was left behind with an insatiable hunger for you. more, more, more. he can’t grasp it yet; why he longs for you. for those feelings he’s suddenly capable of experiencing during intimate moments.

it’s why he calls for you every night. no other concubine was needed after you were made one. the king of curses couldn’t care less about those other women. they are boring to him.

unlike you. the one he’s sure that he won’t ever get bored of.

“you can take me so well now,” sukuna breathes out. one of his cocks was inches deep inside you, bulbous tip painfully hitting your cervix. over the past few weeks, your body had learnt to adjust to him, your pussy molded to fit the shape of his dick.

sukuna looks down at you and his cocks twitch with the urge to release already. his heavy balls clenching. your fucked out state is adorable. you seemed so.. vulnerable underneath the big man, “what a fragile little thing.”

it almost sounded condescending. degrading. especially with sukuna’s lips being curled up into a mean grin, his sharp canines showing. there was a puddle of your cum forming underneath your hips — staining the sheets that the poor servants have to clean by tomorrow morning.

“p-please, fngh, ‘s too big,” you sputter out. no matter how many times you took sukuna in, your smaller body couldn’t quite fully accommodate to the girth of him. every time he hits your deepest parts, you let out a painful whimper.

sukuna kisses his teeth, though slows his thrusts a bit. the wet sounds of his cum and yours getting pushed in and out of your cunt with each move was too addicting. what sukuna loves most is the view of the skin of your lower abdomen swelling and stretching each time he pushes forward.

“i thought you said you’d take both of my cocks today, yet it seems like you can’t even handle one,” the king of curses sighs whilst belittling you. one set of hands is holding you down by your hips, the other set is fondling your stiff nipples and circling your sensitive clit, “what a pity. a real pity.”

you almost choke on your spit as all your sensitive spots were being fondled. sukuna’s thick fingers leave no place untouched as he increases the tempo again—his cock plunging in and out of your stretched hole. the upper one was twitching, rubbing against your clit and lower abdomen.

sukuna harshly grabs your jaw and makes you look up at him after he hears you apologise for making empty promises. he seems satisfied with you staying so polite. even when he’s practically rearranging your guts. the way you talk through your soft sobs and cries is endearing. makes him grin wickedly.

“i don’t want to break my favourite little concubine yet, you see,” sukuna continues. he lets out a grunt of pleasure when your pussy clenches around his thick cock. no matter how many times he fucks you dumb, you still remain as tight as the first time.

he takes in a deep breath. he’s trying his best not to pound you into the mattress. he’d fold you in half and probably break you like the fragile thing you are. he could snap you like a twig if he wasn’t careful, “. . .but you’re making it very difficult for me.”

you respond by apologising again. oh, how cute it was to see you babble and make up excuses. sukuna grits his teeth, jaw clenching as he resists the urge to go harder on you. you’re already squirming and moaning loudly just because he’s fucking you hard and deep—bruising your cervix and forcing your walls to open up to him.

“‘m sorry, wanna take both.” you hiccup and sniffle. tears ran down your cheeks from overstimulation. it felt so good yet so painful to be taken by the person you admire most. you didn’t want to displease him, so you uttered those hopeless yet needy sentences again.

sukuna stops his movements when you weakly ask him to use both of his cocks on you. he scoffs, not knowing where you gained the confidence from. he pulls out of your dripping cunt, leaving a trail of cum connecting both your genitalia.

“‘wanna take both,’ she says,” sukuna mocks you under his breath. it’s getting worse; he’s nearing the point of no return. especially with your desperate whines that were like music to his ears, “you’ll break, woman.”

two of his hands move to stroke along his lengths, smearing the mixture of body fluids all over them. his eyes glare down at your small form—already fucked out, yet aching to continue. needing the full experience for once.

you always turn from a shy girl to a complete slut whenever he has you in bed. sukuna loves it.

“i want to try at the very least,” you mutter. it’s true that you’re exhausted. you’re catching your breath now that you got the chance, tired eyes glancing up at sukuna’s enormous stature between your legs, his defined muscles and the tattoos on them glistening under the faint light of the oil lamp.

it got your pussy throbbing and clamping down around air. you felt a bit light headed and your head lolls back against the pillow, eyes glazed over as you try to seem determined. but your body was tired.

“yeah? how. . . cute,” sukuna grins. he knows you can’t. not today at least. he doesn’t mind if you aren’t capable of taking him fully since you’ve already pleased him well enough for now. though, he still can’t help but tease you—make it seem like he’s going to give you what you want, “all right. don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

your eyes widen and your fingers curl around the silky bedsheets beneath you in anticipation. your heart is pounding in your chest as you watch sukuna pump his two cocks a bit faster, squeezing the base a bit, leaking some pre.

it’s all just for show.

“i’m not stopping. even if you scream.” the king of curses warns you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. you gulp at the terrifying aura sukuna was emitting. one of his tips teases your entrance whilst the other probes and circles around your anus.

he threatens you again, testing if you’ll back down, “last chance. i’m not pulling out once i’m in, do y’hear me?”

you keep being stubborn until the very last second. sukuna’s deep voice that shook you to your core was not enough to make you change your mind. you were so desperate to fulfill his every need and make sure that he was satisfied. it made you the perfect woman in his eyes.

the king of curses is completely amused. he decides to take it up a notch. he pushes his lower cock against the tight ring of muscles, pressing and nearly allowing the tip to move in. the sudden increase in pressure is torturous. you surely wouldn’t be able to withstand the entire thing.

“w-wait!” you squeal in surprise and pain. the sting you felt made you snap back into reality. it’s when you realised that maybe you needed more time and experience to take both of sukuna’s dicks. you squirm your hips away, “can’t. i can’t.. hurts too much.”

sukuna nearly rolls his eyes once you finally give in. he shakes his head with a sigh, feigning disapproval and annoyance. he pulls his entire body away from yours—a ominous shadow casted over his eyes. it makes you think that he’s pissed off at you; for being unable to please him.

you panic a little. even if you are sure sukuna wouldn’t ever hurt you. you know he favours you over the other concubines. you don’t want to lose that position.

“i’m sorry.” you apologise before the sorcerer could say anything. he lets out a sharp breath, rough hands back on your body, kneading your flesh gently yet firmly. his eyes take in the view of you trembling.

it’s unreal. you are half his size—completely vulnerable underneath him. he’d normally call people like you weak and useless. wouldn’t feel a thing for them. but your naked body below his is a sight he wishes to see every night.

it turns sukuna on so much. the fact that you are helpless and don’t complain when you’re struggling to take one of his cocks gets him going each time.

“tsk. what’d i tell you?” sukuna grumbles. he slaps his lower cock firmly against your clit. your body responds by closing your thighs together, though the king of curses pries them apart again, “stop overestimating yourself, brat.”

he isn’t actually mad. it was expected—of course you couldn’t take both at once. he didn’t even prep your other hole enough. plus you are clearly still exhausted from the previous rounds. sukuna just likes to. . . test and take advantage of your devotion to him. your obedience and desires to please him.

it’s fascinating to see you squirm and apologise in that whiny voice of yours. it makes him grin from ear to ear. and it keeps things fun.

before you could mutter excuses again, sukuna stops you by leaning in. just when you thought you’d finally get to kiss him, he goes to bite down on your bottom lip. a moan slips out of your mouth which only spurs him on to bite down harder.

you could feel the devilish smirk on sukuna against your lip. his wet tongue cleans up the tiny drop of blood that escaped the wound. he lets out a low hum in approval at the taste. delicious as always.

“now, how should i punish my little concubine for being unable to keep her word?” sukuna whispers in a serious tone. it sends shivers down your spine, his hot breath traveling from your jaw to your right ear. he slowly licks your earlobe, “what do you say? any ideas?”

the tension in the room was palpable. your heart was stammering in your throat from the proximity between the two of you. you gather the courage to answer as sukuna’s fingers curl around your neck, squeezing your throat as if forcing the answer out of you.

“i-i’ll do anything, sir.” you reply through a shaky breath. the king of curses pulls back after he’s got a response from you. your eyes meet his and that’s when you know that you’ve either greatly pleased him or have given him the chance to go all out on you.

it’s probably both.

“anything, you say?” sukuna repeats slowly. without a warning, he effortlessly flips you over on your stomach, a set of hands pulling your ass up by your hips whilst the other set holds your upper body down on the mattress.

a harsh grip on the back of your head results into you whimpering. your face was mushed into a pillow, almost leaving no place to breathe. your back is placed in the perfect arch with your plump ass facing up. it’s one of sukuna’s favourite positions to do with you — especially because it makes you seem smaller than you already are.

“heh. i’ll make you regret saying that.” sukuna chuckles. a low, evil and wicked chuckle. that’s enough to make you realise that he was not going easy on you. your submission had greatly impressed the king of curses and he's taking advantage of it. again.

what would come next could be a reward for that said submission. he’s going to fuck your brains out and make you forget about everything else except for his dick. a night you won’t ever forget as long as you live—that’s a possibility.

or perhaps you’re going to be crying and begging him to go easy on you. a punishment for not being able to keep your promise. that could also happen.

anyway, you’re about to find out which one it is.

[babydoll372]

Could u do the Wanda stalker one but inersex em x reader 🧎 please

Paparazzi

Pairings: stalker!wanda maximoff x governor!reader

Word count: 2776

Warnings: dark fic, stalking, smut, Wanda has a penis, audio recordings, masturbating (w), bratty!r, dom!wanda, jealousy, slight internalized homophobia (r), p in v, slight breeding kink, slightttt humiliation kink, some arguing, obsessive!wanda

The cameras flashed repetitively in your face as you held your hand up to block them out. You sighed as you stepped onto the podium stand, adjusting the microphone to your level and giving a half-grin to the audience of paparazzi and reporters. You wore suit pants and a respectable white blouse that had only one button undone, your makeup fresh along with your hair. Wanda was losing it.

Wanda stood behind one of the cameras, watching your every move through the lens with a smile. You weren’t popular, no, you weren’t liked at all due to your ferocious attitude as people proclaimed; but she loved you. She loved the way your lips moved with every sentence, the way you shut down inappropriately asked questions, the way you smiled sarcastically at men who aggravated you, and the way you still held so much power over the people who despised you. And best of all, you knew it. You knew it and you were unbelievably cocky about it.

“I will now take questions,” She heard your angelic voice speak, followed by a stampede of inquiries about different policies. She watched you subtly roll your eyes, giggling quietly to herself as she could imagine you strutting backstage to her someday and venting about the annoying antics you faced daily. At the same time, she’d simply kiss your lips softly and apologize that you ever had to face such an issue. After all, you were heaven-sent to her, she couldn’t handle the idea of you struggling.

“Y/N, when will you start handling the complaints of tax dollars being spent carelessly in this state?” She heard a small scoff from your end before you inched closer to the microphone, your eyes boring into the man’s soul.

“First off I’d appreciate it if everyone could actually listen to what I say when I speak. I clearly stated the answer to that already and I will not be repeating myself today. Next question.” Hands raised instantly again, everyone desperately wanting your attention on them for just a moment while Wanda could only stand back with the large camera in her hands, wishing you'd hear her and speak directly to her with intent.

“Ms. Y/L/N, the upcoming election is nearing and you are the only person we know of who is yet to sign up. My question is, do you plan to run again for the next four years or do you believe your time here is done?”

“I don’t believe that has any correlation to what we are speaking of today…but I’m not sure yet. And I still have a week to decide so I will be using them wisely.” You took about three more questions before stating your goodbyes, and Wanda hopelessly watched as you left the scene, your eyes never once trailing to hers. She could hear her neighboring cameraman speaking about your appearance once you left and the cameras quieted down again, and she felt anger boiling deep inside of her. How could he? Doesn’t he know you’re off-limits?

Later that day Wanda took her camera home and uploaded them to her computer. She was an independent journalist and photographer, so luckily no pictures of you taken by her were sent off to a company before she could admire them. While they were uploading she opened her email and took a shaky sigh as she copied and pasted your contact from a website she found, her fingers anxiously typing away each letter. She felt as though she was holding her breath for too long when she finished the paragraph, letting out a deep sigh of relief as she analyzed each word and sentence multiple times. She didn’t want to embarrass herself on her only try with you. The email read:

Hello Ms. Y/L/N,

My name is Wanda Maximoff, the founder of Journal Today. I have written to you today in hopes that you will extend your services in an interview with me. I would love to capture a side of you that people often overlook. I know that you are unsure about electing this coming term but I believe this interview will guarantee a new insight from the outside world about you and your purposeful work, making you a great candidate in the election.

I am available through email or phone, which is listed below. If you agree to this interview, you will be given the option to come alone or with any additional protective persons. You will be granted a free meal including drinks, appetizers, entrees, and desserts if requested. You will be allowed to look over my questions before the meeting and agree upon removals and replacements. Along with this, you will be able to choose the time and day. If you have any questions or an interest, please feel free to contact me whenever you are best accessible. Have a lovely rest of your night!

Wanda Maximoff

She clicked send with her eyes closed so she wouldn’t second guess herself even more, averting her tab to the files of photos now mostly uploaded. She quickly started to search them for the best-suited ones, yet had trouble getting through them with the growing tension beneath her boxers and with her inefficient timing to roam each one.

“Fuck, baby…you look so good…” She muttered under her breath as she continued scrolling, her palm suddenly finding her crotch as she let out a small, quiet moan. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, yet the image of you didn’t disappear as it played out in her mind while she leaned back in her chair, slowly unzipping her pants and easing her cock out of the confinements. She wasn’t entirely erect, but she was definitely growing harder by the second. She imagined your talkative mouth being shut up her length, replacing her hand that was slowly stroking herself. Your tongue enveloping her tip and soaking up her pre cum furiously as if you were driven off of it. She wanted your bratty attitude to change for her and only her. She wanted everyone to believe you demanded such high respect and class, yet only for her would you get on your knees and let yourself succumb to the degradation.

And as she came she moaned your name loudly, not caring if her neighbors somehow heard each syllable because soon they would memorize it. Once she got her hands on you…

—

“I’m so glad you took up the offer of meeting with me, Ms. Y/L/N.” Wanda giddily spoke, trying but failing to keep herself professional and requiring to take a sip of her hot coffee to hide her blush.

“Let’s please speed this up, I have a meeting in an hour and the ride is half of that.” You sighed, swirling your drink around as if you were uninterested. Wanda nodded and grabbed her audio recorder and started the quickened questions, also taking any notes she needed to remember later on, even if she’d never forget a thing you said to her.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking-“

“I hate when people start with that, just ask your damn question, Whitney.”

“I-it’s Wanda, actually…uhm, anyways, people have been wondering why the governor is lacking a significant other. While it may not seem to matter, it usually presents as a greater quality in a candidate when they are tied down to someone because it shows they are committed and usually a nicer person. Do you believe this may be a quality that’s been holding you back considering you are the only female in the running?” You stopped stirring your drink the moment a lover was suggested and brushed a hair behind your ear, trying to remain stoic.

“I…didn’t really think people considered that when candidates were running. Would you say you consider it?” You asked in a slightly quieter, more hushed tone, almost embarrassed at the lack of knowledge on the piece.

“Well…yes, generally speaking. It usually takes longer to get a sense of someone’s character when they are single compared to when they are married if they’re running for office. Even if you’re up against a cruel old man and anyone could tell you are the better option with more research, it just always helps to have a wife or, in your case, a husband.”

“How do you know I’d want a husband?” Her eyes widened and her face turned pale, her heart suddenly beating with an increased pace. Does that mean you like women? Or were you just teasing?

“I- I didn’t mean to assume, ma’am, I’m very sorry-“

“It would ruin anyone’s campaign if people knew they were gay, Whitney. I would love a wife, but that’s not in my future if I want to hold some sort of power and make some sort of change around here.” Your voice grew slightly higher, yet still in a hushed tone. Clearly, the topic upset you, the thought of never being able to love someone freely and being questioned on it hurt Wanda too. Especially when she thought of that being with you.

“Again, it’s Wanda…” She muttered under her breath, looking down in slight guilt at how you reacted. She didn’t receive a complaint on any questions she sent over to you, but she guessed you probably decided at the last minute to do it because your PR manager forced you to and didn’t even glance at the questions. Suddenly you stood up and grabbed your belongings, speaking as you did so.

“I don’t know why I just told you that- fucking idiot. Don’t you dare leak a thing I just told you!” Wanda quickly stood up beside you, trying to assure you silently that she wouldn’t, but she didn’t know what to say. Seeing you mad at her like this…infuriated her.

“Please don’t leave, ma’am-“ She grabbed your arm as you turned. “Don’t you dare fucking leave. I have worked my ass off to speak with you, I deserve a lot more than the disrespect you’ve been shoving in my face!” She yelled out, making others stare with curious gazes. You looked up at her with wide eyes, slowly looking around you and gulping your nerves away. For some reason, maybe it was her overpowering stance or her gorgeous face directly against yours, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no.

“…okay. Okay, I’ll…I’ll give you a few more minutes then.” You meekly got out, and Wanda grabbed her items and left some money on the table before taking you with her. You kept trying to ask where she was guiding you, but she didn’t answer. You ended up in her car with the audio recorder on the dashboard, Wanda’s eyes holding a frustrated look to them.

“Why are we in your car, Wanda…?” She scoffed, crumbling up her paper full of questions before throwing it on the dashboard as well.

“Now you want to remember my name? Huh? Who the fuck is Whitney?” You didn’t stare her in the eyes, your body feeling shrunken in her seat and under her intense stare. Suddenly, you felt her hand on your chin and gasped as she was suddenly much closer, her breath against your face with each word spoken as she forced your eyes onto hers.

“I asked you a question, so fucking answer me! Who the fuck is Whitney?! And why won’t you shut up and answer my fucking questions like I asked?!” You flinched at her tone but instantly responded in a quieter voice.

“I- I don’t know a Whitney, okay?! It was just to make you mad. And I don’t know why…I just- got upset, I guess.” She took a deep inhale through her nose and before you knew it you were off, her car speeding down the road as she’d shut your questions up. You arrived at an apartment not long after, and it didn’t take long for her to rush you in, the audio recording still going.

—

“Yeah? That feel good, Ms. Y/L/N?” You heard Wanda’s name faintly through the pleasure you felt. Your eyes rolled back as her cock pounded into your tight hole that greedily held onto her. She huffed with each thrust, smirking to herself as she watched your tits bounce back and forth and reached forward to grope them. Your nipples were painfully tweaked between her fingertips and you could only moan louder.

“Mm- more!” You desperately cried out, your mascara smudged around your eyelids. “Please…call me Y-Y/N…” She chuckled coldly, keeping one hand on your supple breasts as the other trailed down to your neglected clitoris. You whimpered in overstimulation, your orgasm nearing and ready to hit as your hips jutted and your waist moved with the rhythm she fostered.

“Oh, what did I do to earn this privilege? Tell me, was it this,” She pinched your sensitive bud and watched your mouth fall open in a joyful agony. “Or this?” She then lifted your thighs, letting them inch closer to your upper body as your legs fell near her shoulders, allowing her a new access point as she rocked her hips into your body. Her crotch collided with your pelvic bone that was covered in your smooth skin which would most likely bruise later on.

“T-that! Please let me cum, Wanda- I…fuck!” You felt her hand come down on your cheek, eliciting a further whimper.

“Don’t speak to me like that, baby. You beg me the right way or you won't get anything at all.” You nodded hopelessly as your eyes squeezed shut, your mind fogged with the impending orgasm you were chasing.

“Please, Wanda, I- I really need to cum! Please let me cum all over your cock!” She hummed, moaning under her breath, the noise making you shudder.

“What’s in it for me?” She had a dirty smirk on her face that you’d regularly want to wipe off, but currently, all you wanted to do was prove to her that you were good enough to deserve this.

“I’ll let you cum inside me, p-please! Please, I’ll do anything if you let me cum…”

“Yeah? You’ll have my babies? You’ll let me fill your womb up with my cum until everyone’s wondering who the dirty mistress is that knocked up the oh-so bratty Ms. Y/L/N?” You felt a tear roll down your cheek at not only the humiliation of your following nod, but by the edge you were held on.

“Oh, you’re so desperate for me…c’mon, you dirty little whore…cum all over my cock.” There were nearly no seconds wasted, your release soaking her length as she stuttered inside of you, her semen painting your walls a thick coat. She gripped onto your leg tightly, kissing along the skin of your ankle and calf as it was the nearest in sight to silence her moans. It took a few minutes before either of you were breathing normally again, and she slowly pulled out of you once you were ready.

“I’ll get you a change of clothes?” She asked, to which you tiredly nodded, the meeting you were meant to attend had long been forgotten about. You let your eyes shut, not watching as Wanda grabbed the voice recorder from her jeans pocket that laid on the floor. She then went to her room, took out the hard drive quickly and connected it to her laptop, pressing upload in mere seconds. She grabbed one of her shirts and shorts and returned, handing them to you along with a water she grabbed from the kitchen.

“I’ll let you rest for now but once you’re up we need to shower. That sound good, baby?”

“Yeah…Yeah, that sounds great, Wanda, thank you.” You lazily kissed her cheek as she grinned, helping you change into the clothing before announcing she’d be going to the bathroom really quickly. She walked back into her room and smiled at the wall in front of her, her fingers grazing over the hundreds of photos of you. Each one held importance. Some were when you didn’t know anyone was there, some were when you thought you were home alone, and some were from conferences similar to the one a few days ago.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N…I can’t wait to show you how much I love you.” She whispered to herself, slowly leaning closer as she pressed her lips to a few of the images, the ones that were her favorites. She glanced over to the computer still downloading the long recording and grinned wider.

“And I can’t wait to hear your voice all day long, my love…you’re never leaving me now.”

[scarletwinterxx]

pull up - hong joshua imagine

i had soooo much fun writing this🥺 like it's sooo joshua coded i hope you get what I mean when you read it, also it's been a while since i wrote a joshua fic. lowkey gatekeeping the fluff bcs he's my bias but also i want everyone to feel what i feel while i was writing this so hope you enjoy🤍

ALSOOOOO while writing this, i had two songs i felt was perfect for this. Kinda helped me with the vision. It's I Really Like You bu Carly Rae Jepsen and goodnight n go by Ariana Grande.

you can follow me on x i usually rant there, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You notice him on a Tuesday.

Which is strange, because Tuesdays are usually your most half-hearted gym days. Mondays are for fake enthusiasm. Wednesdays are for convincing yourself you're halfway through the week and therefore invincible. But Tuesdays? Tuesdays are for regretting all your life choices while trudging on a treadmill and pretending not to hate everyone around you.

But then he appears.

Tall. Built like someone who owns multiple foam rollers and actually uses them. His hair is tousled in that “I totally woke up like this but in an expensive shampoo commercial way,” and his eyes—oh God, his eyes—are these wide, soft things, like they were stolen from a Disney deer. If Bambi decided to bulk up and develop a jawline.

You try not to stare. You fail.

He doesn’t look like a brooding gym type. No aggressive grunting. No primal chest thumps. No mirror selfies. Instead, he quietly sets up at the far corner near the free weights, earbuds in, hoodie on despite the heat. Private, maybe. Or shy. Or both.

You spend longer than you'd like to admit trying to figure out if he's intimidating or just doesn’t like people.

There's a difference, you think. Intimidating guys usually flex unnecessarily and wink at you when you’re just trying to do lunges without dying. This guy? He barely makes eye contact with anyone. When someone walks too close to his bench, he politely scoots over without making a fuss.

It's almost disappointing.

Because if he was a jerk, you could just write him off and move on with your life.

But no. Instead, he has the audacity to stretch quietly in the corner with perfect posture and soft eyelashes and forearms that look carved out of daydreams. Who even looks like that at your local gym? This isn’t Hollywood.

And you, meanwhile, are pretending to know how to deadlift properly while sneaking glances like you're trying to memorize the periodic table. You are not slick.

At one point, he catches you mid-glance, and for a brief, painful second, you both hold eye contact.

Your brain short-circuits.

You do the only logical thing and immediately look away like you've just remembered an urgent errand in the opposite direction. Possibly in another country.

You spend the rest of your workout way too aware of his presence. Like he’s gravity and your body is betraying you by orbiting around him.

You leave the gym sweaty, confused, and very annoyed with yourself. You don’t even know his name.

But you’re definitely going to find out.

=

A few days later and you’re at the gym again..

You're not proud of it, but you're here standing in front of a very complicated-looking machine that has too many pulleys and not enough labels. You've never used it before. You don’t even know its name. 

Chest press? Lat pulldown? Mid-life crisis simulator?

Honestly, you just got bored of the StairMaster. Your usual routine suddenly felt repetitive… or maybe it just felt less interesting now that he’s become part of your peripheral gym experience.

And hey, maybe it’s time to switch it up. Be spontaneous. Try new things. Be mysterious and well-rounded.

You immediately regret it.

Because you’ve been standing here for a full minute pretending to “study the mechanics” of this cursed contraption, while mostly just staring at the diagram like it’s written in ancient Sumerian. There are straps. Levers. Pins. Maybe even a hidden booby trap?

You tug at one handle, and it clonks loudly against the frame, echoing across the gym like the sound of your pride imploding.

And then—

“You, uh… planning to fight it or use it?”

The voice is soft, warm—teasing without being mean. Like maple syrup with a smirk.

You freeze. Your brain goes completely silent.

Because it’s him.

And God, he’s even better up close. There’s this effortless softness to him, like he’s not trying to be charming but it just… leaks out of him naturally. Like an accidental flirt. A boy-band heartthrob doing errands.

You laugh, but it comes out weird and high-pitched, like you’ve swallowed helium and regret all your life choices.

“I’m, uh. Studying it. For science.”

He grins, bright and immediate, like you’ve said the most charming thing ever. “Well, if you figure out how to make it time travel, let me know. I think it's supposed to be a row machine. Or a medieval torture device. Could go either way.”

“So,” he continues, still smiling, “want a hand? Or do you prefer to risk dislocating something for the thrill of it?”

You blink. “I mean… I do like to live dangerously.”

He chuckles, then steps closer. “Dangerous is not knowing which pin to pull and just yanking stuff randomly. Let me show you.”

You do your best to stay calm while he casually leans over, adjusting the weights, pulling one of the pins like it’s nothing. His arm brushes yours and it’s electric. Not in a dramatic, soul-bonding way—just enough to make you forget your own name for a second.

“There,” he says. “Now you just sit here, pull this toward your chest. Keep your back straight, don’t yank.”

You nod, fully intending to listen.

You will absolutely not remember a single word of that.

He steps back, giving you space, but that soft smile lingers like a secret between you. “You got this. I’m Joshua, by the way”

You quickly mumble your name back, then look at the equipment again

“Damn,” you say. “Guess I’ll have to actually work out now.”

He starts to walk away, then glances over his shoulder. “If you survive this thing, I’ll be impressed.”

You don’t say anything back. Mostly because your brain still hasn’t rebooted.

But your heart is definitely doing wind sprints.

After the brutal set you tried to finish, you grab your water bottle, stealing one last glance his way. He’s still watching.

You take a long sip of water, trying to ignore the way your pulse is very much not calming down. It’s not the workout. It’s not the row machine. It’s definitely not the totally casual conversation with the gym’s most charming human.

You glance back at him, and that teasing glint is still there, like he’s waiting for a comeback.

So you give him one.

“I’m gonna get you back,” you say, capping your bottle. “Just you wait until you try the StairMaster.”

He snorts. “Is that a threat?”

“Oh, absolutely. That thing humbles even the cockiest of men.”

He groans dramatically, head dropping back against the bench. “Ugh. Not the StairMaster. That thing is evil in mechanical form.”

You gasp, mock offended. “You take that back.”

“I won’t. It’s unnatural. No human should ever climb stairs endlessly to nowhere. It's a trap.”

You grin, arms crossed. “Spoken like someone who’s never reached the top.”

He squints at you suspiciously. “There’s no top. That’s the whole scam. It just keeps going until your legs give out and your soul leaves your body.”

“That’s where the character-building happens.”

“That’s where the near-death experience happens.”

You walk past him toward the water fountain, tossing a smirk over your shoulder. “Someday, Joshua. I’m gonna catch you on it. And when I do, I’ll be right there. Watching.”

He laughs, low and warm. “If that day comes, I expect emotional support. And probably an ambulance.”

“Nope,” you call back. “Only judgment.”

“Brutal.”

You glance at him again as you turn the corner. He’s still looking, shaking his head, that smile spreading slow like he’s already thinking about what he’s going to say next time.

