#whatever is going through his mind—same

[asiatic-apple]

All dolled up

aka, dressing you up just to fuck you down

Sylus x female reader

Words: 2.7k

The front door to your apartment clicks open with a soft squeak, followed by the heavy footfall of the man you’ve been expecting. You look up from the book in your lap, already smiling when Sylus appears in the living room. He’s smirking too, a picture of quiet smugness with something crinkling behind his back.

“You’re here earlier than I expected,” you say, setting the book aside and rising to greet him. “Though I’m not complaining.”

You’d been eagerly awaiting his arrival ever since he texted you this morning about having business in Linkon. It was a no-brainer to invite him over after whatever shady deal he had planned. Quality time together felt long overdue.

The mystery behind his back suggests a different kind of business he attended to.

You can’t help but raise a curious brow, though you pause long enough to press a kiss to his cheek. The gentle peck draws a soft chuckle from him. It’s obvious you’re stifling your curiosity, so he doesn’t leave you in suspense much longer.

“You’ve never been one for patience, kitten, so I came as quick as I could,” he teases, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I would have arrived sooner, but I needed to pick up something first. Actually, two somethings.”

He reveals two luxury shopping bags from behind his back with a bit of a flourish.

One is smaller, the handles tied together with a black velvet ribbon. Hot pink tissue paper peeks out from one corner, catching your eye.

The other bag, much bigger, is proudly stamped with an ornate gold seal. The familiar logo gives you a sneaking suspicion of what’s inside.

You start to protest before you’ve even set your hands on the bags. “Sylus, this is too–”

“It’s bad manners to turn down a gift,” he scolds with a mischievous grin.

When he leads you to the couch and gently places both packages in your lap, you know there’s no room for arguing. Sylus is especially stubborn when he spends money on you. There’s no amount of protesting, convincing, or pleading that will get him to change his mind.

So you just accept your fate and give in to that feeling of excitement at opening unexpected gifts. If he’s so willing to spoil you, then you might as well enjoy being doted on.

He nudges the smaller bag toward you first, so you hastily untie the ribbon and peel back the layers of tissue paper.

A delicate lingerie set lies beneath—a deep burgundy color that reveals your trembling fingers beneath sheer mesh. The underwear’s waistband is lined with a pretty scalloped lace, and a dainty satin bow sits in the middle. Its matching bra is equally detailed and ethereal, with lace framing the top of each cup, the same see-through mesh, and ribbons adorning the bottom of each strap.

You swallow hard, heat rising to your cheeks when you think of Sylus picking this out for you. You don’t even need to imagine the smirk that must have graced his face as he fantasized about you wearing the set. He’s already looking at you with expectant glee right now.

“You’re impossible,” you whisper with a shaky laugh.

“I assume that means you like it, sweetie,” he replies with that infuriating, cocky grin of his. “Now the second one.” His large fingers tap the bigger bag as a reminder.

After fumbling with the packaging, the second gift reveals a dress. The same one you’d admired from the boutique window a few days ago. Made of velvet and flirty, it has a ribbed bodice and a scandalously high slit up the skirt.

It’s the color of wine and soft to the touch. Something he won’t be able to keep his hands off of.

“Sylus,” you groan only half-heartedly, “I told you I didn’t need it.”

“I know,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “But I wanted you to have it.” Another kiss, one that lingers. “And I want to see you in it. Right now.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re not even going to let me try it on myself, are you?”

“No. I want to dress you.” He stands, hand outstretched in expectation. “Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

You roll your eyes with a fond sigh. “Alright, alright. You win.” It’s not like you put up much of a fight.

Placing your hand in his, you let him guide you up and into the bedroom. The lighting is dim, only the last rays of dusk spilling through the window and painting the walls with an orange-pink hue.

He stops you beside the bed and gestures for you to stand still, like a mannequin or a doll. You indulge him, lips twitching when he bends to hook his fingers beneath the hem of the oversized shirt you wear.

“May I?” he asks gently.

You nod, and then he lifts it, letting his fingertips brush along your thighs, your hips, then your ribs as he tugs it over your head.

If he’s surprised that you’re completely bare underneath, he chooses not to comment on it. He doesn’t even mention the slight sheen of wetness he catches between the apex of your thighs as you shuffle on your feet.

You both know the terms of this game you play together.

Sylus dresses you, taking his time to touch you with the utmost respect and reverence. And you try to ignore the rising heat in the pit of your stomach.

He enjoys spoiling you, providing for you, wrapping you in luxury and reveling in your natural beauty. You enjoy being treated like the princess he always makes you feel you are.

And of course, you enjoy the way he makes love to you when he’s done pampering you.

Your heartbeat kicks up a notch when he picks up the lingerie set, holding it like something fragile before meeting your gaze and tapping on one of your legs.

You obey the silent command, carefully balancing on one leg to step into the underwear first. When it’s snug over your aching pussy, he turns his attention to sliding the bra over your arms and shoulders before clasping it behind you with slow precision.

He only touches you, finally, to pull the lace cups into place. His thumbs brush the sensitive underside of your breasts and linger a moment longer than necessary. It sends sparks of electricity through your spine.

With bated breath, you watch his eyes trace your body like a man memorizing scripture. His silent appraisal makes your stomach do somersaults, but you keep your head high and try not to melt where you stand.

Arousal burns hotter beneath the surface of your skin as he turns to the dress next. With the same precision and frustrating slowness, he helps you step into it before drawing it up your body.

This time, his hands caress every inch of skin they encounter. When the bodice reaches your hips, he pauses, fingers dancing along your waist before guiding it up over your chest.

Tugging the zipper up follows the same skin-tingling process. It’s not a coincidence his knuckles skim your heated skin the entire journey up your spine.

Even when the dress fits perfectly around your curves—Sylus always gets your size correct, no matter the brand or type of clothing—he still smooths the fabric over your stomach, then higher.

His fingers reach your breasts, thumbs gliding up to tease your nipples through layers of velvet and lace.

“Look at you,” he murmurs to himself, stepping around to admire you fully. “Out of all the gems this world has to offer, your shine is the most brilliant.”

You stand still, trembling slightly as his eyes devour the sight of you, his most precious treasure, all dolled up for him.

He reaches out, smoothing the skirt again, adjusting the sleeves, tugging the neckline just slightly lower. His hands move like an artist’s, sculpting the perfect image in his mind.

Then, slowly, they wander.

First over your waist, then your hips, brushing the sides of your thighs and slipping between the slit of the dress. He circles you, his fingers never leaving your body. You can feel the tension between you stretching tighter with every breath.

When he finally steps closer, pulling you gently to him, his hands cradle your jaw as he kisses you—soft at first, then deeper, more consuming.

The world falls away until there is only the firm press of his mouth and the heat radiating between you.

Without separating from your soft lips, he takes a sure step forward. You stumble back for only a split second before his hand steadies you by the lower back. The course he wants to take is clearer now as he guides you, straight to the bed.

You’re pliant under his touch, gasping when he sits with you on the soft mattress and then yanks you to straddle his lap with a quiet huff against your mouth.

The dress pools around your thighs, the slit making room for your legs to spread over his big lap, as if he planned for this. He’s already straining hard beneath you, his breaths growing ragged between kisses that steadily turn sloppy.

His hands slide beneath the dress, fingertips tracing the edge of your new panties, then snaking beneath until they graze your slit. You gasp, grinding into his hand instinctively, and it rips a low groan from his throat.

Sylus parts from your lips as his fingers grow more bold in their exploration, dipping into your arousal to spread it along your clit.

“You must like your gifts a lot, sweetie.” He chuckles and presses a smug, searing kiss to your neck. “You’re dripping on them.”

You whimper, hips twitching as his fingers press firmer against you. One slips inside, then two, curling just right. His thumb brushes over your clit, and his other hand pulls the neckline of your dress down.

Even when his warm mouth latches onto a nipple through the mesh of your bra, he watches every reaction of yours. He revels in the way your eyes flutter shut, the way your head tilts back while you moan his name, and the shudder in your thighs as he curls his thick digits right against your g-spot.

You cry out, burying your face in his neck before pleading, “Need you inside me…please.”

On any other day, Sylus would draw this out even further. He’d make you say it again even though your cheeks burn. He’d tease that he’s already inside you while scissoring his fingers in your tight heat to prove his point. 

But he’s been on edge ever since he saw you staring at this dress through the window of that shop. Since then, he’s been planning for this moment. So tonight, he’s feeling more impatient than usual.

He pulls his hand from your underwear before effortlessly maneuvering you to lie on your back against your soft mattress. The dress bunches around your hips, giving him further access to slide his hands along your upper thighs.

You always look gorgeous to him. But right now? You’re flushed and glistening, chest heaving from his slow build-up. The lingerie is a soaked mess. The velvet's clinging to your sweat-slick skin.

You’re the picture of everything he loves: opulence, intimacy, softness, and indulgence.

And you already know not to worry about staining or ruining the brand new clothes. He’s told you before, and he’ll remind you again if he needs to—he’ll just buy you another pair of everything if the mess is too hard to clean.

He hovers over you, mouth descending to press a hot trail of kisses everywhere he can reach. His teeth catch on the top of your bra’s lace cup, and he tugs it down until one breast spills free.

As he takes his time sucking and nibbling on one nipple, his hand makes quick work of freeing his leaking cock. Precum smears against your new panties, leaving his mark while your hips tilt to rub yourself harder against the tip.

With his patience wearing thin, he pushes your panties aside, lines himself up, and sinks into you in one slow, deep thrust. The stretch pulls a gasp from your lips, and he simultaneously groans as your heat envelops him.

“Sweetie,” he breathes against your throat, voice shaky and betraying how much you affect him. “You’re so perfect. So gorgeous. Hm, magnificent,” he murmurs between each thrust.

He’s not usually one for lots of talking during sex, but seeing you like this? You’re a vision wrapped in only the finest things he could provide you. And it makes him want to remind you just how much power you hold over the fearless leader of Onychinus.

He watches your face through every deliberate drag of his cock inside you, studies every twitch of your brow, every moan you try to stifle. You arch beneath him, fingers tangling in his silver hair and tugging just enough to make him grunt from the perfect mix of stinging pleasure.

