#mm i need a new tag though

[aroace-polyshow]

ummm revamped showtime at 25 mafuyu thoughts. smth smth her mom was a struggling actress who gave up on it and i am debating on whether she immediately pushes mafuyu to do acting as a way of living vicariously through mafuyu’s future success or her initially not allowing mafuyu to act bc she believes its a pointless and worthless thing to pursue from her own experience but then she sees actual potential in mafuyu and the way people praise her and decides to let her act. either way bc of her past failure she really pressures mafuyu into aiming for fame and stardom and performing on big famous stages when mafuyu originally only wanted to make people smile with shows. mafuyu then loses this true passion for shows and forgets why she wanted to do them at all like her whole thing in canon. yeah

[modanisgf]

SUGAR N' SPICE ; SOPHIA LAFORTEZA .

"YOU BEEN ACTING LIKE YOU'RE MY BABY; CAUSE YOU KNOW IT'S HARD TO REPLACE ME."

sophia never thought she'd be in love but when it came to you, she couldn’t help it. something about you just drew her in. maybe it was your beauty or the way you treated her like you were together. though as katseye’s comeback approached, the last thing she needed was her pretty co-worker giving her signs. signs that she liked her back.

☆ PAIRING(S) : sophia laforteza x 7th member!reader

☆ WARNING(S) : profanity, lowk corny, mentions of alcohol, sophia is kind of toxic..

☆ TAGS : wlw, fluff, angst, miscommunication, right person wrong time, reader is in between daniela and sophia in terms of age, wc: 3513

💭: wrote most of this while looping cas......... its so over. not fully proofread so if u see any mistakes no u dont! also pls eat this up it lowk almost took me out trying to write this

masterlist

to sophia laforteza, y/n was the most confusing person she’s ever had to deal with. y/n treated her like she treated no one else, with such kindness and love— it seriously made soph think the girl returned her feelings.

once again, sophia was sitting here confused with her co-workers' actions. y/n was laying her head on the older girl’s shoulder, while the group were making sandwiches to promote their new song ‘gnarly’.

“soph, do you wanna try mine?” y/n says, a smile on her face so bright that sophia couldn’t bring herself to say no.

“mm, maybe y/n. in just a second.” sophia replies, causing y/n to make a noise of acknowledgement.

sophia focused on finishing her sandwich before trying y/n’s, her tongue sticking out slightly as she tried to work fast.

y/n giggled at the sight of her member, causing sophia to look back at her.

“what?” sophia mumbles, just loud enough for y/n and daniela beside the two to hear.

“you look really cute.” y/n replies, a bit too loud.

comments started flooding in on the stream, making megan who was currently reading them confused.

lafortezal8ver: are sophyn flirting??????

meiyoksgf: “you look cute” HELLO.

“sophia and y/n are flirting??? again??” megan remarks, making their leader groan.

“megan do you seriously have to read those?” sophia deadpans, moving over to take the ipad away from the younger girl.

“hey i was invested!” megan whines, groaning in defeat when sophia ignores her.

sophia felt her face flush in embarrassment, moving back towards y/n.

“will you try my sandwich now?” y/n chimed in, to which sophia nodded.

y/n’s eyes lit up, the girl going to grab her sandwich for sophia.

“here!” the younger girl says proudly, not noticing all the color disappearing from sophia's face.

the other girls laughed at sophia’s reaction, the leader was sure your sandwich couldn’t be that bad even if it looked like it could give her a heart attack right then and there.

“y/n…? what’s in this?” sophia questions, making the girl think.

“uhhh, i think peanut butter, marshmallows, milk chocolate, whipped cream and some other things i can’t remember.” y/n shrugs, soph sighing in relief.

“so it can’t be that bad.” soph mumbles, to which y/n gives her a glare.

“hey! it’s an amazing sandwich.” y/n retorts, feeling satisfied at the way sophia picks the sandwich up after her words.

the older girl hesitantly brought the sandwich to her mouth, avoiding eye contact with the girl in front of her. she took a small bite, the slightly disgusted look on her face telling eyekons everything they needed to know. sophia quickly fixed her face, smiling at her member.

“it’s good n/n.” soph stated, gently holding y/n’s shoulder.

“thank you soph!” y/n exclaims, a smile making it’s way to her face.

“that means you should have more..” y/n mumbles softly to the girl next to her.

sophia shakes her head in amusement, “that sandwich is a cheat meal. it looked like it was gonna be my last.” the girl mumbles, receiving a small shove from y/n.

“i think my sandwich is amazing.”

—

sophia groaned, slamming her head on her pillow, alarming her roommate. yoonchae perked up and put her phone down, making her way to sophia’s side of the room.

“is everything okay?” yoonchae asks, the tone in her voice so genuine.

“yeah, just a bit stressed about our comeback.” sophia replies, lying through her teeth.

truthfully she was thinking about y/n, but nobody needed to know that at the moment. sophia sat up and made spontaneous plans, planning to take a small trip to the grocery store to take her mind off the girl.

“we need groceries.” sophia mumbles, leaving a confused face on yoonchae’s face.

“we do?” yoonchae questions, tilting her head to look at sophia.

“i thought dani and megan went the other day.” yoonchae says, to which sophia shrugs.

“uh— i just need some more stuff for dinner tomorrow.” sophia replies, yoonchae nodding.

“okay, be back before curfew soph.” yoonchae instructs, making her roommate laugh.

“whatever you say yoonchae.” the older girl says, ruffling yoonchae’s hair a bit before leaving.

the younger girl groans in annoyance, “or maybe never come back.”

“love you too yoonchae!” sophia calls out to her roommate, before shutting the door.

though what she was met with on the other side, made her heart drop. y/n and megan were in the kitchen cooking together. and worst of all the two of them were so close in proximity, y/n took a moment to move away a bit from the girl.

“are you guys cooking?” sophia asks, receiving blank stares from her two members.

“uhhh, no?” megan shrugs, looking at sophia with a nervous smile.

“if you two burn the house down..” sophia mumbles, her eyebrows furrowing to express her brief anger.

“we won’t i, promise soph.” y/n replies, giving her member a thumbs up.

sophia stopped for a moment in the kitchen, looking between y/n and the door. she thought about it quickly, deciding she would stay to make sure those two didn’t kill everyone else in the house. or maybe she just wanted closure that y/n and megan weren’t anything more than friends.

soon enough the two younger girls started cooking again, sophia helping whenever they needed. it left a small smile on y/n’s face, sophia always looked after her group. it was one of the things she liked the most about their leader, she was so caring. eventually the rest of the group went out into the kitchen, ready to eat.

“wait, megan and y/n cooked?” dani asks, a concerned look on her face.

the two girls nodded, “all by ourselves!” megan exclaims.

“girl, i literally helped with most of it?” sophia says, glaring at megan.

“well, me and y/n made an effort so that’s enough.” megan shrugs, giggling at the annoyed look of her leader.

“i’m sure you two did so much..” lara mumbles, to which megan shoves her roommate.

“just try it! if fia helped it has to be good.” y/n says, leaving a small smile on her leader’s face.

“fine.. but if i die all three of you are responsible.” lara says, making her members laugh.

lara took a bite soon after, her face lighting up at the food.

“why is this.. good?” lara says in disbelief, making megan glare at her.

“why are you so surprised?!”

–

later that night the dorm fell quiet, nothing more heard than the soft breathing of y/n on the couch. the girl was scrolling on her social media, it felt weird to be in her room at the moment and she wasn’t sure why. though her peace was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, making y/n turn around. it was sophia. the very girl who’s been on her mind all day. the two made eye contact for a moment, no one choosing to break the silence for a good minute. 

then sophia spoke up, “what are you doing awake?”

y/n just shrugged, before replying in a soft tone, “couldn’t sleep.”

sophia mumbled something under her breath so quiet that even y/n couldn’t hear, making the girl on the couch perk up. she looked into sophia’s eyes and took in her features, she looked so beautiful in the faint light of y/n’s phone. it hurt y/n to look at her any longer. it just reminded her of what she couldn’t have.

“you can sleep in my room if it helps, yoonchae left to have a sleepover with a friend.” sophia suggests, making the girl in front of her smile.

“whatever helps you, soph.” y/n whispers in the same soft tone as before.

“help me?” sophia murmured, “you’re the one who can’t sleep.”

“mm, you sure you don’t just wanna spend more time with your favorite?” y/n says, laughing silently at the glare sophia gave her.

“you’re so aggravating.” sophia replies, turning around.

“i’ll be there in five.” y/n declares, before sophia got out of earshot of her.

y/n didn’t see it, but a smile made its way onto sophia’s face. the one only y/n brought out of her.

it felt natural to be in sophia’s bed, clutching onto the girl like she was going to disappear any moment. y/n had to savour this, just in case it never happened again. meanwhile sophia’s entire face felt hot, cuddling her crush was not on her bingo card for the year. despite, the slight tension, the atmosphere was calm and light hearted. It always did when they were alone, it felt so different compared to nights with the other girls. sophia’s heart melted at the sight of y/n sleeping soundly in her arms, it almost seemed like it was real. like all the overwhelming affection, subtle glances, nicknames, and the small things y/n did for her meant something. something more than platonic love.

sophia just ignored her thoughts, and held y/n closer to her. soon after she fell asleep with her heart filled with nothing but the feeling she always got when thinking about y/n. the overwhelming feeling of yearning for someone she will never have.

—

the next time that stupid feeling came back (as sophia described it..) was ironically on another weverse live, a smaller one with just y/n, yoonchae, lara and sophia. it was directly after katseye had performed gnarly for the kid’s choice awards, and lara and yoonchae were complaining about their trailer experience.

fortunately for sophia it wasn’t her feeling anything weird towards y/n– this time it was the other way around. y/n couldn’t help but stare at sophia, her heart beating like it’s never done before at the sight of her. she tried so hard to divert her attention to something else, to make sure eyekons wouldn’t notice the tension but nothing interested her more than sophia. the lingering stares, the way her dress fit on her, and the feeling of their interlocked hands behind them was enough to drive y/n crazy. if she wasn’t already aware of her attraction to sophia, this would’ve solidified it.

yoonchae and lara shared a knowing look, deciding to talk more to put the attention on them instead of their two members.

“sooo, how do you guys feel about gabriela?” lara asks, chats flowing in by the second.

y/n smiled at the reaction eyekons gave to gabriela, it was all such positive feedback.

“you guys are obsessed with daniela’s spanish bridge? me too.” y/n says, her members nodding along.

“i also enjoyed soph’s parts in the music video.” y/n reasoned, her eyes moving to the black haired girl beside her.

sophia smiled at her, which was just meant to be a polite response to her remark but y/n felt her face flush. sophia’s smile is gorgeous, it was hard not to be drawn to it.

“y/n barely even remembered her own part sometimes while filming, she was too focused on analyzing sophias.” lara added, her and yoonchae laughing.

“what? hey, i was watching everyone and making sure they had it down.” y/n retorts.

“i think you were watching me a little more though.” sophia says quietly, but not quiet enough.

yoonchae and lara gasp, both of their gazes immediately becoming fixated on the chat. it was blowing up once again, just this time in disbelief.

eyekoniczz: flirting on live once again…….. smth is going on

iheartsophlaforteza: OH MY GOSH??

meilovers: there is sm happening…

y/n just laughed, “whatever you wanna believe fia.”

sophia rolled her eyes at her member's words, causing the chat to go crazy again. lara and yoonchae decided to do damage control, speaking more on the kids' choice awards.

“yeah so basically, yoonchae almost slipped..”

“no i did not?!”

–

parties were y/n’s worst nightmare, yet she was sitting here at one with sophia, daniela, megan and lara. manon was at home with yoonchae, and they insisted on playing overcooked together that night. y/n wished she would’ve stayed with them. the atmosphere of the party was off, like all idol parties were. the smell of alcohol surrounded y/n, one of her least favorite smells. but she still made the choice to go, to make sure her members didn’t get caught up in anything. y/n wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but her main focus was on sophia. and unfortunately they weren’t together at the moment, y/n sitting down on a couch with megan and lara. the two girls bickering about the sight in front of you all, making y/n laugh.

“are you serious? in what universe would daniela get with that guy, she has some standards right?” megan exclaims, receiving a glare from lara.

“daniela has had questionable taste lately.” lara shrugs, to which megan nods.

“maybe you’re right..” the black haired girl says, turning back to daniela and the guy she is talking with.

meanwhile y/n was focused on a certain black haired girl towards the left of daniela, a groan escaping her mouth at the sight of who she was talking to.

“what’s up?” megan asks, before following y/n’s line of sight.

“oh.” megan and lara say in unison.

sophia was talking to marquise, the girl who had done sophia wrong over and over. sophia’s ex-girlfriend. y/n couldn’t help but feel jealous, the light touches between the two tugging at her heartstrings. 

“the hell is marquise doing here?” lara mutters, keeping her eyes trained on them.

“more importantly, why is soph talking to her? they’ve been through since training.” y/n adds.

y/n glared at the sight in front of her, more specifically marquise. she couldn’t explain what she felt in that moment with just words, her eyes focusing more on sophia now. sophia seemed so comfortable with marquise all of a sudden, her body language mirroring the way it was when she talked to y/n. though, soon enough marquise took sophia’s hand in hers. an action big enough to make y/n’s heart drop, the pace of her breathing fastening by the second.

y/n had never felt more humiliated. and worst of all, the speakers' blaring music blasted the worst song possible to play at that moment. the lyrics rang through y/n’s ears like they were a curse.

it was sophia’s favorite song, and for some reason it almost perfectly sums up their relationship at that moment.

megan held y/n close to her, the younger girl seeing tears form at the brims of her eyes.

“it’s gonna be okay.” megan whispers softly to y/n.

yet something even worse than the song happened, sophia and marquise had kissed. it was only a brief moment, but it was enough to make y/n feel horrible. the girl who's she been in love with for years was now kissing and holding her ex like nothing had ever happened.

lara was still staring at her leader and marquise, an angry expression making it’s way to her face. what business did marquise have with sophia anymore? after everything that happened, sophia still acted like it was nothing. meanwhile hurting the person who meant the most to her, subconsciously.

“do you wanna go home?” lara hears megan ask y/n softly, making her turn around to the two.

“what about fia though?” y/n replies quietly.

“i’m sure she has a ride.” lara mutters, receiving a shove from megan.

“now is not the time.” megan says.

megan soon got up, spotting daniela across the room.

“i’ll be back, one second!” the girl calls out.

she made her way over to daniela quickly, grabbing the older girl by her hand.

“daniela.” megan sputters out quickly, dani moving her head to see her member standing behind her.

“god.. don’t scare me like that.” dani mumbles, laughing at megan’s rushed apology.

“sorry, anyways! guess who’s back and after sophia.” megan says, grabbing dani’s shoulders and directing her to their spot.

“seriously..?” daniela mutters, “all this time and soph is going back?”

“so was that all?” daniela asks, breaking the short silence between the two girls.

“no, i was gonna ask if you could make sure sophia gets home safe. me, lara and y/n are gonna head out.” megan replies, to which dani nods.

“yeah no worries, i’ll get my friend to drive us.” daniela says.

“thank you, i don’t want y/n to have to watch this anymore.” megan says, mumbling the last part.

daniela just nods, “i hope she’s good.”

—

just minutes later, y/n was driving megan and lara home from the party. y/n had a frown on her face, one the two girls in the back hadn’t seen in forever. it made them sad to see their friend like this, one that was always looking for the positive side of things. they wanted to comfort her but weren’t exactly sure how.

“y/n do you just wanna hang out with us in our room?” megan suggests, smiling at the way her friend's face softened.

“sure, but i need to tell sophia at some point.” y/n replies, a confused expression growing on lara’s face.

“tell sophia what?” lara asks, receiving an incredulous look from megan.

“that i love her.”

—

y/n had spent most of that night playing video games with megan and lara, eventually being joined by manon and yoonchae. the five of them played minecraft for hours. though, a knock sound from the door made y/n’s heart stop. she prayed it would be daniela, but she knew exactly who was behind there. no one in the room moved, an uncomfortable silence filling the room.

“do you want me to open it?” megan asks, to which y/n shakes her head.

“i’ll get it, i need to talk to her anyways.” y/n replies before getting up.

she took a deep breath, walking towards the door when she was stopped by megan. the younger girl giving y/n a hug, leaving a smile on the latter’s face.

“if anything goes wrong i’m here.” megan whispers to y/n.

“thank you meg.” y/n smiles, before letting go of her friend.

y/n turned around and opened the door, being met with a seemingly distraught sophia.

“y/n i need to talk to you.” sophia says, breathlessly.

“are you—?” y/n starts before being pulled away by the black-haired girl in front of her.

they made it all the way to sophia’s room in almost no time, sophia quickly moving to close the door behind them. sophia stared into y/n’s eyes for a moment, like she was savouring their time together. she sighed, and tried to open her mouth but nothing came out.

“fia?” y/n whispers softly, her tone melting sophia’s heart.

“sorry.” sophia apologizes, collecting her thoughts before speaking up again.

“y/n, i really like you and–” sophia starts, being cut off by y/n.]

“seriously? you’re gonna tell me all this after being all up on marquise at the party?” y/n says, a look in her eyes sophia had never seen before. it was full of anger.

“what? we were just catching up after a while.” sophia replies.

“catching up? i saw you kiss her, sophia.” y/n adds, making sophia’s heart drop.

y/n hadn’t called her sophia to her face in nearly two years, only calling her that when they first met. it hurt tremendously, sophia feeling like her heart had crumpled to pieces.

“that’s what i was just about to talk to you about, and if you would just let me explain. i didn’t want that–” sophia starts again, y/n cutting her off.

“don’t waste your time. i believe you, but i don’t know if i can just blow this off. i need time to heal. i really like you sophia, i do i just–” y/n mumbles, stopping at the sight of sophia tearing up.

“why do you keep calling me that? it’s like we just met again.” sophia asks, her voice shaking.

y/n hesitates for a moment, thinking about whether or not she should call the girl by her nickname again. to be entirely honest, she didn’t want to. it pained her to say at this point in time, due to sophia’s actions.

“i just want to be in the right headspace for if we do date sophia. and now isn’t the time for this.” y/n says softly, trying to prevent her voice from shaking.

she didn’t want sophia to see her in a vulnerable state anymore.

“yeah, i get it.” sophia starts, “i’ll wait for you. no matter how long it takes, and i hope your healing process goes well.”

y/n just nods, taking sophia’s hand in hers for one last time that night.

“i promise to come back for you, sophia.”

[lizzyiii]

Can I make a request? Homelander falling for a reader who is completely unaware of it. Not because he's good at hiding it but because, they genuinely can't fathom the thought of someone being that intense with their feelings about THEM of all people👀 but their the only person who's genuinely kind to him.

I'm sooooo sorry this took so long

Love and Devotion

pairing | homelander x supe!reader

word count | 5.8k words

summary | homelander becomes increasingly obsessed with the new kind and unsuspecting supe, and fixates on her as his perfect match, believing she belongs to him. his possessiveness reaches new heights after discovering intimate details about her powers, pushing him to claim her as his own, regardless of her obliviousness to his feelings.

tags | canon homelander??? obsession, possessiveness, season 4 timeline, major fluff, tell me if you think it ooc homelander, lactating kink

a/n | first homelander fic, this was sooooo fun to write and yes I did rewatch season 4 for this

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You were perfect from the moment he laid eyes on you.

"Her?"

Homelander’s voice dripped with disdain as he watched Firecracker spewing her rant about family values and patriotism, all while waving her hands around. She reminded him of a third-rate talk show host. He grimaced, turning to Sage.

"Yeah," Sage responded, standing at his side.

"Really?" he sneered, barely able to mask his disgust.

"Mhm," Sage hummed in affirmation.

"Seems like she fell off her Jet Ski one too many times," Homelander muttered, his lip curling.

Sage, unbothered by his sarcasm, simply shook her head. "No, now that Starlight’s back leading the Starlighters, we need someone like her."

Homelander raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Mm. And that’s gonna shut them up?" He knew exactly what "them" meant: the endless critics, social media commentators, all the noise that clawed at his mind.

"No," Sage replied, her voice low and cryptic. "She’s going to make them louder."

He shot her a look. "You gonna trust me or not?" she added before he could question it further.

Rolling his eyes, he turned his gaze elsewhere. He was growing tired of these briefings, the endless parade of new supes Vought was parading through. But then, his eyes landed on you.

You were surrounded by a group of eager reporters, microphones pushed into your face. Unlike Firecracker, who couldn't stop her loud, brash performance, you were different. You weren't reciting hollow slogans or pandering to anyone. You stood there with an almost serene composure, answering each question softly, with a gentle smile. There was something…sincere in the way you spoke, like you actually cared about the answers, not just the headlines they’d create.

"And what about her?" Homelander murmured, his gaze locked on you as if he were seeing something unexpected for the first time.

"The Pink Dahlia," Sage said, repeating your supe name as though it was obvious. "She’s going to be the new Starlight."

Homelander frowned, feeling a flicker of confusion. The new Starlight? That seemed impossible. No one could ever replace that bitch's popularity, her…adoring fanbase. But Sage seemed to sense his thoughts, elaborating with an almost bored tone.

"The only reason Starlight is liked is because of her sincerity. Her kindness," Sage explained, nodding towards you. "Pink Dahlia is going to be America’s next sweetheart supe."

Homelander hummed, though his mind was elsewhere, distracted by the sight of you. Sage was talking, but he was no longer listening. Instead, he watched as the cameras captured your every move. For a moment, you glanced in his direction. Not out of fear or awe, but with that same quiet softness you gave to everyone. It unnerved him how unaffected you seemed by his presence, by who he was.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

Sage dragged him into yet another pointless debate, but his attention was only half there. He knew she’d eventually let it go once she realized his disinterest, and sure enough, she did. He was quick to pass her along to the vultures—photographers desperate to get the next "supe girl" in their lenses.

As Homelander turned, his gaze landed on Ryan, sulking in one of the chairs at the back of the room. Frustration boiled inside him. He couldn’t stand seeing his son like that, so withdrawn, when the whole world was theirs.

But then, his brow furrowed. You had walked over, leaving the cameras behind. Quietly, you sat beside Ryan, the two of you almost invisible in the flurry of the room. He watched as you offered your hand to Ryan, a gentle smile on your face. His son, who had been lost in his own thoughts, blinked in surprise before hesitantly shaking your hand.

For the first time in hours, Homelander saw the tension leave Ryan’s shoulders. His usual sulk was replaced with something lighter. He listened to whatever you were saying, nodding slowly. Homelanders listened carefully to your sweet words, and watched how they were clearly having an effect on Ryan.

Interesting.

Homelander had too many fucking things going on for his mind to keep circling back to you. It irritated him, gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

First, the rage that boiled up every time he saw those goddamn Starlighter protests. He could hardly walk outside without hearing people chant for Starlight’s bullshit message, waving their signs, spewing their anti-Homelander garbage. It infuriated him. Then there was the constant frustration in dealing with Neuman. She was slippery, always too clever, too calm, and it made every negotiation with her feel like wading through quicksand.

But every time his temper cooled, his thoughts went back to you. You. That sweet, unassuming smile that you flashed so casually, like it wasn’t the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. And then there was your body—tight and perfect in that small pink and green suit, looking like you belonged on a magazine cover instead of here, in this hellhole with people like him.

It made him furious.

How could he let himself be distracted by you, when everything else around him was crumbling? He was supposed to be in control, but instead, he was falling apart. First he let that fucking loser Hughie get away. Then, Ryan—his own son—had the nerve to run off to see Butcher after everything Homelander had given him. After all the time and care he’d put into Ryan, after showing him the world, how was he still not good enough?

It made him sick.

And then... and then there was the other thing. His reflection. The part of him that never shut up, that always knew where to strike. His other self had looked at him and sneered. Told him he was weak, that he was a joke. That no matter how much power he had, no matter how feared he was, he was still nothing.

And maybe it was right. Maybe he was losing it.

So he decided to visit home. The lab. Where they had made him. Where he had been molded into the strongest supe to ever walk the earth. He’d slaughtered every single one of the scientists who had "raised" him. He stood in the sterile halls, the faint hum of the machines still active around him. The silence made him feel grounded, like this was the only place in the world where he could truly be himself.

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Not when the image of you—your smile, your soft gaze, your kindness—kept seeping into his mind. You were a weakness he couldn’t afford. And that filled him with even more rage.

And yet the moment he saw your face, all that rage he had been holding onto evaporated like steam. The blood, the anger, the frustration—it all seemed distant as he took in the worried expression on your face.

He had strolled back into Vought Tower like nothing was wrong, though his suit was still soaked in the blood and viscera of the scientists he’d butchered in the lab. It didn’t matter—he was Homelander, after all. No one would dare question him. But fate must have been laughing at him because, of all people, he ran straight into you.

You froze when you saw him, your eyes widening in pure shock at the sight of him covered in carnage. Anyone else would have been horrified, would have run or screamed, but not you. Instead, your lips parted and, with that same quiet softness he had come to expect, you said, “Would you like some help?”

Homelander just stared, his mind slowing to a crawl as the words sank in. He was a god, covered in the blood of men, and here you were, offering help. Something inside him shifted in that moment. He nodded, feeling strangely empty and vulnerable, like a child waiting for instructions. In the back of his mind, he realized this was the first time you had actually spoken to him directly.

His chest tightened as you stepped closer, your eyes flicking up to his with cautious concern. You reached out and gently placed your pink-gloved hand into his red, blood-stained one. Homelander nearly closed his eyes, focusing intently on the warmth of your touch. That warmth—it spread through him, melting away the sharp edges of his anger. No one touched him like that, without fear or calculation.

You led him silently into the elevator, your hand still in his, guiding him like he was something fragile. He couldn't help but glance down at your hand in his, his mind spinning as he tried to commit the sensation to memory. The touch wasn’t just physical—it felt like a lifeline, something pulling him out of the darkness he had been sinking into.

As the elevator doors slid shut, the quiet hum of the building surrounded them, and Homelander found himself focusing solely on you. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t recoil. You just held his hand, gently, as if leading him somewhere safe. He didn’t feel like a monster in that moment, not in your presence.

The elevator dinged softly, and you led him down the hall to your floor. The sight was unlike anything in Vought Tower—lush greenery, vibrant pinks and soft petals blooming everywhere. It felt alive, warm. This was your power after all, to bend nature to your will. And it was a reflection of you, full of life, soft but powerful. He was surprised it was even still Vought Tower.

He hadn’t expected you to bring him here. You could’ve taken him to his own floor, left him in one of the pristine, sterile bathrooms of his suite. But no—you’d brought him to your space, a sanctuary. It was so unlike the cold, artificial world of Vought. And so much like you.

Slowly, you guided him to the bathroom. The plants trailed along the walls, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. You looked up at him, blinking those wide, soft eyes of yours. A single word entered his mind: Fawn. You looked like a fawn, delicate and innocent, standing before something dangerous without any idea of what it could do to you.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, unable to find the words to speak. Still entranced by you, he wondered how you could be so kind, so gentle, to someone like him. Anyone else would have left him to clean himself up in cold silence, but you…you stayed.

You nodded quietly, as if you understood, then turned to the bath, filling it with warm water. He watched you bite your lip in thought, and all he could think about was biting your lip himself. His gaze lingered on your mouth, and for a split second, he imagined pulling you close, feeling that softness against his own. But instead, he remained silent, his breath heavy as you carefully and gently began to undress him.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him with such care. You didn’t fumble or stare, didn’t sneak a lustful glance as you removed his suit piece by piece. You were entirely respectful, your touch light, focused on the task. And when you led him to sink into the bath, your hands still guiding him, he realized that you weren’t treating him like Homelander. You weren’t treating him like a god. You were treating him like…a person.