And you? You’re definitely planning what machine to “accidentally” use wrong next.

=

A few days later, you’re back.

Same gym. Same playlist. Same questionable protein shake sloshing around in your stomach.

You’ve already stretched, done your usual warm-up, and for some reason—maybe it’s the memory of a certain pair of bambi-eyes watching you flirt with death on the row machine—you find yourself standing in front of the pull-up bar.

Just staring.

It stares back. Cold. Unforgiving. Judgy.

You’ve never really attempted it. You know you have the upper body strength of a sleepy cat. The last time you even tried, you managed one and a half reps and pulled a muscle in your neck that made it look like you were perpetually trying to dodge an awkward hug.

But today… today you’re thinking about it.

And thinking about it is basically halfway to doing it, right?

You clap your hands like you’re about to do something epic. Then you hop up, grab the handles, and immediately regret all your choices.

You get one. One clean pull-up, arms shaking, face doing things that definitely aren’t attractive.

The second one? You try. God, you try.

Halfway up, your arms begin to betray you. Your legs flail in a pathetic attempt to help. Your body says “absolutely not” and your pride goes down with you. You hang there, a weird little noodle of a human, wondering if there’s a graceful way to descend without collapsing completely.

“Alright,” a voice says behind you, amused. “Now that’s bravery.”

You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Don’t,” you groan. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

Joshua’s laugh is warm and merciless. “I wasn’t gonna say anything! Just… observing. You know. For science.”

You drop down from the bar and turn to face him, breathless, cheeks burning, arms already sore.

“You’re stalking me,” you accuse, pointing a finger at him.

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Hey. You were the one declaring StairMaster vengeance. I came to see if you were plotting.”

“Plotting,” you huff. “Right. Clearly I’m too busy being an upper-body icon.”

“Iconic,” he nods solemnly. “In the way baby goats are iconic for trying to jump and immediately falling over.”

You glare, but it’s only half-hearted. “Wow. First, sarcasm coach. Now personal trainer and comedian.”

“I contain multitudes,” he says, then glances up at the bar. “You almost had that second one though.”

You raise a brow. “You’re lying to make me feel better.”

“I’m lying to make me feel better,” he grins. “Because if you get better at this stuff, you’re gonna be way too powerful.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “Well, if I mysteriously vanish, check under the StairMaster. That’s where I hide all my victims.”

Joshua tilts his head, considering. “Dark. Unexpected. I like it.”

You’re just about to make some kind of witty escape when Joshua says it.

“Come on,” he nods toward the pull-up bar. “I’ll spot you.”

You blink. “You’ll what now?”

He’s already walking over, casual like it’s no big deal, like this isn’t a defining moment in your emotional history.

“Spot you,” he says again, glancing back at you with that stupidly gentle smile. “So you don’t fall to your dramatic death after one and a half pull-ups.”

You try to laugh. It comes out as more of a nervous wheeze.

“Very heroic of you,” you manage, eyeing the bar like it personally wronged you.

He shrugs, standing just under it now, hands flexing like he’s warming them up. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

You stare at him. At the way his shirt clings to his shoulders. At the veins in his arms. At the way he’s looking at you like this is casual. Normal.

It is not normal. You try to be cool. You try to be composed. But your body? Your body has completely abandoned the plan.

Because now you’re walking toward him. Slowly. Automatically. Like some magnetic force is pulling you in.

You step under the bar. He’s standing right behind you now, close but not too close. His hands lift, hovering for a second like he’s giving you a chance to back out.

You don’t.

And then—

His hands land gently on your waist.

It’s a soft, grounding touch, not too firm, but very present. Your breath catches.

This is fine, you tell yourself.

This is so not fine. Your brain screams.

“You good?” he asks, voice quiet now. There’s something softer in his tone, like he knows exactly what he's doing to your internal system and is pretending he doesn’t.

You nod, eyes fixed on the bar above. “Yep. Good. Great.”

“You're gonna pull up, and I’ll just support your hips a little. Let you push through it without dropping.”

You manage a strangled “cool” and grab the handles, arms already shaking from the sheer adrenaline surging through you.

You pull.

It’s not perfect. Not clean. Your arms scream and your legs do a weird little kick at the end. But you make it. Higher than before. Controlled.

His hands steady you the whole way up—and then guide you gently back down.

“See?” he murmurs near your ear. “Told you. You got this.”

You’re pretty sure your heart is doing backflips. Loud, panicked backflips. You let go of the bar, drop to the floor, and immediately step away like physical distance might help your brain reset.

Spoiler: it does not.

Joshua’s grinning again, hands back at his sides, like he didn’t just ruin your ability to form coherent thought.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to sound chill and not like you’re about to collapse into a puddle.

“Anytime,” he says easily. “You let me know when it’s StairMaster Day. I’ll be there.”

You almost say something flirty. You almost say you already are.

But instead, you toss him a half-smile and mumble, “Better start working on your cardio.”

And then you walk away. Quickly. Before you combust right there in front of the pull-up bar.

The second your front door closes behind you, you're already pulling your phone out of your bag with shaking hands. You don’t even kick off your shoes. There are more important matters at hand.

Like the fact that Joshua Hong just touched your waist and told you you got this in a voice that should be illegal in public gyms.

You hit Nayeon’s contact. She picks up before the second ring.

“What.”

You skip hello entirely.

“GUESS WHAT.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “Oh my god. Did you finally throw a dumbbell at that guy who grunts like a mating walrus?”

“What? No—focus. I—Joshua. Joshua was at the gym.”

A dramatic gasp. “Bambi guy?!”

“Yes. And he spotted me. Like, hands-on-me, spotted me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I was lying. He offered, I blacked out emotionally, and then I walked toward him like some possessed gym siren. And then—wait for it—his hands were on my waist.”

Nayeon lets out a long, satisfied scream that you have to pull your phone away from your ear for.

“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly. “You touched souls and you’re casually calling me like it’s a weather update?! How was it?! What did it feel like?! Did your body leave your spirit plane?!”

You collapse onto your couch, still not fully recovered. “It felt like… like my brain stopped working but in a good way? Like the kind of malfunction where you’re aware something deeply unprofessional is happening to your heart rate?”

“I’m so proud of you. You’ve officially entered RomCom Phase Two: The Accidental Intimate Contact.”

You groan. “It wasn’t even that intimate! It was… I don’t know. Friendly. Gym-friendly.”

“Did he look you in the eyes like he knew you were about to internally combust?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Did he say something in a voice that made you question your ability to speak?”

“...Yes.”

“Then congratulations,” Nayeon says smugly. “That boy is flirting. Lightly. Respectfully. But definitely.”

You flop backward, one hand over your eyes. “I said you better start working on your cardio and then walked away like I didn’t want to collapse in a corner and scream into my towel.”

Nayeon howls. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m putting it in my will.”

You’re quiet for a second, smiling up at your ceiling like it just told you a secret.

“He really is nice,” you murmur.

“I bet he is,” Nayeon says. “But let me know when he touches your waist again. I’ll bring confetti.”

=

You’re half-awake, phone in one hand, tote bag slipping off your shoulder, and every ounce of your remaining energy focused on surviving the Monday morning café line. The air smells like roasted beans and too much cologne, and you’re two seconds from ordering the largest iced americano known to man.

The barista gives you the tiniest smile and asks, “What would you like?”

“Iced americano, please,” you say in a daze, already pulling out your card, head down, ready to tap and shuffle off like every other caffeine-dependent adult.

But then—

A hand slides in next to yours. Card first.

And a voice, soft but teasing: “I got it.”

You freeze. Look up.

Joshua.

In a hoodie and cap pulled low, like he’s trying not to be recognized—but there’s no mistaking him. Not when he’s standing right there, grinning like this is normal. Like this is not the second time he’s absolutely obliterated your nervous system in public.

Your brain short-circuits.

“Wait—what—are you—what are you doing here?”

He tilts his head. “Getting coffee. What are you doing here? Practicing your dramatic gasp?”

You blink. “How did you even—?”

“I saw you through the window,” he says, gesturing casually over his shoulder. “Recognized the tragic posture.Thought, hey, she probably needs caffeine and emotional support.”

“You didn’t have to pay for me.”

Joshua shrugs, already sliding his card back into his wallet. “Consider it a reward. For surviving the pull-up bar. And for not actually passing out while I spotted you.”

You squint at him. “So this is payback.”

“Exactly,” he says, eyes crinkling. “Also, I owed you for the StairMaster threats. This is safer.”

You step aside so the next customer can order, taking your receipt with numb fingers. “You are dangerously charming, you know that?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” he says, walking with you to the pickup counter.

You eye him sideways. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Not really,” he says, then glances at you. “Maybe I will now.”

And just like that—there it is again. That look.

The light, flirty, annoyingly smooth look that says he’s enjoying this way too much. That he’s already planning his next move.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling like an idiot. Your name gets called. You grab your drink. He grabs his.

And then he leans in just a little, low enough that you can feel the warmth of his voice when he says, “You still owe me one StairMaster session, by the way.”

You take a long sip of your coffee just to avoid answering.

But the blush creeping up your neck?

Yeah, he definitely sees it.

You both step out of the café, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft ding. The morning air’s brisk but not cold, sunlight just beginning to slip between buildings, painting the street in soft gold.

Joshua falls into step beside you, sipping his coffee like this is some everyday thing. Like the two of you didn’t just share a casual rom-com scene inside a café.

He glances at you. “Heading to work?”

You nod, clutching your cup a little tighter. “Yep. You?”

“Yeah,” he says, then gestures down the opposite sidewalk. “That way.”

You look in the direction he points. Opposite of yours.

Of course.

You both pause on the corner. People stream around you—students in uniforms, office workers, ahjummas with shopping bags—but there’s a strange little pocket of quiet that hovers around you two.

You shift your weight. “So… different directions.”

Joshua nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Tragic.”

You laugh lightly. “Life’s tough.”

“For now,” he says, watching you over the rim of his cup. “But hey, I still owe you cardio humiliation. I’ll find you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Emotionally? No. Physically? Also no. But for you?” He leans in just slightly, eyes sparkling. “I’ll suffer.”

You snort, trying not to let your entire face betray you. “What a romantic.”

He grins. “It’s in my nature.”

The crosswalk signal chirps. You both glance at it, then back at each other.

You step backward slowly, toward your side of the street. “Okay, go be mysterious and productive or whatever it is you do.”

“And you,” he says, pointing with his cup, “go be chaotic and competitive. Just… don’t fall off anything.”

You flash him a final grin, walking backward a few more steps. “No promises.”

=

It’s been a week. Seven full days. Four gym sessions. Not that he’s counting. (He is absolutely counting.)

Joshua had figured maybe you were switching up your schedule. Or taking a break. Or plotting your next slow-burn attack on his cardiovascular endurance. But by day five, when you still hadn’t walked through the gym doors in your usual comfy hoodie and defiant energy, he started to feel… something.

Nothing dramatic. Just… He kind of missed seeing you.

Not in a we should talk about our feelings kind of way. More like a where did the chaos go? way. The gym felt weirdly quiet without your teasing, your grumbling, your almost-impossible pull-ups.

So when he drags himself to the café after his morning run the following week, hoodie damp with sweat and music still playing in one earbud, he’s not expecting much more than caffeine and maybe a bagel if the world is kind.

What he doesn’t expect is to hear the bell chime behind him and your voice.

“Ugh, finally. I swear this place is the only thing getting me out of bed lately.”

He turns before he can even stop himself. There you are—messy bun, oversized sweater, tired eyes, and all. You don’t see him at first, too busy mumbling something to yourself about how oat milk better not be sold out again.

He smiles. And waits.

Then you glance up, catch him standing near the pickup counter, and blink like your brain needs a second to register.

“Oh—hey!”

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the girl who ghosted the gym.”

You smirk, stepping into line. “Excuse me. I did not ghost. I was temporarily out of commission.”

He leans an elbow on the counter, coffee in hand, grinning. “So mysterious.”

You sigh dramatically. “Cramps were killing me. Girl things. War zone. You wouldn’t survive.”

Joshua chokes a little on his sip.

You laugh at his expression. “What? You asked.”

“I didn’t ask for that mental image,” he says, shaking his head, amused.

“I gave it anyway,” you say brightly, stepping up to order. “That’s what I do. I give.”

He watches you place your order, then swipes his card before you can reach for your own.

“Again?” you protest.

“Call it a welcome back gift.”

You squint at him. “You’re trying to train me like a puppy. Every time I show up, you give me treats.”

“Is it working?”

You pause. Then grin. “Maybe.”

You both wait for your drinks at the end of the counter, shoulders brushing just slightly in the morning rush.

He tilts his head toward you. “You coming back to the gym this week?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Tomorrow, probably. I’ve got rage to burn and stairs to climb.”

His smile widens. “Music to my ears.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just looks at you over his coffee lid.

“Wouldn’t survive a war zone,” he says. “But yeah. I kinda did.”

You swear you played it cool.

You smiled. You sassed. You walked out of that café with your dignity intact and your coffee in hand like someone who has not been emotionally steamrolled by a boy in a hoodie.

But the second you slid into the booth across from Nayeon at lunch, all bets were off.

You didn’t even wait for her to finish her first bite.

“I’m losing it,” you whisper-shriek, leaning across the table like you’re confessing a federal crime.

Nayeon blinks. “Hi? Good to see you too?”

“No, listen. He was at the café again. Joshua. After his run. Sweaty. Hoodie. Smiling. Paid for my coffee again.”

She gasps, already putting down her chopsticks. “Did he say something flirty?”

You nod, wide-eyed. “He said he missed me.”

Dead silence. Then Nayeon slaps the table so hard the metal chopsticks clatter. “YOU’RE DATING.”

“We are not dating,” you hiss, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “We’re flirting. Lightly. Slowly. Like… like an air fryer setting.”

“Okay, so when’s the wedding?”

You groan, sliding down in your seat. “I panicked. I made a girl-things joke and then elbowed him. Elbowed. Him.”

“I mean, that is your version of affection.”

You cover your face with your hands. “And now? Now I have to go back to the gym. Where I used to look like a sleep-deprived raccoon. And now I have to… I don’t know, try.”

Nayeon grins like the devil. “Oh? Someone’s thinking about their gym fit now?”

You peek through your fingers. “I literally bought new leggings this morning. I googled cute-but-functional ponytail styles.”

She clutches her heart. “You’re in deep.”

You nod solemnly. “Drowning.”

“You know what this means, right?” she says, sipping her soda. “You’re officially entering RomCom Phase Three.”

You raise a brow. “Which is?”

She smirks. “The ‘oh no, I actually care how I look around him’ phase. It's fatal.”

You sigh dramatically and stab a piece of kimchi. “Send flowers to the old me. She didn’t contour for cardio.”

Nayeon lifts her glass in salute. “To gym crushes and unexpected motivation.”

You clink her glass with yours, already plotting tomorrow’s playlist and wondering if there’s a subtle way to make “accidentally” run into Joshua without… you know… trying.

=

You walk into the gym like it’s just another day. Just another normal, totally-not-overthought, not-at-all-strategically-timed workout.

You’ve got your hair up in a ponytail that took two tries, a matching set you absolutely didn’t panic-buy during a midnight scroll, and your face set in what you hope is a calm, effortless expression.

Internally? Screaming.

You head over to the mats to warm up, muttering to yourself like you always do. It’s kind of your thing. Mostly because talking through your workouts distracts you from the sheer indignity of physical effort.

"Okay. Back. Finally. Time to prove I can still do a crunch without crying. Just twenty reps. Or ten. Or like... four. Let’s not be ambitious."

You drop into a stretch, huffing as your hamstrings scream at you.

"See, this is what happens when you let your uterus bench you for a week—your body turns into string cheese."

Then a voice behind you, smooth and slightly smug. 

“String cheese, huh? That’s a new one.”

Your soul leaves your body. You whip around, nearly falling sideways out of your stretch.

Joshua is there. Hoodie slung over his shoulder. Hair a little damp. Sweaty in the way that looks criminally good on him. And smiling, like he’s been standing there for longer than you’d like to think about.

You blink at him. “How long have you been there.”

“Long enough to hear your motivational speech,” he says, stepping onto the mat next to you.

You groan, covering your face with your towel. “God. I was doing bits. I was mid-rant. You can’t sneak up on a person during that.”

He chuckles, sitting down to stretch beside you like this is routine. “You talk to yourself a lot when you work out?”

“Only when I’m trying not to die.”

“Well,” he says, reaching forward with ease that makes you regret your whole existence, “it’s entertaining. I’ve missed the commentary.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Don’t make me regret coming back.”

“You regret it already,” he says, nudging you gently with his knee. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You try to scoff, but it comes out as a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Tell that to your string cheese arms.”

Then Joshua stretches, stands up, and says it so casually you almost miss it.

“Come on. I’ll spot you.”

Just like that. Like he didn’t just turn your heart into a meteorite. Like it’s normal to say things like that with his hair all messy and his shirt clinging to his back like a sin.

You pause, blinking up at him from your sad little mat. “Spot me where?”

He nods his head toward the weights section. “Pull-ups.”

You immediately shake your head. “Nooooi. No, no, no. We’re not doing that. My arms are still in recovery. Mentally.”

He grins, totally unfazed. “One rep. I’ll help.”

“You say that like I won’t dramatically collapse and cause a gym-wide scene.”

“I say that,” he replies, holding a hand out to you, “because I want to see if string cheese can fight gravity.”

You squint at him. “You really like testing your luck, huh?”

He just wiggles his fingers. Still waiting. You groan, roll your eyes, and slap your hand into his like you’ve just signed a very bad contract with a very cute devil.

“Fine. But when I fall, I’m haunting you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

He leads the way, and you follow grumbling the whole time, of course. Loud enough that a few people glance over, but you’re too focused on not combusting to care.

And when you reach the bar, he steps behind you, hands automatically ready at your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitate. Just one second. Long enough to register how close he is. How warm his hands are. How your brain is already trying to malfunction.

Then you huff, grab the bar, and mutter, “This is bullying disguised as fitness.”

And he, as expected, laughs. “Welcome back.”

You take a breath.

Hands on the bar. Shoulders tense. Joshua standing behind you, hands already hovering at your waist, warm and steady and—God. Focus.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low near your ear.

“No,” you answer flatly.

“Perfect. That’s the spirit.”

You suppress a groan and pull. Immediately, your arms are like, absolutely not, but then his hands are there—gently guiding, lifting just enough for you to move, your body rising in a way that’s technically assisted but still feels monumental.

Halfway up, your brain forgets how to form thoughts. Mostly because his hands are still on your waist and you are 98% sure he’s smiling. You can't see it, but you can feel it. That smug little smirk of his radiating off his face like heat.

You grunt. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate physics.”

Joshua chuckles. “You’re doing great.”

You manage a shaky pull, then drop with a dramatic gasp, limbs jelly.

He steadies you as you land, laughing. “That was almost one and a half.”

“I demand a trophy. And an ice pack. And maybe a wheelchair.”

“I’ll start a GoFundMe.”

You turn to him, still breathless, hair sticking to your forehead, and jab a finger at his chest. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“I really am,” he admits without shame.

You both stand there for a second, grinning like idiots, way too close for two people pretending this is just a casual gym friendship.

Then he adds, softer this time, “I meant it though. You did good.”

You glance up at him. He’s not teasing now. Not entirely. Just watching you with those warm eyes, a little out of breath himself.

And okay. Fine. You definitely need to leave before your knees give out for reasons unrelated to exercise.

“I’m going to the treadmill,” you say, turning abruptly.

Joshua calls after you. “What happened to hating cardio?”

“I hate being perceived more!”

You climb onto the treadmill with the grace of someone who just survived emotional warfare. You press a few random buttons, pretending to focus, when really you’re just trying to calm your entire nervous system.

And of course. Of course he follows you.

You glance to your side, and there he is, casually stepping onto the treadmill next to yours like he’s not the reason your soul left your body fifteen minutes ago.

“Please. Let me breathe.”

“I would, but I’m trying to flirt with you.”

Your feet nearly miss the belt.

You turn slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Trying?”

He shrugs, smirking. “Well, not very hard. You’re kinda doing all the work just existing.”

You make a noise—half choke, half laugh—as your brain trips over itself.

“That’s the line you’re going with?” you say, mock-scandalized.

“I didn’t plan it,” he says, grinning. “But I stand by it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip, heart pounding in your ears more than your feet on the treadmill.

“You know you’re not supposed to flirt while I’m exercising. I’m vulnerable. My dignity’s compromised.”

Joshua taps the speed up on your treadmill by 0.2 just to be annoying. “Dangerous territory. Anything could happen.”

You gasp. “Are you trying to get me to trip?”

“Trying to impress you with my multitasking.”

“Impress me by not getting kicked out for harassment.”

He raises a brow. “So flirting with you is harassment now?”

You glance at him, cheeks flushed, heartbeat wild, but your mouth still knows exactly what to say.

“Only because it’s working.”

He stares at you for a second. A beat. Then he grins wider, a tiny laugh slipping out as he looks back at the front of his treadmill.

And that silence between you? Buzzing. Effortless. Dangerous.

A few minutes pass. You’re both running now, side by side, music low, heart rates up, bodies warming into that steady, breathy rhythm. Joshua’s quiet for a while, eyes forward, jaw sharp in profile, the kind of focused that should not look as attractive as it does.

And then—casually, almost like he’s commenting on the weather—he says, 

“So… no boyfriend, or…?”

You glance at him, startled but amused, nearly tripping over your own feet again. The treadmill beeps angrily as you stabilize.

You huff out a laugh. “Wow. Smooth.”

“I thought so,” he says, lips twitching.

You shake your head. “Nope. No boyfriend.”

He raises a brow, like he’s waiting for the follow-up.

“I think my very tragic, very bold attempts at flirting should be proof enough that I’ve been single for a while.”

Joshua laughs, genuinely, the sound slipping out between breaths. “That bad, huh?”

“I elbowed you, Hong. That was one of my first moves.”

“Hey, I kind of liked that. Very… assertive.”

You snort. “If elbowing is the bar, your standards worry me.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, tapping up his speed just slightly. “I’m not looking for a black belt. Just someone who talks to herself and calls her arms string cheese.”

You let out a loud, delighted laugh, nearly doubling over on the belt before catching yourself.

“God, you're lucky I’m too out of breath to roast you right now.”

He glances at you, smiling. “I’ll take what I can get.”

You slow your treadmill just a little, You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re dangerous,” you say, almost offhand, but not really.

Joshua arches a brow. “Yeah?”

You nod, swallowing back a grin. “You make me laugh.”

He turns fully toward you now, still jogging, like he doesn’t even feel the effort. “And?”

“And then my mind goes completely blank the next second,” you admit, mock dramatic. “It's inconvenient. Hazardous, even.”

He chuckles, tilting his head. “So I’m a health risk now?”

“Absolutely. Emotional distraction. Should come with a warning label.”

“Funny. You’re the one running next to me looking like an ad for gym crushes.”

You nearly stumble again. “Okay, sir—”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, all smug and unbothered, “if anyone’s dangerous here, it’s you. With your string cheese arms and motivational mumbling.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re smiling too hard to commit to the bit.

He leans slightly closer, not enough to break form, just enough for you to feel the heat off his skin. “Blank mind, huh?”

You blink up at him.

“Right now?” he adds, voice a little lower, just teasing enough.

Your brain promptly does exactly what he said: goes blank. You open your mouth. Nothing.

He grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He grins, then slows down too, finally stepping off and grabbing his water bottle. For a second, it’s just the low hum of the gym around you, the distant clank of weights, your own heartbeat in your ears.

You swipe your phone from the cubby, pretending not to glance his way. Pretending like your entire body isn’t aware of his body standing just a little too close beside you.

He clears his throat. You look up.

He’s watching you, towel around his neck, a tiny flicker of nervousness in his eyes. It’s subtle, but it’s there—just enough to make your breath catch.

“So,” he starts, “are you doing anything Saturday?”

You blink.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish but still somehow maddeningly composed. “I figured since we’ve got this... ongoing string cheese banter thing, maybe we upgrade to real food. No treadmills. No pull-ups. Just—you know. A proper hangout.”

You stare at him.

Then blink again.

“Wait, are you asking me out?”

He smiles, boyish and warm. “Trying to.”

You feel your face flush. Completely. No saving it now.

“Okay, wow. Um. Yeah. Yes. I mean, if you're willing to risk spending time with me outside of a fluorescent-lit torture room.”

Joshua’s eyes crinkle. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Cool,” you say, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty and ridiculous you look. “So. Saturday.”

“Saturday,” he echoes.

You start walking toward the locker rooms, heart in your throat, smile you can’t hide, and just as you’re about to turn the corner, he calls out—

“Oh, and hey?”

You glance back.

He’s leaning against the wall now, casually, towel slung over his shoulder, smirking like he already knows what he’s done to you tonight.

“I like the ponytail.”

You're pretty sure you black out for a second.

And yeah, you definitely almost walk into a water fountain.

=

Saturday evening.

You’ve changed outfits no less than eight times. Jeans? Too casual. Skirt? Too short. White top? Too risky. That one jumpsuit you swore made you look expensive? Suddenly feels like a Halloween costume.

Nayeon is lying belly-down on your bed, scrolling through her phone with the kind of serenity only someone not going on a date can possess.

“You’ve tried on enough outfits to walk a runway twice,” she says, not even looking up. “Just wear the pink one. The flowy dress. You looked cute.”

You groan from the floor. “I don’t want to look cute. I want to look like… I don’t know. Dateable. Like, someone who won’t say ‘string cheese’ in conversation.”

“Too late for that,” she mutters.

You glare. “Traitor.”

But fifteen minutes and a mini breakdown later, you're standing in front of the mirror in that exact pink summer dress, hair soft and just messy enough to look effortless, cheeks lightly flushed from the nerves. You turn to Nayeon.

“Be honest. Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

“You look like someone’s about to fall in love with you.”

Your face scrunches. “Ew.”

She just grins. “Text me when you’re home or I’m calling the cops.”

Your phone buzzes.

Joshua: I’m downstairs :)

Cue heart skipping a beat. You grab your purse, whisper-scream into it for good measure, then fly down the stairs like your life depends on it.

The front door opens to a soft summer breeze. And Joshua—standing there by a black car, in a white linen shirt and jeans that somehow make your brain short-circuit—holding a small bouquet of pink tulips.

You freeze.

He blinks, eyes raking over you once, slowly. Then a smile spreads across his face, that gentle kind that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“These…” He holds out the bouquet. “These match your dress. I swear it wasn’t planned. I didn’t even know what you were wearing. But—” He tilts his head. “I’m not mad about it.”

You reach for the flowers, trying to play it cool even as your fingers brush his. “Wow. So now you’re dangerous and lucky.”

Joshua laughs. “Let’s call it fate. Shall we?”

And with that, he opens the car door for you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is just the beginning.

You slide into the passenger seat, bouquet clutched in your hands, cheeks already burning. 

Breathe, you tell yourself. Be normal. Be chill. Be a functioning adult woman who is not immediately reduced to mush by a man in linen and a watch.

Joshua climbs in, starts the car with one smooth twist of his wrist, and you catch a glimpse of the watch on his arm—sleek, minimal, silver. The kind of thing that shouldn't be so attractive but somehow is. It hugs his wrist perfectly, gleaming in the evening light, making his whole presence feel like a very curated attack on your willpower.

“You look really pretty,” he says, glancing over at you.

You smile, teeth and all, like an idiot. “Thank you. You, uh…” You gesture vaguely at him. “You’re doing a lot. With your existence.”

He grins. “That’s the plan.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your face says otherwise. He shifts into reverse, turning in his seat—and that’s when it happens.

That move.

Hand casually reaching behind your seat for support as he backs out of the spot, arm stretched out behind you, the other on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. And you—sitting there—trying not to make a sound because wow.

Your brain short circuits. Every rom-com you’ve ever watched flashes before your eyes. You hate how effective it is. You hate that you notice. You really hate that the veins in his forearm are doing some kind of ancient magic on your heart.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

You clear your throat, gaze locked out the window. “Yeah. Just, uh. You know. Processing.”

“Processing?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Me backing out of a parking spot?”

“Yep. Very intense. Emotionally charged moment for me.”

He laughs, head tilting toward you. “You’re not very good at pretending you’re unimpressed.”

“And you’re not very good at pretending you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

He raises a brow. “Touché.”

You’re still trying to recover from the parking maneuver thing when Joshua pulls onto the main road, one hand casually on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift like he's not out here causing emotional chaos.