While he’s not much of a talker, he is the type of man who enjoys letting you know how good you’re making him feel through deep growls and near-animalistic sounds with every rough stroke. And your higher-pitched sounds begin to join his as he hits the perfect spot, making you clench around him even tighter.

“That’s it,” he pants as he continues chasing that spot you like. “Make a mess for me.”

He pounds into you harder, pace quickening as your bodies slap together, the room filled with the sound of slick skin and ragged breaths.

Sliding one hand beneath your bunched up panties, his fingers lock onto your clit with quick precision. He’s intent on watching you fall apart on his cock, creaming around him and leaving a wet mess along your new clothes. Anything to make him spend even more money on his sweetest treasure.

Sylus gets off on it—the thought of you making use of his resources, putting his hard work to good use and being treated like royalty. You deserve it. Just like he deserves seeing that adorable look on your face when you accept the gifts you pretend you don’t want or need.

His hand works faster, flicking your aching bundle of nerves just right until you scream his name. Your orgasm hits you fast, stealing the breath from his lungs when he feels you tremble beneath him. It’s impossible to hold out any longer. Not when you have such a blissed out look on your face, all because of him.

He bites down on your shoulder, his pace stuttering as he thrusts deep once—twice—more before spilling inside you. His grip is bruising even through the thick velvet of the dress, holding you tightly as you both slowly come down from the high.

It’s an effort not to collapse on you with how lightheaded he feels right now. That innocent smile on your face makes him weak in the knees. So he rolls the two of you over, pulling you to lie atop his strong chest. His cock slips from your cunt, likely making a mess on your dress. But it doesn’t matter to him.

You both lie there for a moment, gasping, tangled together in peaceful bliss. He brushes the hair from your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’m surprised,” he murmurs, “you didn’t ask me about the price tag this time.” He chuckles, thinking you must have finally learned that it’s a lost cause.

You laugh weakly, still dazed. “Can I guess?”

He entertains it, humming when you rattle off some numbers, and laughing when you severely underestimate how much he’d spend on you.

The dress itself wasn’t too expensive. But when should he tell you that he bought the whole boutique just so he can adorn you in more pretty dresses and show you how gorgeous you are?

Maybe he’ll confess on your next shopping trip together. After all, he has plans of fucking you in the dressing room of that classy store as soon as you try on every little thing your heart desires.

a/n: if you read this and thought “why does this idea sound familiar?” It's because I teased it over 2 months ago 💀 hope it was worth the insane wait

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graphics by me (please don't repost)

[satorupi]

can't see nanami in a suit w/o wanting him really badly

★ wc - 2392 ᯓ

the cup of coffee you've been nursing for the past 15 minutes hangs loosely in your hold, forgotten in favor of something that seems to hold more of your attention at the moment.

slight correction, someone.

he'd been up before you as usual, fresh out the shower and smelling of soap and eucalyptus aftershave when he'd graced you with the press of his lips against the top of your head as you poured coffee. greeting you with a low "good morning, sweetheart."

it's barely past 6:20 in the morning, but nanami can think of a handful of things he'd rather do than be in the train station during rush hour—the faster he makes it down to the office, the better.

the rational part of your mind knows you should leave him to his devices, maybe wait till he's about to leave to do some last minute fiddling with his suit and give him a sweet farewell kiss till he gets back home when the work day ends. maybe wish him luck with whatever soul-crushing meeting awaits him like you usually would. but the other part of your mind apparently hates rationality and knows nothing of the concept because it wants nothing more to hold him up for a little. maybe a lot.

kento's in the mirror now, fingers working his tie into a perfect knot with the same methodical precision he brings to everything else. morning light pours in steadily through the parted curtains, cutting a line across the slope of his jaw, catching on his suit. the way it stretches across the broadness of his back, cinch of his waist a teasing peak with the jacket being unbuttoned. it's unfair how good he looks this early, how the navy suit fits him like it was made for him—which, knowing nanami, it 100% was.

you should sip on your lukewarm, now slightly gross coffee and let him do his thing, really. instead you're setting the mug down, sitting up against the back of the chair, "kennn?"

he catches your gaze in the mirror right before he's turning, brow quirked, adjusting the lapels of his suit. "hm?"

"come here for a second?"

he knows that tone of yours. despite that, he makes his way over with no further questioning, hands bracing on either side of the back of the chair from above to hover over you. gentle fingers curve around the spotted tie to tug him into your space when he's close enough, free hand cupping his nape, toying with his undercut. "just wanted to say goodbye properly. before you go.."

"mm, before I go?" he hums, leaning down to brush his lips against the tip of your nose. "how nice of you."

it does nothing for your demeanor right now, not in the slightest. you sigh, hand sliding from his nape to smooth across the expanse of the expensive suit material covering his shoulder, down the slope of his chest. "yeah. you look really nice in this as well.." the tie is perfect leverage to tug him a little closer, giving him a short kiss of your own, likely the 100th for the morning. "very sophisticated." you add, words muffled against his lips.

"thank you," he murmurs against your lips, but there's something in his tone that suggests he's starting to catch on to what you're actually doing. his eyes search your face when you pull back, taking in the way you're looking at him. "you look nice as well."

nice, he says. you look nice in your washed out tee and shorts, but you smile anyway. you know he 100 percent means the words.

"i don't think this whole.." both hands map the inner shirt with a near reverent touch, more feeling him up than trying to make your point, "get up will be appreciated fully in the office, you know? I have to take extra time to do it.."

and, like the sweet thing he is, he'd practically turned to goo just a little from that first kiss alone. "to do what exactly?"

"to appreciate your suit, silly." your smile is all small and shy like you're unaware that you're maybe 4 kisses away from making him pierce a hole through his trousers. you've barely done anything and he's already getting worked up. he knows that you know, and that you're partially doing this on purpose. your fingers find the first button of his shirt, pad smoothing over the mother of pearl surface. not undoing it, just...lingering for a little. "the craftsmanship, the...fit? the fit, yeah. all the fancy stuff."

he breathes out through his nose, casting a brief glance down to his watch -- 6:30. "and you think the perfect time for said appreciation is 10 minutes before I have to leave home?" the words seem an awful lot like complaint like but given that he's pecking you back lightly, fingers creaking against the leather of the couch to lean down further...yeah, he doesn't mind it all that much, you think.

"10? I can do a lot of appreciating in 10 minutes." you tug at his tie again, pulling him down so you can kiss him properly this time, deeper, with intent. "it's so cruel to put on my favourite suit then try to abandon me for almost 10 hours."

"abandon you?" amusement laces his words as he repeats your accusation, pulling back just to look down at you, "i'll be back at 6 latest. won't be gone forever." "but it does feel like forever." you counter, finger loosening the knot of his tie, mouth finding the warm hollow of his throat. that pulls the first audible sound out of him, shifting higher on your knees in the cushions just to press your face all up into his neck. "i really should.." his voice trails off, silently weighing his options as you mouth at his neck and play with his hair. for one, he can't leave immediately because of his new you caused problem. then there's the latest he can leave to make the next train, his earliest meeting.. "i can spare the 10—no, 15 minutes." 15 maximum, no more than that.

the smile that spreads across your face is one of pure victory. "fifteen minutes is perfect."

"but after that I—" he starts, but you're already pulling him down to you, cutting off whatever responsible thing he was about to say with another press of your lips over his.

"mhm, I'll let you leave after. promise!"

your hands are all over him after that—combing through gel slicked blonde strands, arms around the back of his neck with your tongue in his mouth. the kiss gains heat with barely any prompting—one hand cradling your jaw, the other spread low on your back to anchor you to him. “up,” he murmurs, not even breaking the kiss as he says it. you rise to your feet, a little dizzy from all the kissing, watching as he takes your spot on the couch. trousers stretching across his thick, parted thighs as he sits back, tie hanging loose. he looks like an absolute vision. if you weren't wet enough before, the patting on his thighs and the low 'come here, love' would've done the job well and proper.

you don’t wait for him to ask again. you’re already climbing onto his lap to straddle him, knees sinking into the plush cushions on either side of his thighs.

his hand slides low and past the front of your shorts without ceremony, past where the center of your panties are clinging to you, smile growing on his lips like he'd expected just that. properly soaked through the cotton fabric, fluttering already when you've barely been given a thing. "all this from some kissing?"

the pads of his two fingers tease you in firm circles over your aching clit till you're whining, hips jerking against his palm. his other arm bands tighter around you waist to hold you in place. you're getting close embarrassingly fast, wound tight, orgasm already cresting--

until his fingers withdraw from you, fingers patting your aching bud gently before leaving your panties altogether. "I was gonna-" your glossy eyes grow wide, protest already on your tongue but he's dipping to kiss you, hand squeezing your hip. lightly tugging you forward to nudge the stiff bulge of his erection over your damp center.

"i know. take them off for me." you shift just enough off his lap to hastily get the pair off, panties not even completely abandoned - just left hanging near your ankle. his own hands undo the buckle of his belt all the while, eyes never leaving you for a moment.

the comes undoing the button, then the zipper. briefs tugged just far enough down enough. his cock springs up proudly against the fine plane of his shirt covered stomach when your mouth practically flooding at the sight of it. "you're going to get it messy."