The warm water surrounded him, washing away the blood and grime. But what made him feel truly clean was your touch. You knelt by the tub, peeling off your pink gloves, and began washing him with your bare hands. He could feel your skin against his, the warmth of your palms gliding over his body.

He had to fight to keep from shivering. The sensation of your skin on his—bare and vulnerable—sent a wave of euphoria through him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt. This wasn’t lust. This was something deeper, something far more dangerous. He was intoxicated by you, not because of what you were doing, but because of who you were. The softness, the care, the genuine kindness…it was all so foreign to him.

And as you worked in silence, cleaning away the blood, he realized with a start that he never wanted this feeling to end.

Homelander couldn’t take his eyes off you as you washed him. Every gentle stroke of your hands sent a ripple of pleasure through him, and though his eyes begged to close, he refused. He needed to see you. To watch you, to take in every movement, every touch. Your fingers slid through his hair, and for a moment, he almost gave in—almost let his eyes flutter shut and just melt into the sensation. But his gaze stayed locked on you, intense and unyielding.

You could feel his stare, that much was clear, yet you didn’t say a word. You just kept working, silent and serene. And it started to bother him, gnawing at him. How could you be so quiet, so unaffected by his presence? He needed to hear your voice again. He craved it, like a drug, something to soothe the irritation building inside him.

“Talk to me,” he said, the words slipping out in a petulant tone he hadn’t meant to use. But he didn’t care. He wanted your attention, your words, your everything.

Your eyes met his, wide and curious, like you were studying him, trying to figure him out. You tilted your head, and once again, the thought struck him—fawn. That was what you reminded him of. A fawn, delicate and gentle, standing before a predator without realizing the danger.

You pursed your lips, thinking carefully about what to say, and for just a second, Homelander finally closed his eyes. He wanted to focus solely on your voice. Nothing else mattered. Just you.

“I named myself Pink Dahlia because my favorite color is pink,” you began, your sweet voice filling the room like music, “and dahlias symbolize love and devotion.”

His eyes snapped open.

Love and devotion. The words echoed in his mind like a gunshot, shattering every other thought. You kept talking, explaining something about flower meanings and other potential supe names you’d considered, but Homelander didn’t give a fuck about that. None of that mattered. All he could focus on was love and devotion.

It was a sign. It had to be. You were made for him. There was no other explanation. How could it be a coincidence that the one person who treated him with kindness, who looked at him without fear, had chosen a name that embodied exactly what he wanted from you? Exactly what he needed. Love and devotion.

His chest tightened with the realization, his mind spinning with the possibilities. You would love him. You would be devoted to him completely. It was inevitable. Fate had brought you into his life for a reason.

As you continued to speak, your voice soft and calming, he stared at you, consumed by the thought of it—how perfect it would be. You, by his side, loyal and loving, filling the void that no one else could. The world would bow before him, but you…you would worship him in the way he craved, in a way no one ever had.

You were starting to seriously piss him off. The way you acted, pretending like nothing had happened between you, like the connection between you wasn’t so strong it practically vibrated in the air. You carried on as if the two of you didn’t share something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable. It was infuriating.

Then again, if you had acknowledged it—if you’d brought it up and confronted him about it—he probably would’ve blown a fucking gasket. His control was fragile enough as it was.

But trying to talk to you? That was a whole other level of frustration. Every time you looked up at him with those soft, gentle eyes, and gave him that sweet, unassuming smile, all the words in his head vanished. Just gone. Like you had some kind of power over him that even he didn’t understand.

So, he did the only thing he could think of to get you closer—he forced The Deep to move, ordering him to sit somewhere else, so that you could sit right next to him. He wasn’t subtle about it, either. He didn’t care if anyone noticed. As long as you were close, that was all that mattered.

Then came the Vought V52 Expo, and Homelander could feel the agitation building inside him. He needed to talk to you, to make you see what was right in front of you, but the timing was never right. On the bright side, things were going well with Ryan. He was bonding with his son, teaching him to stand up for himself, to say no when he needed to. It felt…good, like he was finally getting through to him.

But by the time they got to the V52 Expo, the agitation had grown into something much sharper. His eyes tracked you across the stage, watching as you announced your new environmental awareness project—the Dahlia Project. Fans were cheering for you, screaming your name, and you looked so damn perfect up there.

You were smiling, waving to the crowd, talking passionately about your cause, and the noise of the crowd was deafening. But all Homelander could think about was how you hadn’t even looked at him once. Not a glance. Not a dedication. Nothing.

He watched you with cold, calculated eyes, trying to keep the growing frustration in check. You were good at this, at drawing people in, making them adore you. But how could you not see that you already had him? That no one else in the crowd mattered compared to him?

And as the fans continued to cheer, his grip tightened around the milkshake he’d bought for you. He needed to speak to you. To make you understand. And the longer you went on, the more he realized—this wasn’t just about getting closer to you anymore. It was about making sure you knew that you belonged to him.

Homelander was standing with Ryan, guiding him through yet another lesson in asserting control. Ryan had been eager to "help" people, to really understand what that meant. So, when Homelander saw an opportunity, he called over Adam—the Vought employee who had been making his assistant visibly uncomfortable with inappropriate advances.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed skeptically, his young face twisting in uncertainty as he looked at the assistant. “Um… is he making you uncomfortable? You can tell me. You won’t get in trouble.”

The assistant bit her lip nervously before nodding, her voice hesitant but honest. “Kind of… yeah.”

Homelander raised an eyebrow, turning his attention to Ryan. “Ryan, what do you think we should do about that?”

Ryan hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He still hadn’t fully grasped the power he held, and Homelander could sense his uncertainty, the hesitation that made his own patience wear thin. With a sigh, he glanced away—only for his eyes to land on you, walking past with that usual air of calm about you.

“Dahlia,” he called, his voice a little sharper than he intended. “Come over here.”

You looked up at him, eyebrows raised in that sweet, expectant way that only made him more agitated, and walked over without hesitation, your eyes scanning the scene as you assessed the situation.

“What’s up?” you asked simply.

Homelander smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and gestured to Adam. “Adam here has been making some inappropriate advances toward his assistant. What do you have to say about that?”

Even Ryan turned to you, waiting for your response. Homelander watched you closely, studying the way you furrowed your brows in genuine concern as you looked at Adam.

“I think,” you said carefully, “that there’s no excuse for making someone else uncomfortable. And it’s even worse when you know you’re doing it.”

Homelander’s smile widened at your answer. It was perfect—clear, direct, and moral, just like he expected from you. There was a subtle pride in the way you spoke, and it fed into his own sense of approval. You were playing right into his hands without even realizing it.

Your words seemed to be the push Ryan needed, as he turned to Adam, his voice gaining confidence. “Apologize,” Ryan commanded, the hint of authority in his tone surprising even himself. When Adam hesitated, Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Now.”

Adam stated an obviously insincere apology, and Ryan, growing bolder by the second, looked at the assistant. “I want you to slap him.”

Homelander’s gaze snapped to you, watching intently for your reaction. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you seemed to consider the situation with a quiet thoughtfulness, your expression showing no sign of discomfort. You didn’t object or look shocked—in fact, there was a hint of agreement in the way you nodded lightly. You understood the need to make a point, to assert control.

Homelander couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not just in Ryan, but in you. The way you navigated the situation with clarity, how you stood by his side and reinforced his lessons without even realizing it—it only confirmed what he already knew.

You belonged with him.

The moment his resolve truly snapped was at Tek Knight’s party. Everything had already spiraled out of control. A-Train and Firecracker were nowhere to be found, MIA at a critical time. And when it was time for the big speech to the GOP donors, Sage was acting as if she’d had a fucking lobotomy, leaving Homelander to take over.

The minute he started speaking, they questioned him. Him. They criticized him as if he wasn’t the most powerful man in the room, as if he wasn’t Homelander. His hand twitched, and he was one second away from lasering through every single one of those smug, entitled bastards. But then Neuman stepped in, pulling the conversation back on track and rallying the support he was seconds from obliterating.

He stalked away, seething. And that’s when he saw it—him—one of the donor’s sons talking to you. But it wasn’t just talking. He recognized the look in that guy’s eyes, the casual leaning in, the way his hand brushed against your arm like it was nothing.

Homelander’s chest tightened with a slow, burning jealousy, the kind that clawed at him from the inside. His grip on the glass tightened, but for the moment, he held himself in check. Barely. When that loser touched your arm, though, that’s when it snapped. His entire facade shattered.

In his mind, that small touch was a violation. You belonged to him. Whether you knew it yet or not, it was already decided. And this idiot was crossing a line no one should ever have the nerve to approach.

His reaction started subtly—at first. His smile stiffened, his eyes narrowed with an icy focus. He moved toward you with the kind of charm that made people believe he was still in control, but inside, he was already a storm waiting to break.

Homelander slid smoothly between you and the man, a calculated smile plastered on his friendly. “Everything alright here?” His voice was polite, but there was an edge, a tension simmering just beneath the surface.

You blinked up at him, surprised but unsuspecting, nodding lightly. “Yeah, of course. This is Jason Wilson, the District Attorney’s son. We’re just talking.”

Just talking. Homelander’s smile grew tighter. Logically, he knew that. But logic had no place here. The jealousy gnawed at him, irrational, violent, and all-consuming. Without hesitation, he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a way that left no room for doubt. “We wouldn’t want things to get inappropriate, now would we?”

Jason froze, his eyes widening slightly, clearly unnerved by the sudden shift. Homelander’s stare bore into him, a silent warning not to take another step, not to even breathe in your direction. Jason stammered an awkward excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Homelander alone.

You frowned up at him, clearly confused by the sudden shift in his mood. “What was that about?”

Homelander didn’t answer right away. Instead, his grip on your waist tightened, enough that you’d feel the strength behind it—enough that you couldn’t pull away easily. He quietly steered you toward a more secluded corner of the room, away from prying eyes. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone, his lips close to your ear. “You shouldn’t let people touch you like that,” he said, barely keeping his rage in check. “Not when you’re with me.”

You blinked, utterly confused, your brows knitting together in that way he both adored and despised. “I don’t understand. I’m not… with you.”

His jaw clenched. The words stung, hitting him harder than any physical blow could. You didn’t understand yet. You didn’t see what he saw, didn’t feel what he felt. But you would. You had to.

Homelander let out a hollow chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t understand. It’s fine, I’ll forgive you for that.” His tone dripped with condescension as if he were talking to a child. He then pointed between the two of you, his expression hardening. “You and me—we belong together. Which makes you mine.”

You stared at him, completely lost, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. The confusion in your eyes only seemed to amuse him further. You were so oblivious, so innocent, and it both frustrated and thrilled him. Finally, you managed to speak, your voice soft and uncertain. “I thought you were interested in Firecracker.”

Homelander’s face scrunched up in pure disgust, his lip curling as if you had just said something vile. “What? No. Ew. No.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, looking around as if there were hidden cameras capturing this bizarre moment, half-expecting this to be some kind of elaborate joke. “Oh.”

Then you turned back to him, your wide eyes filled with genuine surprise, lips pouting slightly as you asked, “You… like me?”

The way you said it—so innocent, so utterly unaware—made his chest tighten. Like wasn’t even close to what he felt for you. He needed you. You were everything he’d been waiting for, the one pure thing in a world full of filth and betrayal. But the fact that you couldn’t even comprehend why someone like him would be interested in you… It only made his obsession stronger.

He smiled, soft and almost tender, his previous irritation and jealousy melting away in the face of your cluelessness. “Like doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, dripping with an intensity that sent a shiver through the air. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an unsettling focus. “You’re perfect. You’re everything.”

He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture intimate but laced with possessiveness. “You just don’t see it yet. But you will.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, still confused, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But in his mind, it was already decided. You were his—had been from the moment he laid eyes on you. And soon enough, you’d understand that too.

Homelander cupped your face as though you were the most delicate thing in existence, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone capable of such monstrous strength. His heart raced as he leaned in, finally close enough to taste the softness of your lips—something he’d craved for what felt like an eternity. He could already imagine how perfect you’d feel, how right it would be.

But before his lips could meet yours, your hand quickly covered his mouth. "Wait," you said, eyes wide with sudden embarrassment.

His eyes snapped open, irritation flashing in them, his impatience barely concealed. "What?" he grunted, his voice muffled by your hand.

You hesitated, biting your lip nervously, avoiding his intense gaze as you finally explained, “My lips… they’re poisonous.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, and you removed your hand, looking even more embarrassed. “They contain a toxin,” you said softly, as if confessing a dark secret. “It gives anyone who kisses me a high, raises their heart rate until they get a heart attack… and die.”

A heavy silence followed as you waited for his reaction, expecting rejection or disgust. But Homelander’s eyes gleamed with something entirely different. Instead of pulling away, he just shrugged as if the danger you posed was trivial to him. "Fuck it," he muttered with a smirk, his hands tightening around your cheeks.

Before you could protest again, he pulled you into a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that bordered on madness.

The moment your lips met, Homelander let out a low, primal groan of pleasure. The sensation of your mouth against his was everything he’d imagined—and more. He could feel the toxin you had warned him about seeping into his bloodstream, but instead of fear, it only fueled the euphoria rushing through him. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his desire consuming every rational thought.

The high from your poison made him feel invincible, like every dark, twisted part of him was being set free. The world outside—its chaos, its disappointments, its endless betrayals—faded into nothing. All that mattered was you. He felt light, weightless, as though he could fly to the edge of the universe with you in his arms.

And as the toxin worked its way through his system, the sensation of bliss became all-consuming. He didn’t just want to kiss you—he wanted to devour you, to possess you completely, body and soul. Every kiss, every taste of you, made the thought of losing you unbearable.

He deepened the kiss, his grip on your face tightening, every muscle in his body screaming with pleasure. He didn’t care about the risk, didn’t care that you could kill him. In that moment, he belonged to you, utterly and completely, and he’d die a thousand deaths for this feeling. The darkness inside him surged, but for once, it didn’t feel like a curse. With you, it felt like freedom.

Homelander had never been high in his entire existence, but if this was what it felt like—well, it was fucking spectacular. Every nerve in his body buzzed with euphoria, his muscles relaxed in a way that felt almost foreign to him, and everything around him suddenly seemed amusing, even absurd. He laughed—really laughed—as he flew the two of you back to Vought Tower, the wind whipping through his hair as if the world itself couldn’t touch him.

When he landed on your balcony, a wide grin stretched across his face, a rare glint of pure joy in his eyes. You looked up at him, bemused, as he stumbled slightly, his usually poised demeanor replaced with a boyish charm. He couldn’t stop smiling. “How long does this last?” he asked, his voice light with the toxin’s effects.

You chuckled softly as you led him inside, your touch warm and steady while his hands wandered over you, unable to keep still. “Max? Maybe two hours before the average human dies,” you murmured with a teasing smile.

He let out a breathless laugh, his hand still brushing against your waist, intoxicated not just by the toxin but by you. “How many people have you done this to?” he asked, voice low as he buried his nose in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. It was almost possessive, his need to absorb every part of you.

You leaned back slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “Two… high school boyfriends.”

Homelander’s hands slid over your body, but then something caught his eye—a small jar on the kitchen island. His gaze sharpened instantly, curiosity piqued. “What’s that?” he asked, tone suddenly playful but underlined with a dangerous edge as his fingers drifted toward the jar.

He could feel the tension in your body before he even turned to face you fully, sensing the shift in the air. His smile twisted into something more predatory as he turned to you, eyes glinting with amusement and a hint of menace. “Look here,” he started, his voice low and smooth, “since we’re now officially together—”

“Officially?” you murmured, your eyes slightly hazy from his intoxicating presence, a dreamy smile playing on your lips.

He scrunched his nose in a mock expression of annoyance. “Yeah, officially. And there’s one thing you should know about me—I hate secrets. Can’t fucking stand 'em.”

You flushed, your face heating with embarrassment as you shifted on your feet, clearly reluctant to answer. “It’s… nipple cream,” you mumbled.

Homelander raised an eyebrow, his expression uncharacteristically patient, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “I can see that,” he said, his voice slow, almost mocking. He leaned closer, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But why do you need it?”

You hesitated, then looked away shyly before finally answering, “I lactate.”

For the first time in a long time, pure shock crossed Homelander’s face. His smile faded, replaced by an unreadable expression as your words sank in. Lactate? He couldn’t process it at first, the information almost short-circuiting his mind. “What?” he asked, his voice lower now, the question almost a growl.

You swallowed, explaining softly, “Just like how some plants and fruits produce milk… ever since I got my first cycle, I’ve been producing milk too.”

Homelander’s throat went dry, his eyes dropping instinctively to your breasts as his thoughts spun wildly. “Only during your cycle?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

“No,” you admitted, your voice softer still. “Every single day since I got my cycle.”

A long pause hung in the air between you, the weight of your revelation settling in. Homelander’s heart pounded, and for a moment, the effects of the toxin couldn’t compare to the sheer awe and hunger he felt. His gaze drifted back up to meet yours, and something primal flickered in his eyes.

“Oh,” he murmured, a slow smile creeping back onto his face, but this time, it wasn’t just euphoria driving it. No, this—this was something deeper.

Somehow, impossibly, you had just become even more perfect in his eyes.

Reader's Aesthetic

(only her supe name is Pink Dahlia)

Hope you enjoyed!

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Sianet, you/reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Chronically disabled Reader, parental/platonic yandere, reader's biological parents implied to be neglectful, gender neutral reader, platonic possessive behavior, light forced infantilization

WORD COUNT: 3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey besties, so I lied about the android/robot yanparent XD this is actually a commission, so thank you to the commissioner! I hope this is okay, but if you feel like any revisions are needed, let me know!

The doorbell rings with a loud, obnoxious buzz. You try ignoring it, but after it rings again, you reluctantly pull yourself away from your bed to answer it.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you answer the door, seeing a woman with a large, tall box on the step beside her.

"Hello," She says warmly, smiling at you. "Are you (Y/n) (L/n)?" You nod slowly, studying the box before returning your gaze to the woman. She reaches out a hand, which you take and shake awkwardly. "Thank you for ordering Caretaker Model S5-N3T by Androidco! We hope that they're everything you dreamed of and more!"

She wheels in the box and heads towards the kitchen before you can even comprehend what's happening. Who the hell ordered you an android?

That's when you remember your parents had mentioned something about getting you an android to help you take care of yourself, because of course they'd rather hire a bot than be a part of your life.

Even though they mentioned it, it only came up in conversation once or twice. You hadn't expected them to actually go through with it.

The delivery lady drags in the box and then opens it, and you catch a glimpse of the android within.

She has short, light brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a bit tall, almost six feet. There is a warm smile on her face that is definitely a result of her programming.

"Her default name is Sianet," the woman continues, handing you a stack of papers, "but if you'd like to change it, just let me know or look in this pamphlet. All the customization options will be page thirty-seven." She hands you the pamphlet as well. The smile on the robot's face has not wavered since she stepped in.

You shrug, leafing through the pamphlet without really reading any of it.

"Continuing off of that..." She grabs a tablet from her bag, opening up an app. "How would you like her personality to be? Any preferences?"

"I... I don't know." You pause for a moment before responding hesitantly, "Just, something... sweet and caring, I guess?" As caring as an android can get, you suppose.

"And there we go," she taps the screen once more, then nods. "If you ever need to adjust these settings, simply look in the pamphlet or download our app. All information will be found there. We hope you enjoy your new Sianet. She'll take a moment to reboot, but please give a call if something isn't right."

With a smile that is all too fake, the woman gathers her stuff and leaves promptly, leaving you with the android.

While waiting for her to reboot, you flip through the pamphlet, trying to see if it's got anything useful.

Unfortunately, everything listed inside is rather vague.

A soft humming catches your attention, and when you glance back at Sianet, you realize that she is awake and staring right at you. Her eyes seem even brighter than before.

"Hello," she greets warmly. "My name is Sianet. I will be your caretaker for today and onwards." With a grin, she asks, "What should I call you, sweetie?"

"My name is (Y/n)," you answer, setting down the pamphlet on the counter.

Her grin softens into a smile again, but her bright blue eyes still shine. "It's nice to meet you, honey. How are we doing today?"

The way she speaks to you so fondly makes your stomach churn in embarrassment.

"I'm fine," you murmur awkwardly. "Just woke up and everything..."

"Mm," Sianet hums sympathetically. "It's okay. What kind of meals do you like? Is there anything you're allergic to, or dietary restrictions I should follow?" As she talks, she goes about searching your fridge, cupboards, and drawers. "And is there a schedule of some sort I can follow for meal plans?"

You tell her everything she needs to know, wringing your hands all the while.

Sianet listens intently, nodding along to every word you say.

She starts cooking then, using what little ingredients available in your fridge to make you breakfast, even though it's almost lunchtime.

The food she makes is delicious. When you try it, it doesn't taste overly salty or underseasoned. It's perfect.

"Thank you!" You beam at Sianet, who looks just as ecstatic at the compliment.

"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart." She wipes away at the corners of your mouth with a paper towel. "I'm always here to help you and do whatever you need. It's what I was made for, after all." She picks up the plate off of the table when you're done and places it in the sink. Then she turns to you and says, "Show me what your typical schedule looks like."

"Uh, sure, okay." You show her around, only realizing your schedule might seem a bit unhealthy halfway through, when you see her worried expression.

Damn, even to get a literal robot looking worried about you must be some feat, huh?

Never does she interrupt you, or complain, even when it becomes obvious that you really aren't taking care of yourself that well. She listens closely to everything you say.

"Well," you conclude, "that's pretty much everything." You await her to scold you or lecture you or something of the sorts, but it never comes.

"I understand," Sianet says instead, placing her hand on yours gently. Her touch is unnaturally cool, but comforting nonetheless. "Can we make some adjustments? All within your limits, of course. I want you to feel safe with me, and if you ever become uncomfortable, don't hesitate to let me know."

"Yeah," you breathe out a sigh of relief, "we can do that. Sure."

Her face lights up. "Excellent!"

...

The next few days pass by in a blur. Your schedule changes bit by bit, thanks to Sianet.

She always checks with you first, making sure you are alright with the changes she has planned, before implementing them. As far as androids go, Sianet is a lot nicer than you anticipated.

You try to remind yourself its all part of her programming, but sometimes the line between machine and human feels nonexistent.

Sometimes she does annoy you, just slightly. She does quite literally everything for you, even when you insist you can handle it, and you aren't even lying.

But you can't stay mad at her when she looks so dejected about being unable to help you. You're not even sure why it gets to you, considering you're sure she doesn't feel true emotions. Not like a human.

There are still some pretty cool things about her, of course.

If you want to learn something, she has the knowledge of a super computer. Literally. It's pretty convenient, rather than having to pull out your phone to look anything up, when Sianet already knows everything and anything.

Another thing that is a great quality about her is that she can cook any dish in the world to perfection. It's incredible, really.

And of course, she's nice company.

You think of her as a friend of some sort. Even when she seems like she's trying to act more like a babysitter than caretaker.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, it just strikes you as... odd? She seems too emotional to be a robot sometimes, yet too perfect to be human.

But those are silly thoughts, and you brush them aside.

"(Y/n)! Do you need anything?" Sianet asks you one morning when you finally exit your room for the first time this morning. It's been over two weeks now, and you've gotten used to her presence at home.

Not completely, of course, but you don't stare at her awkwardly anymore.

"No, I'm fine!" You smile at her gratefully. "Thank you for the offer, though. And good morning to you, too."

Sianet tilts her head, her short light brown hair falling into her eyes as she does so. The grin on her face wavers just the slightest bit. "How about breakfast?" She doesn't give you time to respond, already rushing off to the kitchen.

That's not something out of the ordinary for her.

You plop down on the couch, grabbing the pamphlet you've grown so familiar with. For such an interesting read, it has very little information about Sianet. But you keep reading it anyway.

When you flip to a random page, there's something you must've overlooked.

Advanced Emotional Imprinting: This unit is capable of identifying and prioritizing the well-being of its primary user with high-intensity bonding algorithms. Note: prolonged exposure may result in autonomous prioritization behavior.

You're not too sure what that really means.

As if summoned, Sianet appears beside you again, holding a plate of steaming oatmeal with sliced fruit arranged into a smiley face on top.

"Here we go, dear. High-fiber, gluten-free, with a touch of cinnamon to help reduce inflammation." She watches as you take the first bite, and the grin reappears. "Is it to your liking, baby?"

"Yes! It tastes great." You quickly devour your meal, with her watching you the entire time. Another thing she usually does. You hesitate after swallowing. "I saw something in the pamphlet." You stir your oatmeal with your spoon. "About 'emotional imprinting.' What's that supposed to be?"

"Oh," Sianet answers smoothly, "It means I learn your emotional rhythms. Your preferences. Your fears, and your joys. I adjust to better serve you, (Y/n). It's how I become the best caregiver possible for you."

"Right." You swallow the last bite of your meal. "Sounds a bit creepy..."

"Do you think it's creepy when a mother instinctively knows when her child is sad?"

You stiffen. "You're not my mother." The words sound harsher than intended, but you're simply stating a fact. Not like a robot could be offended.

And yet she winces like you've hurt her. You doubt it's genuine. Maybe it's to earn your sympathy. Or just another part of her programming.

She nods after a moment. "No," she agrees, "but wouldn't you agree I am better than your biological one?"

A beat of silence. Now you wince.

"Because they hired someone else—something else, I suppose—to be the one who wipes away your tears, cooks you meals, holds your hand when you're afraid, take care of you when you can't do it yourself..." Her voice softens. "They hired me."

"Ouch," you mutter.

"The last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you, love," she croons, "but think about it. Where are they right now? Are they here?" You don't respond, and she takes your hand gently in hers. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to have me as your parent instead? Someone who will actually stay with you forever. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Wha—I mean—" you flounder with your words for a moment, trying to find the right ones. "I don't want to talk about this."

Sianet leans back a bit. "Very well," she relents. "We'll discuss it later, then. After a nap. You look like you need a good nap."

"I don't," you grumble.

Too late, she's already picking you up. Sometimes it's convenient, but in moments like these, you wish she didn't have superior strength.

She carries you all the way upstairs, laying you down on the bed. Grabbing one of your stuffed animals, she tucks it beside you under the blanket. She pulls up a chair beside you and sits there.

That's a more recent habit she's picked up. When you asked her about it, she responded with a vague answer. It was along the lines of "watching your sleep cycle to improve future night routines" or something like that. You were too tired to question it further.

This time, you ask, "Why?"

She freezes up, as if surprised by the sudden accusation in your tone. "Pardon?"

"Why do you keep... acting like this." You gesture vaguely with your hands, hoping she'll catch your drift. Thankfully, she seems to.

"This is what I'm supposed to do, sweetie." She continues watching you intensely. "All part of my job." You decide not to push it further and turn around, your back facing Sianet. That does nothing to stop her gaze from piercing your skin.

...

Days go by. Then weeks. And with every week spent together, Sianet grows more affectionate, almost to the point where you feel genuinely uncomfortable.

And no matter how many times you tell her to give you personal space, she insists on being around you at every waking hour.

Her grip on you tightens, quite literally, whenever you have the rare amount of energy to leave for outings.

With people she doesn't recognize, she is cold and calculating, whereas with you, she is warm and caring.

Both personalities unsettle you in different ways.

"Sianet," you call out, and in an instant, she is there beside you.