You steal a glance at him, then look away just as quickly. Your cheeks are still flaming. Your pulse? Racing. Your entire internal system? Malfunctioning.

“You sure you’ll survive tonight?”

You scoff, crossing your arms with the tulips still in hand. “Wow. Cocky and observant.”

He chuckles. “It’s a genuine question. I’ve seen, like, six flustered expressions in the past ten minutes. That’s a record.”

“I’m just—” You gesture vaguely at the air between you. “Adjusting. You’re very… composed for a man who brought flowers and wore a thirst trap on his wrist.”

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “Thirst trap?”

You point at his watch. “That.”

He glances down, then smirks. “So that’s what’s doing it?”

You narrow your eyes. “That and the parking move. Don’t play dumb.”

He laughs, actually laughs, and it’s that soft, warm sound again—like he can’t help it, like it’s just you who gets this version of him.

“You’re fun,” he says simply.

“That’s it? No sarcasm? No comeback?”

“Nope.” He glances over at you, smile still playing at his lips. “Just letting you have the moment.”

You make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a dying noise. “Okay, you need to stop with the sincerity. My brain is short-circuiting.”

Joshua glances over, takes his time, then says in a tone so casual it might as well be criminal,

“You really do look beautiful tonight.”

He tilts his head, that gentle smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. “Why? Can’t handle a compliment?”

“No, I can, just—” You gesture vaguely. “Not when you say it like that. With your whole… face.”

“You mean, my face that you were just staring at for two straight minutes?”

Your jaw drops. “I was not—”

“You were. I timed it.”

“I was—strategizing.”

“Oh? About what?”

“About how not to combust before we even get to dinner.”

He hums, turning the wheel with one hand as he takes the next turn. “I like that you spiral. It’s cute.”

You glare at the dashboard. “Okay, wow. New level unlocked: professional menace.”

“You’re going to be a mess by dessert, aren’t you?”

Your mouth drops open again, and he laughs, that warm, smug, boyish laugh like he already knows he’s won.

You whip your head toward him. “Are you trying to kill me?”

He shrugs, far too pleased with himself. “Just saying. If you’re already like this now…” He glances at you, slow and deliberate. “I should warn you—I get worse.”

Your lungs fail. Your brain turns to soup. You want to fling yourself out the window in the most ladylike way possible.

You step out of the car and immediately stop in your tracks.

You were expecting a restaurant—like, a normal place with chairs and walls and menus laminated within an inch of their lives.

What you’re not expecting is this.

String lights drape like golden vines overhead, hanging between soft, leafy canopies and curved archways made of blooming roses and ivy. Candle-lit tables are scattered like little secrets across a stone path, with delicate place settings and linen napkins that scream “yes, this fork has three siblings and a trust fund.”

The view? A clear shot of the river, glistening under the dying blush of sunset.

You blink. “Is this… real?”

Joshua rounds the car, comes to stand beside you, hands casually in his pockets like he hasn’t just walked you into a scene from a K-drama finale.

“You like it?” he asks, with a glint in his eye he knows will wreck you.

You glance at him, wide-eyed. “I thought we were doing food. Not walking into a proposal.”

He just smirks, leading you towards the entrance. The host greets him by name.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re being suspiciously smooth tonight.”

He pulls out your chair. “I’m always smooth.”

You sit down slowly, tilting your head at him. “You wore the watch and chose a place with fairy lights. Who told you my entire aesthetic?”

“I pay attention.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that tonight.”

“I stand by it.”

The server comes by, and Joshua lets you order first, doesn’t even look at the menu, just says, “I’ll have whatever she’s having,” with a flash of a grin.

You eye him. “Careful, I panic-order.”

He smirks. “Exactly. It’s more fun that way.”

When the server leaves, you rest your chin on your hand. “So. This is your idea of a casual first date?”

Joshua shrugs, eyes dancing. “I told you. I get worse.”

You raise a brow. “You’re lucky I find that incredibly hot.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You think I wore the watch for me?”

You choke on your laugh, nearly knocking over your water. He just grins again, leaning back with that maddening ease, the lights catching in his hair like he’s made to be part of this setting. 

And for a second, the world around you blurs. Just you, him, and the slow burn of something very, very real.

The night drips by like honey.

Joshua’s leaned back in his chair now, elbow resting against the armrest, fingers lazily twirling his wine glass. He says something—dry, sarcastic, just a bit ridiculous—and you burst out laughing.

“Okay, wait,” you say, breathless, wiping at your eyes. “That’s not even a real story. You’re making that up.”

He grins like it’s a secret between you two. “Maybe. But you laughed. That’s a win.”

“Barely!” you say, even though you're still giggling.

He watches you, and it’s not in a way that makes you feel self-conscious—it’s the opposite. It’s warm. Attentive. Like you’re the only thing in the room worth looking at. And that’s what really does it.

You sip your wine to distract yourself. “Do you practice your charm? Like, in the mirror? Or were you just born annoying and heart-melting?”

Joshua tilts his head. “A little of both. But I do study.”

“Oh yeah?”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table now, voice dipping just enough to make you sit straighter.

“Like… I noticed you blush when I compliment you. But only if it’s quiet. Just between us.”

Your lips part slightly. “I—No, I don’t.”

“Sure.” He smiles like he’s absolutely sure. “And you smile bigger when you’re trying not to. Like right now.”

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to grin.

“And,” he continues, “you’re trying really hard to look unimpressed, but I caught you staring at me while I was talking about that ridiculous high school band story. Twice.”

You drop your head onto the table with a groan. “You’re unbearable.”

He laughs, soft and low. “But you like me anyway.”

You peek up at him, cheeks warm, heartbeat wrecked. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He tilts his head. “Let me walk you out later and I just might.”

You know you should say something smart, witty—anything—but you’re gone. Gone in the way that makes your chest ache with excitement and dread, both.

Because you know this kind of thing doesn’t come around often. Not the fancy lights, not the food, not even the compliments. But the way he looks at you. The way he listens. The way he talks to you like he’s always known how to.

You’d kick yourself if you let this go.

So, you sit up straighter, meet his gaze across the candlelight, and smile—soft and certain.

“Okay,” you say, lifting your glass. “Let’s see how charming you really are.”

After that night—the fairy lights, the river view, that maddening smirk—you knew you were done for.

But what you didn’t know was that Joshua Hong would treat this whole thing like a personal mission.

Not to impress you. No. To ruin you. Softly. Deliberately. One blush, one laugh, one lingering glance at a time.

The first date? A glowing success.

The second? A late-night bookshop crawl followed by hotteok from a street cart, where he brushed a crumb off your cheek and you nearly forgot how to speak.

The third? Rainy-day coffees and pressed knees in a tiny corner booth, and the way he said your name when you laughed—like it meant something.

Fourth? He taught you how to play pool. You lost. On purpose. (Okay, not really. But the way he leaned over to show you how to hold the cue stick? Yeah. You didn’t mind losing.)

By the time your fifth official date rolls around—some rooftop dinner he somehow made feel private and cozy in the middle of Seoul—you’re barely holding it together. The city lights glitter below. The food is untouched. Your wine’s going warm.

You’re talking about something—you don’t even remember what—when he tilts his head and says it:

“You’re driving me a little crazy, you know that?”

You stop breathing for a beat too long “I am?”

“Mm-hmm. And I’m being very patient.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass. “Are you saying I’m testing your willpower, Hong?”

He grins, slow and devastating. “I’m saying, if this keeps up, I might kiss you before dessert.”

The air shifts. You’re aware of everything—the hum of the rooftop heater, the buzz of the city below, the way your pulse is loud enough to hear in your ears.

You set your glass down. Very carefully. “Would that be a problem?”

He leans in slightly, elbows on the table. “For who?”

You lick your lips, heartbeat now fully sprinting. “For the cheesecake you ordered.”

Joshua laughs, but there’s tension under it. Electricity.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs again.

You smile, sweet and shaken. “Takes one to know one.”

After dinner, neither of you said anything about leaving. You just stood up, your hands brushed, and somehow—without planning, without speaking—they laced together like they'd been doing it forever.

No one commented. No one let go.

Now you’re walking through the quiet streets of the city, the kind that still shimmer with soft light, where the buildings are lower, the night quieter. A gentle breeze wraps around your bare arms, and his thumb brushes along your knuckles every few steps.

He swings your hands a little, like he’s not aware of the fact that every single nerve in your body is alert and buzzing. “So,” he says casually, “fifth date.”

You side-eye him, smiling. “Who's counting?”

He smirks. “I am. I keep a very detailed record. For science.”

You roll your eyes. “Let me guess—charts, graphs, infographics?”

He nods. “There's even a bar graph for the amount of times I’ve caught you staring at me.”

Your jaw drops in offense. “I do not—”

Joshua stops walking. You almost take another step before you notice, but he holds your hand just tight enough that you pause too, blinking up at him.

He’s looking at you. But not in the teasing, boyish way you’re used to. It’s softer now. Serious.

“You do,” he says gently. “But it’s okay. I stare too.”

You can’t find your voice for a second. It’s stuck somewhere behind your ribs.

The breeze moves your hair. He tucks a strand behind your ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was gonna wait. Be smooth. You know, the gentleman thing.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re afraid it might echo in the stillness.

“But you look at me like that,” he murmurs, “and I kind of forget how to pretend.”

You open your mouth—but nothing comes out.

He steps closer. Just enough that you feel the warmth of him, smell the faint trace of his cologne and something clean and crisp like fresh laundry and summer air. He’s still holding your hand.

He tilts his head, slow, careful. “Can I?”

And you whisper—because it’s all you can manage—“Please.”

The kiss is soft. Barely there at first. His hand cups your cheek like he’s afraid you might vanish, and you lean in like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since the beginning of time.

It’s gentle. Tender. But it’s not hesitant.

Because when his other hand settles on your waist, when he deepens the kiss just slightly, when you move closer without even thinking—it’s clear that every step, every look, every smile, led here.

And when you pull apart, just an inch, still close enough to breathe each other in, he doesn’t say anything right away.

He just rests his forehead against yours and whispers, “Yep. Definitely a sixth date.”

You laugh, quiet and breathless, standing on your tiptoes so your noses are still brushing, your hands curling lightly into the front of his shirt without even thinking.

His eyes crinkle as he watches you, his forehead still pressed gently to yours. You’re so close you can see the curl of his lashes, the shine in his pupils that makes your stomach flip like it’s never known peace.

Then he murmurs, voice low and teasing, “What’s the look for, pretty girl?”

Your smile wobbles just a little because he says it like he means it. Like you’re not just pretty, you’re his pretty girl. And you don’t even think he realizes how much that nickname already has you unraveling.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “You’re just…”

You trail off, shaking your head a little, and he pulls back just enough to look at you fully, still smiling, still curious. 

“Just what?”

You lift your brows like really? “You kissed me under fairy lights, brought me flowers, opened my car door, made me laugh so hard I choked on water, and looked at me like I hung the stars—and now you’re asking what the look is for?”

Joshua grins, the kind that starts at his lips but ends in his eyes—so warm, so soft it’s almost unbearable. “So I’m doing okay, then?”

“You’re so lucky you’re cute.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Mm,” you hum, pretending to think, still pressed close to him. “You also smell nice.”

He laughs, tilting his head back just a little, and it vibrates through his chest where your hands still rest.

He brings one hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear again and lets his fingers linger just behind your jaw. “You’re making it really hard not to kiss you again.”

You shrug, leaning in even closer. “Who said you had to stop?”

And you kiss him this time. His hands find your waist again, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your dress as he kisses you like he has nowhere else to be, like the city around you doesn’t exist, like this sidewalk is the only place in the world.

When you finally pull away—barely—you’re both smiling. Staring. A little stunned, maybe.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you say, laughing into his chest.

He wraps his arms around you then, pulling you in, your feet slightly off the ground for just a second as he murmurs into your hair, “It’s real. All of it. You. Me.”

You nestle closer, your smile pressed to his shoulder. “You’re the best kind of trouble, Hong.”

He chuckles. “You’ve got no idea.”

=

Another day, another gym session, and naturally—you’re swearing under your breath at the cable machine like it personally insulted your ancestors.

“Why,” you mutter, wrestling with the pin, “do you exist—”

“You okay there?” a voice cuts in.

You look up, blinking.

He’s tall. Friendly smile. The kind of guy who probably means well but is leaning just a little too close to be casual.

You smile politely. “Oh, yeah. Just… negotiating with this death trap.”

He chuckles, clearly taking it as an invitation. “First time trying that machine?”

You nod, tugging your towel over your shoulder. “Yeah. I usually avoid anything that might require actual upper body strength.”

He laughs again, inching closer. “Well, I could show you how to—”

“I have a boyfriend,” you blurt out.

He freezes.

So do you.

You don’t know why you said it. It just… slipped out. Pure panic. Your fight-or-flight response has a third setting now: fake boyfriend defense.

The guy straightens, brows raised slightly. “Oh. Cool, cool. Just being friendly.”

Before you can awkwardly backtrack, you hear him.

“Everything good here?”

Joshua. He appears behind you like magic, towel slung over one shoulder, hair damp and sticking adorably to his forehead, shirt clinging in all the distracting places.

You glance at him like please go with it, and he slides in next to you, one hand gently resting at the small of your back. You lean into him without hesitation.

The guy eyes Joshua, clocking the very real heat in the space between you two, and holds his hands up in surrender. “Got it. My bad. See you around.”

Once he’s gone, Joshua doesn’t say anything at first. Just lifts a brow and leans in, murmuring near your ear, “Boyfriend, huh?”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “I panicked.”

Joshua smirks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Didn’t seem like panic. Seemed… natural.”

You scoff. “What are you, pleased about it?”

He shrugs. “A little flattered, not gonna lie.”

“You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet… you called me your boyfriend.”

You jab him lightly in the ribs with your elbow. “Shut up.”

He doesn't even give you a second to recover.

Just flashes that maddeningly smug grin, rests a hand on your back like it's the most natural thing in the world, and says, “Okay, let’s go, girlfriend. Time to do pull-ups.”

You blink.

“You—what—excuse me?”

Joshua shrugs like it’s nothing. “You said it, not me. I'm just respecting the title.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “That’s… not how this works.”

“Oh no?” He glances over his shoulder, leading you toward the pull-up bar. “So I don’t get boyfriend privileges now?”

You gape. “What privileges?”

“Well for starters, teasing rights. Unlimited. Spotting privileges—obviously. And I think there’s something in the fine print about post-gym smoothies. My treat, of course.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm, your heart racing like he just kissed you again.

He stops in front of the pull-up bar and turns to face you, offering his hands to help you up like he’s done this a hundred times. “Come on, girlfriend. You’ve got this.”

You squint at him. “You’re gonna milk this forever, aren’t you?”

He tilts his head, smile boyish, eyes soft. “Only if you let me.”

You stare at him a beat longer. Then sigh dramatically as you step forward, placing your hands on the bar. “Fine. But if I fall on my face, I’m blaming my fake boyfriend.”

Joshua’s hands find your waist—confident, gentle. “Correction. You said I am your boyfriend. I’m just honoring your truth.”

You groan. “I’m never living this down.”

“Not a chance,” he says, grinning. “But don’t worry, girlfriend. I’ve got you.”

Later you two are in his car, in the parking lot of the smoothie place that has now become part of the routine. You’re curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked under you, sipping your mango smoothie through a bright yellow straw. 

Joshua’s smoothie is already half gone, sitting in his cup holder while he taps the steering wheel lightly with his fingers.

You’re both quiet. Not in a weird way. Just that post-gym, smoothie-in-hand, everything-is-good kind of quiet.

Until he breaks it.

“So…” he says, glancing over at you with that unmistakable spark in his eyes, “how long have we been dating?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

You turn to him, eyes wide. “What?”

Joshua shrugs like he’s asking about the weather. “I just think it’s important to know. Like… are we new-new? Or established couple? Do I get to call you babe yet? Do we have matching outfits in our future? Are we meeting the parents? You know, just the basics.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He leans his head against the headrest, grinning over at you. “I’m ridiculous? You’re the one out here declaring relationships under pressure.”

“It was a reflex!”

“So was kissing you under fairy lights,” he counters smoothly. “But I don’t regret it.”

Your cheeks burn immediately. “That was different.”

“Was it?” he teases, voice soft now. “Felt pretty real to me.”

You try to focus on your smoothie again, the straw suddenly too interesting. But then his hand reaches over, fingers curling around your wrist gently, guiding the cup away.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and your eyes lift to meet his.

It’s not as teasing now. Still warm. Still boyish. But there’s something else behind it, too. Something softer.

“I’m not making fun of you, you know,” he says. “You could’ve said anything back there. But you said boyfriend. And… I liked it.”

Your breath catches. He watches your face carefully, fingers still brushing lightly against your wrist.

You swallow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A small pause. “And if it ever stops being a reflex and starts being real—I'd be really, really okay with that.”

Your heart is thudding so hard you’re surprised the smoothie cup doesn’t crack in your hand.

So you do the only thing that makes sense. You lean over the console, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder, and kiss him.

No hesitation this time. No fairy lights or shy glances. Just you and him and the quiet of his car and the electricity that seems to spark to life the second your lips meet.

He kisses you back immediately—like he’s been waiting, like he’s memorized the rhythm of your laugh just to get here. His hand slides into your hair, other one anchoring at your waist as you shift slightly, leaning into him more. The center console is a pain, but neither of you seem to care.

It’s soft, at first. And then it’s not.

There’s something heady about it like all the teasing and tension and almost-kisses are finally catching up to you in a rush of heat and breath and fingertips that linger just a second longer than they should.

When you finally pull away, your noses still brushing, both of you a little dazed, he grins.

“Okay,” he breathes, “so I’m definitely calling you babe now.”

You laugh, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. “I knew you were going to say that.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, lips warm and slow. “Get used to it, girlfriend.”

=

It’s been a couple of months now.

You’re officially, undeniably, Joshua Hong’s girlfriend—which still feels slightly unreal whenever he smiles at you across a gym mirror like you hung the stars yourself.

Today, he’s in full personal trainer mode Which should be illegal, honestly.

The sleeveless shirt. The backwards cap. The little encouraging claps. The smirk he tries to hide when you’re clearly avoiding the workout he set up for you.

You eye the bench like it just threatened your family.

“Okay,” he says brightly, standing next to it, arms crossed and grinning, “three sets of twelve. You’ve got this.”

You hold your water bottle like a shield. “Can’t we just… not?”

“Baby.”

You pout instantly. “Josh.”

He walks over, lowers his voice into that dangerous territory of sweet and smug. “You said you wanted to work on your arms.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean today.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You say that every time.”

You take a dramatic step back. “Because every time you try to kill me.”

“It’s literally three sets.”

“Three sets too many!”

“Come on,” he coaxes, reaching for your hand. “I’ll do them with you.”

“You’ll make it look effortless.”

“I’ll pretend to struggle.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s worse.”

He chuckles, catching you by the waist and pulling you toward him. “Baby, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle your cheek, voice low and sinful. “You’ll look so good doing them.”

You groan, weak to the way he says it. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re stalling.” He grins, presses a kiss to your temple. “Let’s go. I’ll spot you. We’ll flirt between sets. It’ll be romantic.”

You look up at him, trying to stay strong, but the boyish grin, the arms, the literal audacity of him being this supportive and attractive—it’s too much.

You sigh in surrender. “Fine. But if I start crying, I want bubble tea after.”

He winks. “Deal. But only if you flex for me when we’re done.”

“Joshua!”

“Babe.”

You grab the dumbbells, grumbling under your breath. He’s already standing behind the bench like your biggest fan, hyping you up with a proud grin.

And honestly? He makes it hard to say no.

He’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there which, apparently, it does now. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the late evening breeze, your gym bag tucked in the backseat along with your pride.

You're slouched dramatically in the passenger seat, arms crossed, head turned toward the window. “I’m never going to the gym with you again.”

Joshua chuckles under his breath, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You say that every time.”

You whip your head toward him, scandalized. “Because every time you make me do something that feels like some part of my body will fall off afterwards”

He just grins, full of sunshine and mischief. “And yet, you keep showing up. Interesting.”

“I was sore for three days last week. Three. I couldn’t even reach for my lip balm without my arm threatening to fall off.”

Joshua laughs outright this time, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your thigh. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic. I almost saw my ancestors mid shoulder press.”

He’s still laughing when he pulls up to a red light, finally turning to face you fully, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Darling,” he says, voice low and teasing, “you flirted with me at the gym the moment we met.”

You gape at him. “I did not.”

He raises a brow. “You called me ‘Bambi eyes’ to your bestfriend”

Your jaw drops. “That doesn’t count!”

“Oh, it counts.”

“You were wearing that stupid tight shirt!”

He smirks, turning back to the road as the light goes green. “So you were looking.”

You slap his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles again, sliding his hand back up to lace your fingers with his. “And yet, here you are. In my car. Post-workout. Holding my hand.”

He squeezes your hand, voice softer now. “And you love it.”

You sigh, leaning your head back with a little grin. “Ugh. Unfortunately.”

He glances over at you, and even with just streetlight shadows flickering through the windshield, his smile is pure trouble. “Good. Because I love you right back, sore arms and all.”

=

It’s way too early for anything.

The sun isn’t even fully up, just a soft hint of light peeking through the curtains. The room is still cloaked in that hazy warmth of sleep, all tangled sheets and the familiar scent of him lingering in the air. You’re curled deep into the blanket, refusing to move.

Joshua, however, is shirtless and awake—stretching by the window like it’s normal to be up at this ungodly hour. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, hair a fluffy, sleep-tousled mess, and he’s doing this thing where he rolls his shoulders like he doesn’t know what it does to you.

Menace.

Absolute menace.

You squint at him from your cozy cocoon. “If this is your way of seducing me into jogging, I’m still not going.”

He grins, walking over to your side of the bed with slow, obnoxiously confident steps. “It’s not seduction, babe. It’s encouragement.”

“Encouragement should not involve looking like that while I’m still horizontal and emotionally vulnerable.”

He leans down, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Come run with me. Just fifteen minutes.”

You groan, clutching the blanket tighter. “If my legs weren’t sore from yesterday, I’d consider it.”

Joshua chuckles, voice deep and warm against your skin. “Whose fault is that?”

Your eyes snap open. “Yours. You and your ‘just one more set, babe, you got this’ nonsense. I did not have that.”

“Pretty sure you liked it.”

“Pretty sure you’re single if you don’t let me sleep.”

He laughs again, reaching for your blanket—but you swat his hand away with a sleepy glare. “Don’t you dare.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll go suffer by myself. All alone. With no company. No moral support. No—”

“I’ll give you a back massage when you get home,” you mumble, cutting him off.

Silence. You peek one eye open to find him blinking down at you, stunned.

“Full massage,” you add. “Oil and everything. No complaints.”

Joshua narrows his eyes. “You’re bribing me.”

You smile sweetly. “I’m winning.”

He sighs again, much more theatrically this time, and drops back into bed beside you. “Fine. Morning run postponed. I expect thirty minutes, minimum.”

You grin, rolling over to bury your face in his neck. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Hong.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, voice low and satisfied. “I’m still getting that massage though.”

You hum sleepily. “Mmhm. Only if you promise to stop being hot before 7 a.m.”

Joshua laughs quietly, wrapping his arms around you like he has nowhere else to be. “No promises.”

And just like that, the room slips back into that quiet stillness, you tucked safely against his chest, both of you tangled in each other and the kind of love that makes even the early mornings feel like magic.

[sugurouge]

— attention : suna rintarō x f!reader

contains! — mdni: smut, edging, orgasm denial, dirty talk, marking, condescending pet names (like baby, angel, good girl, bunny), pussy spanking, biting — 2.8k words

summary: brat taming with rin cause it's apparently really hard to shut up when he's on an important call with his manager

a/n: ugh coming back to hq in 2024 wasn't on my bingo card but i have too many sunarin thoughts and never posted this fic

People want something from Rin way too often—be it his team, his sponsors, or his stupid social media addiction. Of course, he mostly has the latter under control whenever he promises to focus his attention solely on you, but, unfortunately, there isn’t much Rin can do whenever work urgently needs something from him. And you are okay with it, for the last hour that is, until the important topics are done being discussed and only this unnecessary small talk remains.

With your eyes glued to his back, you try to get more comfortable on the sofa, turning from left to right, from your stomach to your back—making it a point to huff anytime you move. You're desperate to finally get his attention again.

"Rintarō" is the first quiet plea coming his way. Your cheek is squished by a pillow, cuddling the soft cushion instead of your boyfriend who only shushes you from across the living room. This game goes on, turning into repetitive chants of his "Rin" or pleas like "Please, hang up, I’m really bored."

Listen, it’s not that Rin dislikes spending time with you; much rather, he gets a kick out of you behaving needy. He already heard the first exaggerated exhale from your pouting lips loud and clear. Yet it's too tempting to keep chatting, to test you further, despite not being much of a talker under different circumstances.

Can you not even survive without his attention for sixty minutes, hm?

You crawl towards the edge of the sofa, arms resting on the headpiece, to get somewhat closer to him. "Rin… you promised me," you drawl, batting your lashes at him when he finally looks at you.

"You promised you’d take care of me. You promised to give me what I want today. You promised to fuck me, and yet you only sit on that stupid phone and ignore me like you always do!" You don't even care if the person on the side of the call can hear you.

Yes, you over-exaggerate. Of course, how else can you finally get him to end the call and stalk his way over to you? Yet, regret is the last emotion plaguing your mind when his green eyes practically pierce through your body, cool fingertips squishing your cheeks and forcing a pout on your lips.

Rin bends down to match your level, head slightly tilted as his lips near yours. Oh, the excitement that courses through your body is delicious. "You’ve never been that annoying before, you know that?" he mumbles, as he smirks against your lips and pulls back again. His free hand runs along your leg, blunt nails tickling the soft flesh once he draws closer to your inner thighs, index and middle finger signalling with a push to part your legs for him.

The feather-light sensations of his fingertips dragging along your warm and slightly wet panties is already enough to have you hum in satisfaction. "So warm and eager," he pouts, faking sympathy for how you submit to him like such a needy thing. Your hips buck in reply to his touch, lips trying to close the distance between your mouths, prompting his fingers to tighten their hold on your cheeks.

"Though, I really wish you wouldn’t have behaved like this…" His eyes quickly scan the room before landing on you again. "I would have loved to fuck you, baby. It’s been on my mind all week, I felt so bad for being busy. You know that?" Rin mumbles, tilting your head sideways to kiss your neck. "Wanted to make you cream on my cock, wanted to fill you so badly and reward my pretty girl for being so patient for me."

His tongue licks a greedy strip along your pulsing artery before his teeth nip at the wet area, nibbling on your neck until you turn desperate.

"Mh? You’re so wet too. All for me? All because of the little fantasies in your filthy head, yeah?" His words rain in on you, and all you’re really able to process are his mentions about stuffing you full and making you cream. Your legs shut tight around his fingers to lock them in place. "I’m sorry..." What a pathetic little apology.

"Are you really? Or is your pussy thinking for you right now?" His chuckles vibrate against your skin as his fingers push your panties aside, one finger entering you with such ease you should feel embarrassed. "Fuck…" he breathes against the shell of your ear, his eyes falling shut once a second finger explores your gummy walls. "I’d love nothing more than to stretch you on my cock. I want you so bad, angel."

The mockery, the condescending pet names, and his stupid fingers curling against your spongy spot—it’s all a little too enticing.

"Rin, please. I’m really—ah, I’m so sorry, really sorry. I’ll be good, I won’t do it again." You try to convince him, tugging at his shirt as your eyes search for his.

Deft fingers still inside you, while his thumb now teases your clit, softly rubbing the little bundle while Suna, once again, brings distance between your faces. He allows himself a moment to admire your pretty features with that adorable desperation in your eyes. You lean into the caress of his palm against your cheek. "Never again? You promise me?" he mumbles the question.

You nod slightly as your begging gaze meets his squinted eyes—suspicion written all over his features. "Promise," you whisper as if it’s a secret shared between you two.

Rin's sigh softens his expression, easing the tension from your body since his words are so sweet. "Hmm, well since you promise me so nicely to behave, I think I should properly reward you."

Your back meets the sofa in an instant, legs spread wide by large hands digging into the tender flesh as he litters your inner thighs with kisses. The sensation of his mouth sucking on your skin makes you mewl and further press your thigh against his mouth. It shouldn’t feel this good for him to ruin you, but his teeth bruising your legs all the way to your core is addictive.