"it's fine. I have other shirts pressed in the closet." his cock is gorgeous—thick and flushed, a dusky colour at the tip, veins running down either side of the shaft. your eyes are fixed to it like a magnet, his pair on you. watching you drink him in with your hooded gaze and uneven breaths. god, he just loves you like this. all needy for him. "so stunning," he breathes out, voice all molten and sweet, stroking himself lazily. once, twice. "want me to fuck you now?"

the question shoots through you like a direct bolt, need so overwhelming that it has your stomach turning. your nod is rapid, hand reaching down to replace his near his base, notching the weeping head of his cock against your entrance. "please." it's a challenge not to just slide right down, to take him to the hilt in one go.

you slide his tip through your folds, slick and aching, moving from the top of your clit to your entrance again before you're easing him in with a gentle press of your fingers. the stretch when he begins to sink in is unbearably slow, blood hot and buzzing under your skin, inch by inch split you open. you nearly cry in sheer relief when the head sinks past that tight ring of muscle, head dropping onto his shoulder. "..fuck."

your cunt flutters around him involuntarily and he groans—head tilting back against the couch as if the feeling physically shakes something loose in him. "that's it. take your time." you're not sure you could ever get used to the stretch of him, but what you can get used to is how well he fits, how fast the mild discomfort melds into pleasure when he's inside you. a few slow rocks of your hips, gentle hands on the upper part of your ass to guide you and you're sat flush to his base, rigid cock fully hilted inside you and twitching.

you barely breathe for a little, face in his neck now, focusing on the feeling of his big hands kneading your ass, rocking you gently so you can adjust a little more. the fullness borders on overwhelming, breathing stuttering as you grab at his shoulders. “oh— fucking hell," you get out between your teeth, hips tilting to angle him anywhere but where he's seated, "shit...you're so deep."

kento hums like he's acknowledging it, hands still soothing you, mouth pressing against the side of your head gently. "you took it so well for me, though." his lips find the shell of your ear as his hips rise in a slow thrust that has you tensing around him, breath punching out of you.

and once he knows you're fine and adjusted? he's lifting and dropping you like you weigh absolutely nothing. both hands are firm on your ass guiding the rhythm, bouncing you so perfectly that is has your toes curling into the cushions beneath you.

both arms loop around the back of his neck, body clinging to his as you ride him. chest flush to his shirt, nipples brushing against the fine fabric. you kiss him all messily, tongues tangling, hands in his hair. he swallows every sweet whimper, every gasp, moaning right back into your mouth when you clench down just right. "i'm gonna...you're gonna make me cum." you start moving your hips in tandem with his thrusts, noisy sounds of sex pronounced in the otherwise silent air of the living room. his eyes are half lidded, sweat beading on his forehead as you chase your pleasure.

“just like that,” he says again, voice gone gravel rough, “that’s it, love. take what you need.”

when your clit brushes up against his base, grazing the neat blonde hairs there you clamp down so hard that his head is falling back, lips parting in a choked groan. "there already? hm?"

every thrust had his mushroom tip hitting that tender aching spot inside you that has the tightness in your abdomen pulling and pulling till you're stiffening in his lap and left to let him fuck up into you.

“mmh hm—yes,” you gasp, "so close. kento, please-" pleasure blooms white hot from your core, entire body trembling with the wave that washes over you. your walls spasm around him as he continues to thrust, soaking the length of his cock, pulling him deeper.

the sounds leaving him, his praise only sets you higher on that cloud he puts you on, hitting that sensitive spot over and over, filling you so perfectly. “'s too much—”

"you can take it, baby." he mutters, breath hot on your skin - arms banding around your waist, "gonna give you all of it."

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　

nanami, just like you, also apparently knows 0 rationality. somehow throughout this all your tee had ended up somewhere across this room, his shirt not faring much better with the buttons mostly undone.

it's been well over 15 minutes at this point...and he's made you finish more than the once or twice he'd been going for.

his hand is on your lower back this time, making sure you don't move even an inch (like he knows you're trying to) as he finishes up his call.

"..I apologize for the inconvenience. I should feel better by tomorrow." you can hear the muffled reply on the other end, Nanami humming. "alright, thank you." and the line dies, phone set aside so he can focus on you once more. "guess you get to appreciate the suit for the entire day now."

a/n: ty for reading! no ml yet (working on it 🤕) but my other works are posted down my page <3

[cythena]

SLIDE TO ME ♫

ꨄ summary . you're known for drifting through parties until you meet satoru gojo. harmless flirting never hurt anybody, except maybe, his girlfriend. it turns into something neither of you can let go of, both of you knowing it's so wrong but it feels so right.

warnings . cheating, emotional cheating, physical cheating, angst, guilt, morally gray!reader, soft dom!mingi, subby!reader, cursing, sneaking around, emotional dependency, light emotional manipulation, codependency hints, praise and slight degradation, party and alcohol mentions, reader as the other woman, satoru and reader are bad people, some choso x reader

word count . 8.0k words

notes . just realized i can write something for anyone and just change the name :3 ily song mingi i can't wait for my concert this album did things to me

the way the bass from the speakers throbs your skull makes you want to leave but whatever’s poured in your cup is keeping you glued to your friend’s boyfriend’s party. but this isn’t far from your typical scene. most of the partygoers recognize you, they’re familiar with your presence and flock to it. you’re used to the crowds, the smell of weed, and the taste of alcohol on any drunken kiss’s lips. you don’t mind it, but you would never say you’re a fan.

with one final swig, you toss your head back down the rest of your drink. your head hurts but your senses are fine. you see clearly as you walk back towards the couch. you plop down, the cheap leather sticking to your thighs. on the loveseat next to you, the unpleasant sight of a couple making out peeks in the corner of your vision. at least the game of beer pong was set up in the center of the living room to distract you. 

your mind wanders to your phone, mindlessly swiping through your feed and notifications from 30 minutes ago. a couple people posted pics from the same party. your head falls into the palm of your hand as you shut your eyes. 

“hey,” some deep voice calls out to you. it almost annoys you until you decide to give conversation a chance. “you look tired.”

you recognize him from one of your general ed classes. you see him in the mornings buying an iced coffee — the same iced coffee he gives to the same girl every morning. she’s a friend of your friend and that’s as far as you know her. 

“what gave it away?” you respond.

he chuckles. “tired looks good on you, pretty.” you can’t help the natural scowl that forms on your face at the pet name, but he continues before you can scoff. “i’m satoru. you’re y/n, right?”

you nod. he scoots closer to you. he smells like weed and mint gum. it’s subtle but it makes your stomach churn. 

his hand rests on your thigh, casual, like you’ve known him for years. like you’re in the comfort of your own home. like his girlfriend isn’t somewhere thinking about him. 

“does she know you’re here?” you ask. your gaze is locked in front of you, you can’t face him. you should stand up. you should toss a drink on him if you had one. you should do something– anything to call out this douche’s behavior.

“yeah,” he turns to face the beer pong game, “but joshua’s my friend. no reason for me to not be here. she’s chill.”

you lean back against the couch, arms crossed. “you’re a shit liar,” you say, tilting your head.

that gets his attention.

“yeah? you are too.”

“never claimed i wasn’t,” you shrug. “so where’s she at?”

he hesitates for a moment. “fuck– some like girls night i think.”

your knee knocks against his as someone stumbles into the couch arm. he picks up your wrist from your thigh.

your friend yells your name from across the room, but you don’t turn. you don’t look away from him. you like the way he shifts under your gaze, the way his hand tightens around his cup. you don’t miss the way his eyes glance at your lips. 

“you’re gonna get me in trouble,” he groans as his hand wipes across his face.

he drops your wrist like it’s hot, scrubbing a hand over his face before turning back to the game, jaw tight. you feel the loss of his warmth immediately, but you don’t move away, letting your knee rest against his, casual enough to pretend it means nothing.

“so?”

“why are you even here?”

“thought you recognized me?”

“i do, but i never would’ve thought you’d be here.”

you stretch your leg over his knee as your back leans over the arm rest. you drop your hands onto your stomach. “mmm, free drinks.” 

“you lie.” he lightly pushes your legs. “you could get that anywhere.”

you nod. “true. but i couldn’t get this anywhere,” you tap his chest, letting the implication lay heavy.

later in the night, when everybody is too drunk to notice the two of you settled in the kitchen, satoru introduces you to joshua’s secret stash of danimals and capri-suns. you jab the straw into the flimsy aluminum of the fruit punch pouch while satoru discards any evidence of your presence. you push yourself onto the counter and kick your legs. 

his hair’s a mess, strands poking out the top and sides, from running his hand through it all night. the next time he does it you can’t help but follow with your own hand, smoothing out the strays. 

“drinking danimals at some party. how do you know about these?” you ask while he sets himself between your legs. 

“he swears by them when he’s hungover.” 

you can still hear the intense game of beer pong going on. the crowd screams at a particularly skilled shot.  satoru steps closer to you, letting your ankles cross over his waist and his arms cage you in.

you should hop off the counter and walk back to the couch, leaving him and his yogurt to pity themselves. but you don’t. 

you hold his gaze as you smile at him while he talks about how he used to eat these all the time. an intense buzz in your head mixes with the adrenaline in your veins. you don’t realize how close you’ve leaned down to him to hear him over the party. his lips are so plump, you’re jealous of how perfect they are. his cheeks have a flush against his porcelain skin like a doll. he’s a very pretty boy. 

the corners of his lips tug into a smirk before you stop him from moving closer. 

“satoru,” you warn, but you don’t move to pull away.

“i know,” he breathes.

the music shifts as someone skips a song before the party reignites. it draws your attention just enough to snap you into your senses.

“you should go back out there.”

“i don’t want to,” he admits, voice low and soft. his eyebrows furrow as he looks up at you like a pleading child, but his eyes are emotionless. a cold, hard stare lingers in them. 

his torso rests your thighs as he leans over you. he wraps his arms around your hips on the counter and stretches his body. your posture perfects into a straight line like you want to distance yourself from him. 

biting your lip, your head is on a swivel as you look around. 

“then we should get out of here.”

ཐི❤︎ཋྀ 

the chilly air hits your skin as you walk outside of joshua’s townhouse. satoru towers over you as he walks you towards his car. 

“oh wow, gorgeous ride,” you comment, in awe of the shiny red porsche he takes pride in.

“sure you are too.”

“you sure you can drive?” 

he walks you over to the passenger door to open it for you. “one drink, don’t worry. ‘d never risk your life,” he promises. “too pretty to die young.”

you laugh with a scoff as you step inside. “me or you?”

“eh, both,” he shrugs before shutting the door and walking to the other side. he doesn’t drive of immediately. he lets the soft engine hum while the radio automatically starts. 

he fiddles with his phone and hands it to you. “what does the lady prefer in music?”

“oh you trust me this much? what if i played some weird shit? moonbeam ice cream—”

“okay, okay! none of that before you get your privileges revoked,” he laughs with his temples against the steering wheel. you laugh with him too, feeling your nerves relax. you settle for some actual music while satoru pulls off the side. 

“where are we going?” you ask.