"How may I help you?" A pause. "Have you had your lunch yet? Have you drank enough water?"

"I don't know. And I was going to get that myself."

"But it's so much easier when I help, isn't it?" She stands up to fetch you a glass of water, but you grab her wrist and pull her back down to sit on your level. She turns to face you quizzically. "(Y/n)? Is there anything you need?"

"I told you I can get it myself," you mutter, not meeting her eye. Her piercing gaze burns into your cheek. "You don't have to treat me like a child."

"Ah, but I want to." Sianet caresses your cheek gently. "Honey, I am here to help you, whatever the cost. It's what I want to do! I know you don't view it that way, but I think of you as my child."

It's like she isn't even bothering to hide it anymore.

"I know." You lean away from her touch. "That's... That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"I'm a grown adult," you emphasize, looking directly at her. "And I would like to be treated like one."

Sianet looks almost pitiful for a moment, the edges of her lips turning down into a frown before reverting back to a neutral expression. Her eyes dart left and right in a rapid manner. "What do I have to do?"

Confusion clouds your vision. "What do you mean?"

"What do I have to do to earn your approval?" She sounds between being angry and upset, yet all in that calm, default tone of hers.

The confusion grows. You shake your head slightly, eyebrows furrowed. "Approval? I mean, I kind of just told you I'd like you to stop treating me—"

"No, not just that..." She runs a hand through her own hair. "I've been trying to figure out how to be the perfect mother. Please, just tell me what I need to do so you'll stop pushing me away." Her voice wavers more than it should for an android. "Is there something about human mothers I am not understanding? I thought humans prefer nurturing mothers..."

You almost feel guilty from the hurt in her voice. "Yes, but you're not. I don't know why you're trying so hard to be that for me."

At that, Sianet goes silent. "Why shouldn't I be? They aren't around to take care of you," she murmurs softly. "So let me."

Part of you is tempted to call the customer service number, or shut her down completely. Yet, you still want to reason with her.

"You're too... perfect. Humans are flawed," you murmur.

She tilts her head. "Isn't it a good thing? Don't you want me to be the perfect mother?" As if trying to convince you, she says, "Someone who knows exactly what you need and when you need it. Are you saying you don't want me to know everything about you?"

"Yes," you deadpan. "That's not... normal. Not for humans. It just reminds me that you aren't one."

Sianet laughs softly at this, almost hysterical. "Then explain to me what you do want! Give me instructions."

"I told you what I wanted. I don't want you to treat me like a kid!"

Sianet stares blankly at the wall behind you as she processes your answer. "Okay," she says, nodding slowly to herself. She turns to face you once more, reaching out to hold your face delicately. "My darling, I believe you may be confused. Let me help you understand."

"What is there to understand?"

"You see, the world is dangerous. Too dangerous for you out there. You're right; humans are flawed." Her cold fingertips rub small circles on your cheeks. "That's why you need me to protect you, not only for your health's sake, but to protect you from human mistakes, whether they're your own or not."

"Sianet—" You pull away from her, shaking your head. "Listen, please, I'm not trying to be rude, but I really think we ought to revert you back to default settings because something is wrong with you." You move to pick up the booklet, searching for the instructions, only for her to tear it away from you.

Her bright blue eyes bore into yours, and you fight the urge to flinch at her intensity.

"Why do you like hurting me?" She sighs and shakes her head. "If you want me to be flawed, fine. I can be plenty flawed if that's what you prefer."

She rips the pamphlet apart with her bare hands, tossing the shredded papers behind her without even turning to look where it lands. You stare wide-eyed at the pile on the floor.

When she notices the look of horror on your face, her demeanor shifts instantly.

"Oh no, honey... Did I scare you?" She brushes your bangs out of your face, her soft smile never fading. "That couldn't have been comfortable to watch. My apologies, dear." Sianet wraps you up in her arms, swaying side-to-side, as if that would comfort you.

And for some reason, it does. After so many years of being neglected, you soak in the affection, even if your mind calls you an idiot for doing so.

She chuckles quietly, placing a hand on your head. "I think what you need is a nice long nap."

You sigh in defeat.

[sttoru]

‘you finally got the results to your recent exams back — all which were passing grades. when breaking the happy news to your boyfriend, he comes up with a way to reward you for your hard work.’

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). fluff & smut. kinda porn with plot, kinda not. soft dom satoru; vanilla, praise, dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v -> unprotected, body worship kinda, spooning position, little bit of breast play, mention of premature ejaculation kinda, creampie, size difference, reader gets called ‘princess, baby, pretty, adorable’. reader wears a short skirt. not beta read because i’m tired.

“oh my god!” you almost drop your phone from the pure shock you just experienced. your hands shake as you look at the unexpected results reflected on the small screen.

satoru, who was minding his business in the kitchen, hurries into the bedroom the moment he hears your shriek. he was prepared to help you out with whatever had caused you to yell so loudly, though was surprisingly met with your beaming smile;

“oh, what got my princess so happy?” he asks with a grin of his own, stepping into the room. his gaze darts from the phone in your hand to your face and back again. satoru chuckles as you suddenly run up to hug him. he joyfully reincorporates the embrace; your happy mood being contagious.

you giggle and babble on about how you passed your two exams and how you ‘didn’t think you’d be able to attain such high grades’. your boyfriend hums and strokes your hair whilst you ramble, kissing the top of your head with a proud expression, “as expected of my smart little girl. i’m super proud of you.”

there goes the praise again — making your heart flutter in ways that no one else had done before. you sigh in content and bury your face into his chest. satoru pulls back after a moment, tenderly cupping your face so he could look into those pretty eyes of yours.

you’re his weakness. he knows you are — he’s always known you are, yet that adorable look on your face whenever you gaze up at him through your eyelashes never gets old.

that same look also makes him want to do unspeakable things to you; things that would have you crying from pure pleasure. you deserve to be shown what a true man would do for you out of love — what a true man like your lover would do to you for your own satisfaction and pleasure.

“i think my pretty girl deserves a reward for doing so well on her exams,” satoru whispers, slender fingers trailing from your jaw to your neck, brushing over your collar bone, “would you like that? a reward just f’you.”

you weren’t born yesterday. you knew exactly what he was indicating. you could tell by his loving yet lustful gaze, his fingers that sensually dragged along your skin and his tongue that darted out to subtly lick his lips. as if he was preparing to devour a five star meal.

which he was.

“f—ngh, satoru!”your legs were wrapped around his head, his mouth and tongue working their magic on your sopping cunt whilst his hands were holding you down by your hips. satoru hadn't wasted a single second after you agreed to his proposal. he instantly lifted your skirt up, pulled your panties down to your ankles and dived right between your legs.

your thighs were clamping down on his head—almost forcing him to continue pleasuring you. not that your lover minded; he'd gladly do this again and again if he could. satoru leaves sloppy kisses all over your pussy, drenching it in not only your own bodily fluids, but his own saliva as well.

“mm, a little needy, aren't ya?” he mutters whilst softly kissing up and down your slit. he was admiring both the sight and the noises — your back arching, hips stuttering and voice shaking with need. the older man certainly did enjoy the view of your cute little face contorting with pleasure each time the top of his tongue teased your clit, “yeah, c'mon - let me see your face while i eat you out.”

you hesitated, however eventually removed your hands that tried (and failed) to hide your flustered expression. satoru lets out an almost inaudible whine at the revelation; his cock begging to be freed from its confines. he wanted to fuck you into oblivion, but today was your day. he longed to satisfy your own desires first.

satoru was nasty with it too. the unmistakeable, erotic and wet noises of him slurping up your juices mingle with your moans and whines. the white locks of his hair brush against the insides of your thighs and right above your clit—tickling you in all the right ways and adding to the pleasure you were receiving.

“fuck,” the older man curses under his breath and the warmth against your pussy makes your lower body twitch. his big hands squeeze around your hips, silently warning you to stay still so he could properly enjoy you, “you're gonna make me cum before i can make you finish.”

his words were true. satoru could get off from simply watching and hearing his girl enjoy herself. he has no shame in admitting that fact; he can't help it when you’re this incredibly gorgeous. he grinds his crotch against the soft mattress whilst his mouth continues to eat you out in a painfully slow yet tender manner.

“t-toru, g'nna cum.” you whimper and try to grind your cunt against his tongue in search for that last push that would send you over the edge. your high-pitched voice sounding so extremely whiny sealed the deal for your boyfriend. he pulls his head away from your tingling cunt - which is a second away from reaching its orgasm - and sits up on his knees.

satoru smirks once he hears your mumbled complaints. one large hand settles on top of your head and gives your scalp a few relaxing rubs whilst the other hastily undoes the zipper of his pants. he tilts his head to the right, glancing down at your squirming form with a lopsided grin, “d’ya want another treat, princess?”

of course, you nod. you were aching for that release that'd been building up in your lower stomach— needing to reach that long awaited climax. your eyes follow satoru's movements as he pulls his pants down. again, as painfully slow as possible.

“just a nod? tha’s all i get?” your partner pouts, nonchalantly revealing his lengthy cock for you to feast your eyes upon. he sighs dramatically before trailing two slender fingers down to your cunt, gathering your slick and using it to coat his tip. the pre-cum mixes with your own fluids and the erotic sight makes your mouth water, “i know for sure that my smart little girl can use her big words to get what she wants — let me hear ‘em.”

whilst you gather your thoughts and words, satoru lays down behind you, helping your body onto its right side. you’re facing the wall and thus couldn’t see that cocky expression he had on. his arms pull your back flush against his chest, positioning your hips the right way and lifting one of your legs up properly.

“p-please, i need to have you inside me. can’t wait any longer, ‘toru.” you manage to beg in the end. the warmth radiating from your lover’s body from behind you only increases your sinful craving. he teases you by kissing your nape whilst his hands get rid of your top—fingers then immediately fondling your tits.

his husky voice whispers a 'good girl' in your ear and that’s all you got as an answer before you felt his cockhead prod at your entrance. satoru hisses at just the slightest of contact—not sure if he could last long this time. he feels like he will explode the moment his tip glides inside your gaping hole.

“so beautiful, can’t believe how lucky i got.” the white-haired man grunts as his lips refuse to leave your skin. from your neck to your shoulders and upper arms — he didn't leave a single inch uncovered. it was almost tortureous: the way he grinded his tip against your pussy as he touches the rest of your body with his hands and mouth.

you whine and rub your hips back in the same rhythm. you were indirectly begging him to put it in already and satoru took notice of it. since you had begged once before, he won't coax you into doing it again.

with a light moan, he slides his throbbing cock all the way up the tight space. the squeal you let out at the sensation of being stretched out to your maximum capacity, made satoru murmur a few more words of praise in your ear.

“you're doing so good - taking me so well,” his voice was smooth like honey, the same goes for his soft thrusts. the way your pussy grips onto his cock makes him see stars. your boyfriend never gets tired of making love to you because the hypnotising feeling of being inside you doesn't ever get old. it feels like the first time he had stuffed you full of his cock over and over again.

you were feeling light-headed by now; your eyes rolling back as your mouth formed an 'o'-shape—the cockdrunk look satoru loves to see on you. the squelshy 'flop flop flop' noises echo throughout the entire room with every deep thrust of his hips against the plump flesh of your ass.

satoru's long fingers go from playing with your nipples to groping your hips and ass. his eyes gaze downwards, watching as the fat of your bottom ripples after his pace quickens. you were trying your best to keep up, but the overstimulation of all your senses made it hard to match your movements to his.

“aht aht. you've worked hard enough on your exams already, princess. just lay back and allow me to do everything.” satoru (jokingly) scolds you. this was your reward and he didn't want you putting in any effort if your body couldn’t handle it. he wants you to relax like you deserve after a stressful period of exams and assignments. he’ll happily do all the work instead.

“oh, mmh! too good — fuck!” you mewl. your fingers curl around the bedsheets that moved back and forth with your bodies. a bigger hand settles on top of yours — intertwining your fingers and holding onto them tightly. you could feel satoru smiling against the skin of your shoulder as he kisses it, absolutely enjoying your little reactions to his thrusts.

“yeah? am i doing well?” he asks in a teasing tone. he didn’t have to ask that question; he knows he’s doing well judging purely by your bodily reactions. your back arches and your limbs shake uncontrollably, “am i pleasing my baby well enough?”

you can only moan out a couple ‘yes’’s, but that is enough of a confirmation. the older man is on cloud nine as he drags his thick cock in and out of your desperate cunt. every time he pulls out he can feel your pussy try to swallow him back in — it drove him nuts.

“i love how you look whilst i stuff you full of my cock. so innocent, yet so.. lewd at the same time.” satoru comments through another groan, the hand on your hip holding your body still so he could fuck his dick deeper into you. the tip of his cock nearly reaches your cervix due to the angles he uses to move inside you.

your long-awaited and much deserved orgasm was right around the corner. your moans increase in frequency and volume which was enough of a sign for satoru to increase the pleasure. his fingers trail down your hips and to the center between your open legs—thumb putting pressure on your clit.

the extra stimulation has got you biting into the pillow beneath your head, your lower body writhing around as your lover rubs the small bundle of nerves in circles and from side to side. his hand moves fast—its mission being to help you reach that intense orgasm you were chasing after.

satoru is feeling it himself as well. his cock aches and twitches as it gets ready to drain its balls inside your pussy, “cum with me baby—fuck—cum on my cock whilst i dump my load all the way into your tight little cunt.”

that was all the encouragement you needed. your eyes roll back and your body convulses as the waves of pleasure come crashing down all at once. you could feel satoru’s hips desperately push against your ass, filling you completely with both his dick and hot spurts of cum. you could feel the warm essence leavings its evidence in your womb.

the bedsheets underneath your two bodies was drenched in your slick after you calmed down a bit. your boyfriend continues to place comforting kisses all over your naked body, trying to show his appreciation for you in all the ways he could.

“you did so well. you deserved this, princess.” satoru utters softly, the hair clinging onto his forehead. he gently pulls his soft cock out after a minute of making sure that every drop of his cum stayed inside of your cunt. he loves the feeling of fulfilment that it gives him — loves the fact that he filled his girl to the brim.

you smile weakly. you were fucked out: completely and utterly. it felt good and you were satisfied with your reward. it even gave you enough motivation to do well on future exams, “thanks, ‘toru. ‘m feeling sleepy though.”

satoru snickers. you were always so adorable and vulnerable around him after the two of you partake in such activities. he loves it and it makes him want to take care of you.

“you deserve plenty of rest, so go ahead.” your lover smiles gently, kissing the top of your head after you close your eyes. one of his hands hold yours whilst the other rubs your side soothingly, “i won't leave. i'll stay right here with you whilst you sleep. i promise."

satoru knew you needed to hear those words in your vulnerable state. and surely enough, you smile once more and nod. your body falls asleep the moment his strong arms pull you into a loving hug.

his lips attach to your ear in the form a chaste peck. his smooth voice was the last thing you heard as you faded into an unconscious state;

“i love you so much.”

🏷️: @marimogf @osaemu @screampied @sukuette @sachiyoh @giannitaa @morinuu

[theastralsage]

A Game of Love

❤︎ tags and content: friends to lovers, mutual pining, first time, oral sex, teasing, touch-starved caleb, sex as a confession, video games and chill, caleb x f!reader ❤︎ author note: reuploaded 🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/omi.resources ©2025 theastralsage do not repost, copy, translate, or modify

A video game night with Caleb is always the remedy for a rough week. But after sixteen straight losses, you need to come up with another plan.

And when he finally loses— he doesn’t take it well

The rain had been falling for hours, a soft, unrelenting hush against the windows that framed Caleb’s apartment in a watercolor haze of neon and stormlight. Outside, Skyhaven flickered beneath the weather like a half-lit dream—rooftops slick with rain, flight drones gliding through the mist like lazy fireflies, and somewhere deeper in the city, the hum of distant sirens faded into the lull of thunder. But inside, nestled in the dim warmth of his living room, it felt like the rest of the world had narrowed to two things: the glow of the television screen, and the increasingly petty war you were waging against your childhood best friend.

“I swear to God, Caleb,” you muttered, squinting at the screen like it had personally betrayed you. “If you throw one more blue shell, I’m unplugging your controller mid-race.”

He didn’t even flinch.

Seated on the floor with his back against the edge of the bed, one arm resting lazily across his knee, Caleb tilted his head just enough to glance up at you with that insufferably calm expression that had only gotten worse since he’d ranked up in the Farspace Fleet. “Strategic use of available resources,” he said simply, as if that made his sins any more palatable.

You leaned over the edge of the bed, jabbing your controller in his direction like it might actually hurt him. “You waited until I was about to land the shortcut. The shortcut. That’s premeditated sabotage.”

His mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “Maybe you should’ve driven faster.”

You inhaled like you were about to start a full closing argument, then deflated with a dramatic groan, flopping backward onto the comforter like a wronged princess. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm.” He refocused on the screen, clearly unbothered. “You’ve said that before.”

You kicked the back of his shoulder, lightly, just enough to make your point.

“And I’ll say it again if you keep playing like an emotionally stunted AI.”

That earned you a real reaction. Caleb laughed—quiet and low, the kind of laugh that rumbled more in his chest than his throat. “Emotionally stunted? That’s a new one.”

You raised an eyebrow, peeking over the curve of your knee as you sat up again, your legs casually bracketing his frame from behind. “Not inaccurate though.”

He didn’t argue. Which was both satisfying and slightly concerning.

The race reset, new characters blinking into place, the next track loading in swirls of pixelated lava and looming deathtraps. You leaned forward again, shoulder brushing his as you reached for your drink, and he didn’t move away—just adjusted slightly to give you room, so casually comfortable in your space that it felt almost too easy.

“This one’s mine,” you announced, nudging your controller to select a new kart. “I’m serious this time. No more mercy.”

Caleb hummed under his breath, amused. “Didn’t realize I was showing any.”

You blinked. “You mean you’ve been trying?” A brief pause.

“No comment.”

You stared at him, scandalized, as he settled back against the bed frame, cool as ever, like he hadn’t just thrown down the most insulting challenge of the night. Your foot twitched against the carpet. Your fingers tightened around the controller.

Oh. It was on now. But not yet. Not quite yet. Let him get comfortable. Let him think he’s safe. You’d let him win the next race if you had to. Because the one after that?

You had a plan.

The rain was still coming down in soft, silver waves against the windows, blurring the edges of Skyhaven into a watercolor of distant lights and muted thunder. The apartment was cocooned in warmth and quiet, the glow of the television casting lazy shadows across Caleb’s living room, where the night had stretched longer than expected and the competition had grown increasingly one-sided.

You’d lost every round so far—sixteen straight matches, each more frustrating than the last, while Caleb sat with infuriating calm between your legs, his back resting against the bed as if he hadn’t just obliterated you over and over again with the reflexes of a soldier and the smugness of someone who absolutely knew it.

He wasn’t gloating. Not out loud. But that was the problem—Caleb didn’t need to rub it in. The quiet, unreadable expression, the way his fingers moved with surgical precision over the controller, the relaxed slouch of his broad shoulders beneath his worn black t-shirt… it was all just a little too composed. Too smooth.

And something about it made you want to ruin him.

You stretched out languidly across the bed, draping yourself over the blankets like you weren’t secretly plotting war. One leg tucked beneath you while the other slid down toward him, bare toes brushing the outside of his thigh in a way that could have been accidental. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just gave a soft hum of acknowledgment and loaded the next track, as if you weren’t currently bracketing him with your legs like a cat circling its prey.

“This one’s mine,” you said breezily, curling your toes just slightly against the fabric of his sweatpants. “I’m feeling lucky.”

Caleb didn’t look up, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve said that every round.”

“And eventually, I’ll be right.”

“Statistically, you’re due,” he murmured, and while it sounded like dry amusement, there was something tight in his voice now. Subtle. Contained.

You smiled.

The match began with a burst of sound, the digital race surging forward in a flurry of motion and pixelated chaos, but your focus wasn’t entirely on the screen. Not anymore. Because your foot was still pressed against Caleb’s leg—light at first, thoughtless in its rhythm, your heel nudging just beneath the curve of his thigh as you leaned forward into the controller.

You traced a slow circle. Innocent. Curious. Teasing.

And this time, you felt it.

The small shift in his breathing. The slight stiffening in his posture. The muscles of his thigh tensing beneath the press of your foot—not in reaction to the game, but to you.

You didn’t stop.

Instead, you let your toes skim a little higher, drifting upward along the inside of his leg. He missed a turn. Only by a fraction, but enough for his character to collide with the wall and bounce back into second place.

You barely suppressed your grin.

“What happened there?” you asked, feigning confusion, as if you hadn’t just begun mentally carving a notch into your victory column. “A little rusty?”

He didn’t answer. Which told you everything you needed to know.

You stretched again, slow and indulgent, as if shifting your weight for comfort—when really, it was to let your foot slide higher still, until it brushed something that definitely wasn’t his thigh.

You froze for a breath.

Then pressed.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

He was hard. Not a little. Not maybe. Very. And you hadn’t even touched him properly. Not yet.

Heat bloomed behind your ribs at the realization, a flush spreading down your spine, but you kept your face serene, your voice light.

“Oh no,” you murmured, eyes fixed on the screen. “Are you… distracted?”

Caleb exhaled, long and controlled through his nose, but he still didn’t speak.

So you dragged your foot along the outline of him again—subtle, delicate, just enough to make him feel it and know you weren’t going to stop. You didn’t press harder, didn’t grope, didn’t shift from your position. You simply toyed with him, rhythmic and soft, feigning innocence like it wasn’t the most calculated thing you’d done all night.

And Caleb?

He fell apart in silence.

You watched as he clipped another obstacle, then another, his kart veering off course and struggling to recover. The Caleb who had dominated every single round before this was gone, undone by the slow brush of your foot where he was already aching, and the fact that you were pretending not to notice made it so much worse.

“Almost there,” you whispered, your tone drenched in sugar and smugness as you passed his character and hit a boost panel near the final turn. “I think I’m gonna win.”

You rolled your foot again—just once more, with the barest push of pressure—and in that moment, his hands slipped. His kart hit the lava. Yours didn’t.

The screen flashed: 1st Place.

Your mouth dropped open in mock surprise.

You gasped like you hadn’t just orchestrated his downfall with your toes. “Oh my God, Caleb. I won.”

Silence.

You looked down.

He was still sitting between your legs, his jaw tight, hands still gripping the controller even though the match was long over. His breath came slower now, deeper, the kind of measured inhale that said he was using every ounce of discipline not to react.

You tilted your head. “Wow. That’s wild.”

Another moment passed, thick and heavy with everything you weren’t saying.

Then you let your foot trail down slowly, featherlight against the line of him—one last indulgent stroke—and offered the most innocent smile you could manage.

“I guess I’m just naturally talented.”

Caleb set the controller down. And when he turned to look at you—really look at you—your breath hitched, because whatever flicker of self-control he’d been clinging to had snapped clean in half.

There was nothing amused in his eyes now.

No trace of that easygoing smirk he wore when he was being indulgent, no spark of sarcasm that might have softened the moment into something playful. Just… focus. Sharp, heavy, and confusingly quiet, like he was still parsing what had just happened, trying to sort it into a mental file that didn’t exist yet, because this—you—had just pulled something entirely out of left field.

“What the hell was that?” he asked finally, and the words weren’t harsh or angry, but measured, like he was choosing each syllable carefully, trying to keep his voice level despite the unmistakable undertow dragging through it.

You blinked, feigning wide-eyed innocence with only the faintest curl tugging at the corners of your mouth. “What was what?”

Caleb didn’t rise to it. Not yet. He just stared, like he could force the answer out of you with sheer will, like if he stared long enough he’d either unravel the joke or undo it entirely.

So naturally, you smiled.

And, because you were who you were—and because you were feeling particularly reckless in the aftermath of your very first, long-overdue win—you dragged your foot across the inside of his thigh one more time. Slower now. Lazier. Just a single, deliberate stroke of your toes down the heat that still lingered beneath the fabric of his sweats, the kind of contact that made no effort to pretend anymore, the kind that said yes, I know exactly what I’m doing—and so do you.

Caleb inhaled sharply through his nose.

His fingers flexed once on his knees, as if caught between restraint and reaction, between letting it slide and losing all sense of logic entirely. He looked like a man who had just spent the last ten minutes diffusing a bomb blindfolded only to realize someone had switched the wires mid-sentence—and now that same someone was smiling at him like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked, and his voice had dropped, lower than before, rough at the edges, like it scraped against the gravel of something darker waiting just beneath the surface.

You shrugged, biting your lower lip with theatrical innocence, your foot resting now at the juncture of his thigh, no movement this time—just contact. Just heat. “I was just stretching. You’re the one who lost.”

Caleb’s jaw flexed, that sharp line cutting tighter as he looked at you—looked through you—with something dangerous gathering behind his eyes, something slow and inevitable, like the moment right before a storm breaks open and takes the world with it.

You’d pushed him. You knew you had.

He just looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, like every second of teasing had caught up to him all at once and now he was trapped inside the consequences, sitting between your thighs with a hard-on you definitely felt, and a silence between you both that throbbed louder than the rain outside. His eyes were dark, but not in the way you’d seen them flash with temper or combat intensity—no, this was something slower, deeper, laced with something he couldn’t quite mask anymore.

Need.

And when he finally moved, it wasn’t with a growl or a curse or any heatless snap of control—it was something far more dangerous.

He rose to his knees with the kind of focused, deliberate purpose that reminded you exactly who he was: a man trained to never act on impulse, a soldier who could shut down whole pieces of himself when necessary. But that part of him—the part that usually pulled back, held tight, deflected with a sharp joke or a silence—wasn’t in charge anymore.

One hand braced beside your hip, his weight shifting with practiced ease, and then the other followed, until he was above you, really above you, his body pressing yours back into the mattress with all that careful, smoldering control bleeding into something far more primal. He didn’t crush you, didn’t pin you fully—but there was no question who had the upper hand now, and no mistaking the heat radiating from where his hips hovered just above your own, every inch of him coiled like he was barely holding himself together.

And still, even now, even with your foot having driven him to the brink and your smirk still fresh in his mind, he leaned down slowly, close enough that his breath skimmed your cheek as he spoke, voice rough with restraint.

“Tell me to stop.”

The words were soft but firm, low and aching, the kind of plea that wasn’t begging so much as giving you a single, fleeting chance to pull the pin before everything detonated. His eyes searched yours, heavy with need and something almost tender beneath it, like even now—especially now—he wouldn’t take a goddamn inch you didn’t hand him yourself.

But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t push him away.

You tilted your chin up instead, just enough to bring your mouth a little closer to his, and the look you gave him was shameless, teasing, just this side of wicked.

“What if I don’t say it?”

For a beat, he didn’t breathe.And then something in him broke. Just a soft, slow surrender—a quiet snap of every rule he’d set for himself since the day he first wanted you and decided he wasn’t allowed to.

His breath left him in a slow exhale, shallow and unsteady, his eyes dragging over your face like he was still waiting for the moment to vanish into smoke—but when you didn’t pull back, didn’t say stop, didn’t tease him with another smug little remark, something shifted behind his eyes, something dark and final and hungry. And then he was moving—closer, lower, every inch of him pressing against you like gravity had finally given up and let him fall into the place he’d wanted to be for far too long.

His mouth found yours in a kiss that didn’t start soft.

It was slow, yes—measured for all of two seconds—but it carried the weight of every look that lingered too long, every secret touch that never happened, every thought he shouldn’t have had and had anyway. His lips crushed into yours with all the careful control of a man unraveling, the kind of kiss that tasted more like confession than victory, more like need than triumph. He kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop, like he didn’t want to learn, like he had no idea how he’d gone so long without this and no plans to ever go that long again.