"Fuck, Rin~" you breathlessly moan when his tongue licks along your soaked panties, his gaze resting on your face to watch your every reaction. You're ready to go on your knees and beg the moment he sits back to tug his shirt off, revealing his toned body for you. Your clothes follow suit; he's carelessly tugging your skirt and panties off in one go—the strength behind his actions is pulling your body down until your ass pushes against his legs.

That first feeling of his clothed cock meeting your pussy won't allow you a moment of breather. You're all consumed by searing kisses along your neck, by greedy hands lifting your top until your bra is exposed to Rin's eyes and the tight fabric of your top pushes your tits further together. His hips lazily roll against yours, worry about slick staining his pants the last thing on Rin's mind. "I want you so fucking bad," he pants, the strain in his voice already so painfully clear.

"Can’t you just…?" you practically whine, tugging at his roots as his face is buried between your tits, lips busy spoiling your skin in kisses as he mumbles into your skin how "You’d learn nothing from it, would you?"

Your neediness causes his cock to twitch in his pants, hips pushing against yours. Low moans dampen your skin, they bring shivers to spread over your body and a "I hate you," with too little strength to your voice to leave your lips.

Pointed canines dig into the soft skin of your stomach, making you regret your words as he carelessly leaves indentations. "You love me," Rin mumbles, before flattening his tongue to lick over the irritated area. His hands snake around your thighs to further spread them once his travels lead him further down your body. Leaving kiss after kiss until his breath ghosts over your clit, the tip of his tongue darting out just for a taste test.

The kiss on your lower lips is most likely the softest one you’ve received all day, reminding you of how tender Rin can actually be—when you don’t annoy him relentlessly. His mouth latches onto your pussy, tongue pressing against your clit to apply a nearly unbearable amount of pressure, making you squirm beneath and move against him. Impatiently, you push your pussy into his face, shamelessly trying to grind against him, seeking the delicious friction he seems willing to give; until you cry out in surprise.

Until his mouth closes and his teeth drag along the overly sensitive and thin skin of your swollen pussy. The stinging pain brings tears to fill your eyes as his upper jaw meets his lower one, his front teeth tugging on your clit while the tip of his tongue plays with the flesh trapped between his teeth.

Rin pulls back once the grip on his roots turns painful. The smack to your pussy with his flattened hand follows almost right after, before his middle and ring fingers enter you again.

By now, you've turned shameless. Loud moans bounce off the walls of your living space, they almost sound helpless as they mix with your pathetic attempts to fill your lungs with air while Rin moves his fingers.

The pain he previously inflicted on your clit makes it almost too easy to push you towards an orgasm. Thanks to his observant nature, Rin can quickly notice the hints of your impending high. It brings a sly smile to his lips as he returns to once again lean over you. Hand propped up beside your head, he basks in the heavenly sight before his eyes, his hand moving faster, fingers curling just right until your legs quiver.

"You’re really cumming because I bit your clit, huh?"

You nod all too willingly, heavy eyes falling shut to let your tears run free and drown in your orgasm. Yet, it never arrives. Instead of the sweet release of your orgasm washing over your body, you only feel the tingling sensation inside your core subside as Rin stills his movements, fingers resting inside your clamping walls until he feels you loosen up.

"Don’t!" nothing but a sad protest. "Please, let me cum."

Fuck, your expression is heavenly. Those sparkling eyes now filled with lust, the wobbly lower lip, and the bounce to your tits as you fight for deeper breaths. It makes Rin‘s cock ache with lust.

He purses his lips, scanning your face for a moment longer before his fingers thrust inside you again—pausing just a moment later. He repeats the movement, enjoying the way you tighten around him again and again in response to his teasing; it’s just so entertaining to keep you on edge.

"As if we’ve never played this game before, pretty," Rin mumbles, lips brushing against yours now that he is finally at eye-level with you. "Be good and I’ll let you come as often as you need."

You nod quickly, brows furrowing to make you look even cuter. Your hands paw at his body, holding on to his shoulders and digging into his sides. "I’ll be good, I’ll behave, swear."

His soft kiss against your forehead is comforting, unlike his slick-drenched fingers rubbing on your clit, circling eternal patterns on the blood-rushed area until they enter your pussy again. "Yeah? You really want my cock that desperately?"

You hum, your heavy lids closing as you dance dangerously close to your orgasm. "Really want your cock, Rinnie," you mumble, absentmindedly nodding in agreement, ready to welcome your sweet release.

His tongue replaces his thumb, lips harshly sucking on your clit while he curls his fingers inside you. Your legs squish his cheeks in return, hips bucking against him. Your moans are the prettiest sounds to ever reach Rin's ears while the knot in your core is growing tighter with every move he makes.

Rin holds a firm grip on your thigh, wet fingertips pressing against your twitching muscles as he almost tastes your orgasm on his tongue. His eyes roll in their sockets, it's tough not to get too aroused by how perfectly you suffer.

"So close," you hum, excitement lingering in your announcement as breathing becomes more and more difficult. Yet the smile that was about to spread on your lips dies as quickly as it was about to spread once Rin forces you to hold still. Fingers leaving your cunt, he watches you pulse around nothing, walls trembling to feel the emptiness inside your hole instead of bliss.

His lips withdraw from your clit, expertly ignoring the pain of your fingers as they desperately try to hold onto his hair. What an awful reminder of how powerless you are once Rin effortlessly frees himself from your grip.

Shamelessly, he kneels down to stare at your pitiful state, noting how swollen your lips are as the light of the late afternoon sun highlights the glistening of your slick. Rin’s face doesn’t look much different, drenched in your arousal as he licks his lips and brings his wet face to yours.

Something about your tear-stained face is too beautiful for him and the way you turn your head sideways to dodge his filthy kiss is his favourite game.

Another smack against your pussy makes you shriek, more tears running over your face as you try to push him away. “Brat,” Rin mumbles, a click of his tongue tauntingly ringing in your ear. “You know why I do this. Don’t make it worse now, sweetheart.”

The following caress of your thigh is gentle, his kisses on your cheek soft and comforting—making it impossible to decipher his next moves. Go on, tell him.

“I-I behaved like a spoiled brat,” you hiccup, begging eyes finally daring to look into your boyfriend’s. For a moment, you find nothing but adoration in them.

Rin hums in return and adjusts his position on top of you, his body gently pressing against yours and caging you beneath him. The hard outline of his cock pushes against your leg, the hiss against your skin hot while his fingers hover over your pussy once more.

“P-please, I c-can’t take another—Rin, it’s too much, I’ve learnt my lesson, really!” you ramble on, panic spreading throughout your body.

The continuous pecks all over your exposed skin confuse you, luring you in to further seek comfort from the same guy who drives you mad.

“What do you want? Come on, tell me, pretty baby. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” The sweetness laced in his voice makes it impossible not to trust him again. So, your arms find their way around his neck, your tears wetting his skin as your lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Want you, Rin.”

Rin’s hand follows your waistline, thumb shortly teasing your breast until his fingers grab your chin and force you out of your hiding spot. “Hm? I couldn’t hear you. Repeat that for me,” he whispers against your lips, his eyes staring at you like prey.

“Please, I-I can’t, I want you to fuck me, I need you. Really, really need you. So bad!” The tip of his nose brushes against yours before softly kissing you. Until he pulls away, until this little demon returns and pouts right in your face. “Did I tire my baby out, hm? Was I too much?” He sounds so kind, how could you register the warning sings?

His fingers return to hover over your clit, teasing with feathery touches until you twitch with each move. “So sensitive,” Rin muses, forcing himself to bite back his grin. “I think you really need my cock, need me to fill your cute little pussy…” The pressure of his fingers increases, lubricating them once more in your arousal.

You merely nod, hands carding through his hair while your entire body begs for your orgasm.

“And I really want to be inside you too, bunny.” He groans, accentuating his desires by pressing his cock against your inner thigh. “You’d feel so good wrapped around me, your pretty whines and begs all I need to come deep inside you.” His jaw tightens, a display of how much his own dirty talk affects him, before he resorts to hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

Rin’s fingertips dip into your wet entrance once, twice. “You have no clue how hot it is when you squeeze me like that, feeling like you want to milk me dry,” he hums. His voice and words drive you wild, your hips pushing against his hand once more before another harsh slap snaps you out of your cloudy mind.

The stinging of the painful contact between his hand to your pussy lingers on your skin, sending vibrations through your puffy lips and causing tears to once again dance along your lash line. Your fingers wrap around his wrist immediately, your mind already aware of what his next move will be, as you desperately try to keep him in place.

But he pulls back, air hitting your uncomfortably hot and dripping pussy as you’re left with a kiss to your forehead. “But not today, not when you behave like a spoiled princess,” he murmurs, the disappointment and amusement evident in his tone.

dividers from @/cafekitsune + @/strangergraphics

[softsusanoo]

Lazy Training (18+)

summary: the nights in Konoha had grown quieter, but the silence did nothing to still the noise within you. Shadows stretched longer, and so did the pull toward him—subtle at first, then impossible to ignore. And when your paths crossed again, not in battle, not in duty, but in something softer, heavier, it felt less like coincidence and more like inevitability. Something had shifted. And neither of you could quite look away.

pairing: shikamaru x female reader (reader is a member of the ANBU)

genre: friends to lovers

word count: 10,7k

warnings: fighting scenes, mature content/mature language, smut, softdom!shikamaru, softdom!reader, smoking

The sun hung low in the sky, bleeding gold into the treetops. You walked slowly, letting your steps fall into rhythm with the soft hush of the breeze threading through the leaves. The air was warm—not the stifling heat of midday, but the kind that clung lightly to your skin, like memory. The kind that carried the scent of grass, dust, and something half-forgotten.

You didn’t rush. There was no need to.

The path wound ahead in lazy arcs, half-swallowed by weeds and thick with the smell of pine sap. You let your fingers graze the low branches as you passed, your gloves brushing against the rough bark and small curling leaves. Somewhere deeper in the forest, a cicada hummed, its song rising and falling in a tired kind of way.

He hadn’t wanted to come. Not really.

“Training? With you?” he’d muttered, flat on his back under a half-dead tree outside the mission hall, one arm slung across his eyes like the sky was just too much. “Sounds like a drag.” You’d said nothing then—just raised a brow, arms crossed over your chest. Waited.

After a beat, he sighed through his teeth and cracked one eye open. “Tch. Fine. But only because you’ll annoy me about it otherwise.”

You had smiled then. Just barely. He didn’t say it, but you both knew the truth. Time had been a rare thing lately. Scarcer than rest, scarcer even than silence. If you hadn’t asked, he probably wouldn’t have seen you at all.

The dirt path curved gently up a slope now, the tree cover thinning just enough to let in streaks of amber light. You stepped over a half-rotted log, your shadow stretching long across the moss-covered stones. You remembered another afternoon—years ago now—when you’d both been younger, not quite friends yet, just two people orbiting the same strange shinobi world.

It had been during one of those endless village-wide drills—mandatory formations, repetitive routines, all barked orders and synchronized movements under the hot sun. You’d spotted him off to the side, half-slouched against a tree, yawning like the whole thing might actually bore him to death. “You don’t care about any of this, do you?” you’d muttered as you passed him in line, your voice low and dry. He’d shrugged without looking up. “I care. Just not about people pretending to be useful by shouting.” That had made you laugh—quiet and sharp-edged, but real. You hadn’t expected him to be funny. You hadn’t expected him to notice things the way he did. From then on, it had been easy. Easier than most things.

The clearing came into view slowly, like it wasn’t in a hurry to show itself. Just a patch of grass worn down by time and use, framed by tall reeds and scattered stones. A few dragonflies hovered over the shallow dip of a stream nearby, their wings catching what was left of the day’s light. You stepped out into it, pausing at the edge of the clearing.

He wasn’t there yet. Of course he wasn’t.

You moved toward one of the flat stones and sat, stretching your legs out in front of you, the heat of the day still clinging faintly to the rock beneath your thighs. The katana across your back shifted slightly as you leaned forward, elbows on your knees. There was something about the quiet here. It wasn’t the oppressive kind. It was the stillness of things that had been left alone long enough to simply exist. You let it settle around your shoulders like dust. Behind your eyes, the memories flickered again. His voice, half-asleep beside a fire on the edge of some half-finished mission—“You’re always tense when the wind changes.”—your hands tightening on the straps of your gear, your reply a murmur—“And you’re always watching me.”

He hadn’t denied it. Just rolled over, the embers painting his face in soft reds. Another breeze moved through the trees, and you closed your eyes against it, letting it brush over your skin. The sun had started to dip lower now, the gold deepening into something richer, more muted.

Footsteps.

You heard them before you saw him. Not loud—he never was, even when he didn’t try. But you knew the rhythm of his walk, the slight drag of his heel, the way he took wider steps than he needed to, like it was all too much effort. “Yo,” came the voice, a little rough with disuse, as if he’d just woken up. You opened your eyes. He stood at the edge of the clearing, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other lifting lazily in greeting. His hair was tied as always, though a few strands had fallen loose at his temple. His vest was unzipped, shadows catching in the folds of the fabric. “You’re late,” you said. Not annoyed. Just stating fact. He rolled a shoulder. “Didn’t say what kind of afternoon.” You huffed softly. Typical. Still, something in your chest loosened just a little.

Shikamaru moved toward you without ceremony, dropped onto the grass a few feet away, arms stretched behind him as he leaned back. His gaze drifted upward, toward the cloudless sky. “Hot,” he muttered. “Mm.” You looked at him. The line of his jaw, the way the light caught the curve of his cheek. His eyes were half-lidded, unreadable. He let the silence stretch between you, like always. Not awkward—just quiet. Comfortable. You leaned back onto your hands, mirroring his posture. The grass was warm, the scent of summer thick in the air—wild mint, sun-dried earth, faint smoke from a distant cooking fire.

“Sure you’re up for this?” you asked eventually. He didn’t answer right away. Just let out a long breath, eyes tracking a bird overhead. “I’m here, aren’t I?” You nodded, not looking at him now. “Didn’t think you would be.” He made a sound—something between a scoff and a hum. “Tch. You’re annoying when you disappear for days without saying anything.” You blinked, turning toward him again. His gaze was still skyward, but something in his voice tugged at you.

“I didn’t disappear.”

“Didn’t say goodbye either.”

The words sat between you, quiet and unpolished. You weren’t sure what to say. Eventually, you pushed yourself up, brushing the grass from your palms. “Well,” you said, voice steady, “I’m here now.” He looked at you then. Really looked. His eyes, dark as burnt honey, settled on yours. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” You watched him for a moment longer. Just watched. The way he slouched against the breeze like gravity was a personal offense. The soft line between his brows, always there even when he pretended not to care. You’d known him long enough to recognize the tension in his stillness—how stillness didn’t always mean peace. “Staring,” he said, not moving. You didn’t look away. “Observing.” “Tch.” His lips curled slightly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You stood slowly, the movement easy, unhurried. The scabbard at your back shifted with the roll of your shoulders, but you didn’t reach for it. Not yet. The warm wind tugged at your sleeves as you stepped out into the center of the clearing, your boots silent on the flattened grass. Behind you, you heard him sigh. Heard the rustle of cloth as he pushed himself to his feet with all the enthusiasm of a man asked to dig his own grave. “Taijutsu only,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t be lazy.” “Ugh. Troublesome.” But he was already rolling his neck, loosening his limbs. “You sure you wanna spar like this? You’ll just get annoyed when I keep dodging.”

You turned to face him fully now. The light hit him from the side—warm gold catching in the line of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat already forming at his collarbone. He looked half-asleep and entirely aware, like a predator playing dead. “Not if I hit you first,” you replied. That made him smile—just a little, just enough. “Bold.”

And then you moved.

No warning. No signal. Just the quiet thud of your foot pressing off the earth as you rushed him, closing the space with practiced ease. His body responded in an instant—lazy didn’t mean slow—and he twisted just as your fist cut through the air where his face had been a heartbeat before. You pivoted, not overextending, already anticipating the counter that didn’t come. His hand brushed past your ribs, a testing motion, not a strike. You ducked beneath it, shifting your weight to your back foot, grounding yourself. He was watching you. Not your face—your shoulders, your hips. Reading your next move before it even formed.

You lunged again, this time lower, sweeping at his legs. He hopped back, barely putting effort into it. You followed, tightening the space between you. “Not bad,” he murmured, ducking as your elbow came for his temple. “For someone who hasn’t trained in days.” “Is that your way of asking where I’ve been?” you shot back, breath even as your body twisted into a quick strike toward his midsection. He caught your wrist—not hard, just enough to redirect the blow. “Wouldn’t be asking.”

You broke the grip with a sharp flick, stepping in close, closer than you usually dared. He let you, which meant he was planning something. His body shifted, weight loading on his back leg. “Still dodging,” you said, breath hot against his jaw as you slid past him, fingers grazing the edge of his vest. He turned to follow, not quite fast enough. You felt your knuckles graze his ribs, a soft thud of contact. Not a full hit, but enough. “Still chasing,” he replied, but there was something in his tone now—less lazy, more focused. You were waking him up.

Good.

You circled him slowly, not dropping your guard. The air between you was thicker now, warmed by motion and breath and something else—something unspoken. He moved first this time. A faint shift, almost imperceptible, and then he was coming at you in a blur of angled momentum—nothing flashy, just efficiency and control. His foot aimed low, his arm coming high in a feint. You blocked the kick with your shin, absorbing the impact, then stepped into his guard, your forearm slamming up to catch his incoming elbow. For a second, your bodies locked—chest to chest, muscles taut, breath mingling. You smelled smoke on him, and green tea, and that vague scent of sun-warmed cotton. “Missed you,” he muttered, like it wasn’t a confession. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t let it distract you. “You said that out loud,” you replied. His brow arched. “Did I?” You used the moment. Hooked his ankle with yours, shifted your weight, tried to unbalance him. He didn’t fall—but he stumbled, and that was enough. You slipped behind him in a flash, fingers brushing the edge of his collar. A mock kill. He stilled. Just for a breath. Then exhaled slowly. “Alright. You win.” You didn’t move. “Too easy.” He glanced over his shoulder, smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’m letting you win. Clearly.” “Obviously,” you echoed dryly.

But you stepped back, giving him space. He turned to face you again, brushing a bit of grass from his shoulder with the flick of a hand. There was sweat at his temple now. You felt it mirrored on your own skin, a slow trickle down the side of your neck. The breeze picked up again. Your lungs pulled in the scent of the clearing—earth, water, sun. And him. You tilted your head. “Round two?”

He hesitated, eyes scanning you with something unreadable behind the calm. “Thought you’d be more tired,” he said. “Thought you’d be more difficult.” He gave a low chuckle. “Tch. You’re getting cocky.” You smiled, slow and sharp. “You like it.”

And again, you moved. This time, he was ready.

You traded blows like it was a language only the two of you spoke—quick jabs, low blocks, turns and redirects. His footwork was lazy and elegant all at once, like water flowing around stones. Yours was more grounded, but no less fluid. You pressed him, made him move. He responded with the same deliberate calm he always wore, except now there was an edge to it. A gleam in his eye that hadn’t been there before.

You kicked high—he ducked. You went for his ribs—he twisted, caught your wrist, let go again. The dance continued. “Still not using ninjutsu,” he said between breaths. “Neither are you.” “Shadow possession’s too easy.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He grinned, wide enough to show teeth. “Maybe I like working for it sometimes.” The comment sent a flicker through your stomach. Heat of a different kind. You slammed your elbow toward his chest. He caught it, barely, fingers brushing your skin. You twisted, broke free. “Careful,” he murmured, voice low now. “You’re smiling.”

You hadn’t noticed you were. You pushed forward, letting instinct take over. Your body remembered him. Remembered how he moved, how he thought. You knew him in this rhythm—this quiet collision of force and restraint. And he knew you.

The next strike came fast—your knee toward his side. He blocked with both hands, used the force to spin you off balance, and then you were tumbling onto the grass with a soft grunt, the world tilting briefly. Before you could fully recover, he was above you, one hand planted beside your head, the other raised—just barely, just for show.

“Gotcha.”

You looked up at him. His hair had come loose again. A single strand fell across his brow. His chest rose and fell in slow, even pulls. He didn’t look triumphant. Just…there. Present. “Not bad,” you said, not trying to move yet. His mouth quirked. “I’d say the same.” Neither of you moved for a beat. The wind whispered over the clearing, stirring the grass beside your head. A dragonfly buzzed somewhere above. You breathed. He stayed. You exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the earth. The silence between you stretched like the pause before a storm.

Then, quietly, you said, “No more rules.”

His brow lifted, a flicker of something alert behind his gaze—but before he could fully process the shift in your tone, you moved.

Fast.

A sharp twist of your hips, one leg snapping out to catch his side—not hard, just enough to shift his weight. His balance faltered for half a second, and that was all you needed. You were already on the ground with him, bodies tangled in motion, so you used the momentum—hands shooting forward to shove at his chest. He resisted, but not fully—already calculating, already adapting.

You didn’t let him.

A sharp press of your knee, a pivot of your shoulders, and you rolled—taking him with you. The world tipped sideways in a blur of grass and shadow. His arm tightened instinctively around your waist as you moved together, but you shifted again, using his own leverage against him. He landed beneath you with a quiet thud, breath catching as you straddled his hips in one fluid motion. Your heel planted firmly in the grass beside him, your palm came down, aimed directly over his sternum—controlled, but decisive.

A breathless second passed.

He blinked. “Okay,” he murmured, a small grin forming. “Didn’t see that coming.” You were already gone. A graceful backflip—weightless, clean—and you landed light as a whisper several meters away. Hands poised. Breath steady. The smirk faded from his mouth as he rose, slower this time. His eyes never left you. “So,” he drawled. “All jutsu allowed, huh?” You didn’t answer. Just smiled. He sighed. “Troublesome woman…”

But his hands were already forming seals. His shadow twitched like a living thing, snaking along the grass—quick, clever, hungry. You darted left, right, low. Your fingers flicked through your own set of seals, breath flowing like water through each motion. A soft glow flared at your palms and you whispered a quiet word—one you’d learned under fading lantern light and too many bruises. A wall of wind erupted in front of you, spinning in tight coils, lifting dust and leaves into a brief, blinding curtain. “Trying to block my line of sight?” Shikamaru called through it. “Smart.”

The ground beneath your feet trembled—just slightly—as his shadow moved beneath it, bypassing the wind entirely. You felt it graze your ankle and leapt high, spinning midair, forming another quick set of seals. A barrage of chakra-sharpened kunai appeared around you in a shimmer of pale light, launching downward like falling stars. You heard him curse, low and annoyed, as he twisted into a dive to avoid the spread. One of the blades clipped his sleeve. Another embedded in the ground just beside his hand.

You landed behind him in the same breath, already moving, already striking. He rolled away at the last second, and his shadow surged again—larger this time, faster. It caught your left hand. You froze as your muscles stiffened, shadow chakra locking the limb in place. Shikamaru straightened with a lazy kind of satisfaction, already pulling a senbon from his pouch. “You know,” he said, voice maddeningly calm, “if this was a real fight, you’d be dead now.” You met his gaze evenly. “If this was a real fight…” You smiled. Your hand twisted—only slightly, but enough. The jutsu unravelled like smoke. His eyes widened. “You countered—?” You moved again before he could finish. The air around you rippled. Wind-enhanced speed carried you forward in a blink, and this time your kick connected. Hard. His body hit the ground with a thud and rolled, though he recovered quick, sliding to a stop with both hands on the earth. He looked up at you. “That hurt.” “Good.”

He laughed then, actually laughed—a low, delighted sound you rarely heard from him in the middle of a spar. His hands blurred into another jutsu before you could press the advantage. “Shadow Strangle,” he said casually. The next thing you knew, the grass beneath you surged black. His chakra shot out in thick tendrils—grabbing, wrapping, tightening. You dropped to one knee, fingers forming seals in rapid succession. “Wind Release—Vacuum Sphere!” The blast cut through the shadows like a blade, severing their reach. The jutsu didn’t hit him, but it gave you space. You bolted to the side, heart racing now, and not just from exertion. He was better than before. Faster. Sharper. But so were you. The clearing was torn now—grass ripped up, small craters where jutsus had collided. Your breathing came hard and steady. Across from you, he stood loose and easy, but his eyes were sharp. “You’re stronger,” he said. You shrugged. “You’re not holding back.” “Should I be?”

Your eyes met.

“No.”

In the next moment, you both moved. Chakra burned through your limbs like fire. You met mid-air, your kick clashing with his forearm. The impact sent a shockwave through the trees. Birds scattered overhead. You landed on a broken log, pushed off it, feinted left. He anticipated it, tried to trap you with a looping shadow. You vaulted over it, somersaulted low to the ground, and released a burst of wind from your palm that knocked him back a step. Close. So close. He came at you with a kunai now, not even bothering with shadows. Just instinct and muscle and breath. You blocked it with your own, the clang of steel ringing out, sparks flying. You twisted into his guard, your forearm pressing to his chest—too close for weapons, too close for thought. Your faces were inches apart.

He was breathing hard now. So were you. “Getting tired?” you asked. “Never,” he murmured, and you felt his chakra rise again, hot and sharp. But instead of attacking, he smirked. And then his shadow surged beneath you.

Damn it.

You tried to move—too late. The binding caught your right foot. He lunged forward with a grin, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you down in a clean, practiced maneuver. You hit the ground with a grunt, pinned beneath him. “Checkmate,” he whispered against your ear. You looked up, breath caught between laughter and frustration. Sweat beaded at his brow, sliding down his jaw. “I hate you,” you said. “No, you don’t.” His voice was low, close — and he hadn’t moved.

You were still beneath him, the weight of him grounding you, one hand pressed into the earth beside your head, the other curled near your waist, not quite touching. His breath ghosted against your cheek. His hair fell slightly into his face, strands shadowing his sharp eyes, the ones that always seemed to see more than he let on.

The world outside the clearing felt impossibly far away. Neither of you spoke for a while. Just breathing. Listening. “You’ve gotten good,” he said finally, voice quiet, like the comment wasn’t entirely welcome. “Too good.” You arched a brow. “Is that a compliment?” “No,” he said, deadpan. “It’s a threat.” You laughed under your breath, eyes falling closed for a moment. “Better be.” Still, Shikamaru didn’t move. And neither did you. Then—slowly, carefully—you opened your eyes again.

And looked up. Really looked.

There was something about the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy above, painting his features in shades of amber and gold. His expression wasn’t teasing now. Just thoughtful. Still. That same unreadable calm he always wore when the moment mattered more than he wanted to admit. Your chest ached a little. Not from the fight. You didn’t say anything. You just held his gaze. The air between you had shifted—less a breath, more a heartbeat. Tangible. Deep. That moment stretched, wrapped around you like warm cloth, familiar and bittersweet. His lips parted slightly, like he might say something—then didn’t. Instead, after a long pause, he asked, “When do you leave again?”

You blinked.

His voice was steady, but something behind it sounded tired. Not with you. With everything else. You hesitated before answering. Your throat felt dry. “…Soon,” you said, softer than before. “A few more days. Maybe.” You watched the way his jaw tensed, subtle but unmistakable. He looked down, just for a second, brows drawn as though the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “Of course,” he muttered, almost to himself. You felt the shift in his body, the quiet frustration he wouldn’t name. You knew that tone. Knew it well. It wasn’t anger. It was the kind of weariness that came from knowing something was necessary but hating it anyway.

You reached up, fingers brushing lightly at his sleeve—not enough to pull, just to anchor him. Just so he wouldn’t drift too far from this moment. He looked back at you, eyes meeting yours again, and this time he didn’t hide it. The faint flicker of something unresolved, something held back for too long.

You opened your mouth to speak. But the words never made it out. Because in the space between one breath and the next—he kissed you.

There was no hesitation. No warning. Just his lips pressing to yours, warm and sure, like he’d made the decision in an instant and didn’t plan to take it back. And everything stopped. The air stilled. The sounds of the forest dulled. Your thoughts—your heartbeat—stumbled over themselves before dissolving into quiet, into heat, into the softness of his mouth and the certainty of his hands. One braced beside your head, fingers curled into the grass, grounding himself in the moment. The other found your waist, firm and unyielding, as though afraid the world might pull you away from him if he didn’t hold you close enough. You inhaled sharply against him—but then you melted. Completely.

Your hand rose on instinct, fingers brushing against the curve of his jaw, the line of his neck, memorizing the feel of him beneath your touch. The stubble along his skin. The warmth of him, the steadiness. You curled your other hand at his shoulder, holding on like you were trying to memorize the shape of this moment—afraid it might vanish if you let go.