“i’m thinking this one diner that’s open right now, don’t really wanna go through a drive thru right now.”

you nod. “shoot!” you hiss, making him glance over at you. “i didn’t bring my wallet, so i can’t—”

“you’re fine,” he chuckles, “i didn’t intend on making you pay either way.”

“well it’s just that—”

“don’t be so stubborn, y/n. it’s cool, swear.”

you sink back into your seat. “well, i’ve got us next time.”

next time? he thinks and his heart races. you’d wanna see him again?

he pulls into the diner parking lot. there’s only five or six cars left in the parking lot. satoru takes one close to the door. 

the inside is cute. a teal and white color scheme with checkered accents, cliché, but cute nonetheless. the employees also wear classic diner uniforms.

“how many? oh, satoru,” the hostess greets and he lifts a hand in a small wave. she notices you standing behind his shoulder and you smile. “just you two?” and he nods.

she swipes a menu and smiles, “right this way.”

the leather booth is furthest from the door. it’s a lot more comfortable than that cheap couch at joshua’s place. it smells of syrup and hashbrowns at midnight. the hostess excuses herself to give you a minute. you stare at the menu. it ranged from breakfast to dinner to dessert.

were you on a date? is that what it looked like? you, sitting across from this guy, both of you with stupid smiles.

“what are you thinking of?” 

the question catches you off guard. “to eat…or…?” 

satoru laughs, “yeah. haha, my bad.” 

“but what would you recommend? you seem familiar with this place.”

“i am,” he gestures for the menu. “you like pancakes?” you nod. “strawberries or mangos?” 

“easy, strawberries.”

“cheesecake?”

“love it.”

as the waitress approaches again, she fills two glasses with water. “two of the usual,” satoru smiles 

you notice the way she smirks at you, an eyebrow raised at satoru. “you got it.” she takes the menu from satoru’s hand and walks towards the kitchen. 

“so satoru,” you say and rest your head on your hands. “what is this place  to you?”

he takes a sip of water from his straw. “my mom’s friends own this place, i’ve been coming here ever since i was a kid.”

all of that makes sense when your waitress brings two plates stack of pancakes decorated with strawberries and layers of cheesecake filling. it looked almost cartoonish, they were fluffy and nearly perfect. 

“didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth,” you comment.

“they’re so good, like heaven in your mouth. extra fluffy, they’re much better.”

“they make ‘em like that for you?”

“yup. it’s the only way,” he grins. 

you glance around, taking in the warm lights, the handwritten signs on the walls, and the occasional clack from the kitchen.

he spends your midnight meal leaning forward and wiping cheesecake filling from your lips only to swipe it on his own tongue. he even helps cut your pancakes and create a perfect cake to filling to strawberry ration per bite. 

as you wrap up your meal, you’re surprised by your waitress again.

“a surprise, for you and your girlfriend.” 

the word makes your heart stop, and the guilt sinks in. it doesn’t get any better when satoru doesn’t correct her. he smiles and takes the milkshake with a giddy, “thanks amanda.”

he scoots it closer to you in the center. he takes a sip of the oreo shake first. you stare blankly at it, thoughts racing through your mind. satoru hums and raises an eyebrow when he notices you haven’t moved. 

but the way his eyes look at you, pupils blown and brows lifted, it makes you forget everything. you forget how you got here. you forget you’re not dating. you forget he has a girlfriend out celebrating. you forget it all and just drink. drink with a giggle that makes satoru’s heart flutter.

satoru watches you with soft eyes like he’s mesmerized by the way you dab your lips with a napkin. his elbows rest on the table, the milkshake disappearing and all he sees is you. 

“you like this?” he also whispers. 

“of course,” you respond without a second thought. you swallow again, the question sitting in your thoughts. “it feels really good.”

“but it’s wrong, right?” his words are heavy. 

“consuming this many calories in such a short period of time? yeah, definitely something wrong with that.”

you make him crack a smile, a flush creeping up his neck as he replays the look in your eyes. he wishes he could take a picture. you’re almost glowing under the warm lights. you roll your eyes as he starts a mini game of footsies under the table. 

you don’t know what else to say so you star outside at the parking lot. “thanks for taking me here.”

“yeah. it’s really special,” he swallows.

on the way out, he slips his jacket onto your shoulders and opens the car door for you again. “i’ll take you home now. what’s your address?” he asks, opening the gps up on his car. you tell him and he freezes. he closes the gps without typing it in and backs out of the parking spot.

when he pulls up to your apartment neighborhood, he leaves the engine running and gets out to open your door. he helps you out of the car and walks you to your door.

“thanks for dinner and stuff. that place is really good.”

“y/n…”

“hm?”

“can we…”

“we shouldn’t.”

he hesitates. “but,” he looks at your door. “can i just…can i text you?”

you don't respond but you hand him your phone and let him copy your number. “goodnight satoru.”

“yeah, goodnight.”

ཐི❤︎ཋྀ

his leather jacket hands on your door, it’s stayed there for a week now. your roommate has questioned where you got in from.

“looks like xxxxx’s boyfriend’s jacket.”

“oh, must be the same brand.”

you’ve offered to return it on many occasions but he only told you to wait. he’ll come get it when he gets the time. you see him around campus still, he’ll smile at you, sometimes he’ll even wave. you ran into him getting a coffee before your 10 am one time. you wish you didn’t feel the need to bolt out of the shop as soon as he approached you. 

you still go to parties. sometimes she’s there too. you see him get out and stand aside while she gets out. their hands brush against each other’s as they walk into the room before separating into their own cliques. you look away before he can see you. 

you and satoru never cross paths if she’s there. sometimes you’re around her, in the same group, but you could never speak to her. you worry you’d spill some secret satoru hasn’t told her but you found out at your date. 

but, if she isn’t there, satoru’s more than likely to score a chat with you in some corner. he ignores how your eyes scan the crowd. he ignores the way his heart twists in his chest every time he leans in to brush some hair out of your face. he still shows you where whoever the current host is keeps their snacks. he lets you sit in his car, sometimes not taking you anywhere or sometimes taking you everywhere. you’ve been to that diner so many times they recognize you by name — well, if “satoru’s sweet girlfriend” were on your birth certificate. then, he’ll open your door and walk you to your door and say goodnight while you try to mark this as the last time.

the one thing that never changes, is he’ll always text you when he gets home. if he wasn’t the one dropping you off, he’ll ask if you’re safe. he’ll tell you to sleep well and he hopes to see you around school. and everything would give you butterflies as if he was truly courting you.

this night, he stands closer, he holds your arm. you didn’t notice but he had turned his engine off. your mouth is dry as you search for reasons to excuse yourself. his thumb brushes against your skin. 

“y/n…” he whispers.

he leans in before you can stop him, his lips meet yours with soft urgency. you freeze. your heart hammers in your chest but you feel the guilt vanish, just for a moment as you kiss him back. the build up, weeks of staring and teasing finally paying off. 

his hands grasp at your waist and pull you closer. you tangle your fingers in his hair. it’s soft at first but doesn’t last that way. 

as soon as he realizes you’re responsive, he loses control. he presses you against your door and his breathing grows heavy. he’s too far gone, too lost in you. his lips follow yours when you pull away. you rest your head against your door, breathing heavily. your body trembles, satoru wraps his arms around you and holds on. he lies his head between your shoulder and neck.

“i shouldn’t have…” you whisper, voice cracking. 

“i kissed you,” he shakes his head. his voice doesn’t match his actions. from the corner of your eye, you see his grinning. 

“satoru…i–”

he suddenly pulls away and looks at you. “say you didn’t want it.”

his voice is low, his eyes search your face for any sign of doubt. when he sees no hesitance, he kisses you again. he takes his time on this one, savoring the taste of your lips. he cups your face like its glass. your hands grip onto his shoulders, before running up his neck.

“can i come in?” he asks.

“what?” 

“please, i just…let’s talk.”

you scoff. “talk? what the fuck? after that–”

“please.”

satoru’s hand weighs on the door handle, twisting it, waiting for you to stop him. in the case that you did, he’d back off. he walk to his car. he’d try to forget it but he could never. he’d just have to keep the memory of your kiss tucked away in his mind.

but you let him in. you let him open the door and you sneak him into your room. you sit him on your bed and shut the door. that’s when he sees it. 

“my jacket.” you grab it. “no,” he smiles. “leave it, please. i want you to keep it.”

“this is so fucked,” you run a hand over your face. 

satoru takes your hand and leads you to sit next to him. he brushes hair out of your face and strokes your cheek. there’s too much light in his eyes for the situation. “i’m sitting on your bed though.”

“i know but–”

“can you just be honest with me? you always go on about how it’s so fucked and we shouldn’t do this but, tell me– no seriously, tell me, why. why am i sitting here? why did you kiss me back? why did you keep coming to the diner?” you sounds so desperate now. “i just…do you want me or not?”

your breath catches and your chest tightens. “i can’t stop. i want you, i want you so bad.” your voice is trembling. 

a slow, shaky grin sneaks onto his face as he presses his forehead against yours. he plays with your hair from behind. your eyes flutter shut to avoid looking at him. he slides his hands around your waist, pulling you to sttraddle his lap. he pecks your lips before pressing a lingering one.

“thank you, thank you,” he mutters like a prayer as he lays you down. he kisses you again once your head meets your pillows. he strips himself of the jacket he wore, discarding it on the floor. you run your hand underneath his shirt, along his back. 

he leaves kisses along your neck, making you sigh. his hands pull your hips against him, making you grind softly against him.

that’s as far as your night goes. 

you wake up next to him, fully clothed from last night, minus satoru’s shirt. your heart pounds in your chest as you shake him awake. he rises with a toothy grin. his first instinct is to smooth out your hair while a “good morning” breaks through his morning voice. satoru first thing in the morning certainly is a sight. 

“we– we just slept? right?”

he nods. “best sleep i’ve had in a minute. you look so pretty.”

“god, i look fucked.”

“i wish you were.”

you slap his shoulder. “you freak!”

satoru laughs with you and pulls you in for another kiss.

you sneak him out of your room, praying your roommate doesn’t walk out while you kiss him goodbye. 

the sun barely peeks out from the clouds when his phone rings.

“we didn’t hook up,” is all he says.