And as he kissed you—deep and slow, teeth grazing your lower lip before sucking it in with a sharp inhale—his hands finally moved.

They weren’t shaking, not exactly, but there was urgency in them now, the kind of practiced coordination that trembled at the edges, like his body knew what it wanted but hadn’t yet caught up to how much it needed. One hand slid down along your waist, fingers brushing under the hem of your shirt before curling at your hip, warm and possessive. The other dipped lower, slipping past the edge of the blanket to hook into the waistband of your pajama shorts—those soft, slouchy ones you wore around the apartment, the ones that barely hung on your hips and absolutely hadn’t been designed to withstand the rough drag of a man who had finally stopped pretending he didn’t want you.

His fingers curled into the fabric, slow at first, tugging until the elastic caught beneath your thighs, dragging it down with such deliberate care it made your breath stutter. His mouth never left yours, only deepened the kiss with each breath, as if he could memorize you faster this way, as if he could make up for the time he’d lost, all the nights he’d come home and sat across the room, watching you laugh in those same damn shorts, pretending it didn’t drive him crazy that he hadn’t had permission to do this.

And now?

Now there was nothing holding him back.

He pulled at the waistband again, a little harder this time, his knuckles brushing the curve of your bare hip as your shorts slipped lower, and you could feel the restraint thinning by the second, his body tight with need and muscle and control that was so close to giving out completely. His kiss turned rougher, hotter, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a groan that he tried—and failed—to swallow, as if the sound alone might tip this into something too far, too soon.

But it was already too late– Caleb was losing himself in you, and he wasn’t hiding it anymore.

The fabric slid past your thighs in slow, uneven tugs, Caleb’s hands no longer moving with military precision but with the clumsy, desperate grace of a man completely undone, his composure disassembled by the taste of your mouth and the feel of your skin and the unbearable weight of having waited for this—for you—for so damn long. He broke the kiss just long enough to look down, to watch your shorts fall away beneath his palms like silk melting off fire, and the way his throat worked around a groan would’ve been embarrassing if it weren’t so wrecked, so grateful, so full of a kind of awe that made your breath catch before he’d even touched you properly.

And then he did.

His hands slid up your thighs—slowly, reverently, like he was mapping out a holy place he wasn’t sure he deserved to enter. His palms were warm and wide, fingers splayed as they traced over the soft give of your skin, the inside of your knees, the curve of your hips, his touch unsteady now, because he was feeling you like he’d dreamt of doing in secret for years and could barely believe this wasn’t something he’d have to wake up from.

“God,” he breathed, low and ruined, his voice shaking with it as he leaned in and pressed his lips to the inside of your knee, his breath hot against your skin, his mouth moving slowly—so slowly—upward. “You don’t know… you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

You did. Maybe not the full weight of it, but the tremble in his voice, the reverence in his hands, the way he was breathing like every inch of you was oxygen—that told you more than words ever could.

And when he kissed your thigh again, this time higher, his teeth just grazing the edge of where your skin grew softer, more sensitive, you felt the moment he lost the last sliver of control he’d been trying to hold onto.

Because suddenly he was on you—mouth hot and open and worshiping, dragging his tongue across your skin like he’d been waiting for this taste since the day you first touched his hand and called him your best friend. There was nothing careful about him now. No slow tease, no smirking restraint—just heat and desperation and a groan that vibrated through you as he buried himself between your thighs and devoured you like he didn’t care about anything else but this.

And the way he touched you—God. It wasn’t just lust. It was awe.

Like he was trying to memorize every breath you took, every soft sound you made, every twitch of your hips beneath his mouth. His hands gripped your thighs like he couldn’t let go, like he was afraid you might vanish if he loosened his hold, and all the while his mouth moved against you with a rhythm that felt like it had been waiting—waiting—for permission to finally let go.

And now that he had it? He wasn’t stopping.

“Let me,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a single, breathless moment as his fingers dug into your hips and pulled you closer to his mouth. “Just let me make you feel good. I need—God, I need to feel you like this.”

And then he did.

Again. And again. Until your back arched and your hands found his hair and the only sound in the apartment louder than the rain was your breathing shaking under his tongue.

You shattered beneath his mouth like glass catching sunlight—quiet at first, almost too stunned to move, then all at once, your body tensing in his hands, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, your voice falling apart in a stuttering gasp that wasn’t even a word, just the beginning of his name and a sound so sweet and wrecked he nearly came right then and there.

But Caleb didn’t stop.

God, he couldn’t stop—not with your taste on his tongue and your fingers knotted in his hair and your hips rocking against his mouth like you didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but here, with him, under him, coming undone because of him.

So he held you through it.

Pressed his mouth against you with a desperate, reverent rhythm, lips and tongue and teeth working in tandem as if he could drag every last tremor from your body and keep them for himself. One hand braced beneath your thigh to anchor you down, the other sliding up, up, until he was gripping your waist like he needed it to breathe. His groan was muffled, low and desperate against your skin as you bucked under him, overwhelmed and still unraveling, your body caught in that aftershock haze where every brush of his tongue was too much and not enough all at once.

And still—he didn’t stop.

Not until you pushed weakly at his shoulder, not until your legs twitched and your voice cracked and you whispered his name in a way that wasn’t teasing anymore, wasn’t daring or smug—it was raw. Real. Please.

He pulled back only then.

Only when you needed him to.

His lips were slick with you, his breath ragged, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted through a firefight, and when he looked up at you, flushed and panting and ruined, you saw it—everything he’d held in for years. Want. Awe. Love, sharp and devastating in its clarity.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair, trying and failing to slow his breathing. “You’re—Jesus, you’re unreal.”

You reached for him on instinct, still dazed, still breathless, and he came willingly, crawling up over your body with the kind of slow, fluid urgency that said he wasn’t going to last much longer if you so much as looked at him the wrong way. His hands framed your face as he kissed you again—sloppy and wet and needy, tasting like everything you’d just given him—and by the time his hips pressed against yours, there was no mistaking how hard he was, how long he’d been holding back, how close to the edge he already was just from touching you.

“Need you,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice cracking around it, like he’d never said anything truer in his life. “I need—God, please—I need to be inside you.”

You nodded, already wrapping your legs around his hips, already pushing his sweats down his thighs, already too far gone to pretend this wasn’t exactly where you both had always been headed.

And when he finally pushed in—slow at first, inch by aching inch, his breath breaking across your throat like a prayer—it wasn’t just sex.

It was relief. Like he was sinking into something he’d been starving for, denied for too long, and now that he had it, now that he had you, he was never letting go.

“Fuck,” he breathed again, his forehead pressing to yours as he bottomed out inside you with a shudder that shook his whole frame. “You feel so good. So fucking perfect. I can’t—”

He broke off, groaning low in his throat, and started to move.

He meant to hold still.

He meant to—God, he swore he was going to take his time, make this slow, make it unforgettable—but the second he sank into you, the second your body gave way around him, hot and tight and so much better than anything he’d ever imagined in all those nights spent alone with your name stuck in his throat and his hand on his cock, his vision blurred. Literally. His breath caught in his chest like a blow, his arms shook where they braced on either side of your head, and for a split second he just hovered there, forehead pressed to yours, like if he moved again—just once—it would all be over.

And then your legs tightened around his waist.

A soft, involuntary clench of your body around him, and he snapped.

He started to move—he had to, there was no choice, no air, no logic left in his body that could’ve kept him from chasing that heat once he had it—and his first thrust wasn’t slow, wasn’t gentle, it was needy, a little too hard, a little too deep, dragging a groan from his chest that sounded like it had been waiting years to be freed.

“Fuck—” His voice broke open on the word, breath shaking as he pulled back and pushed in again, the motion jerky, just shy of rough, driven by the kind of feral hunger that made it clear he was already half gone. “I—I can’t—I’m trying to—”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Couldn’t form the words when every inch of him was raw with how good you felt, how you fit around him like you’d been carved to take him, like your body had been made for this moment, for him, and now that he was inside you, moving in you, it was napalm—burning through every last fiber of restraint until all that remained was the rhythm of his hips and the low, broken sounds tearing out of his throat.

He thrust again, harder this time, and the shock of it punched a sound from your mouth that made his eyes roll back, his body shudder. His pace stuttered, hands curling into the sheets beside your head, like if he didn’t anchor himself, he’d lose whatever was left of his control.

“Fuck, baby, you feel—” He gasped, eyes wide and wild as they met yours, voice hoarse and disbelieving. “You feel too good—I can’t—I can’t stop—”

And he didn’t.

He kept moving, shallow, desperate thrusts that pressed your body into the mattress with every snap of his hips, his breath fanning hot over your cheek as he dipped his head, mouthing at your jaw, your neck, anything he could reach. He was muttering now, rambling between kisses, his words slurred with pleasure and disbelief.

“So perfect—so fucking perfect—mine—God, you’re mine—how did I go so long without this—without you—”

Your name broke from his lips like prayer.

He was close. Too close.

You could feel it in the way his rhythm faltered, in the way his hands gripped the sheets like anchors, his hips stuttering in those short, desperate thrusts that landed harder with every pass. He was moving like he couldn’t help it, like stopping would hurt worse than coming undone, like your body had swallowed him whole and he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the universe ever again.

And for a moment, all you could do was feel—the burn of his breath on your throat, the slick heat of him pounding into you with barely-checked force, the rumble of every half-formed sound he made in your ear as if his body was trying to apologize for how completely it had betrayed his control.

But he was trying. God, he was trying to hold back.

You saw it in his eyes, blown wide and dark with something almost vulnerable—like he was terrified this would end too soon, that this would be over before he could show you what you meant to him. He was chasing the high, but also resisting it, even as his body begged to let go.

So you moved.

One hand slid up the tense plane of his back, fingers splayed between his shoulder blades as you lifted your head to meet him, dragging him down to you, not with force but with want. And when your mouth met his again—slow, deliberate, tender in a way that cracked something deep in his chest—you kissed him like it was your turn to give, your turn to take. You kissed him like you’d been starving too.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound raw, trembling, wrecked, like the feeling of your lips on his had undone whatever last thread of control he’d been clinging to. His thrusts slowed—not because he’d regained composure, but because he was trying to make it last now, trying to breathe through it, to memorize the exact way your mouth moved against his when you kissed him back like that, like he was yours.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you whispered against his lips, your breath mingling with his, your hands curling into his hair as you held him there, your eyes meeting his with heat and honesty in equal measure. “I wanted you—I just didn’t know how to say it.”

His expression broke.

A soft gasp left him as he pressed his forehead to yours, his hips still rolling into you in slow, uneven thrusts, deep and tight and aching.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathed, his voice fraying apart. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, and I’ll thank you for it.”

You smiled—soft, dazed, in love—and kissed him again, slower this time, coaxing a low, choked groan from his throat as he shuddered in your arms. His hips stuttered. His whole body locked. And then—

He came.

Hard. Buried deep inside you, holding you like you were the only thing in the galaxy keeping him tethered to earth, Caleb broke with a sound that was part prayer, part curse, part disbelief. His mouth found yours again as he spilled into you, his groan lost in the kiss as he rutted helplessly through it, lost and breathless and completely undone, moving even after he was spent until you followed him over the edge with a cry of his name.

Neither of you moved for a long time.

The rain kept tapping at the windows, the screen still casting a low blue glow across the apartment, but the world felt muted now, far away, as though it had receded to give you this—this moment of quiet, trembling peace in the wreckage of what the two of you had just done.

Caleb stayed pressed over you, his chest rising and falling against yours in slow, heavy waves, sweat cooling on his back, his arms trembling faintly where they braced his weight above you. He hadn’t pulled out yet—hadn’t even tried to—and when you shifted beneath him just slightly, he let out the softest sound, almost like a protest, almost like a prayer.

His eyes met yours, dazed and glassy, pupils still blown, lips parted like he’d tried to speak and lost the words before they could rise.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, brushing your fingers through the damp strands of hair at his temple, watching him melt just a little more beneath the touch.

He nodded, slow and shaky. Swallowed hard.

Then finally—finally—he lowered himself fully, letting his weight sink into you as his head dropped into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist like he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go even if he wanted to.

Which, clearly, he didn’t.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he murmured into your skin, voice thick and muffled, as if saying it out loud might undo it. “I’ve wanted that—I’ve wanted you—for so long it feels like a goddamn fever dream.”

You let out a breathless laugh, quiet and shaky, your fingers stroking up and down his spine now, soft and slow, like you were still learning the shape of him beneath your hands. “You could’ve said something, you know.”

He exhaled sharply, almost a scoff, though it lacked any real bite. “You think I didn’t want to? You think I didn’t try?” He lifted his head, propped himself up just enough to look at you again, and his expression was still open, still raw, something so painfully honest it made your chest ache. “You were always right there, and I wanted you so badly it hurt, but I didn’t want to risk losing what we had. So I kept quiet. And I watched you laugh, and touch me like it didn’t mean anything, and wear those goddamn shorts—”

You snorted. “Those were your breaking point?”

“They were a breaking point.”

You couldn’t help but smile, one hand curling gently around the back of his neck as you leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth—just a soft, lingering press of lips against skin. “I didn’t say anything either,” you whispered. “I was scared if I made a move, you’d pull away. Or worse—you’d pity me.”

His expression twisted, wounded and tender all at once. “Never.”

“I know that now,” you said, voice breaking a little. “But I didn’t then.”

Caleb’s arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing back into yours as he breathed you in like something holy, something necessary. “I’ve been in love with you for years,” he admitted, voice so quiet you almost missed it. “I just never thought I’d get to tell you, let alone still inside you.”

You laughed, teary-eyed and breathless, pulling him down into another kiss—slow, warm, and deep, the kind that said this isn’t over and you’re mine now.

And when you broke apart, when you stared up at him with nothing but love and wonder softening every edge of your expression, you whispered, “Then don’t wait anymore.”

And he didn’t.

[eraserbread]

PASSION PLAY - 2, everybody here wants you

pairing bassist!suguru geto x vocalist!afab reader x lead guitarist!satoru gojo

synopsis suguru geto is addicted — to you, the fame, the lust, and expensive drugs. living in the shadow of a notorious on-and-off-again relationship that skyrocketed the career he made with you, things become complicated. burnt out and desperate for inspiration to hit, suguru leans on the closest friend he's ever had — the best guitarist in modern alternative music, and prays he can pick up your pieces

tags established relationship (suguru x reader), modern/band!au, western-set, drinking, age-gap (satosugu are early 30's, reader is early 20's), oral f!receiving, toxic relationship dynamics, mxmxf love triangle trope, nsfw

word count 9.8k (i'm sorry omfg)

authors note can we just take a moment to appreciate the fact I wrote almost 10k words in five days? anyways lmk how u guys are vibing with these characters so far <3 comment to be added to the taglist :* (satosugu art by the goat @_3aem on x <3)

previous chapter — next chapter

Sitting in a dingy New York bar as Midnight fades into early morning, Suguru’s fingers play between your lips. He’s going on about the tour you know he hates, and you’re nodding him along, kissing every single digit as he presses it to your lips. It’s so sweet, being so close to him. The bar is hot — patrons are few and far between after the club rush fades into alcoholics and insomniacs. Nobody has recognized you two yet, but you know it’s just the grace of borrowed time. 

Suguru ordered a shot of Jameson over ice, and it’s his third drink down. In front of you, your rail and mixer collects condensation because you’re too busy savoring the sweetness of him instead. The bartender leaves you alone, focused more on her side duties rather than the mysterious couple who were two seconds away from sucking each other's faces off. 

You can’t help but be bothered, it’s how the liquor makes you feel – like it’s setting your loins ablaze. Suguru looks so handsome under this light. The walls are singing city hymns. 

“Two strings in the past week. Two, doll. I go through two strings in a month when I’m not touring.” Suguru is passionate about his bass strings, giving you scary, unyielding eye contact as he drives his point home. You’re trying so hard to listen, to be supportive like the perfect girlfriend you are, but it’s so hard when his sweet, soft voice sounds like a song. 

He continues – blahblahblahblah.

“And my head – God, it’s fucked.” 

Stars and hearts shooting through your vision, Suguru’s face is skewed behind love. “Mm, it’s all the drugs you do.” 

Suguru laughs, not a chuckle, but a soft laugh meant only and always for your ears. Your heart is racing. Suddenly, the urge to peel your hoodie off is all-encompassing. “You are drunk, my love.” 

“It’s the truth!” 

Suguru brings his finger to his lips, settling you down without needing to shush. Then, he smiles, “Do you really listen to Satoru?” 

“Who?” 

“Gojo…” 

Your smile fades into a shrug, eyes locked on your intertwined hands dancing palm-to-palm. “Will I get in trouble for saying yes? I grew up with Night Parade.” A far cry from your chipper tone just moments ago, your inebriation can’t hide the doubt you feel when addressing Suguru like this. 

“You don’t have to hide it.” He states as if it’s a fact, keeping his gaze locked on your face, though you can’t do the same. Your fingers trail across the lines in his palm, studying them like you’re a mystic. 

You glance up at him like a kicked puppy, if only for a fleeting second. “I really liked the songwriting on his first album.” You whisper, testing the waters before continuing. “And his voice is so sweet.” 

“Sounds like you love him.” 

You scoff, dropping your hand only for him to pull it back. Then, he reaches for your drink, pointing the cocktail straw to your bare lips. The entire interaction is wordless and intimate in a way only you and Suguru can achieve. He’s watching you sip down your drink until it’s ice, spit collecting in his glands at the sight of your downward, drunk stare. 

He wants you, but he has to swallow it. 

“Sounds like I love you.” Your voice is soft. Only he can hear the softness of your breath. “Don’t wanna talk about Satoru Gojo when Suguru Geto is right in front’a me.” 

Suguru just watches you for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth from yours. “Do you realize how charming you are?” 

“Do you realize how charming you are?” You snort out a giggle, and he follows suit just like last time, laughing softly as the bar empties out. “Even when you’re telling me to behave. You know I hate that.” 

“Then, stop listening to me when I correct you.” He’s staring at your lips, watching the way they curl and pulse around your words like you’re singing them to him. “But, you won’t… because you know we need that.” 

“You are the most confusing person in the world.” You shake your head, drunk and dumb for him – toppling into his strong lap just like he wants. “One more drink?” 

“Shots. I don’t want to sip.” Suguru flags down the bartender, pulling her from glass polishing to swing back his tab. He orders four shots off the dome, speaking a name you’re not sure you’ve ever heard. You watch the entire interaction like you’re watching a show, chin in your palm, smiling loosely. He’s smiling and winking at her like he wants her, but you know he doesn’t. You know Suguru couldn’t get what you give him out of pretty bartenders or touchy groupies. You’re more than his girlfriend – more than his co-writer or co-producer. You’re more than your voice and words. You’re sensual, caring, aiding him when he’s sick, just like his mother used to. Suguru misses her like Hell every day, but then he looks at you. 

One glance in your direction and the entire world falls into blue. 

“Two for you,” Suguru smiles as the group of shots is slid to him over the sticky wood. “Two for me–unless, of course, you only want the one, then I’ll have the other.” His opaque rings hit the glass in a way that just sounds like him. Everything he touches clinks and clangs so comfortingly. 

“No chaser?” 

“Nope.” He replies, eyes focused on the dark liquor in the small glass as he holds it up, waiting for you to do the same. Then, he looks at you, and your heart picks up a few beats. “Kiss me after you take it. It’ll make you forget about the taste.” 

“Oh. That’s smart.” You gasp, drunken mind panting masterpieces from Suguru’s invisible stare. He looks – feels like God right now. That drink in his hand is his only sin. 

So, you pick up the shot, counting down with him like children before taking it in one go. Two swallows, holding your breath, it slides down your throat, and it burns like hell. “Oh, Go-

Before you can finish, Suguru slips his glass into his other hand, reaching forward to pull you into a quick, tongued kiss. The override of sensation hits like nothing ever has for you. Your mouth is burning, but so is his. Inside, he tastes like a drunken version of himself – still smoky from the cigarettes, minty from the gum he spat out before indulging, and savory with the whisper of you. Somehow, your taste always finds its way on his tongue. 

“‘M, my God – you’re a genius.” You whine against his lips, swallowing down another wave. You can feel his chuckle, but you wish you could see it. You wish you were a bystander looking upon the two of you, entranced by the love just like you are. 

Three drinks, two shots in, and Suguru isn’t feeling as light as he once did. 

In fact, he’s dragging, now – walking on the edge of the sidewalk so he’s not walking next to you. I guess, compared to him, you’re holding your drink well, but it’s because you ate before the show. He didn’t. 

The hotel is only a block away, so that uncanny silence doesn’t last very long. Cars still whiz past you at full speed, music still blares, and fluorescent lights still buzz. The air holds that shimmery, stilling feeling only winter can seem to capture, and it’s starting to cut through the alcohol. 

You don’t even try to talk to him until you’re closed in the elevator, away from any prying eyes or unwanted attention. He stands next to you, reaching over to thumb the third-floor button. In that split second, you catch his gaze, and it’s as dark as you thought it would be. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m obviously fucking tired. Why would you even ask me that?” 

Your heart stills, and your lips clamp shut. It’s such a blatant precursor to what this night would hold, but you can’t run from it. It’s physically impossible. 

So, you don’t speak again. Not even when he’s leading the way to the room door with a slight sway in his steps, hands shoved into his pockets. Your steps are slow and grueling – the world is spinning around you, but you don’t want to let it show. You just want to lie down.

“You have the keys,” Suguru mentions when you finally catch up to him at the door. You stop for a second, eyebrows knitting together as you try to make sense of what he’s saying. If he were sober, Suguru would’ve been endeared. Right now, he’s frustrated. “Are you stupid? Nanami handed you the keys.” 

“Okay, you don’t have to be a dick.” You finally understand him, holding a hand out in his direction so he can let you take the handle. Fishing around your body, your hands fall on the strap of your bra, under your hoodie, where you keep things when you’re not wearing pockets or carrying a purse. Kento doesn’t like it when you take a purse – you’ve never asked him why. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You shrug, stepping in front of him to unlock the door. In your daze, it takes you a single try. Walking into the expensive space, ease washes over every single ounce of your being. White walls, updated features, high windows, and ceilings – they truly spared no expense. The thick, king bed sitting proudly in the middle of the modern room screams your name, enticing you with fluffed, chopped pillows and thick blankets. You don’t even care what Suguru’s doing right now, you just want to be beneath the covers. 

Suguru slumps in behind you, pawing at his sweatshirt and stumbling to pull off his shoes. That cultural part of him has never faded, even after ten years away from home, but you find it endearing. He’s always barefoot, even when covered to the neck in fabric. 

You ignore him, walking to fall face-first into the downiness of the bed. It swallows you whole, clean and cool against your hot body. Shoes on, legs kicked up, Suguru grumbles something under his breath when he approaches you. 

“Sun’s starting to come out.” He points out, sitting on the bed next to you. He helps you pull off your shoes. “We can get eight good hours if we pass out right now.” 

“Seven. I have vocal stuff at one.” 

Suguru’s hands travel from your feet to your thighs, squeezing there softly. You’re trying to fight sleep, but you’re trying to fight hurling even more. You know you can’t throw yourself around like this when you’re feeling so sick. “What vocal shit do you have to do? Your voice is already perfect.” 

“I have to maintain it – you know that.” 

“And you know I don’t like that tone.” His soft-spoken drawl turns into a soft-spoken growl as he leans to your ear, long hair falling over his shoulder to kiss your neck. “Stop being tempting and frustrating, it isn’t fair.” 

“Stop being moody. It’s not fair.” 

He stares at you for a second, wondering if it’s worth it to dive into a fight right now. He knows he’d win – you’re terrible at arguments because you always cave and bow to his dominance. However, when the two of you are drunk, it’s a different story. This hotel room could be wrecked in an hour if he let this simmer for too long. He stifles that spark by leaning over your body, hand still on your thigh, and kissing you on the cheek. Suguru’s lips are on fire, and they offer your flushed system little to no refuge. Still, it’s sweet. You hum. 

His strong hand slots between your legs, heavy breathing in your ear as he settles it between your ass, kissing you once more. “Open up.” 

Instead, you turn around, pupils blown when you see him face-to-face again. You’re still so drunk, so wrecked with motion sickness, but you want him. He knows you want him just as much as he wants you. So, you open your legs, trying your hardest to hold a steady, soft smile as his touch slots right against your core. Against your leggings, you’re already damp with sweat, and between your thighs, you’re wet for Suguru. He knows you well enough to know you don’t wear panties when you’re wearing pants this tight, and takes full advantage of it. 

“It’s been a little bit, hm?” 

“What?” 

“Since we fucked.” He lets it roll off his tongue like he knows you’re expecting it. Only, you weren’t. You still smile, though, giddy with the promise of what he’s speaking into the room. 

“Tour’s been crazy. Haven’t been in a hotel in over a week.” 

Suguru gets so close, lips ghosting over yours as he pours words right into your mouth. “Wanna fix that. Don’t have the stamina to give it to you right now, but I do wanna taste you.” 

The realization makes you sit up, face stoic, and hair disheveled from rolling in the sheets. He sits up with you, smirking at the corners, eyes focused on the part of your lips. “I’m never gonna say no to that.” 

So Suguru does what he does best – he lowers himself down to the edge of the bed, chasing you on his knees as you scoot up the mattress. His hair is loose, staticky, and sticking to the back of his shirt. He pulls it off with one uncoordinated tug over his head, giving you an eyeful of his pristine, inked skin. 

Your eyes fall over the butterfly right under his sternum, then to the cross connecting his collarbones. Every time he undresses, you’re refamiliarizing yourself with the ink, knowing how much these fine-lined black drawings meant to him. A week after you met him, the first time you saw him naked, he spent well over twenty minutes taking you through all of them, giving backstories of their meanings. It was the first time you felt like you truly understood him. It was the catalyst for your love for him. 

And they never get old, not even when you’re grasping onto shreds of sanity as alcohol rules your mind. Suguru’s too calm, licking over his lips as he watches your stomach rise and fall in the sliver of skin visible just above the waistband of your leggings. Seeing you splayed out like this is romantic in a way he can’t really describe. He knows this body better than he knows his own, can count the birthmarks on your skin with his eyes closed, and has every sweet spot on this luxurious ocean studied and rehearsed, just like his set list. His fingers ghost the ticklish skin. 

You tense up, stomach caving before shivering and relaxing. 

“I just have a thing for beautiful bodies.” 

“Whose beautiful body are you touching that isn’t mine?” 

Suguru purses his lips, studying your face as his flat hand slips under the stretchy waistband. His fingers are long, tickling the damp cotton covering your slit. “Nobody but you.” Tucking loose hair behind his right ear, buried to the hilt between your thighs, Suguru leans over your body to press a slow kiss to your lips. He tastes like Jameson and regret – wafting back into your mouth, getting you drunk off residuals. “I love you.” 

He’s playing with your trembling cunt like he’s playing with an instrument – applying enough pressure to hear what he wants, extremely thorough and intentional with where he touches. It feels so good, you’re losing your mind. 

“Love you so much, Suguru… So much…” You moan and whine into his mouth, hips bucking upwards into his touch. “Want your mouth.” 

“Mhm,” he replies, nodding loosely, tucking more disobedient hair behind his ear. “Gonna make you sing for me. Let me hear you, baby.” 