The kiss deepened—not rushed, not desperate, but full. Heavy with everything unspoken. It carried the weight of days and nights spent dancing around something neither of you would name, of passing touches and lingering glances, of unsent letters and silences too thick to cut through. He was quiet, always. But this—this was him speaking.

You felt it in the way his lips moved with yours, slow but certain, reverent almost. In the quiet sigh that trembled through his chest and into yours, like he was finally exhaling something he hadn’t let himself feel until now. Something careful. Something real. Your heart ached with how tender it was. With how long you’d both waited for this, maybe without even realizing it. And as his forehead came to rest against yours, his breath uneven now, you felt that ache deepen. His eyes were still closed. Like he wasn’t ready to let go of the moment just yet. Or maybe he didn’t trust himself to look at you without it breaking the spell. You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Your hand stayed at his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone softly, reverently, as if touching something fragile. And he let you. Leaned into it, just barely, as if even now, he didn’t want to ask for more than what you gave freely.

You felt the tension slowly unwind from his body, bit by bit, like every second of closeness was untangling knots neither of you had known were there. The weight he always carried—the pressure, the burden, the solitude—lifted, just a little. Enough for you to feel it. Enough to know how much he trusted you. When he finally opened his eyes, they found yours instantly.

And you saw it—all of it.

The worry. The longing. The fear of losing something he never dared to ask for in the first place. “I wasn’t going to say it,” you whispered, voice barely there. He didn’t need to ask what you meant. He already knew. He swallowed, throat bobbing slightly. “I know.” And still—he kissed you.

Again.

Softer this time. Slower. Like he was trying to memorize you in pieces. The way your lips parted for him. The taste of your breath. The tremble in your fingers. The way your lashes fluttered shut.

It was the kind of kiss that said: If you have to go, take this with you.

The kind that said: Don’t forget me.

The kind that said: I won’t say it. But I will show you. Every time.

And it shattered you in the gentlest way. Because he didn’t make promises. He didn’t offer declarations or pretty words. But this—he gave you this.

And in his world, that meant everything.

So you held him close. Closer than before. As if you could carve the memory of this moment into your bones. As if the weight of his body against yours, the warmth of his hand at your waist, the quiet strength of his heart beating through his chest, could keep you anchored when the silence came again. And maybe—it would. Maybe it had to. But for now…

For now, you just stayed.

●

Days had passed. Long ones.

You hadn’t seen him since that evening on the training grounds, when breath and bruises had turned into something softer. Into a kiss you hadn’t expected and hadn’t stopped thinking about since.

The memory lingered in a way nothing else quite had in recent months—like warmth tucked under your skin. Every time your mind wandered, it went back to that moment. The way his mouth had found yours, without hesitation. The way he’d touched you like he wasn’t sure he deserved it, but needed it anyway.

You thought about the sound he’d made when you kissed him back. About the silence that had followed, comfortable and close. About the weight of his forehead resting against yours.

It was strange, how something so quiet could echo for days.

He’d been called away on a mission shortly after. Nothing long—just a few days. But in the stillness of your own temporary leave, the absence of him became a kind of presence too.

You spent your time resting. Reading. Walking through the quieter edges of the village without a destination. You let yourself be still—just for a little while.

But tonight was your last night before heading out again. And the quiet had started to feel a little too quiet.

So you’d lit a few candles. Not because you needed them, but because the soft flicker made the evening feel more grounded. More yours. You’d just come out of the shower, wrapped in the scent of your favorite soap, skin warm from the steam, your hair damp and curling softly at the ends. You wore a simple wrap dress—comfortable but just a little pretty, like you were trying to feel human again before the cold distance of a mask and mission overtook you. It hugged you gently, cinched at the waist, and fell around your knees like water.

In the kitchen, the scent of miso and soy filled the air—your ramen wasn’t quite finished yet, but it was close. The broth simmered slowly, the noodles resting nearby, waiting. You sat curled on the couch, one leg tucked under you, a book open in your lap and a cup of green tea resting between your palms. The soft hum of the stove and the occasional page turn were the only sounds in the room. And then—three knocks at your door.

You froze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not this late. Not tonight. You set your tea down, placing the book spine-up on the couch cushion, and padded barefoot across the wooden floor toward the entrance. The knot in your chest tightened slightly, your shinobi instincts sharpening for a brief moment—until you opened the door. And everything softened.

Shikamaru stood in the doorway.

Hair slightly tousled, shadows under his eyes, mission gear gone, but fatigue still clinging faintly to him like dust. He wore a simple dark shirt and pants, nothing dramatic—but in his hand, almost awkwardly held, was a small bouquet of flowers. Wild ones, mostly. A few sprigs of white, pale purple, something with green stems that didn’t quite match. It wasn’t elegant. But it was… real.

The scent hit you first—a strange but strangely comforting mix of crushed petals and faint cigarette smoke. A contrast that somehow fit him too well.

You blinked. He didn’t say anything at first. Neither did you. The moment stretched, quiet and oddly full.

“…You’re back,” you finally said, voice soft, almost unsure whether to smile. “Yeah.” He scratched at the back of his neck with the hand not holding the flowers, looking somewhere just past your shoulder. “Didn’t plan to come by, honestly.”

A pause.

You tilted your head, brow arching slightly. “Should I be offended?” That made his lips twitch, just slightly. His eyes finally met yours. “I can leave if you want.” It was said with his usual dry tone, but there was something underneath it—something shy, almost. Like he wasn’t sure how he’d be received. Like he’d been playing the scene out in his head the entire walk over and had already prepared himself for you to shut the door in his face. You looked at him for a long moment.

Then you reached forward, fingers brushing gently over Shikamarus wrist as you took the bouquet from him and stepped aside. “Stay,” you said, quieter now. “I was just making ramen.” He hesitated, still lingering in the doorway as if unsure whether this counted as permission or a trap. “You’ll like it,” you added, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you turned and walked back into the apartment. You didn’t have to look back to know he followed.

The door clicked shut softly behind him. You set the flowers on the counter, searching for a jar to use as a makeshift vase. You heard him sigh behind you—tired, maybe, or just releasing something held too long. “So,” you said over your shoulder as you filled the jar with water. “Was it a difficult mission?” “Not really.” He sounded closer now. “Just… a lot of walking.” “You hate walking.” “Troublesome, yeah.” You could almost hear the smirk in his voice now. “But I made it back.” You turned, placing the jar of flowers on the table near the window. The setting sun caught the petals just right, making them look almost prettier than they were. You looked at him. He was watching you. His eyes didn’t move. The air shifted a little.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you before I go.” you admitted, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “I figured you’d be—busy. Or… tired.” “I was,” he said quietly. “But I kept thinking about that kiss.” Your breath caught. You turned fully toward him now, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the counter for balance. Shikamaru shrugged, looking almost annoyed with himself. “Couldn’t get it out of my head. Figured that meant I should stop thinking about it and do something instead.” You didn’t know what to say to that. So instead, you walked past him to the stove, stirring the ramen gently, letting the silence stretch in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable.

He moved closer.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him behind you, not touching, but present. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to reach for you again—but hoped you might.

You turned, ladle still in hand, eyes finding his again. “Can you grab two bowls?” you asked gently, nodding toward the cupboard behind him. Shikamaru blinked once, as if coming out of some quiet internal fog, and turned around without a word. You watched him as he reached up, the hem of his shirt pulling slightly with the stretch. His movements were unhurried, efficient—but still carrying that particular kind of laziness only he had perfected. He handed you the bowls without needing to be asked twice.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking them and setting them down beside the pot. You ladled the ramen carefully, making sure to get enough broth and noodles in each bowl. It wasn’t anything fancy—just something warm, something real. Something to fill the quiet with more than just silence. “Chopsticks?” he offered, already moving toward the drawer where you kept them. “You know your way around too well,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “Troublesome how often I’ve been here,” he replied, handing you a pair and taking the other for himself.

You carried both bowls to the small coffee table in front of the couch, setting them down gently before settling in. Shikamaru joined you, legs folding easily beneath him, the lines of his body relaxing in that same way you remembered from nights long past—those quiet hours after missions, both of you too wired or too worn out to sleep. “You know… for someone who’s been here so often, it’s kind of funny nothing’s ever really… happened.” Shikamaru raised a brow. “Nothing?” You sank into the cushions a little deeper and gave him a look. “I mean, except for you randomly kissing me on that training field and then pretending like it didn’t completely scramble my brain.”

A corner of his mouth lifted, something slow and slightly smug. “Randomly? You were the one who pinned me to the ground.” “That was a sparring maneuver.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged upward despite yourself. “You kissed me, remember?” He shrugged again and lowered himself onto the couch beside you, deliberately close. “Seemed like the right move at the time.” You ate in relative silence at first. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

The young man blew on the noodles before slurping them down, his usual expression of faint disinterest returning every now and then between bites. You watched Shikamaru from the corner of your eye, amused by the speed at which his food disappeared. “Did you even taste it?” you asked eventually, quirking a brow as he lowered his bowl. He gave a small shrug. “I was hungry.” You picked at your own ramen with a faint smirk. “Clearly.”

Shikamaru shifted beside you, leaning back into the couch. One arm draped along the backrest—casually, but it settled just behind your shoulders, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of your dress. Not quite touching you… but close enough that you felt the warmth of him, the nearness. The kind that made you hyperaware of your own breathing. The other hand lifted to rub lazily at the back of his neck, his movements slow, unbothered. “Could’ve told you no. Could’ve gone home. Slept.” “But you didn’t,” you said softly, not quite looking at him. “No,” he admitted, voice low and a little rough, his eyes half-lidded as he turned just slightly toward you. “Didn’t want to.” There was a pause. One of those stretches of silence that wasn’t awkward—but heavy. Charged. His fingers shifted, brushing a little closer to your shoulder, just enough to set your skin tingling beneath your dress. You didn’t lean in. But you didn’t lean away, either. There was a pause, long and warm.

Then he sat up and gestured vaguely toward the windowed door. “Mind if I smoke?” You shook your head. “Go ahead.” He stood and slid the glass door open with a soft sound, stepping out onto the small balcony that overlooked the quieter side of the village. The cool evening air slipped in around the edges of the room. You finished the last few bites of your ramen in silence, your thoughts drifting somewhere behind your eyes.

You followed him a few minutes later, barefoot on the smooth wood floor, your bowl now empty and set aside. Shikamaru leaned on the railing, cigarette between his fingers, the glow of the ember pulsing faintly in the growing dusk. The breeze ruffled his hair slightly. He didn’t turn when you stepped out. You didn’t say anything, either. You moved past him, quietly, and turned to rest your elbows on the balcony railing, leaning back against it with a soft sigh. Your eyes closed for a second, the breeze cool against your skin, your head tilted slightly toward the stars just beginning to peek through the dark. The sound of the village was soft below. Somewhere far off, a dog barked. The faint clang of metal echoed from a distant training yard. But here—it was still.

You opened your eyes again and turned your head slightly, watching him as he took another drag. His profile was quiet, unreadable. The same look you remembered from a hundred nights like this, from campfires and debriefings and the uncertain in-betweens of wartime. “You remember the coastal mission?” you asked suddenly. He glanced sideways at you. “Which one?” “The one with the smugglers. Three years ago. Before I joined the ANBU.” Shikamaru made a soft noise of recognition, exhaling smoke out toward the sky. “Right. The warehouse. You almost got crushed under a collapsing ceiling.” “You dropped that ceiling.” “It was tactical.” “You said, ‘Oops.’” He gave a faint snort. “Still tactical.”

You laughed, leaning your head back again, the sound brief but real. “You really were sure I was going to die.” “I wasn’t.” His voice was low. Thoughtful. “I was sure you wouldn’t let yourself.” You turned your head toward him, slowly. “I remember thinking I’d never felt more tired,” you murmured. “Everything ached. My legs were jelly. You pulled me out by the strap of my vest.” “You told me if I yanked any harder, you’d puke on my boots.”

“I meant it,” you grinned. He gave a half-smile of his own, the cigarette hovering near his lips again. The smoke curled lazily around him, catching in the breeze. It didn’t bother you like it used to. Now, it just smelled like him. Like missions and late nights and something too familiar to ever forget.

“I miss that,” you said softly. “Not the danger. Not the blood. Just… that kind of simplicity. Being on a team. Knowing someone had your back. Knowing it was you.” He didn’t answer right away. Then he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and murmured, “You were always the one who moved first. I just made sure no one stabbed you in the back while you did.” You smiled faintly, the words warm against the growing chill in the air. “You ever think about what things would’ve been like if I hadn’t joined the ANBU?” you asked, more out of the silence than out of hope for an answer.

“All the time,” he said, too easily.

You blinked. Looked at him. He didn’t meet your gaze. Just took another drag. Your throat felt tight, suddenly. Like something unnamed had been sitting there, waiting. You looked out over the edge of the balcony again, eyes tracing the rooftops and familiar shapes of the village that had never really changed. Only you had. “I still remember the way you looked at me when I told you I was accepting the offer,” you said. “Like you already knew I was going to say yes.” “I did,” he replied quietly. “Didn’t mean I liked it.”

You were quiet for a long time.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. He finally looked at you then. Really looked. “Because it wasn’t my decision,” he said. “And because… if it had been me, I’d have gone too.” You swallowed. There was something heavy in the air now, but not suffocating. Just weighty. Full of everything that had never been said but had always been there—hovering, like smoke that never quite cleared. “I thought I’d forget how this felt,” you admitted. “Standing here. With you.”

“Did you?”

You shook your head.

He dropped the cigarette to the ashtray on the railing and crushed it out, the ember vanishing.

“Come back alive,” he said simply.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the quiet intensity in his voice. “I always do,” you replied softly. “Yeah,” he muttered, gaze flickering down. “But I still like hearing it.” You pushed off the railing and moved closer, slow. His eyes lifted again as you reached up, fingers brushing lightly over his sleeve. “You could’ve told me this before the kiss,” you said, almost teasing, but something in your voice wavered. He gave a small, tired smile. “Would’ve ruined the moment.” You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re an idiot.” “I get that a lot.”

Another beat of silence passed between you.

Then, softer—almost reverent—you murmured, “I’m glad you came tonight.” Shikamaru’s eyes didn’t leave yours. His voice was quiet. Steady. “Yeah. Me too.”

You weren’t sure who moved first. But it didn’t matter.

His lips met yours with a quiet kind of urgency—like a thought that had been unfinished for far too long. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t fumbling. It was slow and real and known. The way his mouth moved against yours, warm and certain, told stories neither of you had ever dared speak aloud. It was familiarity wrapped in something newly blooming. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission—because it had always been waiting.

He tasted faintly of smoke and something softer underneath. His hand came to rest at your waist, firm but not forceful, grounding you like he always had in the chaos of everything else. Your breath caught softly in your throat as you tilted your head, letting yourself lean in—just enough to fall. You pulled back only slightly, just enough to whisper the question against his lips.

“…Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Shikamaru opened his eyes, just barely. They searched yours for a quiet second before he spoke. “Timing,” he said. “Or maybe just me being a coward.” You huffed a breath of air that could’ve been a laugh if your heart hadn’t been pounding. “You?” He gave a small, rueful smirk. “Yeah. Me.”

And then he kissed you again.

This time, it wasn’t tentative. There was no testing, no lingering question. It was need—years of unspoken words, of shared glances and brushed hands and near-confessions left to hang in the silence. It was the release of everything you’d both held back for too long.

Your hand found his chest, fingers splayed over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath. Your other hand rose to the back of his neck, threading into the dark strands of his hair, drawing him closer. He let you. More than that—he leaned into you, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, matching your rhythm, deepening the kiss until you weren’t sure where one of you ended and the other began. The air between you shifted—warmer, heavier. Your breath mingled with his, skin prickling with every brush, every pull. You felt his fingers slide up your back, steadying, learning. Your body answered without hesitation, leaning into every inch of closeness he offered. It was heady and warm and utterly overwhelming. But it felt like coming home.

The kiss broke just barely—only enough to let breath return in shaky exhales. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of your breathing. The quiet hum of the village night beyond the balcony. The way his hand didn’t leave your back. “…Still think the timing was bad?” you whispered, voice uneven. Shikamaru shook his head, eyes not leaving yours. “No,” he murmured. “Feels exactly right.”

The moment your lips met again, everything else fell away. The world outside your small balcony ceased to exist. There was only him. Only the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his breath hitched slightly when your fingers slid up into his hair, the way he pulled you just a little closer, like he couldn’t help it. It was slower this time. Softer. But no less consuming. Your heart thrummed beneath your ribs, loud enough you were sure he could feel it. You parted your lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss, and he did—carefully, deliberately—like he had all the time in the world now.

Your back bumped gently into the doorframe as you pulled away just long enough to look at him. His eyes searched yours again, quiet and unreadable, but his hands stayed on you—one resting against the curve of your waist, the other slipping to the small of your back. “Shikamaru…” you murmured, not even sure what you were going to say. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and rough with something unspoken. You didn’t finish the thought. Instead, your fingers curled into the fabric at his collar as you stepped back into the apartment, leading him with you. He followed without hesitation, never quite letting go of you, his fingers brushing against your skin with every step like a tether he refused to loosen.

The apartment was dim now, lit only by the low glow of the few candles you were lightening earlier. The ramen bowls sat forgotten on the coffee table, but neither of you even glanced at them. Every few steps, you stopped again—another kiss, another touch—like gravity kept pulling you back to each other.nBy the time you reached the hallway, you were both breathless, your smile caught between kisses and half-formed laughter. You bumped into the wall once, giggling against his shoulder. He mumbled something about how troublesome you were, but his mouth was on yours again before he could finish.

You didn’t let go of him. You didn’t want to.

Your hand slid down to find his, fingers interlacing, grounding yourself in the simplest, oldest gesture between you. The kind that said: stay. The kind that didn’t need words. When you finally reached the edge of your bedroom, you paused—just for a second. The air between you was warm and full and trembling with something delicate. His thumb brushed along your knuckles, eyes catching yours in the soft dark. “You sure?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath. You smiled, pulling him gently inside. “I’ve never been more sure.”

The door clicked shut behind you, but you barely heard it over the soft sound of your breaths—his and yours, mingling in the quiet. Shikamaru kissed you again before either of you spoke—slow, aching, like he was trying to tell you something without words. You melted into him, arms curling around his neck, fingers threading into his hair. His lips moved against yours with reverence, with restraint that was fast unraveling. You could feel it in the way his hands gripped your waist—gentle still, but with an edge of urgency just beneath the surface. Like he’d waited too long already.

The soft material of your wrap dress shifted under his fingers as he followed the curve of your body. When his knuckles brushed against the tie at your waist, he paused. His forehead rested against yours, and for a heartbeat, he simply breathed you in. Then he tugged the knot loose—slowly, carefully—watching the dress come undone like the last piece of distance falling away.

Fabric whispered to the floor, and you stood before him in nothing but delicate lace and bare skin. His eyes moved over you, not with hunger, but awe. Like he was seeing something rare. Something fragile. Something Shikamaru didn’t dare rush. “Damn…” he murmured, so low you almost missed it. His thumb traced along your hipbone, barely there, like he was afraid to press too hard and shatter the moment. You could feel your pulse flutter beneath your skin, your breath catching when he leaned in again—not to kiss your mouth this time, but the corner of it. Then your jaw. Then lower. Each press of his lips was deliberate, unhurried, trailing heat wherever it landed.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt and slid beneath it, palms meeting warm skin. He inhaled sharply, but didn’t stop you. You undressed him in silence, your touch lingering, mapping the contours of his body like a blindfolded prayer. When your eyes lifted back to his, the air between you was thick—heavy with want, with everything you hadn’t said and everything you didn’t need to.

You leaned up to kiss him—this time slower. More intentional. And he kissed you back like he finally understood what it meant to need.

Shikamarus fingers skimmed the edges of your lingerie, reverent, featherlight. As if your body was a secret he was being allowed to learn, one breath at a time. When he pushed the straps from your shoulders, he didn’t tear them away. He watched the way your skin reacted to the cool air, his hands steady, his gaze impossibly soft. You gasped softly as his lips found your collarbone, a kiss so tender it ached. Your back arched instinctively, inviting him closer, and he accepted—his hands cradling your ribs like something precious. One slid to your lower back, pulling you flush against him, while the other traced a slow path downward, past the lace and silk, until every layer between you had been undone.

You were bare to him now, completely. But somehow, you’d never felt safer. He looked at you like he’d never seen anything more important.

Shikamaru leaned in, and your lips met once more, soft and steady. His kiss no longer asked a question. It gave an answer. His hands found your back, pulling you close again, chests pressed together, heat bleeding between you. You melted into him, fingertips sliding up the line of his spine as you kissed him deeper, slower. There was no urgency here—just quiet, careful hunger. The kind that had been held back far too long. You barely noticed the way you drifted toward the bed until the backs of your knees brushed against the mattress. He paused, looking at you again—just a breath of space between you—searching your expression for any trace of hesitation. You gave him none. Only a soft smile, your hands guiding him forward with a whisper of pressure.

The bed gave beneath your weight as you lay back, and he followed you down with quiet reverence. The world narrowed to the sensation of skin against skin, of warmth and breath and the gentle weight of him above you. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, as if grounding himself in the reality of your presence. Shikamaru kissed you again, and this time his mouth didn’t just kiss—it lingered. He traced the edge of your jaw with slow, deliberate care, moved to your neck with soft, lingering pressure, coaxing sighs from your lips you hadn’t meant to give. His touch followed—fingers trailing along the lines of your collarbone, your sides, your waist—like a silent conversation passed through skin. You arched slightly into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. Your breath caught when his lips found the hollow of your throat, slow and sensual, his hand splayed against your ribs. The way he moved wasn’t hurried. It was intentional. Like each moment was meant to be savored, as if he wanted you to remember not just the feeling, but the meaning in every press of his mouth. Your hands roamed in kind, fingers gliding over the muscles of his back, the curve of his shoulder, the warmth of his skin. You felt every shift of him above you, every careful adjustment as he leaned down again, kissing you with more certainty, more need.

His hand skimmed down your thigh, pausing only to anchor you closer again. Your fingers slid into his hair, grounding yourself in the way he made you feel—seen, held, wanted. Shikamarus lips returned to yours, slower now but burning, and you met him with equal fire, your body instinctively rising to meet his. There was something sacred in the way you moved together, like every unspoken feeling was finally given space to breathe.

You could feel his restraint slipping away, the once-gentle brush of his fingertips on your thigh turning into a possessive grip. His kiss deepened, no longer tender but hungry—his tongue tangling with yours, demanding, urgent. Your legs parted instinctively, welcoming him closer, and he responded without hesitation. His hand slid upward, caressing the delicate skin of your inner thigh, sending shivers racing through you.

The contrast between the chill of the room and the growing heat between your legs sent a ripple of anticipation through you. You bit your lip as his fingers found your wetness—your arousal slick and warm against his touch. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating from his chest into your core. Shikamarus thumb circled your clit with the lightest, teasing pressure, and you moaned into his mouth, your body instinctively arching toward him, silently pleading for more.

Shikamaru didn’t make you wait.

He explored you with an intoxicating blend of tenderness and intensity, his fingers delving into your folds as if Shikamaru were learning you by heart. Each stroke of his thumb against your clit was a question, each curl of his fingers inside you an answer. You responded in gasps and whimpers, your hips rolling against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he gave so generously. His eyes never left yours, his gaze burning with a need that went far deeper than lust. It was raw. It was real.

His name fell from your lips in a breathy whisper—“Shika…”—and his expression darkened with want. He leaned down, pressing his mouth to yours again, his kiss open and consuming, as if he needed to taste every sound you made. As his fingers continued to work you, his lips left yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. When he found your pulse, he sucked gently, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, leaving behind a mark only you would know was there.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him impossibly closer. You could feel the hard press of his cock against your entrance, and it made you gasp—so close, and yet not enough. He paused again, one hand still pleasuring you while the other gripped your thigh tightly. His gaze locked with yours, wordlessly asking. You nodded, eyes wide and filled with trust and desire. He shifted his hips, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your opening, the stretch delicious and slow as he began to sink into you.

The moment Shikamaru entered you, the world seemed to go still. It wasn’t just physical—it was profound. The way he filled you, inch by inch, made you feel claimed, possessed, and utterly cherished. The stretch was intense, a perfect ache that had you clenching around him, your breath catching in your throat. His eyes searched your face for any sign of discomfort, but all he saw was your need, your raw openness.

Shikamaru stayed there, unmoving, letting your bodies adjust, letting the sensation sink into both of you like heat into skin. Then, slowly, he began to move—each thrust measured, deliberate, as if he were savoring every second, every inch of friction. You met his rhythm instinctively, your hips rising to meet his in a dance older than time. Your breaths tangled, your mouths met again, and in that moment, it wasn’t just sex—it was something far greater.

Your hands roamed his body, feeling the flex of muscle beneath sweat-slicked skin. His back arched into your touch, and his movements grew more confident, more demanding. You whispered his name like a prayer, like a plea, and it spurred him on��his hips snapping forward, harder now, deeper. Shikamarus mouth left trails of fire across your collarbone, his tongue and teeth alternating between teasing and worshiping your skin. When he leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, you cried out. His tongue swirled around the stiff peak before he grazed it gently with his teeth, and the jolt of sensation shot straight to your core. He palmed your other breast, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers until you were arching off the bed, your cries filling the air. Your bodies moved as one—sweat and breath, moans and gasps blending into a symphony of unrestrained need. You clung to him, nails digging into Shikamarus shoulders, leaving marks that would remind him of this moment for days to come. “Harder,” you gasped, and he obeyed, his thrusts becoming powerful, unrelenting, driving into you with a force that bordered on wild.

“Look at me,” Shikamaru growled, his voice thick and broken, and your eyes snapped open, locking with his. The intensity in his gaze was staggering—feral, tender, worshipful. “You’re mine.”

You nodded, the word catching in your throat as the pleasure built higher, tighter, unbearable.

“Always,” you whispered.

The word shattered something in him. He surged forward, hips slamming into yours with punishing precision. You could feel yourself tightening around him, your orgasm clawing its way through you, a tidal wave threatening to consume you both. Your cries grew louder, your voice breaking on Shikamarus name as the world spun out of focus.

And then it hit you.

You came with a scream, your body seizing around him, muscles contracting in waves of overwhelming pleasure. Shikamaru followed moments later, groaning your name as he buried himself deep inside you, his warmth flooding into you in hot, pulsing bursts. The sensation of him filling you, of your bodies locked so tightly together, sent another ripple of pleasure through you, leaving you trembling and breathless.

You clung to him as your bodies trembled, lost in the aftershocks of shared release. Shikamarus thrusts slowed, becoming gentle, almost reverent. He pressed soft kisses to your neck and collarbone, a tender contrast to the fury of moments before. Your bodies remained tangled, breaths mingling, heartbeats racing in perfect unison. In the quiet aftermath, nothing else existed—just the two of you, suspended in the stillness, wrapped in the glow of something that felt like more than desire. It felt like devotion. The rise and fall of his chest began to slow, calming in the hush that settled over the room. It was as though neither of you dared to speak, in case words might break whatever this quiet thing was now blooming between you—fragile and beautiful, like morning light just before it touches the world.

But eventually, he shifted.

Just enough to press a kiss to your hairline. Then another, softer, to your temple. And finally, he leaned back, brushing a few strands of hair gently away from your face. His eyes found yours in the dim candlelight still flickering from the hallway, and for a long moment, he just looked at you. Really looked.

There was no smirk. No laziness in his expression. Just something still and certain. Something that reached deeper than words.

He sat up slightly, careful with you. The sheets rustled as he leaned over to grab the light blanket at the foot of the bed, unfolding it and laying it over your body with a quiet kind of reverence. The aftercare wasn’t showy, but it was there—in the way his hands moved gently across your skin, the way he brushed a kiss to your shoulder before laying back down beside you.

His hand found yours again beneath the covers, intertwining your fingers with a sigh that sounded like peace. You stayed like that for a while. Quiet. Breathing. Feeling. His thumb traced over the back of your knuckles like he was memorizing every detail.n“…I leave tomorrow,” you said at last, your voice quiet and barely audible in the stillness. “First light.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Just nodded, slow and thoughtful. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“I know.”

You turned to face him more fully, resting your hand against his chest where you could feel his heart beating—steady and strong beneath your palm. “I’ll come back,” you said, softer now. “To you.” His gaze flickered, just slightly. Something tightened and then released in his face, like he was trying to pretend your words hadn’t meant more than they should. But his fingers tightened around yours, just enough for you to feel it. “Tch,” he muttered, eyes closing briefly. “You’d better.”