“yeah.”

ཐི❤︎ཋྀ

this party is less of the typical, loud and rowdy college party. it’s a nice breather. less people. the light are actually on and the speaker is one of those little jbl ones. same smell of weed though. you’re curled up on the couch with a cup of actual juice, extremely watered down, but juice. 

the door swings open and catches your attention but you hear him before you see him. 

you hear his laugh, you hear his laugh, the way he greets people. you try not the look but your eyes flick up and catch him in the doorway. 

he’s with her.

she’s holding his hand, her head leaning on his shoulder as she smiles at one of her friends. you look away and try to go unnoticed. he still sees you, his eyes catch yours for just a second. something shifts in his expression as he continues looking at you.

not at you, technically. 

“it’s not funny, i’m liter gonna fail,” he says pushing a hand through his hair, laughing.

“it’s a little funny,” you tease, nudging his arm with your knee. “you’re always late, it was bound to happen.”

he gasps dramatically. “wow, betrayal.”

“you’ll survive, cho.”

you laugh again, hiding your smile behind your cup, your shoulders shaking as you take a sip. it feels good, talking to a guy in public. you could kiss him right now and no one would bat an eye.

he leans in a little, lowering his voice like he’s about to tell you a deep secret, “you might be my favorite person in that class. don’t tell anyone.”

your eyes widen and your cheeks warm. “shut up,” you let out a quiet laugh, “even more than kento?”

choso nods, “more than kento.” he nudges your leg with his hand. “you make that class a little less miserable. kento…not the most helpful housemate.”

you can feel him watching you. you do your best to ignore it. after all, you owe him nothing.

“anyway,” choso stands up. “i’m gonna grab another drink, you want anything?”

you shake your head, forcing a smile. “i’m good, thanks.”

he grins, leaving you with a small wave before heading off to the kitchen. he leaves you alone, clutching your cup in your hands while you try to distract yourself. 

you glance up, and that’s when you see him. 

satoru makes his way over to you, never breaking eye contact. he reaches his hand out for you to grab. “hey,” he says, voice low and casual.

“hi,” you bite your tongue.

he looks you up and down with dark eyes. he scans your face, your outfit, your drink in your hand.

“you good?” he asks, pretending it’s a normal check-in.

you nod. “yeah, i’m fine.”

he glances back to where she is, laughing with her friends, oblivious. this is the first time he’s spoken to you while she’s here. he looks back at you, his jaw tightening. 

“you looked like you were having fun.” he references your friend.

you blink, your stomach dropping. “satoru…”

“choso? i didn’t even know you knew each other.”

“satoru– don’t. ugh, he’s in my psych class,” you sigh, looking away. no way he had a problem like he didn’t have a whole girlfriend 20 feet away from him.

his hand comes down, brushing against your shoulder. “come talk to me.”

he leads you down the front steps, the quiet crunch of gravel is the only sound. you glance back at the house, the warm lights spilling onto the porch. her laughter, choso’s laughter, they mix together in the muffled sound you walk away from.

he clicks his car unlocked, the lights flashing once.

“what are we doing?” you whisper, voice shaking.

he steps closer, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes scan your features.

“i just…” he starts, exhaling sharply. “i didn’t like seeing you with him.”

“we were just talking–”

“i don’t care,” he cuts you off. “i just– i don’t care if you were just talking. i don’t care if he’s your classmate. i just want you with me.”

you shake your head, softly smirking. “you’re here with her.”

“you’re impossible.”

you look away, your eyes scanning the street, the quiet houses, the distant glow of the party. 

“then why do you keep letting me–”

“because i want to,” your eyes meet his, unblinking, yet delicate. “isn’t that what you wanna hear?”

his breath catches, his eyes darkening as eyes you up and down. “say it again.”

you roll your eyes but don’t look away. “i want you, i want you so bad. it hurts,” you step closer to him, tugging on his jacket.

his jaw clenches, his breathing heavy as he looks down at you. the streetlight casts a dark shadow over his eyes.

“get in the car,” he opens the door for you. 

you sit there in the dark, your fingers tapping against your thigh. he shifts, seat creaking, he turns the radio lower. 

“you want me, right?” he finally says.

you don’t look at him. “didn’t i already say that?”

he lets out a breath, leaning back in his seat, jaw tight. “look at me.”

you turn your head, meeting his stare. it’s dark, hungry, desperate. it makes your stomach twist. 

neither of you say anything. he just turns the radio back up and leans across the console. his hand comes up to your jaw and pulls you in. his other hand pushes the seat back for extra room and you climb over into his lap.

he kisses you harder than he’s ever kissed before. the kind of kiss that’s fueled by built up passion over weeks. it’s full of teeth and tongue and desperation. you kiss him back with equal hunger, your hands gripping his shirt like he’ll disappear. 

his phone buzzes underneath the music. 

once.

twice.

you glance at it, her name lighting up his screen in the cupholder.

“don’t,” he mutters against your lips, reaching to flip it over.

“this is so fucked,” you say as you watch him pull his jacket and shirt off. your hips roll to meet his, your body betraying your words.

“yeah,” he breathes. “we’re so fucked.” he says inbetween kisses. he tugs your top off and throws it onto the passenger seat. 

his mouth moves to your neck, biting softly, sucking marks you know you’ll regret in the morning. your nails drag down his back, making him groan, his hips grind against yours. 

“please,” you whisper, your head spinning.

he pulls back, looking at you. “you sure?”

you nod, pulling him back to you, your lips meeting his. you drag your teeth against his bottom lip. 

“fuck, i’ve wanted this,” he mutters, his hands move to unbutton your jeans. “wanted this so bad. you’re so pretty, so perfect.”

you gasp as he slips his hand into your pants, back arching as you grip his shoulders. 

the car feels too small, too hot, the windows fogged up from your breathing.

“back,” satoru pants.

“what?” you ask in a daze.

“get in the back,” he strains. 

you don’t think. your body just moves, slipping into the backseat. he’s there a second later after readjusting the seat and opening the door. 

“you’re so pretty like this,” he mutters, leaning over you and kissing you slow. “let me take care of you.”

his hands move to your waistband, pulling your jeans down, your underwear following. your breath hitches, your legs pressing together for a moment, but he nudges them apart. “so pretty,” he says again, softly, like he’s talking to himself. 

he kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your stomach. he takes his time, letting his teeth gently scrap against your skin until he finally settles between your thighs. you gasp, your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound.

“no, let me hear you,” he demands. he looks up at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown, his lips pink and swollen. 

you shake your head, but he just smirks, kissing the inside of your thigh before licking a stripe up your slit. your back arches against the door. you press your palm against the window with a cry,

“fuck,” you gasp. your other hand flies to grab his hair. he groans against you.

he eats you out like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting months to taste you. his tongue works you open, his lips sucking on your clit just the right amount to make your thighs shake around his head.

“so good for me,” he murmurs. the vibration makes you moan, your hips bucking into his mouth,

his hands hold you down, grip firm but gentle. his eyes flick up to watch your face as you fall apart on his mouth. your eyes flutter and your mouth hangs open.

“satoru, please, don’t stop,” you whimper.

“never,” he says again, diving back in, his tongue pushing deeper, his nose pressing against your clit, making your vision blur.

you can’t think. you can’t breathe. can’t focus on anything except the way he’s making you feel. your hips grind against his face as you shamelessly chase your own high. satoru adores every second of it. 

“that’s it, baby, make yourself cum on my face,” he praises, his voice muffled. his hands squeeze your thighs as you cum, your body shaking and your moans fill his car.

you slump against the door, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

he pulls back with shiny lips and dark eyes. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and you see a different man. it’s almost feral. 

“you taste so good,” he says. he leans to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you kiss him back, slow and messy. your hand slides up his chest, pulling him closer. he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily while his phone buzzes again. 

“you’ll…you’ll let me do that again sometime, right?” he pants.

you roll your eyes and shove his cheek. he laughs and leans back in to kiss you. 

“you’re so annoying. here let me,” you push his chest so he sits up straight. your hand slides down to rest on his thigh.

his eyes flutter shut, his jaw clenching as he nods. you kiss him softly before pulling back, sliding down off his lap and settling on your knees. you pull at the waistband of his jeans. your delicate nails scrape lightly against the warmth of him, making him his and buck his hips slightly. 

“shit,” he chuckles. he watches you take the hair tie from your hair and toss it on the gear shift. “don’t girls usually do the opposite.” 

you giggle and look up at him, your lips parted and your eyes wide. 

“please,” he whimpers, voice breaking before you can even tease. “please, pretty.”

you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his tip, tasting the salt of him. your tongue gently swirls as your hand wraps around his shaft, stroking softly. his breath catches and his fingers tighten in your hair. 

“fuck, baby, just like that,” he groans, head falling back against the headrest, his eyes fluttering shut.

you take him into your mouth slowly, letting him slide along your tongue. 

“such a pretty cock to match your pretty face, toru,” you tease before letting him hit the back of your throat. the sheer amount of him makes your eyes water. you brace your hands against his thighs as you bob your head, hollowing out your cheeks. 

the car fills with the soft, wet sounds of your mouth and low, broken moans falling from his lips. he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, seeing exactly why you took your hair tie. “god, you look so pretty like this,” he sighs, looking down at you, his own hair falling into his eyes. “a fuckin’ masterpiece. take my cock so well, fuck.”

you close your eyes, focusing on the way he tastes, the way he sounds, the way he tenses under your hands. you tongue runs against the underside of his cock, tracing over a vein. 

his hand in your hair guides you, but he’s careful. his thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear that slips as you gag softly around him. 

“i’m close,” he warns from a clenched jaw. his hips jerk slightly, “fuck, baby, i’m– i’m gonna–” 

you look up at him, your eyes glassy, your mouth full of him, and you nod. he hisses as he cums, shifting into a broken moan. his hand tightens in your hair, hips stuttering as he spills into your mouth. his head falls back and he bites his palm to quiet himself. 