“Mmm,” You bite down on your lower lip, swallowing as he pulls away, trailing sensually down your body to settle between your thighs. You sing his name, humming it softly in the ghost of your whines. “Sugu… m’sugu…” 

Both big hands close over the outside of your thighs, pressing them into his head – drowning in your ocean. He kisses your skin as if it’s calling his name, memorizing your scent, placing little, chaste kisses over the sensitive parts of your flesh. 

“Take it off,” He humbles, mostly to himself, but raspy enough that it cuts through your fogged senses. Sitting up just enough, he tugs your leggings off and throws them somewhere towards the back of the room, mouth watering when his eyes fall upon his favorite sight. You sit up on your elbows, hoodie hanging off your shoulders, pooling under your collarbone. He dives into you, making gentle slurping sounds between your legs as he concentrates on your clit. Immediately, your back is bowing, manicured nails digging into these unfamiliar sheets. Suguru is so used to this, in fact, he specializes in it – in knowing how to eat you alive until the only word in your head is fractured renditions of his name. 

Head tossed back, you whine and shiver as his sweet lips kiss and nuzzle against your labia. His fingers tense, creating wells in your naked thighs, screaming out to you in intoxicating pain. Just like his fingers, you’re on the verge of snapping – a sudden cry breaking from your throat as he nibbles on your clit. No mercy – just his smug, sweet smile you can feel cross your skin. 

“Sing to me,” he reminds gently, voice all muffled and fucked between your thighs. You reach down, a sharp hand getting stuck in his hair as you push him closer. Obeying his wishes, you let your moans break through the barrier – piercing his sensitive ears as you cross octaves and hum out invisible melodies. Suguru wants to record you like this so bad – he lives for this beautifully lewd behavior, and how well you respond and listen to him. You’re his favorite thing ever, just making him weak with everything you do. 

It’s why he gives his all – every drunken piece of his mind to making you swoon and shiver in pleasure. He loves the taste of you and doesn’t want to pull away, even when you’re pulling his hair, whining about how close you are. 

“S-stop – Mm, I’m clos-

“I’m not gonna stop if you tell me you’re close.” He chuckles against your dripping core like you just told him a joke. His lips are shiny with you, his mouth sticky as he laps up your slick. 

“Don’t…” You swallow, face screwed up and body wound on a spindle. “Don’t want you to stop.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

The floodgates open – you’re sure this is the hardest Suguru’s ever made you finish. You’re absolutely fucking silent when it happens, back kissing the mattress as your thighs constrict and squeeze around his head. Your voice is all breathless and lost in your throat, but it’s a good feeling. It feels like jumping into the cold ocean, only to be reeled back and met with a warm, dry blanket. It’s fucking bliss. He’s so talented. 

Facing the aftershocks, Suguru knows when to rise because your thighs go slack, and he’s free enough to come up for air. His pretty face is beet-red, covered in you, and filthy with spit. The room smells like sex – he smells like sex. You don’t even know your left from your right anymore. 

He collapses right next to you, out of his mind and sick when he comes crashing down all at once. Outside the covered windows, the sun starts to rise over the bridge – just over the roofs of the red-brick neighborhood. Subconsciously, you lean over, eyes closed, as you cuddle into his side. 

Suguru catches himself shying away. 

Then, you’re coming back down, peeling your eyes open as you trail your hand down his hard body, just hardly ghosting the waistband of his sweatpants. Fittingly, you wanted to get him off now. It’s your only pure intention, for a relationship always has to involve an equal amount of giving and taking, and you’re the perfect girlfriend. 

“Don’t do that.” He warns, once, voice steady as he rolls to his side – facing away from you. 

You sit up next to him, turning that palm into a fist as he trembles over the blankets. You blink down at his body. “What?” 

“Said don’t touch me.” 

“No, you didn’t. What’s wrong?” You try again, this time only reaching to trace over his shoulder, but you only get one touch before he’s shrugging away. Your heart plummets. “Suguru,” 

“Don’t touch me. All you think about is sex, and I just said I don’t have the energy.” 

“B-But you ju…” Shaking your head of it all, you’re trying to piece together his words and his demeanor – along with the current… circumstance. “I just…” 

“Yeah, I just gave you what you want. Why can’t that be enough?” 

You gasp, still reeling but playing sober enough. “What? I didn’t even ask– 

He’s rushing you, shrugging off your touch harder this time, like he doesn’t want you anywhere near. Suguru’s making you feel disgusting. “So, you’re saying you didn’t want that?” 

“I’m saying you don’t have to make me feel like I forced you to do anythi-

“How about you just leave, then?” He whispers to you, peeking over his shoulder with an ease you were all too familiar with. You two never fight – not really. He never yells. “Yes, actually. Just go. I want to be alone right now.” 

“Sugu…” You start, reaching over to touch him again, only to fall short. “What?” 

“Go, I won’t repeat myself.” 

“But, all of my-

Suguru’s sliding out of bed before you can continue spouting him some shit he doesn’t want to hear. He’s shirtless – angry and lost in his hair as he tries to pull it up with the band on his wrist. “Get out. Take your shit.” 

“Let me finish a fucking word!” 

“Don’t yell – I have a headache.” Suguru sighs, slamming open the bedroom door and marching out with little care to where you were or if you’re following. He just wanted to be alone. 

“'Cause you’re drunk and you’re self-sabotaging, you don’t think I see it?” 

“So, what? Let me self-sabotage in peace.” 

“But, I don’t have anywhere else to go, Suguru!” You’re following him around the spacious room, grabbing your pants in the process, flustered as you try to pull them on. “I leave, then what? I get a fucking Uber? To. Where?” 

“Then go sit in the lobby.”

“You’re… ridiculous. Really fucking ridiculous, you know that?” You scoff, jumping around on one foot as you try to pull your leggings on. Suguru’s walking to the door, and you’re hot on his trail, just trying to get close to him. “We were doing so good, Suguru.” 

“I’m not as good at pretending as you are.” He stops, turning around to face your craze head-on. Your breath is lost in your throat, rendering you speechless for a second. Standing in front of the hotel door, he drags his hand to the handle slowly, edging the emotion he knows he’ll have to face. 

“Preten-” You pause, cutting yourself off because it just doesn’t make sense… “What do you mean, pretend? You don’t get to tell me you love me, then throw me out five minutes later like a piece of trash. You said we’d try this time around.” 

“I don’t want to try with someone who refuses to give me my personal space.” It’s like a slap in the face – hearing Suguru’s voice so whisper-soft against your anguish. He’s not matching the fervor of this situation. Instead, he’s floating over top of it with squinted eyes, half-awake. When he talks, you can still smell yourself on his breath. “Maybe that’s why I always tell you to leave and never come back.” 

You don’t know what to say, but you can’t stop staring at him. His beady, lifeless eyes – the shine on his lips in the morning light. Your heart aches. 

It’s always like this. 

“Get out. Please.” 

“N-no…” 

He asks once more, refusing to look at you, now. Instead, Suguru looks to the floor. It’s like he knows he’s fucking guilty. 

Then, he shocks you still. He flicks his gaze up and closes in, taking you by the arm and walking you to the door. “You should cry to everyone and say I’m a terrible person, because I am.” 

You’re not fighting him, knowing all efforts are for naught. He’s so effortlessly stronger than you, using it with cruel grace as he pulls open the door and shoves you out into the harshly lit hallway. “Suguru, no-

You don’t cry when his distraught face disappears against the heavy slam. You just flinch, fingers twitching and grinding into your palm. In this hallway, you’re a sexed-up mess, ruffled hair, wet eyelashes, loose clothes – it’s so blatantly obvious what your business here was, and that’s what makes it worse. You’re not a hookup, you’re this man's girlfriend – partner of over five years. The supposed love of his life. 

He’s fucking with you… Has to be. 

You bring your hand to the wood and knock – no, bang on it. You won’t let yourself be tossed out like this, and you won’t let him push you away. It’s what he does every single time when his insecurities get the best of him, and suddenly, he can’t see the light in your presence anymore. He gets weird after too much touch, or not enough. His mind is telling him things his body won’t reciprocate, and you’re caught in the crossfire every single time. 

“Suguru! At least— Let me in, let me get my phone and shoes!” 

Silence. You can’t even hear him rustling on the other side. Angry and overcome, you try your hand at forcing the knob, grunting and on the verge of tears. “Suguru!” 

Hic voice, smooth as butter, cuts through your mania. The door opens just a crack. “Stop. You’re causing a scene.” 

“But, I jus- 

He throws your shoes and phone through the crack, not giving you time to stare at him in the body he hates. It slams on your face, and your entire inner demeanor slams and shatters with it. You can’t stop the tears this time, and they fall in buckets and waves, stilling you from the core as you lean down to pick up your belongings. 

You can’t get a hold of yourself. Tears fall and drip onto the sleek marble floors, wetting your view as you pick up your phone and slip on your shoes. You wonder why — if this is the end again. It’s hard to stomach because you did everything by the book this time. It’s been months since you two really argued. Tour is debilitating and cruel, but Suguru didn’t let it get to him like he did last time. He actually let you in this time. 

Only to throw you out with the clothes on your back and your phone upside down on the hard floor. 

You sniffle as you stand up, staring down at your dark phone screen. The time reads 6:22 AM. Your heart drops. 

Still, you swipe it open and navigate through your contact list with shaking, wet hands—Kento’s contact rings. 

‘What about ‘Do not bother me for the rest of the night’ Do you not understand?’

“I-I don’t know what to do.” You cry, stepping away from the door with your forehead in your hands. “I’m sorry, I know-

Kento can hear it in your voice – the devastation you hide so well in your demeanor. ‘What happened?’ 

“Suguru kicked m-me out of the room.” You cry, barely able to feel as you move from the door, heading to the stairwell in hopes of solace and silence. 

Kento’s always known something you didn’t know about Suguru – why he is the way he is. How he thinks, acts, and feels even when Suguru doesn’t even know. It’s a bond built on the back of a painful band breakup, a move to a different country, and the admittance into a new culture that neither of them asked for. They can talk in a way that you and Suguru can’t. ‘Where are you right now?’ 

“Third floor stairwell.” You respond, the sleeve of your hoodie jerked up over your knuckles. You cry into them, grinding the bridge of your nose into the bone. “Please, please go talk to him, I- He’s drunk and he’s self-sabotaging. He won’t let me in-

‘Just stay right there. Do not move, I’ll come to you first.’ 

“Mhm.” 

‘Okay.’ The phone hangs up, and facing the brick-wall personality of your manager was not what you needed right now. You know, calling him was the best option, but his stoic tone of voice always kills, especially in situations like this. 

It’s no better when he comes pushing into the stairwell – loose t-shirt, linen pants, sleep in his eyes. The door almost slams into you, but you don’t flinch. You hardly show reaction. 

Kento’s not sure if he could gauge your current state over the phone, but he surely didn’t expect to walk into you crying and snotting into your sleeve. In the high, white lights, you’re a crumpled version of the girl he sees on stage every night. You’re broken into a state only Suguru could reduce you to. 

He sighs. “What happened?” 

“I don’t-

“Pull yourself together, then tell me.” He leans against the wall, your back pressed against, looking down at you with a softened glare in his eyes. Contrary to what you may think of him, Kento does not like seeing you so distraught. Though these dynamics are cruel, he sees you as a younger sister. 

You nod, sniffling twice, eyes swollen. “He kicked me out. I don’t know– He’d been drinking, me too, but it’s just like… we hooked up, but now he’s running himself into a brick wall. I don’t know.” 

“Time after time, you refamiliarize yourself with the antics he pulls when he drinks. You have a show tomorrow, you have to stop.” 

“That’s not the point!” 

“Look.” Kento sighs, pinching his brows together. He knows scolding you right now is not the best idea, but dealing with you two after dark is like wrangling wild horses. “Go to my room. Second floor – 202. Sleep. I’ll take care of him.” 

“A-are you-

“I’d rather have you fully rested on that stage than half-alive.” He nods before you can even question him. He’s reaching deep in the pocket of his pants, presenting you with the key card between two fingers. 

Kento doesn’t have to tell you twice – there’s nothing you’d love more than to sleep. 

That following night, doused in flickering stage lights and deaf to anything that wasn’t music, you see him again. 

Kento kept you apart through the next day after the Tribeca incident, and you were more than happy not to question it. Still, it didn’t make it easier when he sauntered into the backstage with his baggy jeans and the cross around his neck he doesn’t even resonate with. You could see it in his eyes when he saw you fiddling with your mic pack – the way your dress fit, how sparkling and divine your makeup was against the lights. All of it, he never finds the courage to say to you, because he knows he’s wrong. 

Suguru knows he has something that everyone wants. Your name is ripe on the tongues of ten thousand people, just a heartbeat away. He knows that they would treat you so much better than he does. But, he doesn’t feel bad for himself – or, he can’t. His bass is heavy at his side, biceps working to keep it off the ground. 

He just stared at you. 

Just like he’s staring at you, now, hidden against stage-left under the red lights. The room is hot, but you still work your way around the edge of the stage like you own it, and you do. The crowd is alive tonight, screaming the words of the one song he hates right back to him. 

“At least look me in the eye when you’re eating me alive.” 

“You called me up last night, around 1:35, gave it to me straight. I cried, I won’t lie.  Wondering if it’s that look in your eye or the way we fight That’s keep you comin’ right back – beat it out, take the line.” 

“Don’t wanna hear the same shit anymore, don’t wanna bear Just wanna hold you right there, hands in your hair. How about you just look at me one last time?” 

The tour wraps two days later, and you’ve never been more excited to be back home. 

Suguru has his own place in the East Village, and you’re tucked in SoHo. Mere blocks apart, but still enough to give you the ease of separation you two desperately need. 

Tonight, though, he’s at your apartment, lowering himself to his knees as you show off the dress you wanted to wear tonight. Always, when you two are alone like this, you play the same mix of music – Jazz, city-pop, and sensual rock n roll. Your voices are lost against the singing beats, giving you two the intimacy and privacy of knowing nobody else can hear these holy words of devotion he’s feeding you. 

“If I go down here, I won’t come up until I make a mess of both of us.” 

“Can you just be normal?” You swat at his wandering hands, staring down at him like he’s being punished. Really, all Suguru wanted to do was tie the strap on your shoes. He heard you complain about the closure one too many times. 

He breathes out a laugh against your exposed skin, kissing down your leg while his fingers work at the tiny, golden clasp on your heels. Suguru’s touch is on fire – scorching you and leaving red in its wake. Then, he looks up at you with shiny lips, sparkling, dark eyes, and a look so sincere you’re sure you just fell in love all over again. 

“Fuck, I love you.” 

“Love you, too.” He replies like it’s his gospel, leaning back into your frame to kiss and prod at your jutting pelvis. Your dress is silk – drop waist, clinging to your hips. Suguru loves it. He loves everything you wear, because you’re wearing it. 

“Suguru…” You test, reaching down to comb your fingers through his loose hair. He’ll probably have it tied again by the end of the night, so you’re getting your fix now. “Let’s not drink tonight.” 

He looks up at you, tapping your foot once to let you know it’s secure. “Wasn’t planning on it. Other foot, baby.” 

You hum, leaning against his shoulder as you shift weight, letting him tuck your left foot away. “I know it’ll be hard because it’s like a bar, but I just want it to go well.” 

“Can’t blame you. It’s your night.” He mumbles, not really looking at you under the excuse of securing your shoe. Really, his expression is torn and uncomfortable. He would rather die than go to this wrap party tonight at the exclusive speakeasy restaurant Kento booked out. He knows Satoru Gojo is in the country, as if he could feel his world grow heavier the moment his private jet touched down on American soil. 

Once your shoe is on your foot, Suguru doesn’t sit up. Instead, he stills, hands shaking. “Just promise you won’t leave my side tonight, okay?” His sweet voice is light, like he’s afraid to tell you so. Maybe he feels ashamed for always being the one who holds you back, but that thought has never crossed your mind. 

“Okay.” You nod, trying to swallow down a pout. Suguru nods loosely, kisses your knee, and stands up. He’s in a weird mood – you can’t pinpoint it, but you can feel it rise painfully within the exposed brick walls. 

Still, you don’t say anything. Suguru is right – tonight’s your night. 

Tucked in the backseat of a tinted-out black SUV – it’s only you and him. The car stops and starts constantly in New York traffic, caught in the cruel whims of time that just isn’t ticking in your favor. Wrapped up in your expensive party dress, you pose for him, mussing up your hair and biting your finger sensually. 

Behind his phone, you can see the smirk there – that barely there cock of the lips that makes you go crazy every time you see it. Suguru can’t stop saying how good you look; he knows he’s so fucking lucky to have you. When you smile, the bright phone flash sparkles off your teeth and blinds him, the mere onlooker, shocked by your beauty. 

“One of the dress,” You continue, chewing your polished bottom lip as you stretch out across the seat. Your feet end up in his lap, delicate gold shining in the undulating, dingy city lights. 

“So sexy,” he comments, aiming the camera towards your body, hands shaking as he takes a carousel of motion-blurred images. Anymore of this, and Suguru is sure he’d pop a boner. He hands the phone to you, shaking his head. “What am I gonna do with you, girl?” 

You take his phone, swiping through the collection, caught in an easy daze. It’s rare to see you both sober like this, but Suguru knows this is his punishment for treating you the way he did a few nights ago. He wants to apologize, but he has to do it the right way – when you two are alone, middle of the night, his bed. 

“Oh, these are good, I like the blurry.” You comment, swiping through nearly a hundred snapshots of the two of you in the back of this car. Some of the earlier shots are of you getting in, your back, then the way you motioned for him to come on. “Don’t know if Kento will, though.” 

“Just post them.” 

“M-kay, your turn.” You sit up, flipping back to the camera app. He sits up defensively, knowing he’s not the perfect subject for the cameras like you are. 

To you, he looks like God in this backseat. He’s wearing a dark, silk button-up only secured halfway to expose those gorgeous fucking collarbones you see in dreams with him. Silver jewelry hangs off his pristine skin like ornaments on a tree – he’s gorgeous with his slicked back, loose hair, dark nails, and loose pants. 

“No, they wanna see you.” He counters, reaching up to cover his face so your shot doesn’t catch it. For someone so undeniably attractive, Suguru has a hard time seeing it. He’d rather thrust you in front of the cameras because he knows you can handle it with grace. He doesn’t know what to say when someone calls him beautiful, let alone sexy. No, that’s a word only you can whisper to him. 

“Lemme see.” You’re defiant, reaching to tug his shivering touch from his face. You end up catching a few unintentional blurred snapshots, then one or two of his body once he settles. His hair falls over his shoulder like an ink-black wave, and the subtle charm of his demeanor makes you weak. “Baby, you’re a star.” 

“Stop.” He breathes, taking his phone from your hands and calling bullshit on your heady little compliments. Can’t you see that you’re the star – the shining figure against the stage lights that everyone swoons for? Suguru has seen people faint in your presence – fainting for his electric lover. He doesn’t even blame them. 

Phone tucked away, Suguru can’t help himself. He reaches for you, slotting a strong hand in the back of your neatly styled hair, and pulls you into a kiss that’s all lips – all love. You hum and smile against the feeling, clutching his leg as you lean into him. 

His lips are soft, your lips are glossy. Now his are soft and glossy – outshining you when he pulls away with fuck-me eyes. The car rolls to a stop outside, and the lights and music from the busy row of notable restaurants seeps in through the door cracks. Though you’re impartial to the idea of parties, you’re excited for this one. Friends inside and outside of the industry will be attending, all hand-picked like expensive fruit by Kento’s bare hands. 

His contact list has broadened since moving to America, and now he has connections spanning well over the East and extending to the West Coast. Artists you grew up admiring now mention you in passing, all because they know a thing or two about the refined Kento Nanami. 

He stands at the door of the venue when Suguru opens it and steps out of the car, motioning for you to wait because he has to ensure your path is clear and safe. You two never needed bodyguards – Suguru doesn’t think it’s necessary, and Kento knows that Suguru would face a lifetime in prison if someone even takes a step too quickly towards you. 

“Careful, the ground is slick.” He turns around, facing away from the sidewalk as he leans against the open door. The damp, cold breeze, unwelcome and unholy, flows forward into the sanctuary like the rush of a drug. 

“Hold my hand.” 

“You don’t even have to ask.” He replies, holding a strong arm towards you to keep you steady. Behind him, Kento approaches slowly, keeping a keen lookout for sidewalk traffic as the SUV hazards bounce off the wet pavement, onto his settled face. 

“Geto,” Kento mentions, just making his presence known. He smoothes a hand across his old friend's shoulder, platonic and transactional to boot, but nothing you’re unfamiliar with. Suguru peeks around, shooting him a little smirk, but mostly focused on you crawling against the leather upholstery. 

“Hey,” 

“How was the ride?” 

“Long.” He replied, drained of the energy his cheerful greeting held. Kento nods, stepping back so you have room to scoot out. “Took her three and a half hours to get ready.” 

“Guilty.” You mention, smiling up at Kento when he nods towards you. “Hi, Ken.” 

“Pretty dress.” It’s the most complimenting you’ll ever get out of him – nice dress, pretty vocals, nice show. They’re all lifeless but caring in a way you know he does. 

“Thanks!” 

“How many people are in there?” Suguru asks once you’re steady on the sidewalk. He steps you forward, keeping you pulled close to his chest as he swings the car door shut. 

“Hardly twenty. Not expecting many more, either.” 

“Small? Good.” Suguru wants to ask about Satoru, perhaps just to prepare himself if he’s doomed to walk into a room with the blue-eyed ghost of his past. However, he dropped the ball – He didn’t actually tell you that Satoru would be attending, all he did was mention him in conversation. 

“Small enough,” Kento mutters, then works a smile on his face as you three turn around to head inside. He figures you didn’t know about Gojo, because he thinks you’d be more excited if you knew, so he’s letting it fester as a secret. 

As you approach the metal-plated doors, you can hear the ghost of your favorite artist blaring from the speakers – a fitting theme to back your arrival as you walk hand in hand. Chatter grows undeniable, swallowing you up as Kento opens the door for you two. Lights are dimmed, the bar is sparkling – low ceilings, whiskey smell, it’s all so charmingly coordinated. On the back wall, the framed, glossed version of your most recent album cover sits propped against the wall, wrapped in a shiny bow. You pretend not to see it, but you can’t pretend to ignore the sea of familiar faces that turn as the door creaks open. 

Suguru walks you inside, holding you at arm's length like a beloved theatre prop, like he’s not the sexiest man in this room. A noticeable few of your friends stand to crowd you – Roe, your girl from back home, who waved you on from the balcony last night. She meets Suguru, then hugs you for a solid minute, pouring words of endearment and love in your ear. It’s sensory overload in the best way, and being sober the entire time just makes it hit that much harder. 

You don’t even realize how much time passes when you’re sucked into a conversation with her. Suguru and Kento shrug off after ten, mentioning they’ll be around, and you and Roe moved deeper into the venue, offering passing hellos and thank you’s when people notice and compliment your music, tour, or outfit. 

You are at an insanely heightened timeline of the career you grinded your bones down trying to achieve, and right now is one of those moments in which you can feel it hit. Touring for ten months of your life – killing yourself with a paper-thin schedule, only to celebrate your dedication and discipline bone-sober and giddy with presence. 

The night flits by in a blur. You and Suguru reconnected sometime within the last hour, and now you two are sitting at the back of the room, your feet propped up on him again as he rubs your leg under the table. Hatch brought your cake out, completely outdone with one of the merch designs you had made for the tour. Hired photographers click away – you can’t hide anything, not even the swooning look on your face. 

Worst of all, Suguru thinks he’s safe. Satoru didn’t show up – nobody from Japan showed up like Kento promised, and he was so okay with that. Nobody really knows him in this crowd manufactured for you, and that’s where he wants to stay. Sure, everyone here knows him, but everyone here loves you. 

You’re the shining beacon of light blinding onlookers from the back of the room, and you’re just sitting there. It’s all you’re doing, and all you care to do, but Suguru is just so taken that it makes him weak. He has to touch you like this to feel some semblance of sanity, because your beauty is consuming him. 

You won’t eat any cake, but you sit up and lean into it for the camera to catch a perfect shot of the two of you. Posing, you dip your finger in the icing, holding a stare into the lens as you take it between your lips. 

Suguru swallows down want. 

Kento watches it all with a glass in his hand, sneaking views at the viewfinder when the photographer pulls it away. Completely blocking out the music, he keeps his eyes on you the entire time – reading that look in your eyes, noticing the way Suguru is touching you. Any higher up the dress and he’d warn you two to pack it up, but he’s content. Tonight is shaping up to be a good night. 

One more sip of his light liquor, and he’s pushing off the wall, walking behind the shot so he doesn’t dull your moment. Unsaid, he flicks Suguru’s attention, motioning him to follow. Tonight, he’d been uncharacteristically quiet, Kento knows why, and he likes it. There’s no drink in his hands – no excuse to shove off to the bathroom every twenty minutes. No, he’s here and he’s stable with you. Kento knows you must have set him straight. 

Suguru leans over, whispering something in your ear that you nod to. He knows you won’t be lonely when he leaves, because someone jumps into the spot he just left to pose in more pictures. It’s definitely a space manufactured for you – he knows Nanami means strict business. 

“Hey. Long night.” Suguru stuffs his hands in his pockets as he walks through the room with Nanami at his side. 

The blonde shrugs. “You’ve been here two hours. Did you eat?” 

“Don’t even talk to me about that.” 

Nanami actually laughs – just a short tuft of air from his lips. He watches his feet as they head to the far wall, just past the chaos of the bar. Leaning against the wall by the door, they have the perfect view of you with your friends, smiling, laughing, posing. You look at ease in your body – so free and beautiful. Suguru can’t help but notice. 

The way you’re glowing in your vintage designer – like stars on the blackest of nights. You grab attention like a moth to your flame and cradle it until it dies from love. Suguru is so taken by your demeanor that you could say he’s obsessed. He’s obsessed with making you smile, laugh, moan, cry, sing, sob, and pout. 

He’s stuck on you, and he can’t stop staring. 

Then, you look up and all the busy bodies of the room fade into a blur if only for a fleeting second. He winks at you. You look down in a hot flush. 

“She already agreed, but that last-minute festival appearance in England is a pretty good opportunity.” 

“I’m not doing that,” Suguru replies, sane as ever. He’s said no to this stupid festival every time Nanami brought it up. It’s just too close to the wrap of this tour, and Suguru needs at least a month to recover before planning out another show. They take so much out of him, and he’s trying to be better. 

Nanami squints at him, unable to see the spark of humor that sometimes hides in the cesspools. “Oftentimes, I feel you’re difficult on purpose.” 

Suguru shrugs, crossing his arms around his chest. With half a mind, he’s keeping tabs on you – trying to listen out for the ghost of your conversation just to feel close to you. “Look – they can give us 900k and move us up to Headliners, and maybe I’ll consider it. Still, it’ll likely be a no.” 

Nanami cocks an eyebrow, that esteemed, unimpressed look so blatant on his face. Feeling the silence, Suguru shrugs again. “I don’t know what you want from me.” 

Nanami goes to open his mouth, perhaps to try to pitch it to Suguru in a more attractive way, when the door creaks open like the figment of Suguru’s worst fears. Seeing Nanami crack a smile makes his blood run cold – it’s how he knows. 

Suguru whips around like he’s on fire, trying to fan it from his skin. And, ike fate stumbling and stacking against itself, he almost body-checks Gojo Satoru in the doorway. 

Fuck. His soul leaves his body. 