You let out a small laugh, the sound breaking through the tenderness like sunlight. His lips twitched at the corners, but his expression remained subdued. “I mean it, Shikamaru,” you said, more serious now. “Whatever happens… I’ll come back.” “I know,” he said, quieter still. “But just in case…” He leaned in again, pressing one last kiss to your lips—slow, anchoring, the kind of kiss that said more than anything he could ever phrase aloud. It wasn’t full of desperation. It was full of promise. You let your forehead rest against his, your noses brushing, breath mingling in that last shared quiet before the weight of the world returned. Neither of you said goodbye. You didn’t need to.

Not when you’d already decided to return to each other. Not when your hearts had already met halfway.

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (iii)

SUMMARY: Spending years in a Russian lab as nothing more than an experiment does a lot to a man, even one as strong as Soldier Boy. Experiment after experiment after torture technique slowly chips away at his willpower. And, alongside the loss of his strength, comes his anger. His anger at the people who put him in here, the people he used to call his team; and his need for vengeance increases. 37 years after his capture, a group of 5 release him from his prison, and sets him and his rage free.

WORD COUNT: 1755

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Torture, human experimentation, inhumane treatment/practices, violence, gore, unethical treatment/practice, drug abuse.

MAIN MASTERLIST / SERIES MASTERLIST

If there was one thing Ben knew, it was that he wanted the fuck out of here. This cold, lonely, dark room the Russians had had him locked inside of for god knows how long. Between the torture, the Novichok, and the cryo, he’d lost count of the days.

Or the months… or years. Yeah, he really wasn’t sure anymore.

But another day brought more bullets shot into the back of his throat. And, honestly, he was more tired of the taste of metal than the feeling of his throat being ripped apart.

They could be more inventive with their torture techniques.

Injecting acid into his veins, pouring it down his throat, and setting him on fire was boring. Really. If he had more strength in his body, he’d mock them for their predictability. It was repetitive. How were they learning anything new when they did the same damn things every day?

He spent most of his days alternating between thinking of two things; how to kill these Russians, and how to kill Payback.

Because, oh yeah, was he going to rip that shitty excuse of a team apart by their limbs when he got out. Not if. When.

And he’d start with you.

The woman he’d been sleeping with in the lead-up to The Betrayal.

Sure, you weren’t at Nicaragua, but he had no doubt you’d opened your legs as some fucked up, psychological way to soften him up. Fucking whore. Sure, you were a good fuck, but his rage swallowed up any remaining softness he had for you. (Or hardness).

He was going to take great pleasure in squishing you like an annoying bug.

And then Crimson — honestly she was number two on his kill-list, simply because he didn’t really like her. She was a boring fuck, and totally used his ‘death’ as a PR stunt.

What was it with these bitches and manipulating him?

Every time he thought about it, he got more angry. More vengeful. He could feel the power draining from his bones every time they drugged him up on Novichok, and it only heightened his rage.

Right now, he was stuck here. But, when he got back, every single one of those fuckers were going to pay.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

He dreamed about you a lot.

Sometimes, as they poured acid down his throat, Ben imagined you. He clawed and begged breathlessly for mercy, becoming a weak, vulnerable mess at the hands of these men, and he thought of you.

He didn’t want you. You were the one who’d put him in here. But he couldn’t help it.

With your pretty face, sweet words and gentle touch; you’d been the first woman he’d loved.

Ben never thought he’d be capable of such an emotion. That love and emotional intimacy was far, far out of his reach. But, with you, it came easy. Being a dick to you felt more like teasing and playful remarks, rather than genuine hatred. And he’d never dared raise a hand to you like he did Gunpowder or Noir.

He hated himself for it. He should be angry. So, so fucking angry. He should spend his days wishing the worst on you.

Instead, he wished you were here. That you’d come and rescue him. That you’d hold him and whisper soothingly, your words sinking through his skin and to his heart, lighting up his nerves.

He’d never felt so alone before.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

So… apparently you couldn’t age.

It came as a shock as much to you as it did to Vought. They’d pulled you out of the spotlight when it’d become too obvious, when the media started to notice the lack of wrinkles for your age and had begun asking questions, and they’d ran some tests.

Turns out, your father was a moron. And the strain of Compound V the assholes at the hospital had given you, was the same strain they’d given Ben during the human trials in WW2. Fucking dickheads. Because now you were stuck on this godforsaken planet until you discovered something that could kill you.

You had no idea why they did that. But it was Vought. They always had some shady, unethical shit going on in the background. Turns out you were just another victim of that.

Hopefully the Russians had another one of those lasers they’d killed Ben with.

It’d been 15 years since that fateful day. 1999 had olled around, and Vought officially kicked you out of the business. They gave you the ‘Soldier Boy Plan’ — giving you a pretty house in the middle of god-knows-where, and telling the media you were dead.

You couldn’t complain, really. You’d befriended the local wildlife and spent your evenings watching the sunset over the trees. The years went by slowly, but they were far more peaceful than your life in Vought had been. Finally, you could just breathe.

And you watched the news, as Payback fell apart and were replaced by a new team, the Seven. Homelander seemed like a Soldier Boy 2.0 — same cockiness, same fake smiles and kindness. You were sure there was some shady shit going on with that team. (There always was with Vought).

It wasn’t your business. It was 2020, you hadn’t been a superhero in 21 years. Whatever bullshit was going on with Vought was in your distant past.

… And then Queen Maeve made it your business. On a quiet day in 2021.

Initially, when you opened the door to see the smug superhero in your doorway, you were half-tempted to just kill her right there. But, you held back. Your hand curled around the door, staring back at her. “What do you want?”

“I want to know everything you know about Soldier Boy.” She didn’t even look surprised you were alive.

You kind of just… stared. “Ben?” You echoed. That was the last thing you’d expected to come out of her mouth “You mean… the man who died 37 years ago? Why the fuck are you asking me about him?”

She shrugged. The corner of her lip tugged to a smirk. “You were fucking him.” Honestly, you had to give her some credit. She obviously did her research before coming here. Plus, she had some fucking balls just turning up out of the blue like this. You could rip her head clean off her shoulders if you wanted to.

Scoffing, you turned and walked away from the front door, inadvertently inviting the supe in. She followed you through your home, to the kitchen, where your first instinct was to grab a bottle of wine. “Why are you asking me about him?”

“We think—“

“Who’s we?” You cut in, grabbing two glasses.

Maeve stared for a moment. “A few friends.”

You scoffed, pouring the wine into the two glasses. “I’m going to need more than ‘friends’ if you want me to tell you anything about Ben.” With an unimpressed glare, you handed her a glass.

“We think whatever killed him, might be able to kill Homelander.” She didn’t give you the information you wanted, but it was better than nothing. And it’s what made you help.

So, you fetched her the files you’d gathered on Ben, in your 15 years of trying to figure out what happened to him. You wished her luck, hoping she found more than you did. You never found who the friends were, and why exactly they wanted Big-Man-Homelander dead, but you had a good guess.

Whatever.

Not your business.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Ben came in and out of consciousness a lot. They’d rip into his muscles and his bones, or inject something into his bloodstream, and then they’d pump him full of Novichok again, until his muscles went weak and his eyes rolled back.

Fucking assholes. Finding one of the only things in this world that could do damage to him.

It made it difficult to keep track of time. Sometimes they kept him asleep for weeks, while they analysed results and came up with new techniques. Like a rat. It was dehumanising.

He was tired these days. Tired of being angry. Tired of being tired.

He missed home. He missed drugs. He missed his fame. He missed sex. He missed you. When’d he become such a weak pussy? He was a man, for fucks sake. Not a snivelling bitch. He could get through this. He could get out the other end. And he could kill you.

He was sure of it.

And, in 2021, only two weeks after you delivered the file to Maeve, a group of five landed in Russia, and set him free.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Soldier Boy being alive was not on the itinerary. All their clues had lead them to Russia, where they’d expected to find a weapon… and instead found the man himself.

Hughie couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and Butcher was too busy rethinking their entire plan to really digest this all.

Really, there was a man in his 100’s snorting lines of bennies in front of them, making demands. They’d fetched him food, alcohol and drugs, with the hopes to calm him down and rationalise him. He took it all with no ‘thank you’, but seemed a bit more relaxed once the white powder went up his nose.

Relaxed enough to make a deal.

He wanted Payback dead, they wanted Homelander dead — they’d kill two birds with one stone. It was good enough for Butcher.

“Two’a your ol’ mates are dead.” Butcher spoke to the supe, who was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. “I sorted Gunpowder.” (Ben hadn’t been impressed with that news). “And your ol’ girlfriend, Y/N—“

Now that caught his attention. “She’s dead?” Ben’s head lifted quickly, analytical eyes watching Butcher. His teeth ground together. He’d wanted to be the one to kill you. He’d dreamt of watching the life drain from your eyes. “How’d she kick it?”

“Vought never released those details.”

He allowed himself a smirk. Smart bitch. “Then she ain’t dead.” He slammed the hilt of his dagger into a few pills, crushing them into powder. “Shady fucks pulled that stunt hundreds’a times.”

Hughie sat a little straighter. This was fresh news. While they’d been searching for people to help find information on Soldier Boy, they’d suggested you. But, everything in history suggested you’d met the reaper in ‘99. “They faked her death?”

He nodded, sure of it, cutting the powder into lines. “Find her.” He demanded. His sharp glare cut into the pair of them. “I want her fuckin’ dead.”

a/n: sorry for the loooong ass wait on this chap. i rlly struggled to write this one + i’m currently sitting my a level exams. this chapter was more of a filler. the good stuff happens next chapter !!!

taglist: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity @mostlymarvelgirl @aaronhotchnerlover @delaynew @let-me-luve-you @yvonneeeee @livsh20 @thej2report @lostin-jensenseyes

@boywivlove @leavli @cassieriddle713 @drasticemotions

[gegewrites]

Harvey (SDV)- One Glass Was all it Took (SMUT)

Hi, just dropping off this fanfic for you. Eat it up. hope yall enjoy I started this legit at 10am TODAY. This is the fastest I’ve written in a bit and the first fic I’ve finished in months (I’m so sorry)

The Harvey brain rot is real.

4-7-24

5.2k words

Your pov-

The sun was setting and I was relaxing on the porch swing, looking at the sky changing colors. It was a relaxing day, it rained in the morning, which made it easy to pet and collect from the animals, but annoying to  harvest the crops that were ready. It stopping raining at about four, and by then I was already done for the day. I contemplated going fishing or heading to the mines for a few hours to make up some of that wasted time but I ended up just cleaning and re-arranging some of the house. The birds were singing, still warm out but a cool breeze drifted through the trees. It was perfect out. 

"Enjoying the sunset?" I heard Harvey ask, I looked over and he was by the produce bin. I wasn't expecting him at all.

"Yeah, so pretty tonight." I smiled. He didn't come up into the porch, he leaned against the railing in front of me, a bottle of wine in hand being held out to me.

"I had to go to Zuzu City today, I picked this up on my way out. Think you'll enjoy it." He smiled as I leaned off the swing and grabbed it from him.

"This is my job." I giggled. It's a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, the label boasting a 10 year age and top quality French grapes.

"Just a little bit of payback for all the stuff you've brought me." He smiled,"I-"

"Should I get glasses?" I asked,"you don't have to leave so soon do you?"

"I can stay for a bit." He leaned off the railing as I stood up.

"Perfect, come in."

Half and hour later-

"…Just a bunch of city and small town doctors and donors looking to shell out money. If I was convincing enough hopefully a few donors will step up and donate some money to the clinic.” He took a sip from his glass and looked at me,” It's a decent drive to the city, i don’t mind it. I use to intern at the Zuzu hospital, but when I heard they didn't have a doctor in this town, that the other towns also driving to the city for healthcare, I settled in." His eyes looked away from the now dusky blue sky and looked at him, which were watching him intently," why are you here? Besides your grandfathers passing, I don’t think you’ve told me.”

"I wasn't doing so well back home...so when we did get the news grandpa died my parents saw it as a way for me to get a new fresh start...and it worked, but boring I'll be honest. Three years, everyday almost the same." I shrugged my shoulders and finished the last of my glass. We both were only on the first glass, talking more than drinking.

"I get that. In a town so small it's easy to fall into a repetition...only reason why I've kept my car. I could sell it, put that money into the clinic, but when people in the outside towns needs assistance and they can't get here I get to switch it up and go to them."  He looked down at his glass and then back to me,"it's important to find joy in daily life, especially when you're life is a lot of physical work....its also important to find the time to relax."

"Yeah, but there's always something that has to get done over here or someone needs something." His hand came down and sat just above my knee.

"You need to start making time for yourself." His face was serious, but not scolding. His brows lightly furrowed together, but his eyes held a caring look.

"Doctors orders?" I smiled, a chuckle trailing behind the words and I felt my cheeks flush. Luckily it was darker out but the porch light was still on.

"Doctors orders." He smiled, his eye contact was held with mine. He did look like he was contemplating something, his eyes slightly looking down below mine before locking back with mine.

Usually it would take me a third glass to get the confidence to make any sort of move, but over the few years I've been here, the conversations we've had, professional settings and non professional, it gave me the confidence.

The swing wasn't big, our legs were comfortably touching, and his hand still sat on my leg. I pushed up just a bit, my lips connecting to his, my heart was pounding out of my chest, but he returned it quickly, the hand on my thigh came to my check and my heart rate relaxed a bit.  His mustache tickled my nose but I didn't mind it at all. We both tasted like wine and I heard his glass tink against the table in his side, his newly free hand softly held my other cheek, mine still holding my glass. He was the first to pull away from the slow kiss.

"(y/n)..."  he whispered before pulling back more and my heart sped up, awaiting rejection,"are you sure about this?"

"I've never been more sure of anything, Harvey." I replied quickly but not forcefully, he took the glass from my hand and placed it with his on the table behind him.

I could tell he was thinking, quickly contemplating the decisions he could make. He turned back to me, pushing his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

"I'm a thirty four year old doctor stuck in place." His thumb brushed my cheek as he spoke.

"And im a twenty five year old who couldn't hold down a job long enough to have a chance to be stable." I confessed,"my last relationship ended with cops and a restraining order."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But (y/n), you said you're bored, you're bored here... I watch the history channel and live quietly."

"You don't get it, Harv. I'm bored cause I'm alone, everyday I wake up and it's just me, you're stuck in place cause it's just you. Don't humans need others around? We are social animals."  He let out a quiet and sharp exhale from him nose, hand still in my cheek that didn't even realize I've relaxed into.

"There are others-"

"Please Harvey, I've already tried, they've all got their own dreams in places I've already tried to live and couldn't....i want quiet but I don't wanna be alone."  His hand slid away from my cheek, just to hold onto my chin,"there's no reason to not try."

"You have to understand that I'm still your doctor and if it doesn't work-"

"If it doesn't work my ass Harvey." I grabbed lightly onto his other wrist,"I've never been more sure of anything.."I leaned forwards,"and you haven't been only  charging me half for no reason, don't think I haven't noticed. You can say you're not the right one but it's obvious Harv-"

He cut me off with his lips, his hand coming to my waste, pulling my body a bit closer to his. I kissed him back quickly not wasting any time, my body was twisted a bit, my hands held onto his jacket covered shoulders. Our lips moved in sync, tongues tangling with each other, heat and want radiating from the both of us.

My hand grabbed onto his tie as I slid off the swing and stood up, our lips didn't disconnect, his big hands sat on my waist as he sat up higher before standing. He was taller than me, so he was bowed down to keep the kiss going and my back pressed against the railing of the porch. He pulled away, and stood up straight, looking down at me. His hand left my waist and he pushed his glasses back up. God he was handsome.

I decided to ditch the glasses that were on  the table and lead him inside by his tie.

When we got to my bedroom he took off his jacket and I loosened his tie before I started undoing his belt while he kicked off his shoes. His hands coming to the bottom of my shirt, slipping it off of my body, dropping it to the floor as he walked me back, the back of my legs feeling the mattress and he unclipped my bra. My thighs pressed together a bit, feeling that pulse between my legs and myself getting wetter. He slid it down my arms and I sat down, his hands running down my body as he slowly got down onto his knees.

"This bruise is concerning."  He ran his thumb on the right side of my ribs and I rolled my eyes.

"I can't even feel it Harv." I rolled my eyes with a smile and cupped his cheek, his cheek and jaw was a bit tickly. He placed a kiss to the top of my chest, kissing my collarbones and then down between my breasts,"if you want to know it's from my goat getting too excited and accidentally butting me."

"I'm glad.." his hand cupped my breast, fingers massaging it, my nipple pressed into his palm as he placed a kiss on my other. My hand sat on the back of his neck, my nails lightly scratching his scalp, his shaggy hair between my fingers," it's nothing serious…but goats are pretty strong,” he looked up at me,”could’ve broken a rib.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as his lips returned to my breast. I propped up on my left arm, his tongue swirled around my nipple, teeth teasing it lightly and I grinded down to on the mattress from the pressure of need building up inside of me. While he places kisses to my breasts his hands came down and undid the button of my jeans, and unzipped them. He pushed up slightly placing a kiss on my sternum and I laid back on my forearm. He hooked his fingers into my jeans, I raised my hips a bit and he pulled them down slowly, my panties going with them. His eyes locked with mine, until the fabric fell to the floor, and now I was naked with him between my legs.

Both of us paused. Suddenly I wish I had drank another glass. His eyes trailed down my body, taking it in.

“Harvey?” I asked, and he looked up at me, his look alone told me I was the one feeling off.

“Sorry…taking it in now.” He pushed my thighs out, spreading my legs wider, and he grew taller, kneeling only on one knee now,”once these glasses come off I can’t exactly see you the best.”

I felt my face blush as his hand ran along the inside of my thigh, and my pussy tighten from his touch. It’s been awhile, a good four years since I’ve been with something other than a vibrator. I felt his thumb slide up my lips, feeling how wet I’ve gotten, then his thumb slipped between and immediately found my clit. My lips parted the moment his thumb pad touched my clit, he slowly and softly dragged his thumb in a circle against it and my head lulled back a bit and I let out a sigh. He trailed a few kisses on the inside of my thigh, mustache tickling and dragging against my skin. His thumb worked a bit faster and my thighs quivered a few times.

“Harvey please.” I pushed out with a breath and I heard him hum lightly. His thumb left my clit and I felt his middle finger circle my wet hole before dipping in causing a moan to rumble in my throat as I bit my lip. His fingers were nice, he had nice hands at that. His fingers were long kind of thick, but nimble none the less. He curled his finger to the curve of my walls as he slowly dragged it in and out. I didn’t realize where he was till I felt the left side of the bed dip a bit.

“Absolutely soaked.” He whispered into my ear and a shiver ran down my spine and I tightened around his finger,”you haven’t had anything in a while, huh?”

“Too busy..mm, too tired at the end of the day.” I answered, feeling him kiss my neck, his stubble scratching lightly at my skin.

He kissed my shoulder with a hum, his middle finger leaving me, but coming back with his ring finger in tow. His fingers slipped right back in, my head couldn’t help my fall back, the front of my neck completely bared to him. He curled his fingers to my anatomy again and he sped up the slightest. I could feel how wet I was, it was almost embarrassing, but come on…it’s Harvey.

My hips rolled into his palm and his fingers found my gspot, I bit down onto my lips, my eyes fell close.

“Right theere.” I moaned, and he changed his fingers positions, a deeper curl. I heard something light fall onto the bed and my eyes opened the littlest. I saw his glasses. I raised my head, timing perfectly with him lifting my left leg onto his shoulder. His stubble rubbing against the inside of my thigh, before feeling his tongue against my clit, he kept a steady pace and motion with his fingers. His tongue slowly lapped at my clit,my hand finding the top of his hair, not tugging but sitting in it, holding it out of his face. I was breathing heavy, breathy moans just slipping out. His lips latched on to clit, a mix of licking and sucking, making my body tense and my moans grow louder.

“Oh God.” I moaned out, my heel digging into his back just below his shoulder blade,”Fuuuck Harv.”

He pushed up onto the bed, his left arm wrapped around the front of my thigh, holding the inside of it with his hand and he pumped his fingers deeper and faster. I heard a groan erupt from him as his tongue dipped in with his fingers before sliding back to my clit, giving it a harsh suck. My hands gripped into his hair, my body pushing into his. My head felt light, my thigh tensing in his grip, being held open to avoid squeezing his head. The way he was circling, sucking, and licking my clit roughly paired with his fingers “come hither” and just how deep his fingers were inside of me I was on the verge of cumming. I could feel my slick dripping down my ass, definitely soaked in the comforter, my walls tightened around his fingers. My moans were more present, louder, and longer. My body felt like it was on fire in the best way possible.

“I’m gonna cum Harv.” I whined out, releasing his hair for a second before griping back on. My thighs started twitching and the upper half of my body curling forwards yet my head lulling back,”I’m gon-gonna cum baby.”

He didn’t change was he was doing, and my toes curled, my eyes rolling back, my teeth digging into my bottom lip as my body tightened. that knot in my abdomen snapping, cumming on his fingers. We kept his pace steady as I rode out my release, only slowing down when I started whimpering and hips near spasming into his face.

I fell onto my back, as his fingers slid out of my pussy, his tongue lapping up my release. His hand left the inside of my thigh, and I heard his glasses drag towards him, before wrapping around it again. He placed a kiss to the inside of my thigh, his mustache wet. I was catching my breath, coming back to reality when my thigh dropped from his shoulder and I felt his thumb swipe across my bottom lip. I opened them and his finger laid on my tongue, I closed my lips around them, cleaning my cum off of them.

I opened my eyes when he slid his fingers out of my mouth. He was standing in front of the bed, looking down at my pussy, the bulge in his dark brown corduroys prominent. I sat up, and pulled him to me by his tie, kissing him heatedly, tasting myself on his tongue. My fingers started undoing the buttons of his shirt, tugging it out of jeans and pulling away from him, a light bite dragging his lip before letting go. His lips were pink, so was his face. He undid his tie enough to get it off over his head and took off his long sleeve as I placed kisses down his stomach, slowly unzipping his pants.

He wasn’t a “fit” man, he had a dad bod but no kids(not yet), but he was attractive and sexy as hell nonetheless. He brushed the hair out of my face as I kissed down his happy trail. I slid down to my knees and he took a step back. I looked up at him through my lashes as I hooked my fingers into the waist on his pants and boxer band, and slid them down. His cock sprung out and I stopped pulling down his pants. He was decent size, long enough to where he wouldn’t be able to get all of it in but most, but he was thick. It made sense for a man as meaty as he is.

I kissed up his thigh, which had impeccable grinding quality. His fingers carded through my hair, my hands sat on his hips as I kissed up his body till I was standing, a bit wobbly, but his hand came around to my back.

“I wanna ride you.” I kissed his chest and he chuckled, his hand sat on the side of my neck and lower part of my jaw, his thumb brushed over my jaw, before he angled my face to look up at him.

“You can, but you have to go easy.” I gave him a pouty furrowed brow look and he smirked with fondness,”you haven’t had sex in awhile. Feeling how tight you were-and just with fingers, you have to take it easy.”

“You saying I’m too small for your cock, Doctor?” I whispered intimately and I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on my tippy toes, my chest pressing into his, his cock pressed against the front of my thigh. His face flushed even more as his hands held onto my waist. My hand came around to the back of his head and I pulled his head closer to mine and I whispered,”guess it’s a good thing I’m absolutely soaked for you.”

He let out a breath I don’t think he realized he was holding in and I lowered down onto my soles. He hasn’t gotten a moment to speak, this pussy has his tongue caught. My fingers dragging against his skin as I backed up and crawled onto the bed. I propped up onto my arms, facing him, and spread my legs open, my heels stable on the edge of the bed.

“Do you wanna be the one to stretch this pussy then?” It looked like his brain stopped working for a second, before has hand gripped onto his cock, his tongue quickly swiping along the bottom of his top lip and he smirked lightly, more adoration then the lust his eyes held.

“I probably shouldn’t, no condoms.” He crossed his arms, oh he looked good.

“What did you go into the city and fuck a stripper?” I joked and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“We’re unprotected.” His hands moved to his waist and I looked at him with a dumbfounded look.

“Harvey…you’re the dude who gives me my birth control every month.” He rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses.

“I’m aware of that, It’s still unsafe nonetheless.” His hands sat on my knees before grabbing the back of my calves.

“Live a little, just for tonight.” His grip tightened on my calves and he looked to the side and then back to me before pulling me edge of the bed, I fell onto my back as he held my calfs on his waist, his cock sitting right over my soaking cunt. His head tapping against it as it bounced lightly.

“For tonight.” His hand let go of my calf and I held it against his waist. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and his caressed my cheek, him thumb brushed against the cheek bone. He used that same hand to drag the head of his cock between my slick lips, running it against my clit, then rubbing his tip against my needy hole, he watched his cock slide between my lips before he looked up at me.

“Need a pillow.” I quickly grabbed the fluffiest one from behind me and handed it to him. I tightens my legs around him but he peeled them off,”where’s your bathroom?”

“Why?” I asked sitting up.

“Just need a towel.” I just fell in love with him. Luckily there was a bathroom in my bedroom so I pointed to the door and he walked over. Man has a nice ass, he is just good looking in general.

He came back with one of my thick towels, dark grey. He folded it into two and put it over the towel. I laid back down, holding my knees close to my chest and he grabbed my calf’s, spreading my legs and placing my lower half onto the pillow.

“That’s better.” His hands guided my legs around his waist, spitting into his palm and stroking his cock. I swallowed and bit down onto my lower lip as he stroked his cock through my lips. He was right, this angle felt better. His tip circled my entrance and he looked at me,”you ready?”

“Mmhmm.” I nodded and he paused for a moment before he started pushing the tip in. I immediately gripped onto the mattress below me my eyes squeezing shut, he was so right. He always right.

“I think I-“ he stopped pushing in mid tip.

“No no, just keep going…Fuck Harv.”

“Just tell me if it hurts, I’ll go easy.” He started pushing it in again. My walls stretching around him yet clamping down on him. It was a mix of absolute pleasure and pain. A deep throaty grain erupted out of his chest, I opened my eyes to see his head tilted back before coming back to look down at his cock stretching into me. I when he bottomed he pressed deeper into me and pushed out a shakey moan from my lips.

He stopped for a moment, giving my body a chance to relax around him, his hand ran up and down my thigh comfortingly as I breathed in and out, my brows twisted together.

“Move, please” I said softly and he did just that, he slowly slid his cock out of me, even his tip, and slid it back inside. Another moan left my left, my lips stayed open as he pushed in deeper this time, pulling out to his tip and pushing back in. He kept it slow and steady, listening to the whines and groans that fell from my lips.

“Shit (y/n).” He groaned out, I felt his thumb press against my clit, rubbing tight and slow circle against it, my legs tightening around his waist. He moved his hips a bit faster, his cock dragging against my walls. His thumb abandoned my clit, and his hands grabbed onto my hips, holding them tightly, fingertips pressing deeply into my ass.

“Fuck me Harvey.” I breathed out.

“How do you want it, darling?” I pressed my lips together and a small giggle sounded in my throat from the pet name that fell from his lips, I felt my body curl a bit as his hand touched my check. His tone was as smooth as whiskey dripping with lust,”tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

“Faster…” I swallowed and took a breath, my voice a bit shakey,”and deeper.”

His movements did become a bit faster, still focused on not hurting me, but he did pressed his cock deeper into me on each thrust.

“Good good.” My lips fell open as he started thrusting harder, his tip starting to hit that spot in me,”oooh yess.”

“found it?”

“Uuhuh.” I moaned, and he thrusted his tip against it again, but harder, to confirm and it was confirmed with an unsolicited moan.

“You’re taking me so well, (y/n). So daaamn good.” He groaned, his thrusts stayed sharp and even but he sped up more, rocking his hips into my pelvis. I tightened around him getting lost in the feeling of his tip sliding through my walls, the sound of his skin now slapping against mine, and the way groans and light moans fell from his lips. My heels dug into his back and his name trailed out of my lips. I felt my slick drip down my ass and into the towel, hearing how wet his motions sound now. I felt his body lean forwards, his thrusts kept steady, but slowed down a bit, fucking deeply into me, his cock grinding perfectly against my g-spot now.