“gonna swallow it for me, like a good girl?” 

you crawl up to him, sitting on his lap, and stick your cum coated tongue out before swallowing. satoru groans again. “fuck, you’re killing me.” he covers his eyes with his arm. 

he’s breathless as he leans to kiss you again, both your tastes mixing together, making both of you moan.

later that night, satoru lies in bed. she’s cuddled up against his chest. he drapes one arm over her shoulders while his hand holds his phone up.

you: hope you got home safe xx

satoru: i did. hope to see you soon, pretty

ཐི❤︎ཋྀ

she sits in his passenger seat, her nails tap on her phone screen as she scrolls through pictures. it’s late, after a dinner with her friends that she asked satoru to pick her up from.

“can i play a song?”

“just listen to my stuff? what’s wrong with it?” he retorts, sending her into silence.

satoru drums his fingers on the steering wheel, zoning out, when he hears her laugh.

“what’s this?” she asks, reaching toward the gear shift. 

he looks down.

she holds onto a black, thin, stretched out band looped around the base of the shifter where he had put it. it wasn’t the first time he became aware of its presence. he loved glancing at it on drives.

his stomach drops.

“oh,” he says too quickly, reaching out to grab it, but she’s already pulled it free. she raises an eyebrow. 

“someone leave this in here?” she says lightly.

satoru forces a laugh, shrugging, avoiding eye contact. “dunno, one of the guys probably left it or some shit”

“this isn’t really something one of the guys would leave.”

he glances at her, sees the way she looks at him. her thumb brushes over the elastic. she’s not angry, just confused. she’s practically pleading for a reason to not trust everything her mind tells her. 

he swallows, forcing himself to look back at the road. “baby, it’s nothing. probably just fell out of someone’s bag. you know how many people get rides from me.”

she looks at him for a long moment before dropping it into the cup holder. “yeah,” she says quietly. “okay.”

she’s silent for the rest of the ride until he pulls up to her apartment. “did you…”

“no we didn’t. i’ll see you later.” he sighs as she gets out of his car.

when he gets home, your phone lights up.

satoru: you something in my car, pretty

you: shit sorry

satoru: all good. just come get it later?

you roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he’s asking.

satoru: i’m nearby

of course he was.

the next day, you see him across campus, standing with her. she’s laughing at something he says. her eyes are warm as she looks at him.

you feel the burn in your chest, panic crawling up your spine. you walk past them but he turns. he smiles at you. and you smile back.

you don’t text him that day. or the day after. 

but he calls you late, your phone lighting up in the dark of your room, his name glowing on your screen. 

you answer, a teasing smile on your lips to hide the feeling in your gut. “hi loverboy.”

“fuck. don’t do this right now.”

“do what?”

he doesn’t say anything for a second. he just breathes like he’s trying to hold himself together. 

“you’re ruining my life, fuck,” he groans. your heart clenches. “i need to see you.”

“huh–”

you hear him shuffling. his keys clink in the background and the door opens. “i can’t stop,” he says. “i can’t stop thinking about you. i can’t stop wanting you. it’s ruining my life.”

“i…door’s unlocked.” you hang up.

you open the door for him and he jumps you. his kiss is almost tender as he kicks the door closed with his foot and backs you up until you enter your bedroom. then he pushes you until you lie on your bed. you moan into his kiss. 

“i;m fucking losing my mind,” he chuckles. “i swear, you’re all i can think about.” he stands over you for a second, his eyes drinking you in as you lay there. your sweater rides up just enough to show the soft skin of your waist.

“you’re gorgeous,” he grins, pulling his shirt off and tossing it somewhere in your room before climbing over you, kissing you much slower now. 

you pull him closer, your hands sliding along his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. his muscles tense underneath your touch. he shivers, letting out a soft groan when your nails drag lightly up his back.

“satoru,” you whisper, your legs sliding around his waist. 

he kisses you harder, deeper, his hand sliding under your sweater, brushing over your ribs before cupping your chest.

“can i?” he pleads with his eyes too.

you nod, pulling your sweater off, tossing it aside, your cheeks warm as he stares. 

“fuck,” he whispers, leaning down to press kissing along your collarbones and down your chest. his hands slide along your sides like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched. 

you arch into him. he kisses you lower, making your stomach flutter.

“need you,” you whine.

“yeah?” he grins, looking up at you from your chest, his hair messy from your hands and lips swollen from your kisses. “need me, baby?”

you nod, biting your lip. 

“say it.”

“i need you, please.”

he grins, pulling your shorts down slowly. he kisses every inch he exposes as your squirm underneath him. soft whimpers ring in the room.

when he finally kisses between your thighs, your eyes flutter shut and your hips twitch. he pulls your panties off and pockets them.

“so perfect,” he mumbles as he lowers his mouth to you. you moan softly, your hand flying to your mouth to keep quiet. he looks up at you with a playful glare.

“don’t you dare hide those sounds from me,” he says before dipping his tongue inside you. he takes his free hand and slips his ring finger. a loud gasp escapes your lips.

“fuck!” you squeal as he adds another finger. he eats you out slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world. your legs tremble around his head and you tangle your fingers in his hair. he groans against your cunt. you cry out again and try to close your legs but he holds you open.

“taste so good, take it baby.”

“oh satoru, i– please make me cum. please, ngh, fuck meee,” you sing to him. he adds his third finger to you while his tongue treats your clit with so much care. 

your hips roll against his mouth, your body tightening as the pleasure builds up in your core. “cum for me, pretty, come on. i need to taste you,” he coaxes you. his tongue moves faster, pushing you over the edge. 

you fall apart, your back arching and mouth falling open as you cry for him. your thighs shake around his head as he works you through it, licking you gently, letting you ride out your high until you’re whimpering from oversensitivity. 

he pulls back with a smug grin as he licks his lips. he crawls up your body, kissing you deeply again. you giggle into the kiss, your body still trembling as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close.

“that good, baby?” he teases, kissing your cheek obnoxiously. 

“mhm, shut up,” you mumble. “c’mon, fuck me. pleaseeee.”

“okay baby,” he whispers against your lips. “i’ll give you what you want.”

you shiver as he pulls his sweatpants down. his phone buzzes on the nightstand. you both freeze for a second, your eyes flicking to it, your stomach twisting, but he doesn’t spare a glance. he leans back down to kiss you. 

“fuck that,” he mutters, his hand sliding up your thigh to rub your clit. “just you, baby. just you.”

“satoru,” you smile.

“still so wet for me,” he breathes. “my good girl.” he slides his fingers through your slick.

your cheeks burn and you whimper, you can’t help rocking into his hand. 

he lets you feel how much he wants you in the way he kisses you. you taste the desperation on his tongue. 

“okay, baby, okay,” he soothes, lining himself up, his eyes locked on yours.

he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel all of him. as much as he loved your pleasure, seeing you come undone on his fingers, it was more than that. he needed to stretch you open. he lets you both adjust to him. 

“fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his head falling to your shoulder. he grips your waist, stopping you from squirming. 

you gasp, your nails digging into his back, your eyes rolling as he fills you. your legs shake around him as he stretches you out.

“satoru, satoru, please move.”

he lifts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. his eyes darkened with lust. “anything for you, pretty girl.”

he starts moving, slow at first, letting you feel the drag of everything inch of him and making your toes curl.

“good girl, taking me so well,” he praises, his voice rough and locked onto your face. he details every twitch in your face. he bites his lip as tears well up in your eyes.

you moan, your hips rocking up to meet his, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling down to kiss you again. 

“satoru, faster, please,” you beg.

he groans, picking up the pace, his hips snapping into yours, the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room. the bed creaks underneath the pressure. 

“so pretty, so perfect f’me. hah, please,” he rambles. “fuck, mine.”

you nod, your eyes hazy as he hits that spot inside you making you see stars. “satoru! i’m gonna!” you cry out. your body tenses and you pull him closer.

his lips linger by your ear. in a dangerously low voice, “cum for me baby,” he whispers. “be my good girl, you’re always so good for me.” 

you fall apart under him, your back arches. your legs shake as you moan his name, walls clenching around him and pulling him deeper.

“pussy’s so good, can’t believe it– in heaven”

“so big satoru! please, cum in me! wanna be full of you!”

he follows soon after, burying his face in your neck, groaning stutters of your name as he spills inside of you. your cunt grips him impossibly tighter. 

“holy fuck, gonna go dry. so fuckin’ tight.”

his hands grip you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, like he’ll ascend if he lets gor for even a second. your slick helps him slide in and out through his orgasm. pumps of cum dump into your pussy, leaving you feeling utterly stuffed.

he collapses on top of you, both of you breathing heavily, sweat cooling on your skin. he presses soft kisses to your neck and whispers your name. 

“you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, brushing hair out of your face, “thank you.”

your eyes soften at him. “out of your system?”

he laughs and slides out of you. he kisses you in the process. “out of my system? fuck no. think i’ll need this every day now, can’t go back.”

you nod, letting him pull you into his chest, letting his warmth lull you into a soft haze. he easily ignores the buzzing of his phone in favor of letting you rest of his rest. your bodies tangle together on your bed as he whispers to you. 

“let me have this, i need you.”

“yeah, satoru?” you whisper and he nods. you snuggle your head into his chest and sigh, listening to his heartbeat soothe you.

“love you,” you say so quietly you don’t know if you meant to say it out loud but it feels right.

“love you more, pretty girl.”

ཐི❤︎ཋྀ

he can’t help but stare at the ceiling of the common lounge, blinking slowly. she’s curled up against his chest, her leg draped over his and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. the room is quiet besides the hum of the fan.

he imagines she’s you. he imagines her nails are the same length, he hair is the same style, he voice is the same. he does everything to pretend she’s the girl he spent the best night of his life with.

she shifts, “missed you.”

“yeah,” he says, his voice flat and empty. “missed you too.”

the feeling of doubt stirs in her stomach. she still leans against him. he tries to distract himself but his mind just leads back to you. he can’t help but think of your body, the way you whimpered his name, your taste. it wasn’t even just that. he thinks of your date, how the people at the diner adored you, he wants to take you back. he loves when they call you his girlfriend. he just loves you.

“satoru,” she calls. 

“hm?”