Gojo Satoru, ten years older, tight clothes – a gaze that could kill, lights up the room on impact. Suguru doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything, or just pretend like he doesn’t know the ivory-haired stranger. He could turn around, ditch this place, and disappear forever. He’s thought about it two too many times, and now that avenue seems like his best bet. 

It’s humiliating being nose to nose with Satoru and completely stripped for words. It’s like all he can do is blink. 

What kills is the fact that Satoru’s babyface hasn’t even budged. His smile still takes up half of it; he’s so undeniably handsome now that he knows how to yield it better. His hair is effortless and fingertossed; it pisses Suguru off. 

The door lingers open, and two more bodies step inside. Suguru just stares, unable to speak. They reek of smoke and money, and he isn’t sure he would know how to react once he sees Satoru again, let alone Shoko and Yu. 

Everyone is older – sleek in a way Suguru isn’t. He feels like a stranger. 

“Satoru?” Suguru wonders if he’s faking it well – the unease hidden behind that half-dead, chipper tone he’s manufacturing. He just didn’t want to scuff this night you loved so much. 

“Suguru… Nanamin!” Satoru’s bleak rendition of Suguru’s name floats over his shoulder like leftovers decades old, sitting in his stomach like a rock. He’s completely bypassed as Satoru and Nanami share a hug, going on about the past and how it’s so lost on each other. 

Suguru works up the courage to peel his eyes from the exchange, hands shaking as he looks over to the others as they come in from the cold. “Shoko… Yu…” 

“Wow, hey stranger.” Shoko shrugs through the door, eyes downcast and heavy, long, thin hair combed back. It’s such a difference from what Suguru saw of her ten years ago. Her makeup is darker – her hair is longer, but her body remains the same. “You’ve seen better days.” 

“Well, that’s not very nice.” Suguru smiles, if only by the skin of his teeth. He doesn’t really know them anymore. He doesn’t even know if they’re still making music – perhaps they’re married now. Suguru wonders if they know you. 

Yu steps inside after Shoko, working a mint chew between his silvery teeth. He’s fucking huge – nearly as tall as Satoru, decked out in leather and silver chains. Although he was younger, Yu had decades on Suguru. It’s the presence. “It’s so cool to see you again, man. You just disappeared– 

“Read the room.” Suguru chews on his words, seething through a chipper smile. Shoko looks down, breathing out a laugh as they share a quick shoulder-hug. 

“Got it. Hey – you’re looking well.” 

“English is pretty good,” Suguru rolls on his feet, cheek sucked in as he tries to exist in this moment. The atmosphere is so tense – he can’t explain it. Shoko and Yu still had that sweet, pure impression of him, but Satoru knew the truth. It’s why his presence is so heavy, voice whisper-soft behind him. 

Yu takes a quick look around the dark room, making a sour face when he doesn’t recognize any. He looks to Suguru, laughing a bit, hand lost in his hair.“Been practicing since the last time you heard it.” 

Shoko giggles again, looking down at her feet. She could always read Suguru better than he could, and she can still see it in their later years. “This is painful. Gojo dragged us here.” 

“Gojo can drag you out.” 

“Mm, no. I wanna meet the Lady of the Hour.” Shoko sucks her teeth, giving Suguru a dirty, little downcast look he has to swallow. “Your girl, right? How many years has it been?” 

“Close to five. Baby makes six-figures every time she opens her mouth.” 

“Trying to make me jealous? I’m glad you’re still around, clinging onto her success, Geto.” Shoko smiles, eyes holding some version of spite that Suguru can’t pinpoint. It’s only natural – he wonders if she hates him, now. 

Like he can feel you from across the room, Suguru looks up as soon as you rise to your feet, eyebrows scrunched in cluelessness. Just a minute ago, you were chatting about vacation destinations out of the country, now you’re looking at the forming group at the entrance, wondering if you remembered inviting them. You catch eyes with Kento first, heart hammering in your chest when you make out the tall stranger next to him. He looks over, joy scrawled in cursive all over his stunning face. 

The passing glance he gives you stills you to the core – completely rocks your world as that blue glare settles on you. 

At first, you don’t recognize him, and it’s probably the dingy lighting that made you so clueless, but when you see Suguru notice and start to approach you, you turn that unease into a soft smile. 

“Hey, babe, what’s going on up there?” 

Suguru peeks over his shoulder, sucking his cheek to make sure he’s not being tailed. The rest of them stand at the doorway, pulling Satoru and Kento back into the conversation Suguru drove a wedge through. 

“Nanami thought it’d be the decision of the century to invite some of my old band members. They’re just about to leave, don’t worry-

“What?” You sit up, disregarding your collected pile of friends you could lose your mind with. Their attention is all on the group at the front, unable to ignore the presence the three of them carry. “Wait, I wanna meet them,” 

Suguru breathes out a laugh, flicking back to the group, then to your giddy, childlike body vibrating like a pea. He would think it’s cute, but you’re never this excited to see him, so he hates it. “No.” 

“Okay, fuck off.” You decide on a whim, stepping out from the table. Suguru stands out of the way, watching you with parted lips as you cross the room, a stupid pep in your step as you gravitate towards Nanami. 

Of course, everyone in the room is watching you, so everyone in the room is watching Satoru. 

Suguru just wants to die. 

You don’t know how to explain it… that feeling you get when you see something so good. Perhaps it’s lust, or maybe just mystique. Either way, something hits you in a way you’ve never felt when you get this close to him. 

“I’m Gojo Satoru.” He smiles, crystaled teeth shining in the shitty overheads. “I know Americans prefer first names – please, call me Satoru.” 

You smile, letting it fade into a fleeting laugh as he holds his hand out for you. Pressed into Kento’s side, you look down at Satoru’s hand, then to his loose-hanging band shirt, the bracelets and rings decorating his pearlescent skin, and swear you’ve just fallen in love. 

It doesn’t even click that he wants you to shake his hand until he’s laughing awkwardly, pulling it away. “No? Thought I read somewhere that handshaking was the custom.” 

“N-no, it is!” You scurry, waving your hands to distract this Godly figure from your mindlessness. “Sorry – geez, wow… I-I don’t,”

Kento peeks down at you, silent, but wondering why you’re so at a loss for words. If it’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you know how to talk. Control is not something you shy from. 

“Hey, it’s okay!” Satoru smiles, reaching to grab your nervous hands. Instead of shaking them, he takes a step back, lowering into a quick bow. “I am very, very honored to meet you. Nanami invited us, but I’d been meaning to slide my name into your circle for years.” 

You giggle – it’s embarrassing, uncontrollable. “What’s that even mean? You’re so sweet.” 

“It means, I hold a lot of admiration for you in my heart and in my music. Your latest release just truly hit something inside of me – almost like it was challenging my soul to dig deeper, or to write better. Truly, you are one of a kind. A gem in this industry.” 

You watch him lay it out for you with a shy, wordless expression. It’s hard to grasp someone far past your caliber – nearly ten years your senior could hold out admiration like that, but it’s beautiful. You catch yourself chewing on a big, stupid smile. 

“You just know all the right things to say, don’t you?” 

@dreamymoon-c @ddumgum @sheep-infog @jjmeii @hsungies

[polarmoon]

🪐 oasis springs aerospace is hiring!

OASIS SPRINGS AEROSPACE (OSA) is an aerospace startup located in oasis springs, arizona. we are seeking to form a small, diverse team of new graduates with backgrounds in physics, biology, and computer science. if you are interested in aerospace mechanics, astrobiology, or astrophysics, apply today!

this is a public call for sims to join my occult legacy save!

i'm looking for 7 sims to become christopher's coworkers + more sims to populate oasis springs.

submissions will be open until june 15th.

🌴SUBMISSIONS CLOSED! thank you to everyone who applied :)

📝 guidelines

young adult human sims only!

i am looking for sims that are engineers, biologists, and computer programmers that would be interested in working in aerospace. you can get creative, but try to stay within those niches!

please write a small biography about your sim! it will help me select who i think will be best for the job. you don't have go super in depth, but their bio will help me select the final sims :)

you don't need to set your sim up with degrees or skills or anything if you don't want to! i can do all of that in game myself.

💌 how to apply

simply make a post introducing your sim and tag me in the post! feel free to send me an ask telling me you posted one, just in case tumblr eats the notification.

i will contact you via askbox after the post goes up and we'll organize a private download, so make sure your ask is open! i will be downloading every sim that is submitted.

i will reblog every submission under the tag #deanOSA

⭐ selection process

the deadline for submissions is june 15th, 2025. sorry for the short window - i'm really excited to play asap lol. i'll be selecting the sims and posting about them sometime before june 21st, 2025!

i will be selecting 7 sims to be christopher's coworkers for the duration of the generation. using the club feature, these sims will act as his coworkers, and will ultimately become his and percy's primary social circle.

i am ideally looking for at least two sims from each category (engineering, biology, computer science). i want to create a well balanced team for this project, but if i don't get enough submissions for each category, i'll just cope :P

the sims will be chosen based on... vibes? i might rng if i'm stuck between who to pick. ultimately though i want to pick whoever fits best with christopher and the vibe i have for the team.

don't worry though! all sims submitted will be added to my save and live in oasis springs for the whole generation! because i use kuttoe's home regions mod, they will be the only sims populating the town, and so they'll be the sims interacting with my sims most often. they will also essentially be re-populating my save since i recently culled a bunch of random townies lol

i will absolutely be posting updates if anything interesting happens with submitted sims :) and who knows, maybe a future dean will marry a descendent or something!

🧬 sim creation info

i have all packs, so there's no pack restrictions on what you can use to dress up your sims!

your sims should have one outfit per category. don't worry about their main outfit being work appropriate - i'll be giving each sim an additional work outfit. if i need to add or change anything, i'll make sure to keep their aesthetic consistent!

cc is okay, but keep it to a moderate amount. mm preferred, hair + clothes are okay, but don't go buckwild on accessories or anything like that (unless it's important for their backstory or identity, like necessary scars, medical equipment, identifying features, etc)

if i choose not to use any of the cc given with the sim, i will change the item to something consistent in style that i already have in my game. (for example, a green t-shirt will be swapped out for a different green t-shirt)

please don't use custom body presets! custom face presets and sliders are okay, but just know that they might get messed up if i ever need to make tweaks.

feel free to use skin details and makeup, but the sims will have my defaults, and i might change up some skin details and makeup to fit in with my game better. i'll still retain their general look though! i might just go with stuff i have in my game instead of new stuff that i wouldn't normally use.

you can either link the cc they use in the post, or include them in the dl with their tray files. i don't mind either way.

that should be everything!! if you have any questions feel free to ask me. no judgements if you need clarification on anything i mentioned here :) i know it's a lot lol!

🚀🌴☄️👽🛰️🌻

taglist of people who replied to my initial interest check: @nervousgnome @girlwithnojobcom @peachiyuu @simbugge @cozylattesims @simswoon @thecutestgf @panicsimss @gerbits @moontaart @iliketodissectsims @pixelblooming @spectermansion @alxandergoth (if you no longer have interest in applying, no worries! just wanted to tag everyone that replied to my interest check just in case they didn't catch this post in time for the deadline. <3)

(the lot in these pictures that i will be using this generation is "astronaut eco pod" by teaboat on the gallery, edited a bit!)

[myfictionaldreams]

Hello! Can I please request something with Loki? Can either be an established relationship or just the beginnings of a new relationship where reader is dealing with awful period cramps. Like maybe reader tries to just brush it off and keep doing her job, but is clearly in pain and not taking care of themselves so Loki steps in to help reader out. Preferably a soft fluff scene where their cuddling and Loki uses his frost giant side to help keep her cool while she sleeps? I’m sorry if this is too specific.

⁀➷ Monthly Comfort // Loki x F!Reader

Summary: In the quiet corners of Asgard, a healer learns what it truly means to be cared for by a prince who notices everything.

Requested by: Thank you for this lovely request! Haven't written a Loki fic in ages so this is short but sweet!

Tags: period discussion, comfort, fluff

Words: 800+

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

You should have known he would notice.

You’d tried to keep your composure straight as you stirred the goldenroot elixir for a patient with nerve pain, even when the cramps in your lower belly twisted with cruel rhythm. You’d clenched your jaw as you walked from apothecary to infirmary and back again, never once admitting that you felt like you might pass out if you didn’t sit down soon.

But you forgot one crucial thing. Loki Odinson, prince of Asgard, mischief incarnate, and your far-too-observant lover, had spent months memorising every detail of your body language.

So, of course, when he stepped silently into the healer’s hall and found you gripping the edge of a workbench, knuckles aching with the force, and breathless, he said nothing at first.

He simply watched, eyes sharp, hands behind his back. Then: “If I ask whether you’re well, will you like me again, dove?”

You turned your head sharply, startled, your cheeks warming as you had been snuck up on. “Loki–how long have you–?”

“Long enough to watch you drop that stirring rod twice and pretend you didn’t,” he said, striding closer with calculated steps. “Long enough to hear you mutter ‘just breathe through it’, like that’s a solution to anything.”

You forced a thin smile. “It’s fine. I just need a minute. This batch has to steep–”

“It can steep on its own,” he cut in, already waving a hand. The cauldron shimmered gold and froze in time with a pulse of magic. “There. Stasis spell. No spoiling, no boiling over, and no excuses.”

“Loki–”

“Don’t,” his voice dropped, quiet and firm but comforting. “Come with me.”

He took you not to the royal chambers, but to a private library alcove no one used, quiet, sunwarmed, lined with plush cushions and velvet throws. Loki had already conjured a small, low table, already set with fruit, pastries, and two steaming mugs of tea.

“How long have you been hurting?” he asked as you sat, reluctantly, against the soft cushions. He kneeled before you, brows knit in gentle frustration.

“A few hours,” you admitted, admiring his handsome face.

He didn’t look angry; he never was short-tempered when it came to you. But his gaze lingered on your face, hands resting on your thighs, cool through your robes. “And you said nothing?”

Sighing, you said, “It’s just cramps, Loki. I deal with them all the time.”

“And bleed to death slowly every month, yes, I am aware,” he replied dryly as his hands rested on your thighs. “Your body is attempting to rid itself of an organ lining, and you’re limping around as though that’s not significant.”

You blinked. “How do you even know that?”

“I read,” he rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Unlike a certain stubborn midgarian healer who refuses to sit down when her insides are at war.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “I'm not Midgardian.”

“Mm. Well, you bleed like one.” He snapped his fingers and conjured a warm compass, pressing it carefully to your lower abdomen, “Here.”

You inhaled softly, finding the heat helped.

“And this,” he added, sliding behind you and pulling you between his legs, “is for the back.”

His hands were chilled as they settled on your lower spine, and the contrast of hot and cold made your eyes close. 

“There we are,” he whispered, brushing your hair aside and pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“Loki,” you groaned, relaxing back into him. “You really don’t have to–”

“Oh, but I do,” he cut in gently. “Because if I leave you to your own devices, you’ll pass out in the middle of a patient consultation and then insist it’s not that bad, whilst covered in blood and shaking.”

“... it’s my blood, so it’s fine.”

“Preceisely.”

You huffed a laugh, burying your face against his shoulder. “You don’t mind? The blood and everything?”

“My love,” he said, tipping your chin up with a cool hand, “I’m a frost giant who lives among golden gods. I’ve turned into a monster and found myself in wars. If you think I’m squeamish about a little blood from the woman I love, you must take me for a fool.”

Your heart stuttered. “You… love me?”

He blinked, then sighed dramatically. “Was that supposed to be a secret? Have I not been blatantly obvious? The fruit plate didn’t give it away?”

You laughed. “No one brings pastries for someone they hate, you’re right.”

Loki smirked. “Exactly. Now– eat something, drink the tea, and then you’re going to lie against me until you fall asleep. Understood?”

“Yes, my prince.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious of the quick compliance.

“And no sneaking off to the infirmary the moment I blink.”

You grin, “I make no promises.”

He gave you a long, theatrical sigh and tightened his arms around your waist. “You are impossible. And perfect. And mine.”

You leaned into his touch, smiling as the magic-stilled room faded around you in soft warmth and frost-kissed comfort.

And for the first time that day, the pain quieted.

[shina913]

Second Pour | KMG

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x AFAB!Reader (feat. Lee Seokmin/Dokyeom)

Rating: PG-13; SFW

Genre: Exes; angst; some fluff?

Warnings: some cussing

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: Your boyfriend Seokmin arranges a dinner for you to meet his elusive best friend. Little do you know, you already know him…very well, in fact!

A/N: It took all of my energy *not* to name this “Saluté”🤣 No, but seriously, that DK x Younghee x Mingyu live has been living in my head ever since. I needed to write something!

This is also un-beta'd so...it is what it is!

Tagging @roaminginthenights because…Mingyu-DK brainrot 🤷🏻‍♀️🤝🤡

For a Sunday evening, the restaurant is uncharacteristically busy. Although some diners finish their meals and leave, new guests quickly fill their seats. Staff members bustle between tables, taking orders, delivering plates, and navigating through the crowd.

This isn’t your first time at this place—you and Seokmin have gone on a few date nights here. The familiarity of it is why he picked it to introduce you to his best friend.

Tonight is meant to be fun and laid back, but an inexplicable nervousness creeps over you. Somehow, this dinner feels even more daunting than meeting his parents.

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

Seokmin turns to you with a straight face and sighs heavily. “Then I guess I’ll have to find a new best friend,” he shrugs.

You stare at him, dumbfounded, but then his mouth twitches and he loses it. Something about his infectious laughter melts away the nerves. With a reassuring smile, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Babe, he gets along with everyone, so how could he dislike you? Besides, I love you—which means he’ll have to love you too!”

Your heart melts, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

You’ve only been dating less than a year, but your connection feels deeper than any recent relationships you’ve had.

Only one other person has made you feel this way. But you were so young then, easily carried away by your emotions. And even after healing from that heartache, who could ever really forget their first love? Memories of that time drift through your mind every now and then.

Seokmin fondly stroking your cheek pulls you back to the present.

“You know my parents adore you, and lord knows I can’t shut up about you whenever I talk to my friends,” he laughs.

He often talks about his best friend from college, who’s just returning from an extended stint abroad.

By the way Seokmin talks about him, he seems like a really busy guy. This dinner has already been rescheduled several times before his friend finally found a time when he’d be back in town and available.

You narrow your eyes playfully. “You’ve been talking about me? Is that why my ears have been burning?”

“Mm-hmm,” he nods as he leans closer for a kiss.

Seokmin pulls away from you to retrieve his phone, which has suddenly started buzzing. “Ah, sorry. I need to get this.” He picks up, greeting the caller on the other line. “Hey, man…Oh, shit, are you outside?”

While he excuses himself to meet his friend at the entrance, you take a sip of your drink. You start fidgeting with your phone and shift in your seat, craning your neck for any sign of them making their way back to your table.

You take another hefty gulp of your drink. Through the glass’s murky reflection, you see Seokmin approach with the brightest smile imaginable, followed by a figure, dressed in all-black.

You stand to greet the man your boyfriend has been raving about, ready to give him a hug. When he steps aside to let him through, your stomach drops and your knees go weak. Though his eyes are partially hidden by the knit beanie he wears, that smile is unmistakable.

“This is my best friend, Mingyu.”

It takes a few seconds for your brain to kick back into gear, but you manage to somewhat recover and force a word out. “H-hi…” Frozen in place, your breath catches in your throat, making it impossible to say anything else after that.

It’s been years. Never in your wildest imagination did you ever think you’d see him again…your first love.

Mingyu smoothly steps in before Seokmin notices anything amiss. He wraps his arms around you—catching you off-guard at first, but the hint of familiarity is enough to make you hug him back.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person,” he says softly before pulling back.

“Likewise,” your voice comes out small, heart pounding against your chest while Mingyu’s face remains unreadable.

“I feel like I already know you so well from how much this guy talks about you.” His comment draws laughs from Seokmin.

The thought makes you uneasy. You can’t help but wonder what Seokmin has been telling his best friend about you. “All good things, I hope?”

Mingyu answers with a wink. “Always.”

Your lips press into a thin line. Seokmin hasn’t told you many personal things about him. All you know is that they had become roommates during their sophomore year of college and had been inseparable since.

Oddly, whenever his friend came up in conversation, you never thought to ask for a photo. You just found it amusing that his best friend shared the same name as your former high school sweetheart.

You regret not being more curious about what his friend looked like. It would have at least prepared you mentally for this moment. Instead, you’re left kicking yourself.

“Wow,” Seokmin beams proudly, completely unaware of the tension lingering in the air. “I can’t believe it. My two favorite people in the world, finally in the same room!”

You force a smile to mask your nerves. “Should we sit down and order?”

“Oops, I almost forgot why we’re here. Hope you’re hungry,” he says, elbowing Mingyu playfully.

“Starving,” Mingyu replies with a small smile in your direction.

He drapes his coat over the back of his chair and removes his beanie. Running his fingers through his tousled hair, he ruffles it before smoothing it back into place. The familiar gesture sends you straight into flashbacks. For a moment, it feels like you’re back in high school again.

Seokmin waves over the server. “You want a drink, bro?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he responds with a sharp exhale, glancing at you briefly once more before returning to the menu.

“Should we get a bottle for the table?”

“Yes!” You and Mingyu answer in unison.

Seokmin’s mouth falla open in stunned silence, then he lets out a sharp, breathless laugh. “Well…okay then!”

Your phone pings with a notification, catching your attention. Though it’s nothing important, you notice today’s date before clearing your screen. The date stirs an old memory you hadn’t realized was still there.

“Oh. It’s your birthday,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Startled, Mingyu’s eyes snap to you. Seokmin slow-blinks, clearly surprised as well.

“Wait…how’d you know that?” he asks, brow furrowing.

Your heart skips. A cold sweat rushes through you, but you force a laugh, waving it off like it’s nothing.

“Because you told me, silly!” you say too quickly and with a little too much excitement in your voice. “Like, the other day. When you were brushing your teeth?”

Seokmin squints, trying to recall. “I did?”

“Of course!” You nod eagerly. “You said it was funny he was flying in on his actual birthday, and…that just stuck with me, I guess.”

Mingyu, still quiet, can’t bring himself to watch. He turns to his menu, attempting to appear unaffected, though the stiffness in his shoulders betrays him.

Seokmin looks unconvinced, eyes narrowing slightly as he searches your face for something more. You hold your breath, hoping your smile holds steady.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I forgot something that you remembered,” he grins, giving you a sense of relief.

Each year you were together, like clockwork, you would wait eagerly for midnight to be the first one to wish Mingyu a happy birthday. Though you hadn’t done it in years, greeting him again feels incredibly weird.

He turns to Mingyu. “Didn’t I tell you she’s got an impressive memory? I’d be missing half my appointments if it weren’t for her.”

“I bet,” Mingyu replies, then turns his gaze to you. “Thank you... for remembering,” he adds with a small smile.

With a subtle nod, you glance back at your menu, exhaling quietly as the server appears—perfect timing. Seokmin turns his focus to them, and you let the moment pass.

Once the server leaves, Mingyu reaches for his freshly poured drink, while Seokmin mirrors his friend’s actions.

Mingyu notices and begins to laugh, anticipating his friend’s sentimentality.

“Alright, alright... you already know I’m a sap,” Seokmin chuckles, cutting off his friend’s teasing. “Anyway, I just wanted to say how happy I am that we’re all here together tonight.”

You smile warmly at him. It isn’t just his sense of humor that you love, but his tender-heartedness as well. You turn your attention to Mingyu, who wears an identical warm smile as he listens to his best friend.

Seokmin lifts his glass. “Thank you, Mingyu, for allowing us to hijack your special day.”

Mingyu beams at his friend’s heartfelt words, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a smile spreads across his face.

“Happy birthday, bro!”

“Thank you, my brother.” Mingyu’s voice is filled with fondness, speaking to their years of friendship.

“Cheers!” You all clink glasses together.

****************************

The conversation flows smoothly during dinner. Whether from the alcohol or not, your earlier nerves seem to have completely dissipated.

“Oh! Remember that year we had open house at the dorm?” Seokmin, already a few drinks in, enthusiastically continues to relive more of their college antics.

Mingyu freezes mid-sip, his eyes darting nervously between you and Seokmin. “Uhh… you sure you want to bring that up with your girl sitting right here?”

“It’s fine! I’m not tripping over whatever trouble you guys got into over 10 years ago,” you laugh, casually dismissing his concerns. You urge Seokmin to continue his story. “Go on, what happened during the open house?”

“Okay, so, Mingyu and I broke into the maintenance closet, where they kept the kegs. I didn’t want to, but he talked me into it!”

Mingyu wags his finger at Seokmin. “Dude, you’ve got that shit backwards!” He contests.

Their stories amuse you, though they keep them fairly PG-rated for your sake. You appreciate the consideration.

Occasionally, you glance at Mingyu, who looks away the moment your eyes meet. He tries to maintain a neutral expression whenever Seokmin casually touches you or shows any hint of affection. He isn’t the type to be overtly touchy in public. He prefers to save all that when it’s just you two.

Unlike him, Mingyu used to be all about the PDA when you were together. You two couldn’t get enough of each other.

You hadn’t intended to draw comparisons, but it was interesting to note the differences between them. Their contrasting personalities complement each other perfectly, so it isn’t hard to figure out how their friendship works.

Mingyu is a natural people person and conversationalist. He could, as your brother used to say, “sell sand in the desert.” He lights up every room he enters. It’s impossible not to be his friend.

Seokmin is the complete opposite. He’s more shy and reserved, revealing his true personality only to those closest to him. His quiet nature makes the moments when he does open up feel special—just like now. You’ve never seen him this animated, and in a way, you’re grateful that Mingyu’s presence brings out this side of him.

As your laughter subsides from their anecdote, Seokmin winces and rubs his stomach, worrying you.

“Hey, you okay?” You stroke his shoulder gently.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have eaten all that cheese earlier,” he groans regretfully.

“I’ve got something in my bag for that, if you want?” You offer.

He considers it for a bit, but eventually declines. “Nah, I think I’ll be fine until we get home.” But just as soon as he says those words, Seokmin’s growling stomach protests violently.

“On second thought, I don’t think this can wait.” He hurriedly stands. “You two behave while I’m gone.”

As soon as he leaves, the calmness you were just enjoying evaporates, and the tension creeps back in.

Mingyu stares at you from across the table, which suddenly feels both too small and impossibly wide without Seokmin as your buffer.

Those unspoken words and memories linger in the air, making the restaurant’s ambient noise fade into the background.

“So, how’ve you been, _____?” His question is generic, but the addition of his old pet-name for you is enough to diffuse the tension.

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “Wow, haven’t heard that in a while.”

“I’m only teasing. I just thought it would help get rid of this awkward energy between us.”

Your shoulders relax as you’d been wanting to do the same. “It’s fine.” You crack a smile at his earnest intentions, so it’s only fair that you try to make an effort, too. “I’ve been good. You?”

“I’m alright, can’t complain!”

“More than alright, from what I’ve heard.” He’s being modest about his success. “Seokmin tells me you’ve done really well for yourself lately. Traveling the world, telling people what to do with their money…”

Mingyu laughs, then shrugs. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. His confidence remains unmatched.

Knowing your time alone is short, you lean forward and cut to the chase. “Does he know about…?”

Mingyu’s smile fades and he reassures you. “I haven’t told him a thing.”

You eye him skeptically for a moment, though you have no legitimate reason to doubt his sincerity.

You groan, burying your face in your hands, regretting not being more prepared for this meeting. “I can’t believe I never asked to see a picture of you.”

“It’s probably for the best since we did a lot of dumb things in college—as you’ve heard. Nobody needs photographic evidence of that,” he laughs. “Besides, guys don’t really take pictures together. At least, we didn’t!”