“Oooh! Har-Harvey!” I loudly moaned out, it didn’t hurt, well a little bit, but it felt too good to complain. He was tall so his forearms laid flat on the bed trapping my head. He placed a kiss on my forehead, my hands wrapping around his back and gripping onto his shoulders. I couldn’t help but moan Into his ear, erotic moans falling from my lips as my pussy got wetter.

“Such a good girl. Taking my cock like this.” He strained out, my nails were digging into his skin as he sped up more. My eyes clamped shut, sob like moans ripping out of my throat, that heat building up in my lower abdomen telling me I was the verge of spilling over.

“Ha-Harvey,” I breathed out, my words whined ,”I’m gon-I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum on my cock, darling.” He groaned into my ear. His breath was hot against my skin, and the erotic groans falling from his lips were a perfect music to my ears. My left hand slid off his back, and I felt his weight shift, and I peeled my eyes open. He didn’t have his glasses on, and he was propped up on left arm, his right hand went back to my pussy, his hand pressed down on my pelvis, his thumb rubbing my clit quickly.

“Harvey! Aaaah fuuuuck!” My back arched up and a moan tore out of me, as my orgasm ripped through me. I saw starbursts behind my closed eyes, a rush of heat covering my whole body as it tensed up. My walls clamped around him as my right hands nails scraping against his back and he let out a strained groan.

“That’s it…That’s it.” He cooed, and I felt

His cock twitch inside of me as he fucked me through my high.

He kept his pace as steady as he could, going back to standing, his thumb abandoned my clit. I looked at him with heavy lids, watching his face,his glasses were back on, his lips were parted and his eyes watched his cock thrust in and out of me , and how his hands gripped onto my thighs.

“Come on Harv.” My tone tripped with ecstasy, as I propped up on my arms a bit to watch him and his body better, his eyes met mine, half lidded, before looking down, watching the way my chest moved from his thrusts,”cum for me Harvey.”

I felt his cock twitch more inside of me, his thrust still felt good and I couldn’t help but moan.

“Fuck.” He groaned out, his neck straining, his body tightening, and I bit my lip at the sight of him on the verge of coming undone, but there was something holding him back, himself really.

“You-you can cum inside of me Harv..” I breathed out and swallowed and he locked his eyes with mine,”you can cum wherever.”

I relaxed my legs grip on his waist, and with those words he finally came undone. He slid out of me quickly, his hand stroking his cock roughly, spirting white cum onto my stomach. His head lulled back as he stroked his cock, slowing it down that last bit dripped down the bottom of his head and onto my stomach.

He breathed heavily as my legs fell from his waist and he sat down in the edge of the bed and fell into his back next to me. I closed my legs and r looked up and over at him, hand on his chest, catching his breath. I kissed his shoulder and he looked over at me, a blissed out look on his face and I smiled.

“You got game Harv.” I giggled and looked down at my stomach, and he sat up.

“I’ll get you cleaned up.” He leaned to me and placed a kiss on my lips before standing up, and proceeded to do just that.

The next day, noon

Harvey slept over last night, but when I woke up at six he was already gone, there was a note on the kitchen table in his hand writing that advised me to hydrate and thanking me for the good night. The wine glasses that were left outside were clean and on the drying rack as well. I had already gotten what I had to get done outside done, but it was another rainy day, absolutely down pouring. I had to change my clothes even though I had on my rain jacket, so I decided today would be a day that I would take to myself.

I was laying in the couch reading, some cable show playing on the tv. My reading was interrupted by a knock on the door, so I placed my marker in the book and got up quickly and headed to the door. I unlocked it and opened it.

“Hi.” Harvey smiled, one hand held a soaked umbrella, his other was behind his back.

“That umbrella didn’t do you too well.” I giggled, seeing the rain spots on his button up, he looked at his shirt and chuckled.

“I guess not, at least I’m not soaked though…I’m sorry I walked out early, there was a shipment coming to the clinic at six thirty I had to be there for.” He explained.

“That’s alright, thanks for cleaning the glasses.” I wasn’t in front of the doorway he could walk in but he hasn’t,”what do you need Harv?”

“I…I wanted to give you this.” The hand that was behind his back came out and revealed a gorgeous bouquet. My lips fell over in shock and soon those like formed the biggest smile. My cheeks flushed as I took it from him, I looked at it for a few seconds before looking back at him,”you’re right…maybe this could work.”

[one-green-frog]

If your asks are still open can I request for the same reader from Stronger Together.

Where he is actually so hard to anger, the best they can get from him is annoyenc.

I want to see where the things they didn't see coming happen, where one of the family (your choice) get hurt on a mission (almost die) and the reader shows true unfiltered rage and protectiveness. A side they never saw from the reader. A side that makes them hard to recognize.

And after being done with the danger they turned to the injured family member and should the utmost gentleness and care.

It's something that can make sense that the reader adopted from the family's protectiveness and ways of affection.

Stronger Together pt.2

Training with your family has been great. Ever since you started you have gotten better, all thanks to your family of course. True to their words they made sure that you were perfection, repeating the same steps over and over again until they were satisfied. At first it truly bothered you, it was boring, repetitive and it felt like you didn't advance at all, but over time you learned to appreciate their perfectionism. Watching your form in the mirror made you realise just how important the correct form really is, it also made you simply feel much stronger.

As the training commenced it got easier to spar with your brothers. Sure you were a far cry away from being able to beat them, but it took them much more time to take you down which, in your eyes , was definitely a win.

Your training definitely pushed you to your limits physically and mentally. At certain times, especially after a long day suffering loss after loss, you thought about giving up, stopping the training and rigours routines they planned for you, but a spark inside you persisted, never fading away, not to mention that you did want to prove your family wrong

But finally after endless amounts of training did your father finally alow you to join them, not without supervision of course.

This is how Dick, Jason and you went out that night, fighting whatever petty crime they could find. It was disappointing to say the least but you knew that arguing with them about what sort of crime you could fight would only result in you getting grounded and that was worse than stopping a simple and small robbery.

Both Dick and Jason never let their gaze wander from you too long, always checking if you were alright and stepping in when they felt like you didn't handle it well enough. It bothered you that you basically only stood on the sideline watching them take down criminal after criminal but you tried to see it as a learning experience.

The night was boring, uneventfull and could hardly be counted as training until then, but just as you were finishing up another seemingly small crime in an abandoned warehouse did something unexpected happen.

Not even Dick or Jason were prepared for the sudden ambush of a few dozen armed man, neither were you obviously. Your brothers, trained for these situations, immediately jumped into action, a plan seemingly in their minds the second things turned bad. Meanwhile you could only stand back, frozen in shock. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was overwhelming, the sudden threat, realizing death was suddenly so close. You wanted to move, help your brothers, be useful in any way possible, but your body simply didn't obey. It wasn't fear that overwhelmed you, no, it was shock, you were simply to unprepared.

All you did was stand frozen, watching your family fight to take down this criminal gang and to protect you. You saw that their punches were a bit harder, rage in their eyes, obviously annoyed that they interrupted family bonding time but also afraid you might get hurt because of the unpredictable nature of this sudden fight.

Your brothers, too focused on the fight in front of them, didn't realize that one member managed to sneak up on you, unfortunately neither did you. He managed to grab you, slamming his fist into your face and upper body. You didn’t have time to react to any of it, the training seemingly leaving your body the second the criminal got his hands on you.

You stumbled back, managing to catch your breath, but as you looked up you watched in horror as he grabbed a gun, aiming it directly at you. The chances of dodging it were practically zero, already a bit disoriented and overwhelmed by the whole situation. You stood there, frozen, staring at the man that would end your life.

But the Jason appeared. Right as the gun went of.

You stood there as your older brother took the bullet meant for you. Jason had pushed you out of the way just in time for the bullet to pierce his neck.

It was unreal, it felt unreal, everything around you seemed to stop as you watched Jason, your older brother who always cared for you, who always smiled whenever you entered a room, suddenly collapse to the ground.

Dick was immediately by his side, applying pressure and getting his first-aid kid ready, he tried talking to you, but to no avail. It was as if a force overtook you. Rage spreading into every corner of your body as you practically lunged at the perpetrator. Filled with nothing but rage you beat down at him, not once stopping to catch your breath, your knuckles turning that deep shade of red. When the man beneath you stopped moving, the only sign he was still alive was his shallow breath, you turned you attention to the remainign men. Like a feral animal you practically slammed into them.

Dick could only watch from the sidelines as you demolished these men, sure, it looked like all the training was being put others use but he also saw that a huge part was just rage, pure hatred for these men as you threw them around like ragdolls. Never before had he seen this side of you. Never before had his sweet little act like an animal.

Finally, after the last man laid on the ground unconscious, you turned back and rushed towards your brothers. Eyes just seconds ago filled with contempt now looked at him with nothing but concern. You dropped to your knees and frantically checked over Jason, a sickly sweet tone in your voice as you asked him about how he was feeling. Luckily Batman arrived shortly after that and brought Jason back to the batcave to get checked out.

In an extreme stroke of luck the bullet didn't hit anything vital and while a scar would remain, Jason was extremely lucky that that would be the only lasting sign of this fight. But even after Alfred checked up on him, dressed his wounds and gave him strickt orders to stay in bed, you didn't leave his side, still questioning if he was alright, ever the caring brother.

The next mission would be delayed for the foreseeable future. While you did take down a frw men, the fact that your first reaction was to freeze showed your family that you simply weren't ready yet. You didn't even protest, maybe it was the lingering feeling of helplessness or the guilt you carried, but you too did not believe you were ready for another mission just yet.

Jason, of course, relished in the fact that you would stay by his side practically 24/7, though he did reassure you that the whole ordeal wasn't your fault, he could see that you felt guilty for his injury. He promised you that no matter what he, as your older brother, would always protect you, no matter what. But even so, he did enjoy the special treatment he got from you, he might have even put up a little act just to get more of your attention and to piss of his brothers of course.

This took way longer than expected. Im sorry but i still hope you enjoy. Thank you got requesting

[kkami-writes]

hybrid hearts ━ chapter one. cw. the briefest mention of blood wc. 2k

Time had always felt too slow, yet impossibly fast at the same time to you. Some days had felt like they would drag on endlessly with you feeling bored out of your mind, wondering if this was how life was gonna feel like forever. While some days you would blink and then suddenly the day was over. Sometimes even weeks would pass like this as well. That feeling that your life was passing you by, feeling like you had nothing to show for it was overwhelming at times.

But you supposed it wasn’t all that terrible though. You had a job you loved, having opened up a book cafe after your parents had passed. You had inherited a rather large sum of money from them, as well as their old house they owned in a nearby cozy suburb. However, it had only served to make you feel much lonelier what with all these empty rooms for little old you.

Weeks turned into months and the seasons changed from winter to spring. But your daily routine didn’t change much at all. Although you didn’t necessarily hate it, sometimes it just felt so repetitive that you thought you might lose your mind.

Everyone around you seemed to change, constantly adapting to the flow of time. Yet you found yourself utterly the same and all alone. Though that last part might have been partially your fault, you’ve never really tried to branch out from the cozy bubble you lived in. It was a constant cycle of feeling lonely, yet feeling too attached to your quiet lifestyle to put yourself out there.

It’s early evening on a Saturday when that changes.

You’re sat on the small swinging couch that's connected to your porch, happily curled up with a book and some tea. You were constantly trying to read all sorts of genres, needing to keep up with the latest books so you could have the cafe well stocked. However you found it hard to concentrate when the neighborhood kids were kicking up a ruckus nearby. Their high pitched screams hurting your eardrums.

When you look up to glare at them, it’s then you realize that they’re surrounding one of your trash cans, kicking it around and laughing. You’re quick to get up, abandoning your book as you storm over to them.

“Hey!” Your voice is loud and demanding and it effectively startles the kids. That’s all it takes for them to scatter, running in all different directions. You roll your eyes, not bothering to run after the annoying brats but you are rather curious as to why they had been kicking at your trash in the first place.

Glancing into the bin you find an entirely white ferret sans the small singular black dot under its left eye. The animal is on its hind legs, jumping up and trying desperately to get out of the circular death trap. The trash is only half full and it’s not enough for the ferret to be able to crawl out.

“Hey little guy, you must have been scared from all that kicking” At your voice the ferret startles, falling backwards before squirming back onto its legs. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat at its dramatic reaction. “Are you ok? Were you trying to look for food?” You question even though you know it’s not gonna respond.

In the last fifty or so years, hybrids have been woven into modern society after their discovery — though not everyone had treated them fairly. Most people see them as pets, things to own or even worse, sex slaves. Many laws for hybrids have been put in place in an attempt to better protect them, but they were still pretty restrictive. In most cases, people can’t tell a normal animal to a hybrid in it’s domesticated form, so you couldn’t be 100% sure if this ferret in your trash was a hybrid or not.

You had a good feeling though.

The animal glanced at you like it was sizing you up, eyes squinting and head tilting. If the animal was indeed a hybrid, it was most likely a stray. Hybrid law dictates that anyone under 21 required an “owner” or a “guardian” to be in charge of them. In the end, this actually left a lot of strays on the street from terrible people who would abandon their hybrids for various reasons. None could ever be good enough in your eyes to just throw an innocent life onto the streets. At 21 though, a hybrid could declare itself independent and gain the rights to live on their own. Actually finding a place to live was an entirely different problem on it’s own. Many landlords would implemented a no independent hybrids rule and even places of employment didn’t hire hybrids at all or would give them less pay compared to an “actual” human.

People were cruel to things they didn’t understand, so quick to dehumanize someone who might be a little different.

“Are you stuck? Do you want some help?” you call out again softly, slowly extending your hand out to the animal hoping to show it that you meant no harm. The ferret doesn’t take it that way however, it’s teeth sinking into your index finger the moment it gets close enough. You wince at the sharp teeth piercing your flesh, sucking a breath between your teeth at the pain. Still, you don’t shake or make anymore sudden movements.

“S-see? Not so scary right?” The smile you give is slightly strained and the ferret lets out a soft whine. Slowly, it lets go of your finger, backing away with its head down as if ashamed. When you pull your hand back you can see some blood dripping down from the small indentations. “Oof, you’ve got some teeth on you huh?”

“Here, I'll put the trash down ok? So you can crawl out if you want. I’m gonna go address my wound and I'll even leave my door open if you’d like to come in. No pressure but I do have some food if you’d like,” Your smile remains kind as you glance down at the white animal before slowly moving the trash down to its side so it can crawl out.

You turn to walk back towards the house, taking a quick glance behind you to see if maybe the ferret was also following. You try to ignore the disappointment that fills your chest when it doesn’t.

In the kitchen you thoroughly rinse off the wound, waiting for the bleeding to stop before applying some ointment and a bandaid. You won’t lie, it throbs a little but you try to pay it no mind. You remember you’ve left your book outside so you go to retrieve it until you feel something nudging at your foot.

Looking down, you see the pretty little ferret by your feet and a smile immediately graces your lips. In the bright light of your kitchen you can see that its fur is slightly dirty, probably a result from being a stray for quite a while and you briefly wonder how long it’s been in your trash.

“Hi there, are you hungry?” The ferret makes a squeak like sound that manages to makes you smile even brighter at how cute it sounds. You move to open the fridge, glancing around for stuff you have. You’re 100% sure now that that small ferret is in fact a hyrbid, with how it’s been understanding your words and it’s behavior.

You don’t have much in your fridge currently, making a mental note to go grocery shopping some time soon. So you make due with some measly shredded chicken, placing it on a plate before offering it to the ferret. The speed in which the small thing practically scarfs it down is impressive.

“Careful, don’t choke,” you laugh, this time really leaving to grab your book and tea from the porch. When you come back the ferret is at the door waiting for you as if unsure if it should leave or not now that you’ve fed it.

“Do you maybe wanna take a shower? I’m sure you could use one,” the same squeaky noise emits from its tiny mouth and you let out a small laugh. That sound is going to be etched in your memories forever. “ok, sounds good. let me show you,”

So you guide the tiny ferret to your bathroom, showing it where everything is. “I’ll also leave some clothes on the bed if you choose to transform. Oh— but I don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl…well, most of my stuff is gender neutral anyway. Don’t feel pressured though,” With that you leave the ferret to its business. You lay a simple shirt and a baggy pair of sweatpants you hoped would fit whether the ferret ended up being a girl or a boy.

You can hear the shower running and you take that as your cue to leave, exiting your bedroom and closing the door behind you to give them some proper privacy. Glancing at the time you noticed it was getting a little late. Your daily sleep schedule had consisted of trying to be in bed by ten, just yet another boring part of your mundane routine. Though to be fair, owning a coffee shop had required you to open rather early, even if you only had a handful of early morning regulars.

Glancing into your fridge once again, you scope out some ingredients before deciding on an easy kimchi stew, making quick work of the vegetables as you swayed along to a random playlist. In the middle of cooking you feel something crawling up your leg and when you look down, low and behold, it’s the little ferret. It climbs the rest of your body with ease before settling down on your shoulder, to watch you cook. You notice its coat is much whiter now and smells faintly of your vanilla body wash.

“Hi, enjoy your shower?” The ferret chitters back and you have to bite back a coo from the sound. It just chills on your shoulder, seemingly interested in watching you as you cook. “Don’t know if you’re still hungry so i’ll leave the leftovers in the fridge and you can have it whenever you want,” You say while pouring yourself a bowl of your stew. You add some rice before moving to sit at your kitchen table. The ferret runs down your arm and onto the table, curling itself into a little ball.

“If you’re tired you could always sleep. There are three spare rooms and you could pick one if you’d like. At least to just stay the night,” It lifts its head to look at you, blinking slowly before jumping off the table to explore the rest of the house. You eat in silence, something you were used to so you don’t completely mind that the ferret has left you alone. You could have wished that it had kept you some company though. Even though he wouldn’t talk.

The rest of the night goes as normal and you don’t see the ferret again until you’re finally crawling into bed. Once you’re tucked under the sheets the familiar gleam of white fur is climbing up into your bed. You blink at the animal and it blinks back.

“You want to sleep here? Are you sure?” It hops over to you and crawls under the sheets, burying itself into your warm blankets. You let out a small laugh, seeing the small bump taking residence in your bed. “Well, if you’re sure,” You really don’t mind, which is probably strange in itself - to let a strange hybrid into your home and now your bed. Still, if it had wanted to hurt you it would have the moment it came inside or even after you fed it. Maybe it was a little naive of you but you had always tried to believed in the good in everyone. Even if people didn’t do the same for you.

Or you were just incredibly lonely. Could be possible.

You don’t continue that train of thought and instead, bid the ferret goodnight, turning off the lights and falling into a deep sleep.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Jbl drought is officially over, with announcements falling out of the sky one after the other. I'm in bl heaven. Warmer weather is here and I cannot believe June starts tomorrow. Pride is upon us. As usual, spoilers and opinions below, read at your own risk.

QL - Currently Watching

🇰🇷 Ball Boy Tactics [4/8] - I love Kwon Jungwoo. His facial expressions are so good, and of course Jiwoo is such a cutie. I did not see this show coming, and I'm loving it. I need all the episodes now!

🇹🇭 Boys in Love [9/12] - I need more of the teachers. The kids are cute but I'm wondering when the real conflict will come because it seems too calm right now. Mon's mum is a bit overbearing but her intentions seem good.

🇯🇵 Even Though We're Adults [5/12] - I'm enjoying the weirdness. The tone of this show is so different, and I have absolutely no clue where this is going but I'm enjoying the ride. The characters keep doing exactly the opposite of what I'm expecting but it's not boring.

🇹🇼 Fight For You [11/12] - So probably no side couple, I'm okay with that. One more time, a bl grandma saving the day. I can't believe we'll have a full episode of boyfriend era, although this is Taiwan, so either some random act of violence or a wedding. My money is on the second.

🇯🇵I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama S2 [1/6] - Chaos is back and with even more chaotic energy. I missed Akafuji's insane internal monologue so much. This is gonna be fun.

🇹🇭 Knock Out [6/12] - It's getting a bit repetitive and honestly kinda boring. The episodes are too long without much of a reason for it. I hate the pseudo triangle but at least there's no doubt about who Keen likes. I wanna more about Mawin and Ait, I like their dynamic but really wish I knew how it all started.

🇹🇭 My Sweetheart Jom [3½/12] - I feel asleep during episode 4 and haven't gone back. which is not a good sign. I might catch up at some point but I'm in no hurry.

🇹🇭Reset [3/10] - I still think this was a second reset, and in the first it was Thada remembered but now Armin is the one who does. The chemistry is on point and Pond is doing amazing.

🇨🇳 Revenged Love [4/24] - Unhinged, everything and everyone. The tone swings wildly, but it's so fun. I love the snakes.

🇹🇭 Suntiny [2/10] - I still can't believe I'm watching a bl where the entire set up is about erectile dysfunction. But hey, it's not boring. And I'm loving seeing a new side of Max and I can't wait to see Earth. There's something definitely deeper here and I'm wondering if they'll explore it well.

🇰🇷 Sweetheart Service [6/12] - The parents scene was a riot. They are delightful and I really don't miss the sides when they don't show.

🇹🇭 Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist [10/11] - I don't even know what to say anymore. Individual scenes are good, and Mark is trying his hardest, but the show just never found its footing and now it's too late. I feel like this was a wasted opportunity for Mark.

🇹🇭 The Bangkok Boy [8/12] - Damn that was a lot for one episode. The paint scene was really well done. The desperation, the red paint, the cuts with the fighting scene, it all spells doom. This show keeps surprising me every week. And we got a new player in town right when two bodies hit the ground. This is not looking good for any of my guys.

🇹🇭 The Ex-Morning [4/10] - I still like it a lot but...

🇹🇭 The Next Prince [7/12] - Well this is getting a bit boring now. They get separated by force, and then they get put back together. Khanin is happy, Khanin is in danger, we have to lock up Charan. I'm a bit annoyed by this. But no one does repressed yearning like Zee. It's incredible to watch. I really like Ava, so I'm happy we got more of her, but I also wanted more of the other couples. Oh well, I guess I'll wait another week.

QL - Finished

🇰🇷 Business as Usual - Final Thoughts.

🇹🇭 My Golden Blood - Warning. I didn't like it. The ending felt very anticlimactic. We got way too much of the main couple. Nakan's death landed with zero impact because we barely knew anything about him. He'd mention this grand past love a couple of times, so I was expecting at least some kind of flashback. Instead we got nothing, and his death just fell completely flat. His whole character could've been so much more interesting if we'd gotten any real insight into who he was. Tonkla not coming back is a betrayal I won't soon forget. And honestly, all of this could've been avoided if they'd just bothered to discuss turning Tong earlier in the story. The main love story felt like it existed purely because the script demanded it, there was no real foundation, so I felt absolutely nothing.

🇰🇷 Something's Not Right - I have no words. What a complete waste of time. My ending.

🇹🇭 Top Form - This show isn't perfect and has some script hiccups, but it's still a really good time. Honestly, Boom is half the reason I enjoyed it - he's absolutely fantastic, though I wish his character wasn't constantly in tears. The guy cannot catch a break! But he's just so damn charming. The intimate scenes are actually well done too, good editing and they feel like they serve the story. It had some interesting commentary about the industry, although I think that storyline got a bit messy toward the end. I'd definitely recommend it, just with a few caveats.

QL - Dropped / On Hold Dropped - 🇹🇭 Eye Contact | 🇹🇭Loy Kaew First Love

Non QL - Finished

🇰🇷 Resident Playbook

Upcoming - June 02/06- 🇹🇭 Reset MDL | Trailer ✔ 05/06- 🇰🇷 Ball Boy Tactics MDL | Trailer ✔ 13/06 - 🇯🇵 I Became the Lead in a BL Drama 2 MDL ✔ 16/06 - 🇨🇳 Revenged Love Trailer ✔ 17/06 - 🇹🇭 Suntiny MDL | Trailer ✔ 20/06 - 🇯🇵Depth of Field MDL | Trailer ✔ 20/06- 🇹🇭 Memoir of Rati MDL | Trailer ✔ 25/06- 🇹🇭 Whale Store xoxo [GL] MDL 26/06- 🇯🇵 Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko! S2 [GL] MDL | Trailer 27/06 - 🇹🇼 The Promise of the Soul MDL

That's all for now. Will update if there are more announcements. My inbox is always open. Happy watching!💜

[em-harlsnow]

difference between the first seasons of shameless and the last seasons imo

read beneath the cut, it’s pretty long

what i think really changed about the last seasons of shameless compared to the first seasons is how they tried to incorporate the audience. i’ve seen writers/producers say that they tried to set up the cameras in a way that made it feel like the audience was a part of the family, or a visitor confused by all the chaos.

i think that idea was lost in later seasons and you stop feeling like a part of the show, but even more than that, the audience becomes very detached from everything.

further, i think the characters began to lack the same weight that they did before. as they all start to grow up and become steadier as people, the show also loses its chaotic appeal. by the time the characters were all adults, the writers seemed lost on how to add that gritty dark element that the show had initially without becoming repetitive. there’s only so many times that frank can have some ridiculous storyline that hurts his kids where fiona has to pick up the pieces. it gets boring.

so to try and stop that happening, they ran with old comedic devices that i felt shameless had always deviated from, or at least exaggerated. but no, in the last seasons the show fully leans into them. it becomes more like a sitcom, like modern family or friends.

with tami and lip, it was tami getting insecure about lip possibly liking someone else and lip coming up with all these schemes on how to spend less money and hide that he was going for cheaper options from his girlfriend.

with debbie, it was the show leaning into the whole milkovich/gallagher thing and trying for a new pairing which honestly was entirely lacking. we had more development on her and mattie’s storyline (which was gross) than her and sandy. they turn debbie into a caricature and leave her without much emotional development, taking away any of the audience’s compassion towards her.

with carl, it was the whole police thing, where he struggled with his annoying boss and then his second annoying boss.

with liam, it was him becoming very mature very quickly, but lacking the same depth that debbie and carl got at his age. that’s just my opinion of him, bare in mind i haven’t watched his scenes in season 10/11 recently.

with ian and mickey, it was them becoming that TYPICAL comedic couple, with the show taking away a lot of what made them different. So many of their storylines were full of pointless arguments and unsatisfying resolutions. they tried to make them almost middle class, removing mickey’s skill in crime and making him look lazy. taking away all of ian’s emotional development and making him seem pissed off constantly. they don’t seem to understand each other the way they did before.

don’t even get me started on kev and v. they were one of the most interesting storylines at the beginning, and they suddenly became boring.

fiona left, so i can’t comment much on her.

shameless also lacks the connection the show used to have between storylines. every character was somehow connected to another character at the start, all the different plots influencing each other. that quality was lost later on.

at the beginning, the show made great points about poverty and politics without needed to obviously explain each one. it was metaphorical, an example of poverty and of people and relationships and life. In later seasons, it becomes too obvious for me. the messages the show is trying to convey are much more clear and surface level, which means the impact of these messages is reduced.

it’s like the difference between someone giving you an example of a specific person who has been abused, let’s say. You can either tell an emotive story about that abuse or you can say, they were abused, this is wrong. shameless originally was emotive, giving you connections to characters and therefore adding weight and meaning to their stories. It becomes shallow when the show gives its messages in plain ways. like the conversation that ian had with that woman in the furniture shop about the election results in season 11. sure, ian was right, but it doesn’t have the same impact when delivered in that way. if they’d done the show the same as they did in the first seasons, i’m sure the message would have been conveyed more passionately and effectively.

now, this is just my opinion. i don’t hate the last two seasons, but it wasn’t very shameless-esc. I also don’t write TV shows, so i don’t know exactly how to fix all those things

i do enjoy the last seasons, it wasn’t all bad. but it was different to the first ones, and that is something to comment on.

[delicatetigerobject]

i love this show too much so I'm ranting/venting about that so you don't have to read, I just wanted to tell someone about this

this was made because nobody wants to listen to me infodump about stranger things! its a bit long tho

Im legitimately so excited for the season five trailer to drop. Like so excited. I cant wait to look for blue and yellow, i cant wait to write down what will and mike say, i cant wait to search through it for byler evidence and write it down and take photos. I cant wait to watch it with the sound off and then the sound on. I cant wait for it bro i want to see it i dont know when the trailer will drop but i CANNOT FUCKING WAIT!! I haven't even finished season four yet and im rewatching season one already. Idk i just felt the need to talk about this because i want to scream and jump up and down and explode and it makes me so happy to think about it sometimes, i love this show so much. When the trailer for season five comes out, im going to watch it silently first without captions to see the emotions in the scene, then ill watch it with captions but no sound to see what theyre saying, then with sound and captions to hear their emotions and see them. Im going to experience it layer by layer and then probably rewatch it to spot any details i miss.