“did you…”

he stays silent this time, letting her unfinished question hang in the air. there’s a mutual understanding between them. he doesn’t look at her, he doesn’t flinch. she receives her answer from that and returns to her phone.

what catches his eye is that familiar sight entering the lounge. 

he cracks a smile at your face, you look happy. really happy.

he’s saying something, animated, his hands moving around before he squeezes your hand again. he makes you giggle, your eyes soft as you look up at him. he can’t breathe for a moment, can’t move, can’t think. all he sees is you, your hand in his, the way you lean into him, the way you smile so easy.

you turn your head, and your eyes meet satoru’s.

your smile fades for a moment, it’s replaced with a softer one. it’s almost sad as you wave to him. he notices and waves to satoru as well, after all, they’re friends. satoru’s jaw tightens, but he realizes he was in no place. he had what he had and that was that. 

he leads you away now, taking your attention away from satoru. he makes you laugh again with some stupid joke and holds your hand. 

he looks back down at her in his chest as his hand twitches like it wants to touch her — like he should, like a good boyfriend should. but he can’t. he can’t because it’s not you.

[vvivacious101]

Every time I ask myself the question, is Buck going to begin season 9 in a new house or will he still be at Eddie's, the deeper question I want answered is how stressed their relationship is going to be in the aftermath of season 8.

Because scenario one (which definitely came up quite a bit in the immediate aftermath of 8x18), is Buck in full emotional withdrawal. 8x17 and 8x18, especially with the conversation about Buck transferring that catches Eddie off guard in 8x18, are definitely laying the groundwork for the fact that Buck's started to put up walls. Walls he never had in his relationship with Eddie, and a lot of that is to do with how Eddie handles the whole house situation. As mentioned in the post above, while Buck seems completely onboard with helping him, Eddie doesn't let him be as involved as Buck probably thought he would be. Also, can't help but point out that Eddie is definitely making the same mistakes he made in his marriage. This situation would probably not have destabilised their relationship as much as it now has if Bobby hadn't died when he did, because their relationship could not handle the added strain, and the patched-over cracks deepened instead. So, if Buck is in a new house from the get-go, it's very likely that we will be going with Buck changing the status quo of their relationship. I feel like for most of 8x10 even though he was verbalising his feelings, he still didn't understand where they stemmed from and maybe he thinks it's unreasonable to expect so much from Eddie when he doesn't expect that from his other friends and he has a lot of friends that are practically family, so it makes sense that Buck being who he is thinks the problem is him. Especially given how Bobby's death is already throwing his entire worldview into flux, he probably feels like it's time to get a few things straight.

Scenario two is that Buck is still at Eddie's house when the season starts, and Buck and Eddie are BuckandEddie. I feel like it would be disingenuous to have Buck and Eddie maintain the status quo, but it wouldn't be completely surprising if the show went that route.

It's also likely that the show isn't thinking that hard and might delink Buck's housing situation from Buck's emotional relationship with Eddie. To my mind, it would be delicious if Buck was starting off season 9 at Eddie's house, but trying to create what he thinks is a healthy emotional distance from Eddie, leading to devastating consequences for both.

But the confounding factor in all this is Chris. I don't know how they plan to use the character going forward, but Chris has also been very good at disrupting whatever Buck and Eddie's dynamic is at present for better or for worse. Historically, he has only ever been used for the former, so to hypothesise anything else is strictly uncharted waters as far as the show is concerned.

Another thing that seems more hypothetical, but could be an effective tool for showcasing the distance that has crept up between Buck and Eddie, is if Buck begins the season in a new relationship or if he is actively dating/hooking up with other people. I also wonder if there is a possibility of Buck just serially hooking up as a bad coping mechanism for everything he's going through (and I can follow this rabbit hole down to what if Abby came back). The thing is, Buck is in a very vulnerable place, and I feel some of his biggest emotional supports are floundering. I'd say Bobby, Maddie and Eddie are Buck's pillars of support, and he's lost Bobby, and his relationship with Eddie is destabilising, which makes it a good moment for him to make extremely bad decisions. I'd even go so far as to say that Eddie is Buck's biggest source of emotional support, and if he had to do without Eddie, Maddie and Bobby could have held him up, but having to do without Eddie and Bobby - this Buck is going to be so confused which does make him primed for good storytelling if the show does capitalise on it.

i think one of the big hard to swallow pills is that buck no longer feeling like he has a secure or permanent place in eddie's family isn't just silly baseless insecurity on his part but is a direct reaction to how eddie approached the whole texas thing. i think buck DID feel pretty secure in his (unspoken, undefined, but still very real) place in the diaz family before the texas move, but at this point, at least from his perspective, eddie has made it clear that he doesn't actually have that.

and the interesting part is that i think eddie expects them to effortlessly slide back into the old dynamic now that he and chris are back; he doesn't yet realize that anything on buck's side of things has changed

I think it's very telling that when Buck first finds out about Eddie's plan to move to Texas he has a moment of shock but very swiftly pivots to offerring Eddie his support and joining him on the realtor call -- if moving to Texas is what Eddie needs Buck is prepared throw himself into them arranging that together. The tipping point for Buck overtly struggling with the situation is when Eddie reveals to Buck that he's picked out a house and made the downpayment without having so much as mentioned it to Buck let alone accepted his assistance. There is a whole seperate line of analysis about why Eddie does it like that, but that approach is an implicit rejection of Buck's attempt to involve himself and turns the move from something Buck is a supportive part of into something Eddie has locked him out of.

And I absolutely agree that Eddie believes they can effortlessly slide back into their old dynamic, I think we already see signs of it in how once he's in Texas Eddie is happy to reinvolve Buck in the minutaea of his life and lean on him for support as if nothing has changed, and this continues through the way he's expecting Buck to be emotionally in sync with him in the aftermath of Bobby. It aligns with the behavior we've seen before with Eddie in S3 and S5, his first choice for resolution just moving past the hard stuff and getting back to normal, and from his point of view there's no reason for that not to happen: Buck was upset about the move but then he accepted it, and now Eddie is back anyway so they are back to how they were before like nothing happened between them. To Eddie any issue with the scenario that Buck is part of Eddie's life except for this one specific situation is resolved by that specific situation being over, whereas on Buck's side he's now been shown that his place in Eddie's life comes with exceptions and he couldn't predict or mitigate that.

And of course when talking about Buck's relation to the Diaz family unit there's the Chris of it all. There's no indiciation he was maintaining contact with Buck while in Texas but then he's brought back by Eddie and there's also no indication of any conflict there. But he's been so underwritten in S8 that there's barely even anything to work with on theorising where his head is at so it's pretty much free reign to imagine whatever. I'll embrace any narratively satisfying interpretation of Chris, but in lieu of decent foundations for a theory I just lean into he's at that stage in adolescence where he isn't really thinking about the thoughts and feelings of the adults around him unless they directly impact him, so in his mind the relationship with Buck was something that was there and he didn't really think about while distracted with his own stuff while in Texas and doesn't really think about enough to consider going back to LA wouldn't be picking up right where he left off.

[bewitched-hours]

When you cooked up another part of Robots x Apathetic Reader and your running to the ask boxs >>:D

Here me out:

Reader gets Sick. And she gets very unreasonable. Guest 1337 probably has to drag you from your workshop every 2 seconds. But you physically can't sit still( yeah reader ain't beating the Workaholic accusations). Don't even get me started with the medicine it's like a wrestling match trying to get you to actually down the spoonful. But by robospawn( or whatever is god for robots) you finally fall asleep.

-Yapper Anon

P.S: I'm so glad you loved the seraphim reader :P( also the Daisy x Guest x Cryptid Reader ask was Meeee >:P)

Okay- Assuming you want this as a oneshot- Part 1 Part 2

Reader is still She/Her~

Stress can do that... But you wouldn't let it be the end of your workday.

You were a workaholic through and through, much to the dismay of your robotic family.

"[Reader]- This is no way to live!" Guest 1337 scolded you as he dragged you out of your workshop looking like a feral cat. To be fair to you, you were much easier to handle with your mind in a feverish haze since you couldn't pull the strength you'd usually have to pick up nearly half of the robots with ease.

Guest was one of the few you made too heavy for that and they all used that to their advantage in forcing you to take care of yourself.

You don't even remember when you began laying on your bed with Builderman casually helping you change clothes as you proved to be in a bit of a daze. Your protests and demands for privacy were met with doubts as Builderman knew you weren't in the right state of mind.

Hell, it was hard to believe you could still think at all with that drowsy and pained look on your face.

C00lkidd, Bluudud and Pr3ttypriincess were all at your bedside by the time the others managed to tuck you in tightly enough to prevent you from escaping your bed.

With Bluudud putting a cold but damp cloth over your forehead and C00lkidd talking nonsense about how worried everyone was...

I mean, could you blame them? They were your family, your loved ones. You were apathetic, sure. But that didn't mean you didn't feel.

With a defeated sigh, you reached out a hand to pat all three of their little metal heads with tired eyes looking at them softer than you had ever looked before. "Thank you for worrying but really, I'm-"

"Not fine." 007 cut you off firmly, making you groan a little. "[Reader], you've been overworking yourself again, you need to stop..." His tone grew gentler as he approached the bed.

But you weren't going to be swayed. "I have deadlines to meet, 7..." You muttered with a slight glare his way but everyone's used to your grumpy and stubborn moods. "Then we'll handle it. You keep us in perfect condition so let us do the same." Shedletsky interjected.

Well, they weren't wrong there...

And it wasn't like you even had to bring it up. They knew you loved them dearly.

... But they did wish you could've stayed calm as Two Time brought in the medicine.

"[Reader]-! Stay- Still!" 007 struggled to keep you still as you tried to shuffle and squirm away from the spoon Two Time patiently held towards your face. Their constant smile didn't really help your case...

"It's just medicine, [Reader]! It's supposed to help you!" They giggled, watching your face twist in disgust as the spoon came closer. "Say ah~!"

Oh, so they were going to treat you like a child now..?

"This is humiliating..." You whined, your face practically burning from the state you were in and the embarrassment of seeing your (robotic) partners spoon feeding you medicine and having to hold you down to take it without a fight.

Two Time practically shoves the spoon into your mouth and because you didn't want to make yourself look any more ridiculous, you had to quickly swallow and shudder with the bitter aftertaste. "This is mental torture..." You groaned, surprise overtaking you as you saw Pr3typriincess approach with a bowl of soup.