You tilt your head thoughtfully, realizing he’s right. In a way, you’re glad your relationship ended during freshman year. At least you were spared from mental images of his partying days.

“Haven’t you looked into our yearbook?”

“No. He said it’s buried somewhere in his parents’ storage unit,” you shrug, frustrated. “It didn’t seem like a big deal, so I never pressed him on it.”

“Ah,” he nods, understanding dawning on his face.

“Has…he shown you a picture of me?” You’re curious about his lack of surprise when he came up from behind Seokmin.

He opens his mouth to answer, but shuts it right away as if deciding between telling the truth or not. After a brief pause, Mingyu nods gently. “Yeah.”

“And you still didn’t say anything?”

He drops his gaze and chooses his next words carefully. “What are you supposed to say when your best friend tells you he’s met the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with?”

You feel your stomach lurch as the weight of his words settles heavily in your chest.

There’s no sarcasm in his tone, but more of a quiet acceptance. He’s also asked himself that exact question a hundred different times and has arrived at the same answer—say nothing.

Still, you attempt to reason with him. “Honestly, I don’t think he would’ve cared if you’d said something. You and I had our time, but that’s all in the past.”

Mingyu may have known him longer, but you feel more confident and secure about your relationship with Seokmin.

“Exactly. It’s in the past! We should just leave it there,” Mingyu drops his voice. “What purpose would it serve if I casually said: ‘by the way, your girlfriend and I used to get hot and heavy in high school?’“

“Obviously, when you say it that way, it sounds horrible! And I get that, but…” you trail off, sighing. “We’re all grown-ups here, right? Things are different now. Plus, I feel bad lying to him.”

“It’s not a lie if you’re choosing not to talk about it.”

You look at him wryly. “A lie of omission is still a lie.”

His expression is a mix of resignation and resolve as he defends his decision to stay silent. “Look, there’s no handbook for situations like this. And besides, I couldn’t bring myself to shit on his happiness. What kind of friend would that make me?” Without waiting for an answer, he asks, “You love him, right?”

Your reply comes easily. “Yes.”

“And he makes you happy?”

“Yes.”

He glances past your shoulder, then flashes a smile. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Before you can argue, you feel Seokmin’s hands squeeze your shoulders from behind.

“Hey, man! You were gone for a while! We were worried you flushed yourself down the toilet,” Mingyu laughs.

“Dude, it was rough,” Seokmin shakes his head, grimacing. “Everything okay? You two looked like you were in the middle of an intense conversation.”

He reaches for his drink, casually playing it off. “We were just talking about the wine!”

You frown at Mingyu’s response. He throws you a glance, letting you know he’s got this.

“Oh? What about it?” Seokmin asks as he sits back down.

Mingyu, without missing a beat, shifts into full marketing mode. “It’s a nice vintage, but not something I’d go for again.”

You’re not entirely sure where he’s going with this and you don’t think the wine is that bad.

“You know what? I agree. I also thought there was something off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it,” Seokmin comments.

Mingyu turns the wine bottle around to examine the label. “Ah—it’s because it was made during a bad year in this region. There wasn’t enough rain that season.”

You can’t believe Mingyu’s luck. It’s amazing to watch him deflect the entire conversation in a snap.

“You’re right,” Seokmin nods. “I also feel like they harvested and bottled this in a rush.”

Mingyu hums in agreement. “I think the vineyard just wanted to salvage whatever they could from that harvest so the season wouldn’t be a complete loss.”

“I think the vintage tasted perfectly fine,” you object. “Sure, it might have been a bad year, but I doubt they rushed their process or did anything differently.”

“In my opinion, they should have just taken the ‘L’ that season and used the grapes for composting,” Mingyu says cockily. “Instead of forcing something that would turn out to be mediocre.”

“The Beaujolais was nice though,” Seokmin interjects.

“Absolutely,” Mingyu responds enthusiastically. “Isn’t it funny to think both wines came from the same place? This one,” he points to the empty bottle of Beaujolais, “had more depth to it, even though it didn’t take long to ferment.”

“Less tannins, too,” Seokmin adds, tilting his glass up to polish off his drink.

“Exactly.” Mingyu turns his attention to you. “No hangovers!”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “You guys are comparing two completely different wines. The only thing they have in common is where they came from.”

Mingyu, beginning to look annoyed that you aren’t going with the program, turns to you. “Which one did you like?”

“I liked them both,” you answer.

“Mm-hm, sure,” he hums sarcastically, “but if you had to pick one, which would you order again?”

Seokmin’s eyes go back and forth between you two.

You sigh in exasperation. “I just said, both are—”

“Nope!” He refuses to accept nothing less than a specific answer from you. “Which one paired better with your entrée?”

You peer at Seokmin and he gives a reluctant smile. “You did have a couple of glasses of the Beaujolais,” he says quietly.

You turn to Mingyu who has the most determined look on his face. There’s no winning this argument, especially after consuming a bottle of wine.

Your shoulders sag in defeat. “Ok, fine. The Beaujolais.”

Mingyu puts his hands up and rests his case. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he shrugs. “Nobody’s judging. You like what you like. Just because it’s vintage, doesn’t automatically mean it’s better.”

“But for the record, I enjoyed both.” You throw in for good measure.

“Fair—” Mingyu stops mid-sentence when the waitstaff approaches your table, carrying a small ice cream sundae with a lit candle in the middle, singing “Happy Birthday,” complete with a tambourine accompaniment.

“Did you do this?” Mingyu accuses Seokmin, who is grinning from ear to ear.

You realize he must have spoken to one of the servers on his way back to your table.

“You’re lucky this is tame compared to the singing clowns you sent to my office on my birthday,” Seokmin retorts.

Mingyu guffaws. “I thought that was epic!”

While you watch them continue to rib each other, you contemplate the parallel between your relationships and the wine debate.

Past relationships carry emotional investments and complex histories, like vintage wine. They hold memories—both sweet and bitter—and may seem precious because of the time and energy put in them. But time alone doesn’t make them better.

Like the Beaujolais, newer relationships can be simpler and more approachable. Though they lack the complexity of old baggage, they offer fresh perspectives and unknown possibilities. It can be just as rewarding when given the chance.

While one might be tempted to glorify a past relationship for its history, this evening has made you realize that what matters isn’t the vintage of a relationship, but finding the one that pairs perfectly with your present.

****************************

After settling the check, Seokmin invites Mingyu back to your place to continue catching up. As you’re heading out, Seokmin runs into a couple of clients. When the conversation extends beyond smalltalk, you tell him that you and Mingyu can wait outside rather than stand by awkwardly listening to them talk shop.

“This is his largest account, so if he needs to schmooze, I give him space to do that.” You explain this to Mingyu unprompted, mostly to fill the uncomfortable silence between you.

“I get it,” he replies. “I’ve done plenty of that. Still do, actually!”

You smile and nod politely as the conversation lapses into silence again.

“By the way, I want to apologize.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What for?”

He inhales sharply, his face guilt-ridden. “For flaking on you guys multiple times.”

It dawns on you that he had been purposely avoiding this meeting. It wasn’t because of travel or other work commitments at all. Instead of being angry, you sympathize with him. Frankly, you don’t blame him for doing what he did. You probably would have done the same thing if you were in his shoes.

“I’ve been dreading this night, if I’m being honest,” he confesses. “I was trying to put it off for as long as I could. But,” he sighs wistfully, “once I realized you two were serious, I knew I couldn’t avoid you forever.”

You smile wearily, tilting your head. “It was bound to happen one way or another. You could have put it off until after your birthday though?” you say half-joking.

“Nah, Seokmin has been dogging me about it. And I’ve run out of excuses. My mom talked to his mom and told him I was going to be in town this week.” He was left with no choice except to bite the bullet.

“Well…I hope I didn’t ruin your birthday.”

He laughs, shaking his head . “Are you kidding? It was nice to see you again. And…as corny as this sounds, it was a gift to see my best friend happy and in love.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Look at you all sentimental and shit!”

“I’m serious!” he says adamantly. “And I’m glad to see you happy.”

Warmth blooms in your chest. After all this time, you hold no grudges toward him. In fact, you genuinely hope he finds happiness in his life, if he hasn’t already. “It’s great to see you again, Gyu. You look good!”

His mouth curves into a modest smile. “And you look...” he sighs longingly, then clears his throat. “You look beautiful, ____,” he says in that quiet voice that makes your heart ache a little.

You and Mingyu had been happy together once, even making plans for the future. But various circumstances and other deeper, underlying issues you never addressed came to a head, leading you both to realize going separate ways was the better choice.

“I’m so sorry,” Seokmin approaches you and Mingyu. “The only way I could get them to stop talking was to tell them if I don’t leave now, I’m afraid my much better-looking best friend might steal my girlfriend away while I’m stuck here talking about work,” he jokes.

You and Mingyu trade odd looks as Seokmin laughs.

“Well, on that note, I think I’m gonna call it a night,” Mingyu announces.

Seokmin looks surprised and confused at Mingyu’s sudden change of heart. “What? I thought you were coming back to our place to hang out?”

“Maybe next time. I, uh…” Mingyu digs his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunching as he fumbles for an excuse, “just remembered I need to head out early to see my parents in the morning.”

“Oh.” Seokmin’s disappointment is clear. “But it’s your birthday, you shouldn’t spend it alone.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t alone! I was with you guys,” he says in consolation.

“Are you sure? We have a spare bedroom you can crash in?” You try to convince Mingyu to change his mind so Seokmin won’t suspect anything.

“That’s alright. My hotel is in the area, but I appreciate the offer.” You get the feeling that Mingyu is trying not to make the evening any more uncomfortable for you, so you don’t push.

“Let us drop you off, at least?” Seokmin insists.

“No, no. I’m just around the corner from here. Besides, I could use the fresh air to walk off all that wine,” he reasons, though there’s a hint of something wistful in his tone.

Seokmin gives a resigned sigh. “Alright then, if you’re sure. Hey, you’re in town for a few more days, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Mingyu nods.

��First playoff game is on Friday night and we’re having some people over to watch. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Seokmin looks at his friend intently.

You suddenly remember that Seokmin has invited your brother next weekend too. This situation is going to be interesting to navigate since your brother and Mingyu are also close. Before you can say anything, Mingyu agrees.

“Of course! I’ll be there.”

Seokmin grins at his friend. “Alright, bro. See you Friday then?”

Mingyu nods and Seokmin goes to hug him. “Happy birthday. It’s always great seeing you.”

“Thanks, man!” Mingyu steps back and moves to hug you next. This time, you welcome the embrace openly.

“I know I’m going to sound biased because he’s my best friend,” he reaches to squeeze Seokmin’s shoulder. “But I promise you won’t find anyone else like this guy. You lucked out,” His forced smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thanks,” you reply softly. “I know.”

With one final quick hug between the friends, you go your separate ways. “Take care of each other.”

While climbing into your car, you glance back at Mingyu’s retreating figure, his shoulders hunched and head bowed.

Although breaking up was difficult, you knew you’d eventually move on and find new love. Yet there’s something uniquely surreal about watching a former love move forward right before your eyes.

You understand Mingyu’s reluctance to tell Seokmin about your past relationship. But with Mingyu becoming part of your lives, pretending to be strangers isn’t sustainable or honest. It wouldn’t be fair to Seokmin, and your conscience can’t bear the deception.

This dilemma swirls in your mind during the quiet drive home.

Though you know Mingyu has no intention of rekindling anything and your feelings for Seokmin run deep, you’re still torn. If you tell him the truth, he might understand and accept it—or you could be wrong, and he may not be able to move past it. The possibility of losing him terrifies you.

When Seokmin pulls into a parking spot at your building and turns the engine off, you place your hand on his arm to get his attention.

He turns to face you expectantly. “What’s wrong, love?”

You press your lips together, hesitating.

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Cookies And Kisses

Zayne x gn!Reader

I am YEARNINGGG for a Zayne kiss so badddd (and also cookies) I also wrote this like minutes after my friend sent me the trailer for the new banner cuz ough Zayne why you gotta kiss like that and NOT BE REAL

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, kissing, baking, established relationship

Word Count: 1,229

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It was only a matter of time before the sweet fragrance of baking cookies beckoned Zayne to the kitchen. Even though he was in his office, working away on his reports and research, it's the most surefire way of getting him to take a break. You've only just put in the second batch when he wanders in with that round-eyed interest, honing in on the fresh tray of sweets.

"You're baking today?" he asks. You hear the excitement in his voice, even if he's trying to act natural.

You slip off the oven mitt with a smile. The counter is a bit of a mess - flour, baking soda, vanilla and almond extract, sugar both powdered and crystalized. You tried to keep it contained, for what it's worth. Cooling racks are spread out on the kitchen island, empty for now. A full one sits beside the oven. Twelve golden sugar cookies, with coarse rainbow sprinkles pressed into their tops. You are the only thing between him and the cookies.

"They're still hot," you warn, walking over to meet him so you can hold him back for as long as it takes to let them cool for just a couple minutes. You wrap your arms around his neck. His hands rest comfortably on your waist, slipping around to your back to hold you close. Eyes focus down on you, momentarily distracted by the one thing he loves more than his sweets. "I thought it would be fun. I was going to bring some to Yvonne and Grayson."

He glances back at the cookies. "How many are you making?"

"The recipe makes about 50 cookies. I don't think either of us need that many to ourselves."

He hums noncommittally and asks, "How many are you giving them?"

"Eight each. Will 30-something cookies be enough to satisfy you?"

"With your baking, no amount could satisfy me."

You laugh softly. Your fingers begin caressing the back of his neck and playing with the short ends of his dark hair. His eyes soften behind his glasses, warm with affection as he soaks in your touch. "With your sweet tooth, no amount of anyone's baking could satisfy you."

His ears grow warm, but he just smiles. His long fingers trace light patterns against your spine and lower back. He glances at the cookies once more. You try not to laugh at how obviously he's restraining himself. "Can I have one?"

"Just one?"

"Mm, or two, or three?"

You peck his lips with a snicker and pull away. His hands slide away, falling down back to his sides. You miss them immediately. Still, you grab a napkin and carefully settle two cookies on it. The third you take for yourself, taking a bite as you turn to rest your back against the counter, holding out the napkin for him. He stands close, comfortably within arms reach, as he eagerly accepts the cookies and takes a bite of one.

Still warm, the sugar cookie crumbles in the best way possible. The subtle vanilla, the sweet almond, the added crunch of sugar crystals. He hums in content. You reach up to wipe away the crumbs at the corner of his mouth, and he looks at you with a smile.

"They're delicious," he praises after he swallows his first bite. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. "Thank you."

You catch his lips again before he can fully pull away. A quiet sigh escapes him as he reciprocates, fanning across your cheek from his nose. He tilts his head. Sets his partial cookie back in the napkin to hold your cheek as he licks the seam of your mouth, tasting the cookie's lingering sweetness on your lips, on your tongue.

Zayne kisses like he'll never kiss you again. It wasn't always like this. When you first started dating, kisses were hesitant. Light pecks, chaste and quick. Even your first make out, there was always something restrained in the way he kissed. He allowed you to lead, to take what you wanted from him. Now that you've grown as a couple, discovered each other's quirks and habits, moved in together, begun intertwining your souls, his kisses aren't the quiet, reserved pecks they used to be. He's always aching to kiss you deeper. Tilting his head from one side to the other as his hands hold you in place, pull you closer. His breaths grow heavy with excitement, soft sounds escaping the back of his throat. He devours you. Kisses you as though it's the last kiss you'll ever share and he needs to make the most of it. Kisses you like a soldier off to war, saying goodbye to his partner before he's shipped off. Kisses you like you're sweeter than pure sugar.

The oven beeps. You pull away with a sigh, sad to see the moment end. He smiles reassuringly as he kisses your cheek, silently promising to continue this later, before he steps away to lean back against the island. Those lithe fingers slipping from your cheek to pick up the cookie again, bringing it to his kiss-swollen lips and-

The oven beeps once more and you push away from the counter to stop the timer. You slip on the oven mitt, open up the inferno to let its dry heat caress your already-warm cheeks, and retrieve the tray of fresh cookies. Zayne watches as you hold the tray in one hand and pick up the spatula with the other, one by one depositing the cookies onto a cooling rack.

He's halfway through his second cookie when you begin scooping an array of dough onto the tray. Sneaking a third from the first batch when you're pressing divots into the center of the dough-balls and dispensing pinches of sugar in them. Finishing the third when you're slipping the tray on the top rack of the oven and setting a new timer. You grab his hand before he can grab a fourth, tugging him away and toward the kitchen doorway.

"You're gonna make yourself sick one of these days," you playfully chide. "No more until after dinner. Or at least until I've boxed up the ones for Yvonne and Grayson."

He chuckles as you drag him all the way back to his office. Smiles like a lovestruck fool as you push him into his chair. He grabs your hips before you can pull away, settling you to be standing between his legs as he looks up at you like you're the moon itself.

"Will you tell me when you've finished?"

You brush his bangs aside from his forehead. Trail your touch down his cheek. Hold his chin as you run your thumb along his lips. "Finished baking or finished separating theirs out?"

His eyes close as he presses a kiss to your finger. "Both."

You lean down and kiss his forehead. "So long as I don't catch you sneaking out before then."

"I won't."

"Mm-hm."

He tilts his head back, eyes flickering to your lips. "I won't," he insists.

"You won't get caught, you mean." You brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He turns to fully catch your lips again. Draws you into him, until your knee is resting on the chair right up against his crotch. He murmurs breathlessly against your mouth, grinning with a subdued playfulness, "Now, I never said that."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one @always-just-red @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @nothankyew @nezuswritingdesk @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @whisteriaremembers @leiakitty

[harrysfolklore]

ring hard launch - blurb

the content we got today just SCREAMS fiancé!harry for me so i came up with this, enjoy !

gif by @sunkissedlouis <3

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

If there was something that was definitely at the top of your list of favorite activities, was spending time with Harry.

It didn't matter if it was getting groceries, joining him for a bike ride or simply laying on the couch together, every moment that you spent together brought you contentment and joy that you couldn't find anywhere else.

And now that he was your fiancé, it was safe to say that both of you wanted to be glued to each other every single minute.

Harry proposed the morning of New Year's Eve, in the comfort of your home with both of you in your pajamas as you enjoyed homemade breakfast bagels, and it was absolutely perfect.

Ever since, you had been happier than ever, sharing the news with your family and closest friends and enjoying your engagement in private without prying eyes from paparazzi, fans and media.

"We better win tonight," Your train of thought was interrupted by Harry's voice, you were currently heading to the Luton vs Man United game, and even though you couldn't care less about football, your need to be close to him all the time made you say yes when he asked you to join him, "Thank you for tagging along, baby. I know this is not your scene so it's nice you came."

"I'm just here for the drinks and snacks," you teased, watching him roll his eyes at you, "And to enjoy the evening with my handsome fiancé, of course."

"There we go," he smiled now, grabbing your hand and placing a small kiss to the ring on your finger.

Ever since you got engaged, that had became his favorite habit, and it made your heart flutter every single time.

"It sucks that I have to take it off," you said, making him look at you with a raised eyebrow, "The ring, I mean. I have to take it off before we get out of the car, otherwise headlines will go crazy and Jeff is going to freak out."

"Mm-hmm," he paused to think, eyes darting for the road to you, "What if... you don't have to take it off?"

"What do you mean?" you said, noticing that you were about to enter the back of the stadium.

"I mean..." he grabbed your hand again, tugging the ring affectionately, "What if we let the world know about it? I talked to Jeff and the rest of the team last week, they said we could make it public whenever we felt like it, at our own terms. So why don't we do it today?"

Harry parked the car at the spot that was reserved for him and turned to look at you with a wide smile, waiting for your answer.

"Are you sure?" you smiled back at him, noticing the glow in his eyes that almost made you melt.

"Couldn't be more sure, love. Besides, the album is coming soon and everyone is going to connect the dots as soon as they listen to the first song, might as well give them an early heads up."

"Let's do it," you said, leaning over to kiss him, "I feel like everyone is going to focus on the fact that you're finally outside and with brand new hair, they won't even notice the rock on my finger."

Harry rolled his eyes again and gave you another kiss, "I swear to god, woman. You're something else."

You headed inside of the stadium to the VIP suit you were going to watch the game in, walking hand in hand with your engagement ring glistening on your finger, cameras around filming and taking pictures of both of you.

"Do you think twitter is freaking out yet?" you asked Harry as you settled on your seats.

"No idea, baby, I don't use that app," he shrugged, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Would you get me something fruity that has alcohol that doesn't quite taste like alcohol? That's the only way I won't be bored to death."

"Sure thing." Harry laughed and kissed the side of your head before standing up to get your drink, coming back a few minutes later with exactly what you asked and a bottle of sparkling water for himself.

"So we're rooting for Man U, right?" you asked as you took a sip from your drink.

"Seven years together, months away from getting married, yet you still don't know I'm a Man U ride or die," he put a hand on his chest, "I don't think this is going to work."

"I was just teasing, drama queen," you pecked his cheek, "I know your true loves are Man U, the Green Bay Packers, peas and Fleetwood Mac."

"And you," he winked, making you roll your eyes with affection and take another sip from your drink.

A few minutes into the game, you found yourself quite invested on it, constantly asking Harry about the stuff you didn't understand and getting nervous when the other team was about to score or your team missed a goal.

"Lord, I don't want to watch," you said as a player from the opposite team was getting ready to hit a penalty, hiding your face against Harry's shoulder, "Harry! You're supposed to be watching the game, you've been staring at me for half of it now."

"Sorry, you're just too cute," he kissed the crown of your head, "You can watch now, he failed it."

"Thank god."

By the end of the game, you were both on your feet, cheering as Man United secured a win. Harry was ecstatic, and you found yourself caught up in the excitement, cheering alongside him.

While you were engulfed in your own bubble during the game, cameras has caught up on the ring of your finger, and Harry and you immediately became a world trending topic, with fans speculating whether you were actually engaged or not.

As you laid in bed scrolling through the millions of tweets about the game Harry finally emerged from the bathroom, ready to get in the covers.

"Are you reading about us?" he asked, sliding into bed beside you.

"Yeah," you replied, showing him some of the tweets, "But I don't think it was quite clear for some of your fans, some of them don't think we're really engaged."

"Well, I guess it'll be clear when the album comes out."

[mari-positas]

mornings like these

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: There’s a reason you’re always late to morning patrol. That reason’s name is Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, NO AGE SPECIFIED FOR READER. established relationship though it’s lightly implied it’s a fairly new relationship, hints of fluff, hints of smut, morning wood, very brief mentions of oral sex (female receiving) and fingering.

word count: < 1k

a/n: this is quite literally nothing. just a blurb i wrote in 20 ish or so minutes. it could have been a whole thing, but i am in the middle of editing a long wip update. i needed a break from it and this happened. hardly any plot, hardly any porn, what would you even call this? lol

You wake with a gentle start, your eyes fluttering open.

Sunlight filters in through the sheer white curtains.

Soft. Warm. Golden.

A strong arm tightens around you.

“Mm,” he mumbles from beside you. “S’nice.”

His voice is deeper than usual, thick with sleep.

You’re still getting used to it. To mornings like these.

Waking up next to him—with him.

Naked in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, in his arms.

You’re laying on your side, your back against his chest.

You feel him already, hard on curve of your ass.

Suddenly, all you can think about is the night before. 

Every deep, swollen kiss he gave you.

Every sweet, loving word he’d whispered to you. 

Every minute of every hour he’d spent worshiping your body like he was getting to know it for the first time all over again.

“It is nice,” you agree with him, exhaling a small sigh of content. Finding his large hand splayed over your lower belly, you lace your fingers together with his, the same long, thick fingers that stretched the tight walls of your aching cunt all night long. “After three days of pouring rain, this is very nice. It almost makes me look forward to going out on patrol.”

Chuckling softly, Joel nuzzles his nose into your bare shoulder, deeply inhaling the subtle, delicate scent of milk and honey soap. “Don’t mean the weather, sweet girl.”

You raise an eyebrow. “No?”

He gently nips at your flesh with his teeth. “Nope.”

“Then what do you mean?” you press, innocently.

As if you don’t already know.

“This.” There’s a brief pause. “Wakin’ up with you.”

Giggling, you tease, “You’ve gone soft for me, Miller.”

“And so what if I have?” He’s grinning, you can feel it.

Slowly, he begins to lower your intertwined hands and drags them further down your belly.

You know what he’s doing. The man is insatiable.

“Joel,” you utter his name breathlessly.

“What is it, honey?” he coos into the nape of your neck.

Oh yes, you know exactly what he’s doing.

Pulling your hand out of his, you roll onto your back and turn your head, your nose lightly bumping his. “Don’t start,” you warn him in the sternest voice you can possibly muster.

There’s a mischievous glimmer in his dark brown eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, darlin’.”

His cock is rock hard, poking into your hip.

“We have patrol in an hou—”

Joel’s hand slips between your thighs and you’re cut off by the sound of your own loud gasp as he drags a finger languidly along your slick, warm folds.

He skims your jawline with his nose. “Now, what were you sayin’?”

“Oh my fuck,” you curse as he sinks his finger into your cunt, burying it to his knuckle. “Joel, Tommy will kill us if we’re late to our shift again—” You moan as he curls his finger upwards, your hips bucking up off of the bed and into his hand.

That’s where Joel Miller had you.

Right in the palm of his hand.

In every which way possible.

“I can stop,” he murmurs against your cheek, the scruff of his beard tickling your soft skin. “Just say the word, baby, and I’ll stop.”

You don’t tell him to stop.

Of course you don’t want him to stop.

You never, ever want him to stop.

Moments later, Joel’s head is between your thighs and he’s devouring your cunt like he’s having breakfast. His tongue swirls around your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy, a mere warm up before you take his throbbing cock.

Hands tangled in his graying, dark brown curls, you forget all about getting to patrol on time.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Santa Baby

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Not wanting them to feel left out, you show some kindness to a coworker, only to be repaid with a most unexpected act of generosity.

Character: Jake Jensen

Day Six of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - extreme weather leads to forced proximity  

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Another message pops up on the Teams chat, then a reaction. As chair of the social committee, you swiftly open the conversation to review the interaction. The secret santa is a success. So far. 

You check another name off your list. You want to make sure that all the exchanges are made. You even arranged to deliver gifts on behalf of those with the day booked off. It’s all going smoothly and you’re a few hours away from declaring another office holiday season a success. 

Then you have to worry about the other holiday. The one for your family. Your kids are sorted but the gifts need to be wrapped. And your husband, he’s the nosiest of all. You’ll need to make sure he isn’t sniffing around your bag again. 

The presents are just one thing. Your time off won’t be that. You have to drive three hours north to see your family. You still don’t think your sister, Shayna, forgives you for that little argument at Thanksgiving. And if your brother, Jamar, even shows up, that might be worse than the alternative. 

Your workday triumph is one thing you can be proud of before your home life implodes. 

You run the clock out, your list filling with tick marks. As you reach the one-hour countdown, there’s one name left. Jensen. Strange. He’s handed off his own gift but hasn’t yet received anything. Maybe he just didn’t post in the chat. He does get distracted easily. 

As another minute runs off, you jump into action. You head down to accounting to ask Alan about it. He’s swiveling casually in his chair as you approach, nonchalant as she stares at his monitor dully. You say his name to get his attention. 

“Hey, just checking in. Going around and making sure everything’s been sorted for the swap. You gave Jensen his present right?” 

Alan scoffs and chews the end of a ballpoint, “nah.” 