Idk this might seem like too much but AGGHHHHHH I LOVE THIS SHOW SO MUCH PLEASE YOU MUST UNDERSTAND. LIKE ITS MY FAVORITE THING IN THE WORLD RIGHT NOW, I kid you not. It’s the ONLY show I watch, and it’s all I can draw. I don’t know if I’ll still like it in a month, or next year, or in a decade, but right now, it is the thing i look forward to most each day, ive annoyed my sister to death talking about it. Every time i see the number seven or someone says seven. I think of byler. If i see blue and yellow. I think of byler. Minecraft makes me think of stranger things. This hyperfixation is becoming a problem now, but it brings me so much joy. I cant wait for season five, i cant wait for the trailer for it, i cant wait to see how they finish the show. I feel so truly happy when i look at a good meme of it, i actually laugh at them and it makes me smile so huge. I dont watch the show every day, but i draw byler during class and i look at theories and memes and art whenever im bored. I just really cant wait for the season five trailer, i cant wait for the theories, for the analyses, for the fan art, for the possible edits, for the other people excited about it. I dont think i have any byler doubt right now, i think its set up too perfectly for it to happen and in such a well made show that it would be just too unfulfilling if it doesnt happen, it would ruin so much of it.

Its sometimes crazy to me that i haven't even been watching this show for half a year yet, because i care so much about it. I dont know what id do if i lost it, if it ceased to exist, if i couldnt ever watch it again. idk , i might just be feeling more strongly than usual about it right now, but i absolutely adore this show and everything in it. I love every season and every episode i watch makes me want to die of happiness. I love each and every piece o byler evidence you guys find, and i hope that you know that even the simplest of byler shitposts bring me so much joy. I am shaking as i type this, i have no clue what to do right now because i feel so strongly about this. Stranger things and byler hold an incredibly special place in my heart right now, and i just really had to tell that to somebody i guess.

Sorry if this is repetitive, its just my literal favorite thing ever. I go to sleep thinking of this show and i wake up and think about it. I know itll end, but i really cant wait for that, either. I want to see the conclusion, i want to see how they wrap up the stories of the characters and i want to see what ends they leave loose for us if any, and the fanfictions will be so wonderful im sure of it. I will read them until my eyes hurt, even if theres typos, even if theyre sad, especially if theyre sad, even if they have the worst punctuation ive ever seen. I think im done for now tho, i need to go lie down on the floor for a bit and try to calm down. Byler endgame, im sure of it. And if its not. Well. then to be completely honest? I may cry, and i will definitely read alternate ending fanfics. Same goes for if will or mike die, im very attached to mike’s character. This show has made me so happy, and i love that i get to share it with you all. Anyway im done for real now, i seriously need to lie down and take a break to calm down

[m4g3114n1c]

Make it worth my time.

Midas x Fem!Reader

tags: Consensual Sex, Missionary, Porn With Plot, Gun Kink, poc friendly, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Degradation kink, Verbal Humiliation, BDSM, not so sane but consensual sex!, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Face-Fucking, Multiple Orgasms, Dacryphilia, Dom/sub, Older Man/Younger Woman, Workplace Sex, Power Imbalance, Desk Sex, Sir is used a lot (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃Midas is SadisticChoking

summary: ur insufferable boss calls u down bc

Intern Reader x CEO Midas

Midas was an asshole. You said it, yet in the back of your mind you still felt guilt spreading through your veins, infecting your Midas-hating self. You shouldn’t feel bad for him. You shouldn’t feel for him at all.

A stern, strict, relentless man that overworked everybody to the point of exhaustion was somebody you should never feel bad for.

When you had been recruited to do the internship, it seemed fun, entertaining enough. A program for spies—man, you should’ve known how sketchy that sounded.

You were grown, you should know what a scam of a program it was. You had to work for minimum wage due to the fact there was a ton of people working at one place; the pay check had to be broken up in between all of you.

The thing was, Midas was rich enough to pay you all, especially you, since you were more focused in being his assistant. He set that goal for you the first time you arrived.

The touch of gold at his fingertips and yet he couldn’t offer one molecule of a golden nugget to his workers.

Cheap motherfucker.

How was that even possible? The ability of the golden touch and he was still so cheap. It frustrated you more than it should.

You felt like a moron at how much you thought this would be a fun job. His close friends seem to get better treatment at least, and go on useful missions that make an impact.

All what you had to do was organize, organize, and organize files.

If you wanted to sign up for a damn cubicle job, you would’ve done so, because this was insanely far from what you imagined the program was.

So, here you were now, almost eight hours straight of non-stop work. Once the clock hit three, you celebrated in your head; the champagnes popping and all.

It was finally time for you to go, time for you to relax. You had to clear your mind in your apartment.

You shut off your computer, grabbing your jacket, your bag, plus—things you still needed to work at even at home.

That’s how much he made you work. As annoying as he was, he seemed to really want specifically you to be his assistant. Odd enough.

The boring, crisp air of the fancy building and the repetitive click-and-clacking of the keyboards were making you crazy. It was so quiet, nobody spoke, and only worked. It made you wonder that possibly it was about Midas.

It was definitely about him and his rules. When you got here, the rules he set were ridiculous.

Why did he think, “No talking.” was such an amazing, life changing and jaw-dropping rule?

The rule was plastered everywhere, in posters and stickers. It seemed so simple, yet so restricting on you and everybody else who worked under him.

You couldn’t really dwell on the topic too much because you were under his agency, that you applied to.

“Hi,” A high pitched voice made your head sharply turn. Your eyes widened with bewilderment at how she spoke with such a full voice. It was Skye?.. You didn’t remember but you knew she was one of Midas’ friends.

Ah. So that’s why she was speaking in a full voice. You forgot his friends could only speak fully in an environment like this. Everybody usually heard them bantering in the meeting room.

“Boss wants you in there.” She whistled in a way of saying you fucked up on something. She felt regret because you seemed like you were going to shit yourself.

“No clue what it was about,” She shrugged, patting you on the shoulder as she parted ways with you. The way she reassured you by giving you a small and muttered, “good luck,” made you extremely nervous.

Now you were left standing with your bag, knowing you had to go in there. You sighed, returning your things on the desk.

Well. You had to suck up now. Suck up to your shitty boss. Hooray!

Midas got around your nerves sometimes, and it had made you slip up once or twice. One time, he told you he was going to shorten the deadline on something while you weren’t even halfway through it.

“That’s great,” You mumbled under your breath, sarcasm seeping through your voice, collecting the files on the desk he had properly reviewed already.

“Excuse me?” He snapped. Shit.

“Nothing, sir.”

He turned around like nothing happened, dismissing you with a short wave of his hand.

You’re pretty sure he knew that you were not fond of him, and don’t see him as a friend.

You dragged yourself mentally, yet kept your head up, straight posture and your heels clacking against the dark definitely expensive floors. Good impressions to not get fired.

You sighed once more, finding yourself at the front of his door. For the last time, you made sure to look presentable before knocking. This was a rare occurrence. He never called anybody down.

You brought your hand up to his door, wrist working itself to knock hard enough on the dark wood.

Even through his walls were thick, including his door, you swore you could hear his heavy and weary sigh from a mile away. There was a short shuffle of his feet.

“Come in,” He said loud enough for you to grasp the handle of the door and pull. You know his patience ran thin quickly.

The sweet scent of his office billowed into your face; it smelt of an expensive cologne, possibly sandalwood. It smelt pleasant though, like a warm cabin. The mellow smell lingered in the thick tension in the air. It suddenly felt warm in the room.

Midas stood at the front of the thick glass separating him and the device. His eyes stayed glued on his creation. A cold light shone against its smooth surface.

It made you laugh whenever you saw it in all its glory because of how it was just in his office. The large device felt so out of place, but also felt the opposite because of his huge ego.

He just seemed the type of person to showcase his greatest passions.

Your eyes danced over to everything in his room, to his framed photos of his friends, his golden arsenal but especially his victims. People he’s killed with the golden touch.

A shiver ran up your spine but you kept your head clear.

You couldn’t see much but he seemed disinterested, even though he called you down there in the first place. His arms were behind his back, facing you. It felt like you were walking on eggshells, shifting a step, but before you could even walk even closer—

“Lock the door,” He followed by briefly stating your name.

Your heart dropped, feeling the anxiety peering in slowly.

Was he going to kill you? He definitely was.

It was difficult to distinguish his emotion since he didn’t exactly display it for you to see. His tone was monotone and his face was the same as it usually was, adorned with a scorn.

You kept yourself composed, turning around to turn the lock of the door. You stood by the door, and Midas turned his head obscurely, the warm light caught his amber eye. He didn’t break eye contact.

“Come here.” He turned himself around fully.

Standing straight at about 6 feet and an inch, you did not want to mess with your boss.

You obliged, approaching his desk so you were right in front of it, and him.

You absentmindedly lined the tip of your pointed heels to be right on the edge of the rug. It was like an imaginary boundary.

“Are you enjoying your time here?” He suddenly questioned and you felt yourself shift into that interviewee mindset.

“Yes, sir. I am.”

You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, trying to form a sort of sardonic smile. It was like his eyes were taking you apart, picking each piece of your nervous movement to analyze and trying to figure out how you felt.

He pulled his obnoxious leather and gold-lined chair out, settling on the chair before pushing himself closer to be tucked at the desk.

He gestured to one of the chairs.

“Take a seat,”

A part of you wanted to defy his order to piss him off and sit in the other.

You didn’t, and sat in the one he gestured to, which was closer to his desk.

He stared at you with a straight face. He was so intense.

“Be honest, will you?” He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent about the topic. He was trying to pry how you truly felt about him out of you, because he knew it was buried deep.

“If you’re going to be my assistant, you need to know what’s best for this agency,”

You wanted to say how stupid his system was, how cheap he was despite having the golden touch, and how he was an asshole. The thing is, you didn’t have it enough in you to say so.

“I’m—“ You began but felt that you were a tad bit too passionate about the topic. You started once again, tone professional.

“Sir, the way you run things..”

“Yes?” He raised an eyebrow, already feeling skeptical about letting you speak about this.

He absolutely fucking hated it when people dragged him for how he ran his own agency. Yes, he asked for criticism but it wasn’t to actually change anything.

Why would he?

It was working like a well oiled machine anyway, so what was your issue?

“It’s awkward, doesn’t feel like anything’s getting done when nobody talks to eachother.”

Midas shrugged, leaning back in his chair. Here he went. His body language just screamed an arrogant, rich and conceited man.

“Well, it’s not a preschool, is it?”

That caught you so off guard you had the temptation to laugh at his remark. He was right, it didn’t have to be a jolly, holding hands, and my little pony type friendship sort of thing, but it was still important to create a comfortable work environment.

“No, sir, but I conducted a survey which revealed that 87% of your workers—“

“You broke my rules?”

You stopped yourself, and sighed.

You didn’t mean to slip up like that.

Well, you couldn’t take it back anymore. Hopefully, he liked you a lot and wouldn’t fire you for that.

“That’s not the point.” You felt like you were trying so hard to convince him that what he was doing was shitty. It was as if you were talking to a brick wall.

“Yes, it is. You know how crucial it for their work to go uninterrupted, by doing that, you’ve partially slowed some of their progress.”

There it is. He had overworked everybody just for him to sit in his comfortable office, staring at his big ball of creation.

“See, that’s the issue. That’s your issue. You don’t care.”

“Am I supposed to? Business is business. You’re not here to make friends. Fall in love. Hold hands.”

He rolled his eyes, finding your idea completely wrong.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Oh wow.

He’s never seen you this assertive before towards him. He saw potential.

“Alright,” He said, somewhat defeated with your short-lived argument, beckoned you over with his finger.

Although you were still pissed at him, it felt like your body was owned by him.

Woah. Not owned.

It felt like your body just couldn’t stop following his every single order. The thought of you wanting to appease him in every way possible had you embarrassed. You hated him, but still wanted to impress him.

The sound of a drawer rolling caught your attention when you maneuvered yourself around the desk to stand beside his chair.

He pulled out a thick stack of cash from the drawer like it was nothing. The drawer was filled with wads of hundred dollar bills. He turned, still in his chair, humming as he didn’t even count it, and offered it to you.

You were unimpressed at this and he was stunned.

Were you asking for more money?

He didn’t care if you took all of his money because of how truly wealthy he was. When you didn’t take it from his hands, he took more from his stash, stacking it on and lying them on your hand.

The stack eventually weighed heavy on your palm. It was so heavy, you had to support it with both hands to refrain it from toppling over.

“No, this wasn’t what I asked for nor what I wanted. You can’t bribe me.” You looked at him, offended that he would think of something as stupid as this; bribery would never work on you.

It was nice seeing and smelling the fresh bills but you placed them on his desk with a smack.

His neutral expression shifted into something darker, something more formidable than usual. Midas frowned, bothered by your ungrateful attitude. At this angle, you were taller since he was sat down.

That didn’t last for long, as Midas stood up so quickly, the force of his movement sent his chair behind him strolling to hit something with a soft thud.

He towered over you, eyes glowering. He was only about an inch away from you. The propinquity of him worked; it was an intimidating tactic and it fucking worked on you.

“Sir,” You shakily said, feeling yourself in a daze. A sense of vertigo clouded your mind, blocking out any oncoming thoughts.

A blanket of blood flooded your cheeks, painting them crimson at the intimate proximity. In such a tone that sounded apologetic, it was ludicrous thinking about how you had been arguing with him.

At the sight of this, the dim lighting casted an attractive shadow against his angular face. You hated to admit it, but Midas was hot. You always felt in denial thinking about it, now here you were, lips inches away from his.

You knew you were only in denial due to the fact he was the boss and you were the intern.

“What do you want, then?” He said with a soft scoff, knowing he could fulfill your wishes so easily.

He found your fierce ambitions and your overall attitude amazing qualities. He also found you to be extremely attractive. That was a quality that always made him feel differently.

Your eyes darted away from his. This was a weird situation to be stuck in. Your boss and you, locked in his office and an inch away.

He noticed you weren’t pulling away.

“Just,” You hesitated but continued. “give me the money, please.” The state of affairs had you spouting shit you would never say in a million years. You begging for money was something you blurted out because of your panicked state.

Something about this whole thing made you want to scamper away.

Another part of you was leaning into it, wanting to know how his hands would feel against your bare skin, his lips on yours; would he fuck you rough, or would he fuck you agonizingly slow?

Would he praise you or would he condemn you to being useless?

You had to know.

You needed to know.

It was killing you, the part of not knowing was tearing you to shreds, eating you on the inside out.

“Please, what?”

He was feeding into your delusion—

“Please, sir.”

but you just couldn’t help yourself sometimes.

The way you sounded, you uttering that in a voice that sounded so heavenly, it took every inch of him to grab you. His gaze wandered to your soft lips, stained with lipstick, he found even more tempting to smear off.

“Do you really want the money?” Midas wasn’t blind, he had seen your nervous and your complexion flushed. Your short breaths, trying to inhale all of his air. No mistake, you were aroused. Turned on to the max.

“No.”

“Good.” His tone lowered to one that was filled with satisfaction and relief at your answer.

The function of your breathing had stopped. You couldn’t even comprehend Midas’ slow, yet calculated approach to stoop down and capture your lips in a tantalizing, short kiss.

His lips whilst pressed against yours felt surprisingly soft. Your eyes closed quite late, but felt prone to more.

A warm feeling erupted within your chest, spreading across your body at the first contact of his lips. It felt like a pit of fire inside you was slowly being fed by the smallest of his ministrations.

Midas leaned forward once more, allowing you to relax as he had to slightly accommodate to your height to kiss you. His larger hand came down to tilt your head to an angle he wanted.

You felt him grab your hip to keep you still, and the firm hold he had on you had been the last thing you needed to give in.

His stern hold indicated the longing of you, the longing for anybody, actually. Since he and his wife got divorced due to issues, he’d been desperate, not begging but he was.

He hated how you made him feel whenever you were around.

Every time you walked into his office, he tried his best to stay professional.

He didn’t even know you, apart from your résumé; you didn’t know him personally either.

He pulled you in, feeling his exhales from his nose as he tried to keep a steady breath. “Midas, sir,” You muttered in between kisses, pausing him by giving him a firm push of your palm.

He responded by grasping your wrist, almost in a way that told you he didn’t like getting touched without permission. You leaned back, but you couldn’t move much.

“Are we allowed to do this?” You asked, slightly hesitant to even ask.

“I make the rules, what do you think?” He sarcastically replied with a small tilt of his head.

Your silence and actions spoke louder than words when you pressed yourself closer to him. He noticed, pressing his silken lips against yours once more, reigniting his inner desires in him he’d long forgotten about.

Your hand reached down to his crotch, thinking you were doing him a favour. Midas’ fifth sense was quickly set off, not being able to see but sense your hand hovering just right above.

His hand once again, grabbed your wrist once more and this time pushed away.

“Are you fucking serious?” He asked, slightly breathless at your attempt. He sounded so pissed.

You might’ve misread the situation, maybe he didn’t want sex right now. You were in the wrong for trying to assume.

“I’m so sorry, I thought—“ You said so quickly it sounded jumbled together before being interrupted by Midas.

“Thought what? Do you think I like you ?” He emphasized the words and they hit you harder than you thought.

“Get on your knees.” He sneered, almost in a way that felt like he was humiliating you.

God, in such a sick way, you loved it.

Without hesitation, you slowly sunk down, feeling the rough material of the rug harshly against your knees.

This view of Midas felt more domineering, his eyes scanned your face. His face was riddled with contempt. Silence filled the air again, making him even more irritated.

“Are you just going to sit there and be useless all day?”

Your eyes wandered down to the visible tent in his pants, wanting to feel how hard he felt against yourself if you were ever to grind against him.

The thought made you squeeze your thighs, rubbing them against one another to soothe the growing desperation within your cunt.

“Please, let me.”

He nodded, watching with an amused expression as your hands fumbled with his metal belt.

The sharp clinking of his belt made his slacks feel a lot tighter. You then unzipped them, unbuttoned them and caught a glimpse of what you were dealing with.

His boxers were a plain black, and if you couldn’t see well, you wouldn’t have noticed the wet spot where his tip laid against. The outline of his was huge.

To not make him any more impatient, you tugged his boxers down enough. His cock was close enough to your face that could see the pre-cum beading out of the flushed tip.

He was more longer than he was in width, but other than that, you just wanted to take him all in your mouth. You hoped you could.

Midas pushed himself closer, letting the warm tip of his cock brush just against the corner of your mouth. You looked up at him, letting your tongue peek out to lick the corner of your mouth clean of the cum he smeared.

“Open.”

Your tongue dragged alongside a vein in his shaft before taking him into your mouth. The taste of his cum, you relished in. He cursed under his breath at the warm and wet feeling of your mouth.

Every one of your mouths movements had earned a grunt from him or two. They were small but it told you he was enjoying himself. You didn’t take him all the way, afraid to trigger your own gag-reflex.

Your hand accommodated to the leftover of his cock that was getting no attention, wrapping around and shifting the same time your mouth moved.

Your tongue swirled around his tip, earning a breathy moan from him. His hand made its way into your hair, pulling hard enough for yourself to moan around him.

The vibrations of your sound had him resisting so hard not to push your head down.

“Just like that, fuck.” He groaned under his breath and hearing it shot down pure arousal to your already soaked panties.

You set a steady motion of trying to take more of him into your mouth. Midas quickly lost himself to the feeling, finding the obscene, sloppy sucking noises you made so appealing.

You looked up as you continued, his hips pushing in, forcing yourself to take more than you could take. You resisted the urge to gag as he touched your uvula, eyes brimming with tears.

Your eyelashes were dampening, the expression on your face made him feel fucking sick, because he found your crying hot.

You breathed in through your nose, concentrating on keeping the pace consistent. Midas didn’t care much about your pace, pretty much fucking your face now.

You looked at him, the thrusting of his hips into your mouth had your own saliva dripping down your chin.

“You’re taking it so fucking good, yeah—I knew your mouth could be useful,” He panted.

You let out a muffled moan while he continued. Rare groans escaped his mouth and he was enjoying himself.

Then you pulled off his cock.

He didn’t like that.

Midas dragged you up off the floor with an easy tug of your hair. You looked like a mess, just the way he wanted. Your usual brazen self was now replaced a husk of your old self, desperate for attention from him.

He leaned in close, not waiting to rip off your pantyhose, along with pulling off your panties.

“Maybe this will make you learn your fucking lesson,” He spat out, smashing his lips against yours in a way that you didn’t even know what had happened.

You didn’t care, not ashamed that all you wanted from him was to fuck you. He lead you to his desk, your hip hitting the desk.

Since he hated you, you thought he might’ve preferred not seeing your face, so you bent over the desk. He was tempted but flipped you around.

With a gasp leaving your mouth, your weight felt like nothing as Midas picked you up and placed on top of his desk.

He unzipped your skirt to make it easier, also slipping it off.

“I want to see that it’s you.” He whispered, in contrast to his attitude earlier when he fucked your mouth. Usually hate sex was with the other person facing away. But the person who hated you the most wanted to see?

“You want me to fuck you?” Finally, he pressed his tip against the opening of your tight cunt.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re nothing to me, you do know that, right?”

“I’d never be with somebody as easy as you are.”

—-

word count got to me pt2

[itsrlymine]

Totally unrelated but, what's your ethnicity/nationality? There's literally 54 countries in Africa, this continent big asf.

Don't take this serious, but I just have an irrational annoyance from people saying "africa" like it's a country.

I'm from Mozambique, it's pretty rare to find people from African countries interested in new age spirituality. The only other African loa bloger that I know it's @konniesreality, who is from Cape Verde.

Also, how stressing is it to run a blog? Sometimes I feel like bloggers are wasting their precious time and efforts, the repetitive basic questions are beyond annoying and the hateful and rude anons don't help. How many times will they ask "can I manifest ...?" 💀, I swear to God, I just KNOW this question has been asked at least a 1000 times. AT LEAST!!

Amazing posts, by the way, I kinda like how you don’t follow any methods or techniques. At the end of the day, we only need our awareness and our abilities to choose what we want and decide that we have it.

(If you're not comfortable, you don't need to answer, these are personal questions, so I respect your privacy ♥)

Hello babe! I definitely understand you and don't like when people do that either. I just never felt like it wasn't important to specify since it doesn't have anything to do with manifesting. There is a youtuber by the name of Manifest It Finesse it and I'm pretty sure she is West African, though I don't remember which country. I'm from Nigeria. I'll check out her page.

For me, it hasn't been too stressful bc I decided it won't be lmao. I have gotten a thousand and one questions just like that and it's like omg you just want to complain fr. I manifested my blog going the way I wanted it it so it has been good aside from the very bored trolls. They don't mean shit tho. I cleared out my inbox for both reasons.

Thank you my love. I try to get people to understand that all you need is yourself and nothing else. No one else but you! Literally techniques don't matter bc you are the law itself.

[fashionteahouse]

Can I get a long quill or embry x uley reader where the reader is Sam’s little sister that the pack treats as the little sister where they just tease her and pick her and and toss or annoy her try to get her mad because she’s short she remind them of a chihuahua

sure sure! 🙂‍↕️💜 hope you enjoy :)

play destroy - quil x reader

The nice weather enhanced your good mood. You felt calm, excited, and happy all at the same time. You and Quil’s shoes made steps in the gravel towards your brother’s house. Your hand was encased in his, the warmth seeping into your skin.

Before you could knock, Sam opens the door, wearing a smile that showed how happy he was to see you. You let go of Quil’s hand to hug your big brother. He returned your hug with a big bear hug. He still hugged you the same from when you were younger. He puts you down and mess with your hair.

“How are you kid?” he says with humor.

You frown a bit, making sure stray hairs don’t stick out of place crazily. “Come on Sam. Not a little kid anymore.” you tell him. He still treated you like you were in primary school. Quil chuckles at this, he knows how much that annoys you.

You all step into his house where the pack were all mingling. They look over to see what brought the noise of the door closing. You walked into a greet fest with them surrounding you.

“Y/N just got through the door. Give her some space.” Quil says and you take that queue to wrap your arm with his. You hang onto it and smirk.

“Yeah give me some space.” You say in repetition.

You follow them all to the backyard where some of them were playing a game of football. You sit on the steps and idly look at your smart phone. Right before your eyes, it’s slipped out of your hands.

“You better not be doing anything sneaky on here.” Jared says snickering, lifting it high as you try to retrieve it.

“So what if I am?” you say and jump to meet the item that you are trying to get back.

“Hmm…let’s see who you like to talk to.”

You felt like screaming, “Ha ha. Now give it back!” you say, feeling the annoyance bubble within your body. This only makes him laugh harder. You go back onto the steps and jump off to have a better chance at scoring your phone back. It was a total fail. The moment you got close to snatching it back, his wolf instincts only kicked in, making him put his arm straight up knowing for a fact you weren’t going to reach it.

You groan as he laughs at your failure. You stomp back to the steps and put your head in your arms.

“Stop being a crybaby.” he says.

“Stop being stupid!” you retort. He only laughs at this, not taking you or your insult seriously.

Quil is the one who got your phone back. You’re resting your head on his shoulder when you feel a raindrop smack your hand. You look down at the perfect splat of water. Quil grabs your hand and leads you back into the house and into the sitting room.

You’re in control of the television. You scroll and find a reality tv show that you enjoy. It’s swiped out of your hands before you could blink.

“Hey!” you say to Paul who just ignores your protest and puts on what he wants to watch. What he’s watching is too boring for your liking and you stalk over to him.

You shove his shoulder, you tried your best to make it seem rough but his big body wouldn’t allow you.

“You have the worst tv taste. I’m actually going to put something good on.” He says.

“I had the remote first you jerkoff!” you say and he only laughs at the insult you choose.

“Oh sit down Y/N.” Paul says absently not trying to pay anymore attention to you. You weren’t taking no for an answer and try to snatch it back but he’s dodging too fast. Your huff makes him look at you.

“Okay fine. Here.” He says and you go to reach for it but before your fingers could touch the remote, he retracts it and says the biggest, “SIKE.”

He’s now laughing at your expression.

“I’m so pissed it’s raining. I was really looking forward to playing football.” Quil speaks up.

“Just play with Y/N. She’s small enough.” Paul replies to him.

“Corny.” you tell him and he gets up and picks you up, your body sideways as he holds you and Embry gets up, wanting to take part it in the “game.” Paul jogs a bit and turns as if he’s actually on a field.

“Here, catch!” Paul says and you’re flying to Embry. He catches you, your back towards him, your legs scrunched to brace yourself in case one of them drop you.

“Put me down!” you say as they toss you back and forth like you were a ping pong ball. They’re having the time of their lives.

“I said put me down!” you yell louder but Embry makes it seem like he was going to drop you flat on your face before catching you again. This causes you to scream. They’re really laughing. Embry raises you higher as if you’re a trophy, “And he scores.” and mimics a crowd cheering.

You clutch onto him fearing the height, “Assholes. All of you!”

“Fine. I’ll really drop you then.” Embry says and the threatening drop is believable enough for you to scream again. He finally puts you down. You kick him in the leg, not hard, but just enough to let him know not to mess with you again. He flicks your hair, making it go in your face. You gasp, upset because you have to smooth out your hair for the second time today.

You go to smack him on the chest but he has his hand on your head and now your head is down and you’re swinging wildly. He’s doing nothing but laughing at this.

Jacob stands and pulls you away, “Alright alright. Give her a break.” he says chuckling. You’re grateful and he pokes your sides, making you jump. You were very ticklish there and Jacob’s favorite joke was your reaction to being poked in that area.

You shrug and push him off and away from you, annoyed with everyone.

“I just saved you. I’ll throw you back to the wolves.” Jacob threatens.

“Do it, you die.” you say with venom.

You’re back up in the air and you land on a couch with a flop.

“You will rue that!” you tell him with bass in your voice.

“I’ll only rue not putting the chihuahua in the cage.” he says as he sits back down in his spot.

You throw a pillow at his head with perfect aim. He throws it back with even better aim. You get up, pillow in hands, and smack him with it. He pulls and steals it from you and you run to grab another pillow. You two are now having the most epic pillow fight known to man. His strikes are overpowering, making you miss yours.

You call timeout panting, “I want to sit down.” He throws you over his shoulder and spins and flip you back onto the couch. You’re out of breath. You stare at them all. Wishing you could kill them with one look.

“I hate you all.” you announced in monotone voice, out of breath.