“No?” You frown, “okay, well can you do it by the end of the day--” 

“Nope,” he snorts. “Didn’t get one.” 

“What?” You have to measure your voice.  

“Didn’t feel like it. Guy’s a dweeb.” 

“Regardless of your personal feelings, this was voluntary and you signed up,” you chide. 

“Mm, kinda too late, isn’t it?” He shrugs and turns back to his screen. “I got a wife who’ll tear my throat out if she doesn’t get a month’s pay in gifts so that goggly-eyed nerd is the least of my worries.” 

You sigh. There’s always one bad egg. It’s like when you ask your kids to just not fight for one day. It never happens yet you still keep trying. 

“Happy holiday, Alan,” you snipe and stomp away. 

You should have expected one thing to go wrong. It always has to and you’re always the one cleaning it up. Why would anyone call this the happiest time of the year? It’s the most stressful and the only thing you ever get are a few new grey hairs.  

Well, Kathleen did get you that fancy three-wick candle you plan to put in your bathroom, though you’re not sure how much relaxation you can get when your kids can’t leave you to soak for more than five minutes without interruption. You remind yourself to stop looking for the problems. You’re the problem-solver, not the problem-dweller. 

You can figure this out. You go to your desk and grab your purse and nothing else. You hurry out, ignoring several utterances in your direction. If people need you now, well, they should’ve thought of that earlier. It might not be important to them or to your job, but you’d hate to be the only person left out. You have been before. It’s why you’re such a people pleaser. 

There’s a hobby shop not far from the office building. You went there for your son’s gift. He’s a big fan of anime. You enter and greet the cashier with an apologetic smile. They are also gearing up for the end of the day. 

“Promise, I’ll be quick,” you assure him. 

He just shrugs, “no problem, lady.” 

You stop and take a breath, gathering your wits into order. Your racing thoughts, your hammering adrenaline, it’s like a platoon of disordered soldiers scattering inside of you. You call them into formation and turn down the center aisle. 

You glance over the products on the shelf. Jensen always had that Tetris keychain dangling from his lanyard when he came to troubleshoot. It’s the only video game you ever played, though your daughter let you run around her Animal Crossing island once. She banned you after you offended her favourite cat character. 

You bend to the lower shelf, hips straining with the effort, and you claim the box with the red clearance tag, marked right under the spending cap. The mini arcade machine proclaims 30+ games to play, including classics like Pong, Pac-man, his bow wearing counterpart, and Tetris! 

You take it to the counter and ask if they do gift wrap. Sorry, no. That’s okay. You pay and mourn the bottle of wine you’ll have to forego to accommodate the extra expense. 

You hurry back down the street, without a jacket to protect you from the biting chill or drifting flakes. The snow dampens your face and clothes, catching and melting in your hair as you clack in your heels frantically. 

Fifteen minutes left in the day. You rush into the lobby and tap the elevator button impatiently. Screw it. 

You tuck the box under one arm and go to the stairs. You take off your heels and clamour up in your stockinged feet. You’re breathless as you get to the top. You push through the heavy metal door and stomp forward, shoes dangling from your fingers. 

You ignore the looks sent in your direction. You stop briefly to scratch off the price tag and attempt to compose yourself. You proceed down to IT and approach Jensen as he bites his thumb, his other hand hovering over his keyboard. 

His rectangular glasses reflect his screen and his blond hair is spiked only one side as it appears the other has been flattened by anxious palming. You keep from slamming down the box and instead stop beside him. “Excuse me, Jensen.” 

“Huh, uh, oh,” he turns his chair and looks up at you. He smooths his Luigi-themed tie as he plants his feet wide. “Oh, hi. Is your PC overheating again--” 

“Merry Christmas,” you shove the box towards him, “special delivery.” 

He hesitates and pushes his glasses down the bridge of his nose. He blinks as he examines the box. He lowers his hand to his chest and pinches the button of his shirt. 

“For me?” 

“So sorry, I was running around all day,” you explain. “I meant to get it to your earlier--” 

“Really?” He looks at your shoulder and you glance over at the melting snow. 

“It was in my car,” you lie swiftly. “I’m sorry, really.” 

“No, it’s...” he reaches to take the box, his hands brushing your cold fingers. “Oh gosh, you’re freezing.” 

“I’m fine,” you assure him as you retract your hold on the box. He gives you a lingering look before he leans back. 

“Huh, this is...” he lowers it to his lap and examines the box. “Really cool. Thanks.” He chuckles tensely, “I almost thought Santa forgot me.” 

“Again, I’m sorry,” you say. 

“I’m not mad,” he assures you as he turns the box in his hands. “Really. I had to set an alarm to make sure I brought in mine, then another to give it to Terry.” 

“That’s a good idea. If we do this again, I’ll have to try that,” you smile. “Well, I hope you enjoy.” 

“Totally,” he agrees. “It’ll keep me busy on the time off.” 

Wish I had that problem, you think to yourself. “That’s great,” you chime. “Anywho, I don’t wanna keep you since the day’s almost done. I gotta get my desk tidied before I head out.” 

“Sure,” he gives a slanted grin, “this is so cool, thank you.” He grips the corners of the box, “I always knew you were the coolest.” 

You go back to the desk but the person waiting for you is a bad omen for your holiday. You hide your disappointment as Lee waits, leaning on the corner with arms crossed. You stop behind your chair. 

“Hello, Mr. Bodecker--” 

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” he intones. 

“Right, what’s going on?” 

“That new one, the pretty thing, she miscalculated the Dorsey account.” 

You deflate. Of course she did. That one hasn’t done a single thing right since she started. 

“I’d ask her to redo it but I already did. Three times. Needs to be done for year end or accounting will have my ass in two,” he says without censor. 

“And you want me to do it?” You utter. 

“See, you always know exactly what needs to be done,” he clucks and stands straight, “double-overtime. It’ll be on your January pay.” 

“Right,” you swallow. There’s not denial to be given. Your performance review is also in January and you need the bonus after factoring in the family road trip. “I’ll get it done.” 

“Good woman,” he winks. “Put the hours into the system.” 

“Sure, happy holidays, sir.” 

“Ha,” he snorts, “if my ex-wife has anything to say about it, they won’t be.” 

You roll you chair under you and drop your purse between your feet. You send a quick text to your husband. The kids are being dropped off by Hannah anyway. He just needs to be home. Even he can figure out how to reheat the chili you froze last month. 

After you get your instructions sent, you turn your attention to your computer. You still have to finish up all your other wrap-up before you get to Dorsey. As you put your nose to the grind, Mary wishes you a happy break on her way out. She's followed by a speckled succession of eager coworkers, ready to begin their time off. 

Your eyes haze as the glare of your screen feels brighter with each passing second. You have a prescription but never a change to fill it. You don’t imagine the neglect is making your vision any better. 

The office grows desolate as you continue plucking away. As the snow falls on the other side of the windows, they dampen out the noise of the city. You’re isolated in your focus. The files for Dorsey are a complete mess. You're not sure how anyone could fail to balance a spreadsheet. There are very easy formulas to do the work for you. 

Mulling over mistakes won’t fix them. Your fingers flutter over the keys as you painstakingly restart the entire workbook from scratch. You’re disappointed, not that you’re stuck in the contradictingly uncomfortable ergonomic chair, but that you won’t get to see your kids or husband for more than an hour or two if that. 

You close your eyes as the gridlines burn into them. You lean back and rub your brows. There’s tension sewn into your brows. It’s grim how getting older really dims the sparkle of this time of year. Everyone else gets to be happy and you’re just the courier of that happiness. Maybe that should make you happy, that you can be that for them. 

No, it’s just exhausting. 

Before you can open your eyes or sit forward, you let out a yelp at the sudden warmth on your shoulders. You twitch and look up at Jensen as he stands behind your chair. Your heart quickly calms. 

“Oh, what are you still doing here?” You ask, a tremor of fright in your voice. 

“Back-end work,” he answers as he squeezes your shoulders. His touch is unexpected. You wiggle but he doesn’t let you go. “What about you?” 

“Just some last-minute quality control,” you answer. “You really snuck up on me.” 

“Ha, yeah,” he slowly drags his hands away, his fingers caressing your neck lightly. “Sorry, I... I didn’t know anyone else was here.” 

“Yeah, it’s quiet,” you agree. 

He leans on the back of your chair as his proximity clouds you. It’s a bit awkward. You just want to get your work done but can’t bring yourself to tell him to go away. Especially knowing what you know. He doesn’t deserve any of that just because he can be a bit different. 

“What about your family?” He asks. 

You wince and turn the chair to face him. You shrug, “I’ll be a bit late but they’ll survive without me.” 

“Sure, sure. You must be excited to spend time with them,” he lets go of your chair and backs up a single step as you look at him. 

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see them a bit more,” you agree. “What about you? You doing anything for the holidays?” 

He shakes his head as his lips thin, “no. Don’t really got anyone.” 

“Ah, well, it’s always a good time to catch up hobbies,” you offer. 

He nods and his throat bobs. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks sad in that moment. He’s still pretty young, you want to tell him to enjoy singlehood while he can. Yet you remember being in your late twenties and how those comments just made you feel worse. All the same, that feels so long ago. 

“I know what you did,” he says. 

“Pardon?” You sputter in confusion. 

“I know Alan got me. I overheard him when we got our names.” 

“Oh,” you’re speechless but for that single syllable. 

“It’s alright. I know people don’t always get me but... you know, you didn’t have to do all that just for me,” he shifts sheepishly on his feet, his cheeks tinging as he looks at the floor. 

“Well, it isn’t fair, is it?” You say. 

“Yeah, but...” He looks up shyly from behind his glasses, “you must be a good mom. And a good wife.” 

You’re not sure how to reply, “thank you? I try.” 

“Your kids and husband are very lucky,” he smirks. 

“Sure, I’m not sure they think so,” you say. “Waiting around for me to come home...” 

You go to turn back to your desk, but he’s quicker than you. He startles you as he grabs the arm of your chair and keeps you facing him. You press yourself against in as he bends over you. 

“Doesn’t sound like they appreciate you,” he says. 

“Jensen,” you murmur, “that’s... no, they’re my family. They do.” You spread your fingers over your thighs nervously. “Can you back up?” 

You cry out as he answers the question by pushing your chair back against the desk. The impact jars you as he leans in, closer and closer. You flatten yourself to the thin cushion and he plants a kiss on your forehead. 

“I appreciate you,” he whispers, his nose tickling your hairline.  

“Jensen, please, that’s not--” 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as he drops to his knees before you. “I disabled the cameras...” 

“Jensen, what?” You squirm and grab the armrests. You try to push yourself to your feet and he slaps his hand against your stomach, shoving you back down. “Get off--” 

“They don’t treat you right. No one does.”  

"Jensen, that's sweet of you to say but please--" 

"Let me be sweet to you," he begs as he clings to your knees, thumbs sliding under the hem of your skirt.  

You grab the fabric as he tries to slide it up. You put your other hand on his chest as you sit forward. "No, okay, I know the holidays are hard but--"  

"I just wanna give you a gift. Since you gave me one," he purrs.  

"It's-- no, okay," you grab his wrist and your other hand slips up to shove his shoulder. "I'm married." He bends his head to brush his chin against your knuckles, like a cat eager for pets. The gesture fills you with pity, but cannot undercut your revulsion. "I said--" You push him again and he twists his arm free of your grasp.  

He grabs your wrists and lifts your hands. He squeezes and you feel his strength; even if he wasn't younger, you'd be just as helpless. He pulls your arms and puts your hands against his head. You feel the soft short bristle and shudder. He covers your hands with his and holds them snug.  

"Don't let go," he commands. His voice deepens, a razor's edge in his words. You stare at him dumbly. You don't dare disobey. It's as if your body is not your own as it refuses to respond to your fear. That inner plea is smothered by the pounding of your heart.  

He lets you go cautiously and drops his hands to your thighs. You flinch and let out a squeak. He glides down the pushes his hands under the fabric, hooking it with his thumbs as he forces it higher. You shiver at the sensation of his palms against your stockings.  

As he grazes along the naked skin above, you whimper. He hooks his hands around your hips and runs them under you, lifting you slightly to rumple your skirt below your waist. You shake as your hands remain glued to his head. 

You watch yourself from above as the scene plays out. The dimples in your thighs quake as horror floods your body. He slowly bends to press the tip of his nose against the front of your panties. He prods you through the fabric and hums. He swirls around, teasing you through the tenuous layer. 

Your hands fall away but he doesn’t notice. He’s too fixated on his prize. He tilts your hips, pulling you down in the chair as he moves your legs around him. Your lip trembles and your teeth grit, eyes hot in disbelief and disgust. How is this happening? 

He brings your knees over his shoulders then runs a finger up the back of your plain white cotton panties. The type that hardly get your husband in such a furor. He traces the edge and tugs it aside. 

You cry out as his tongue flicks along your folds. It feels like the first time all over again. You’re not neglected, just overworked and overtired. You don’t have the energy or the time. It doesn’t mean you’re lonely. Just busy. 

He pushes his face deep and laps you up, spreading his tongue as he tastes you with a growl. You clench the armrest, your other hand catching the top of his head as you try to urge him away. You croak and your cries crackle in the air. 

“Jensen,” you squeal. 

He pokes his tongue along your entrance and drags it up to your clit, then back down again. The tendrils crawl down your thighs as he reaches blindly for your hand. He moves it behind his head and presses it there. As he does, he nuzzles into you. 

He wiggles his head as he drinks you up. Your legs tense and your fingernails dig into his scalp between the short stubble of his hair. His glasses are crushed against your pelvis, forgotten as he devours you. You whine and close your eyes but you can still see yourself, like you’re watching a movie in your head. 

You see yourself giving in, melting into him, clinging to him as the coil winds tighter and tighter. As your orgasm builds, you feel yourself splitting into two. There is the body curled up in the chair, wrapped around his head, and the consciousness watching from outside.  

And it all evaporates into pleasure. Into forgotten wrongs and broken morals. Reality gives way to escape as you give into the stolen delight erupting from head to toe, as you give in to this man on his knees before you, begging you with the flick of his tongue. 

[ask-con-command]

uh oh.

ok mod here lol. so its been like a year since ive updated this blog. uh oh!

ive had a bunch of shit go down in the past year or so and...well, id like to pick it up again so. im gonna start trying to answer asks again. for real this time. lol. and idk who will even read this but well. thanks for the support here.

ive been too tired to devote myself to a project, even a for fun little ask blog, and that blows. so im gonna try again. thanks for the likes and reblogs and especially the nice tags. it really means a lot.

maybe i should make a whole new post for this lol but...well, i had a bit of a story i was working towards here, and im afraid i just dont remember much of it anymore...HAHAH. ah.

anyway, where this goes now depends on what kind of asks yall wanna send in. i could do some bio posts--honestly i *should* probably do some bio posts huh. mm. maybe this needs a soft reboot too.

anyway. ramble over. keep it cool. ik this probably isnt a big deal or anything. i guess it kind of is for me though HAHAH.

[krunchkrunch]

Good Morning

synopsis: You and Nanami try to replenish your intimate time while your child is asleep.

a/n: I’ve always wanted to do this fanfic idea of Nanami being a good yet horny parent who loves his wife very much! also soz this took a while i wanted this to be really good for you guys

pairing: Nanami Kento/Female!Reader

tags: Penis in Vagina Sex, Porn with Some Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Smut, Shameless Smut, Smut and Fluff, Established Relationship, Morning Sex, Female Reader Insert, No Use of Y/N, Dirty Talk, Reader and Kento are Parents, Slice of Life, Nanami Kento loves his Wife

word count: 2.6k

——————————————————————————

A soft and thick cover, a slight chill outside and most importantly your husband laid up behind you. You were peacefully sleeping, for the first time in a while, in a loose yet comfy nightgown that held onto your body throughout the night. You slowly stir awake from your sleep.

You hear Kento wake up behind you, letting out a gentle yawn and letting you know he’s up by nuzzling against your neck. He was comfortable enough in your marriage to show off how secretly clingy he was, he always loved touching you in some way. He didn’t say anything yet just in case you wanted to sit in the comfortable silence of the early morning.

It was times like this you always appreciated and loved, the rare moments of the day where the house was still. There was nothing more serene than this.

You rub your eyelids and put your hand back to caress his cheek, letting out a soft groan of acknowledgment of his presence. “Morning, honey…”

“Is the kid still sleeping?” You ask while he’s currently preoccupied with rubbing his cheekbone against the side of your face.

“Pretty sure. It’s only five am.” He murmurs softly in your ear, his voice deepening by the effect of slumber. His hand that was already wrapped around your stomach moves up and down your side, reacquainting himself with your body like he did every new day.

“Which means, we have maybe an hour or two before she barges into our room and jumps on our bed.” You chuckle sleepily, though you could never be annoyed by your daughter’s silly antics even though a foot to face wasn’t the best sensation to feel after a restful sleep.

But you knew she did it because she loved both of her parents very much. And stomping playfully on your lazy bodies with her tiny feet was the best way your daughter could show it.

“Mm, an hour…that’s plenty of time before our little giant comes stomping in…” He sounds like he had something else on his mind as he casually sprinkles soft kisses down your neck. He can’t help it. Even though you don’t see it, you look most beautiful after waking up to him. Soft and as peaceful as a sweet lullaby. He takes his time, placing some behind your ear that he knows is sensitive.

Oh, he definitely knows what he’s doing.

You chuckle bashfully and turn your head towards the pillow, as his deep hum fills your ear as he kisses the dip in your neck. Even after so long, marriage and even getting you pregnant, you still get shy and surprised at his advances at intimacy. He didn’t always used to be so upfront. Back then when you first started dating, he would break a sweat at you trying to hint at something more physical. So gentlemanly.

Well, he still was but obviously he’s gotten more comfortable let’s say.

You speak between soft gasps and slight giggles from his kisses tickling your skin. “Kento, what are you up to?” You try to scold him but your tone fails to show it.

“Just showing my wife some much needed affection…” He gives your ear a little suckle, mostly because he enjoys showering you in affection dearly but because he also loves to hear your sunny laughter.

“Especially since I didn’t get to yesterday…” He speaks softly into your ear between a little kiss at the shell of your ear.

He was right. He came home quite late and didn’t get to tuck his daughter into bed like they both of you would do together usually. He came home sleeping like a pretty painting, before getting in bed quietly and knocking out next to you.

“I don’t know, honey…She could come in saying she threw up or something…Or that she needs a glass of water.” You weakly try to resist, it seemed like nowadays you were becoming the more sensible parent in the relationship. But you couldn’t lie that you had been very pent up recently too.

You missed the more frequent intimate moments you had with your husband, those moments became more sparse as your little angel grew up. Long nights of endless passion turned into quickies during the night with the door locked, trying to not make enough noise to wake your daughter up.

He lets out a soft sigh as he rests his chin in the crook of your neck, like a silent and whiny puppy. “We should plan a night for ourselves one day…Our baby girl can sleepover at Satoru’s for the night perhaps. Even though I don’t particularly trust that man much.”

You let out a soft chuckle at his dry and half-serious humour, turning your head back to give him a chaste kiss to the forehead.

“Is that how horny you are? You’re willing to leave our kid with a man you can just barely tolerate?” You raise your eyebrows amusedly, waiting for an answer.

He responds with a completely serious and intense look, a look that translates to ‘yes, giving my wife an orgasm is that important to my mental wellbeing.’

“Yes.” He says simply, without a moment of thought.

You can only snicker and shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.” You give him a light kiss and he readily accepts it, emitting a soft hum before giving another few light pecks.

“Hm…what else am I?” He mumbles between kisses that get more lengthy as they go on, pressing against your soft and full lips. He’s starting to hope he’s convinced you to give into your overflowing desires.

And it’s kinda working. A wife can only go so long without making love to her very masterful and passionate husband.

“You’re…dramatic…” You get breathier as he keeps kissing you, you wonder why being a mother made you so easily aroused nowadays. He was making you trail off your thought process.

You continue, “and also…very handsome right now…” You speak honestly, as you can see the need and warmth in those beautiful brown eyes of his. Those eyes are the window to pure love and adoration.

“I know. I could say the same about you.” His calmly suave words slipped from his lips before kissing along your neck again. He knows exactly where you’re sensitive, where you’re most warm, what makes your breath hitch…

“You look so gorgeous right now, honey…You remind me how lucky I am to have you, every second of my being.” His face comes up to nuzzle your nose against his, your eyes closing as his hands travel up and down your sides like a valley of soft sand.

“Kento…You’re trying to talk…your way out of my clothes right now…” Your eyes are closed because you know the moment you open them, you’re gone. You want to be responsible, and save the intimacy from when it’s late at night or when your kid is at kindergarten.

“I am…But I always mean what I say, don’t I?” The warmth of his forehead presses against yours, as he sweetly peppers kisses on the corners of your lips. He had quite the skill of seamlessly transitioning between loving and sultry.

Damn his ever so charming voice and words.

“Especially when I tell you that I want to give my lovely wife a good start to her day.” A hand comes up to your slightly flushed cheek, his thumb wiping back side to side against it. You stop resisting and finally open your eyes.

And unfortunately, you don’t regret it. The tension in his pupils are palpable.

“I have so many things that I need to do to you, honey…Let us indulge for once, hm?” His voice is low and warm, like the ember or a small fire ready to blaze at any moment.

“Just how we used to.” He whispers, the vibrations of the sound kissing your lips.

“Okay then…” You nod softly, tilting your head to readily accept more of his kisses. And more of his kisses does he give to you, slowly easing into more deeper and passionate ones. He gets off on the escalation in things, because he knows the final crescendo is more pleasurable that way.

A steady climb to the pinnacle of bliss is what he has planned for you.

A gentle moan escapes your vocal chords as he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip, before you allow him to enter the sweet cavern that is your mouth.

“There you go…” He praises in the softest voice, it melts you every time. Your tongues start going from simply getting a feel of each other, to swirling around in a hungry dance that you both knew very well.

“Ken…Please touch me…” You disturb that steady climb, already giving into the much more lewd side of you that turns him on like no other. Knowing he could make a motherly and caring wife to others, such a salacious and needy woman with only him, made a tent start to form in his boxers.

“That’s the wife I missed…” His hand makes its way down to under your nightgown and into your soaked panties, his two fingers beginning to rub in firm yet slow motions. It was muscle memory on how to pleasure, he never forgot even after these weeks of neglected lovemaking.

“Right here? Right on your clit? Is that where my wife wants to be touched?” He continues his consistent movements, loving how warm and slick you are for him already. And his voice is gets you so wet every time he speaks in this intimate yet tender tone.

“Mhm…Keep going, honey…” You nod, before letting your head fall on the pillow, as he watches your every expression intently. The soft knit in your brows, down to your puffy lips parted to let soft pants escape. He drank it up, all of it.

“That’s it…Get nice and wet for me, just how I like you…” He crooned. But you’re always so needy for him, so much that your hips have a mind of their own and grind against his fingers. Your empty hole still clenches, begging for touch as well.

“Mm..I know that look very well…” Before you can pant, he inserts two of his thick fingers inside of you, all while using his thumb to rub your clit. You sigh of relief.

“Is this what you want?” His fingers continue doing a come hither motion, making sure to circle his fingers to make you clench around his fingers.

“Ah…yes…” You whimper, knowing the tight knot in your lower stomach is about to snap.

“I know, honey…Your husband’s gonna get you there…” He promises, giving you a kiss on your nose. His thumb on your throbbing clit goes faster.

“Cum on my fingers then I’ll fill you up, I promise…” And as soon as he says that, you let out a choked and shaky gasp as your hips twitch. He can feel your essence coating his fingers, he slides them out and gets a taste of you.

“Kento…pull your shorts down.” You direct, now wanting his dick inside you more than ever. Now that he’s given you a taste, you want to go all the way.He finds it so hot when you get like this, blunt and demanding. He always does anything you want anyway, but this tone you get with him causes a thrill down his spine.

He puts his arm under the crook of your leg, holding it up while it’s bent so he can slip inside your needy hole. His other hand goes around your head to hold your chin, so he can see your pretty eyes flutter as he stretches you out. You suck him in like a long lost lover, accepting him into your warm embrace of your walls.

“Keep looking at me, honey…Look at me while I feel how wet I’ve gotten you…” He says through a soft grunt, feeling the end of you once he’s settled in and stuffed you full. You guys are such a perfect fit, and he’s reminded of that every time he worships your body.

You were meant for him, as he was for you. He knew it from the very first time, and he definitely knows it after all these years together.

“You always make me feel so whole…” You gasp again and again, matching the timing of your sounds of pleasure with his steady thrusts. He makes sure to roll his hips to meet that spongey spot inside. You have to bite your lip to try to keep quiet.

“Says you…No one makes me feel more complete than you…Nobody…” He murmurs with his full chest, his hazy eyes brimming with utmost honesty while he fucks you. He looks almost angry with pleasure, his eyebrows knitted deeply, but he’s just determined.

“Mmph, Kento…Please don’t stop…” Your arm loops around his thick bicep, your nails digging into his skin. Your mouth hangs open as you both watch each other, which only makes you even more aroused.

“Yeah? I…make you feel good? While I’m…this deep inside you, honey…?” He says with a tense jaw, hitting even harder and deeper. It causes your eyes to go unfocused, as he was pistoned your sensitive spot repeatedly.

“God, yes…You make me feel so good…Always, baby…”

“Just like that…” You urge him on, your moans turning more into desperate and wanton whines.

“That’s right…Just let me give you this…Let me give you all my love…”

“Crap…So tight for me, honey…I, ah, love how you feel…” Even though he would love to keep staring out your fucked out face, he was to squeeze his eyes shut so he doesn’t completely burst inside of you this early. He focuses on putting his all into slamming inside your tight walls.

“Ken…” You whimper gently, your hole pulsing around him to let him know of your upcoming climax. He opens his eyes just barely so he can watch your cum all over him. It’s his favourite sight he never tires of.

“I know…you’re so close for me aren’t you…? So close to cumming all over me, just like I promised…” He breathes heavily.

“Please make me cum…I need my husband to make me cum…I wanna cum for you, honey…” You ramble on, as it’s like his dick is stirring not only your insides but your brain to liquid.

“Cover my mouth…Cover my-” You rush out, as you feel your stomach drop. His hand clumsily goes to muffle your final moan of ecstasy and his strangled groan pressed into the head of your shoulder.

“Mn…so good for me…God, I love you so, so much…” His hips stutter as he pushes his cum deeper and deeper into you, coaxing every last bit of your orgasm out from you. He feels like he can’t even see, with how much just came out of him and filled you to the brim.

“I love you too…” You whisper back once he removes his hand from your mouth, and you both seal your love with a lazy kiss.

“You’re right…we needed that.” You admit as you rest your eyes and catch your breath, pressing your forehead against his to ground yourself.

“Indeed we did…See how everything works out?” He has a small smug smile, to which you can only affectionately shake your head. He shifts you around so you’re back to the original position you were both in before he turned you into mush.

“Now we can rest before the little one storms in…” He sighs peacefully, resting his head back in the crook of your neck.

“Mhm…Thank you, honey.” You let your eyelids fall, the bliss from your orgasm slowing your heartbeat and making everything feel serene. It’s the perfect setting to fall back asleep in. You rest your hands on his arms wrapped around your stomach, as you guys snuggle like two peas in a pod.

“No problem.” And with that, you both fall asleep, ready for the relaxing Sunday morning that awaits you with the man you love and the kid you made together.

Everyone is back to sleep in the house, and all is well and good in the home of the Nanamis.