"Good thing you took your medicine! The soup is at a perfect temperature and will wash down the aftertaste!" She announced proudly, earning a relieved sigh from you.

This time, you took the spoons of chicken noodle soup with a more appreciative look as you felt drowsiness seep in. "Thanks, Princess..." You muttered between her quiet attempts at feeding you and it seemed to make her beam a bit... How adorable...

It wasn't long after the soup was finished that your mind finally drifted off to sleep, leaving everyone to feel relief wash over them before they each left a kiss on your forehead and went downstairs to begin drafting a care plan that also made sure your work wouldn't pile up, knowing how that'd go with you...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[hiraethwrote]

IN DREAMS — satoru gojo

contents : soulmate au, fluff, reader is a lil sad, just rambling fr, f!reader intended, no use of y/n — wc 1.1k

You don’t know him. You’re absolutely certain you don’t.

Yet, he doesn’t feel like a stranger.

For whatever reason, you’re connected to him. You can practically feel the rope tied around your waist that is pulling you closer to the silhouette in the distance. There’s no way for you to fight it.

Not that you want to either. Whoever he is, he has your curiosity sparked. And before too soon it’s not just about curiosity — your heart calls to him and you need to be with him.

But no matter how much you let the rope pull you, the distance between you and him never seem to decrease.

Whoever he is, he remains the same silhouette you spot way ahead.

You know his face — but cannot for the life of you describe it. Whenever you try to, all the features blur.

You know his name — but all the letters of the alphabet scramble when you try to say it.

And then you jolt awake, heaving for air, the figure from your dream still haunting your mind.

You’ve felt lost for weeks, wandering mindlessly around Tokyo without any real purpose.

Even your friends have noticed how you haven’t been quite yourself lately; “what’s gotten into you?” they had asked, concern shaping the question.

Not once have you been able to give them a straight answer, because the real answer is too ridiculous — even you’re aware of that.

Just this guy who haunts my dreams to the point where I can’t function… and I’m not even sure if he really exists or not.

It’s felt better to just avoid them altogether. That way you don’t have to face them when they see through your lies of “nothing” before eventually confessing the embarrassing truth.

So you find yourself mindlessly exploring every corner of the gigantic city — maybe in a hopeless search for him. Whoever he might be.

Tokyo is a vibrant city, always bursting with life wherever you go. You’ve always thought it to be a magical place. But it has now sadly turned bleak. All colour drained from the place that has always brought you comfort.

And it seems like the only way to find the colours again is if you find him.

It’s pointless.

You dry the tear that has quietly left a trace down your cheek, and you look up to find yourself in an unfamiliar street. It’s not entirely deserted, but it’s quiet compared to the rest of the city.

You look around, scouting for a sign that might tell you where you are. You cannot be too far from somewhere you’re more aquatinted.

Nothing. Just charming, small stores and restaurants lining each side of you.

It’s not until the pleasant smell of a warm meal finds you that you realise just how hungry you are. You’re not sure for how long you’ve wandered, but it’s past dinner time, that’s for sure.

So you walk up to the closest restaurant to place an order for something quick, knowing you’ll need some fuel to take you home, having no clue how long it will take you to find your way back to familiar streets.

It takes no more than ten minutes for them to prepare and serve the meal. Politely thanking them, you enjoy it in silence, trying to find some sort of comfort in the muted chatter or the people passing by behind you.

And once you’re finished, the lady behind the counter gives you a warm and kind smile as you beg your farewell before heading off in the direction you came from.

It’s chillier now than when you first started walking, wrapping your thin cardigan tighter around yourself — uncontrollably, your imagination starts to spin, creating a scene where it’s the embrace of your stranger that warms you instead of the fabric.

God, who is he? Where is he? Why has he taken such a permanent residence in your mind? What is this otherworldly connection you can’t describe that has your skin burn to be with him?

You close your eyes, trying to picture him. Maybe if you’re able to recollect what he looks like, you’ll be able to find him. If you have just something, even just a single recognisable trait, you would, at the very least, know what it is you’re looking for-

“There you are!”

The voice startles you, opening your eyes abruptly.

Cold runs down your spine and your breath instantly hitches in your throat — it’s him. You know it before you even see him. You feel it.

Slowly you turn around to face the stranger behind you. Once you lock eyes, all life returns to your surroundings.

It feels like finally reaching the surface after having been struggling to reach it for an eternity. You had completely forgotten how much life surrounded you on a daily basis.

When you’re looking at him now, strong and towering build reaching for the sky, hair white as the purest snow, the clearest crystal blue eyes peaking above the edge of his dark sunglasses, he was unmistakably familiar — this is the man you have met in the land of slumber oblivion.

“I’ve been looking for you for quite some time,” he says so nonchalantly, burying his hands in his pockets as he keeps rolling back and forth on his feet. Unlike you, he seems so utterly unfazed by the long awaited meeting. “Anyways, I’m-“

“Satoru,” you finish the sentence for him. It's weird, how the letters has suddenly unscrambled themselves in your mind and his name read so clearly, like you have always known what it was. “You’re Satoru.”

A cheeky smile stretches across his face. “I am.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you say breathlessly, eyes traveling down his frame, taking in every detail.

“As I was saying, I’ve been looking for you for a while.” Slowly he starts to approach you. Everything you’ve ever been thought is telling you to be wary. He is a stranger after all — except he’s not.

You feel it — how your hearts have beaten in sync since the dawn of time. It might have been in different bodies, but in every past life you have always found each other. And you will continue to find each other in every future.

“For seven weeks and five days, I’m guessing?” The amount of time since he first appeared your dreams.

His smile never wavers as he slowly nods along in agreement. “Seven weeks and five days,” he repeats.

He’s now standing right in front of you, and his gaze burns your skin. But it feels nice. Like you’re finally alive.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he stretches out his hand to offer a polite introduction. “-again. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

author's note : lowkey inspired by a norwegian cover of an old danish song i had not heard in years until they randomly played it during my nail appointment

tags (open — link to taglist form) : @madaqueue . @gdamnackerman . @toadba . @harperluvgojo . @nishislcve . @ichore . @sugurunugget . @megapteraurelia . @loveyislost . @momoewn . @poopooindamouf

©hiraethwrote 2025 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[ceyanabbiolo]

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [11]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Julianna De Francis is put together, perfect, and everything Christopher Sturniolo isn’t. He’s reckless, cocky, and the one person who’s always gotten under her skin. Raised in the same elite world but constantly at odds, their rivalry turns into something deeper as tension sparks into something neither expected. In a world obsessed with appearances, falling for each other could cost them everything...

Warnings: arguing

Chapter 11: Phone Works Two Ways, You Know?

── .✦ CHRISTOPHER

The first week of November passed in a blur. Practice had been brutal lately—every day left my legs aching and my mind worn thin. The cold didn’t help either. It crept in through the cracks of the windows and settled deep in my bones, making early mornings feel even worse.

Midterms had come and gone. I did alright—not perfect, but nothing to complain about. I wasn’t exactly aiming for straight A’s, just enough to stay out of trouble and keep my scholarship secure. Between practices, classes, and everything else, I was stretched thin, but still holding it together. Barely.

Some nights I’d crash into bed without bothering to turn the lights off. Other nights, I’d lie there staring at the ceiling, thinking too much about things I didn’t want to think about.

I was told to meet Matt and Nick in one of the dining rooms, so I made my way down the hall, phone in hand, half-scanning my texts while keeping an eye out for my brothers.

Didn’t take long to spot them—and unfortunately, they weren’t alone.

I saw a certain redhead and blonde sitting in front of them. 

I paused for a second.

I hadn’t spoken to Jules in a month, not really. After the seven minutes in heaven moment, she didn’t reach out. I didn’t either. Maybe because I knew if I did, I’d want more. And maybe she didn’t because she didn’t want anything at all.

Still, every time she crossed my mind—and she did, more often than I liked to admit—I felt that same pull. That same temptation to go back, ask her what it meant, ask her what she wanted. But I couldn’t.

Too much was going on. 

Personal battles had to be shelved—even if they were redheaded, sharp-tongued, and sitting ten feet away from me.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders back as I walked over to them. My feet felt heavier with every step, like I already knew this would go sideways.

“Yo,” I muttered, sliding into the chair across from Matt. My eyes flicked toward Jules for half a second—her smile faltered when she saw me. 

Not gone, just… dimmed. I felt it in my chest.

“Nice of you to join us,” Nick said, breaking whatever weird tension had settled over the table like a fog.

Jules didn’t respond. She just looked past him—past all of us—fixating on anything that wasn’t me.

Nick cleared his throat and tried again. “We were just talking about the ski trip this next weekend.”

Right.

The annual junior and senior trip to Vermont. A tradition that felt more like an obligation than a vacation at this point. Last year, I went mostly for the sake of appearances—Matt dragged me into it, promising it’d be chill. It wasn’t. It was snow, chaos, and way too many people trying to outdo each other on rented skis.

And this year? I wasn’t even planning on going. But then Matt pulled its our last year card. Nick guilted me with the whole “everyone’s expecting you to come” speech. Eventually, I caved.

Of course I did.

I leaned back in my chair, arms folded across my chest. “I wasn’t sure I was going again this year,” I said casually, even though we all knew I’d already agreed.

“Oh, you’re going,” Matt said from across the table, not even looking up from his phone. “You promised, remember? Cabin’s already booked.”

Nick smirked. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

My eyes flicked to Jules. Still silent. Still looking at the untouched glass of water in front of her like it had all the answers she was refusing to ask me.

The last time we were around snow together… I sighed and looked away before I could spiral.

“Who else is going?” I asked, just to shift the attention.

“Pretty much the whole senior class and half the juniors,” Eden chimed in. “I convinced Jules,” she added gently, nudging her friend. “Right, girl?” 

Jules gave a small nod, barely perceptible.

I drummed my fingers once against the table, then leaned forward, resting my arms on the edge. My eyes landed on her again—still quiet, still unreadable.

Screw it.

I tilted my head slightly, voice calm. “Didn’t know you skied, Jules.”

She finally blinked, like the sound of my voice had forced her to acknowledge I existed. Her gaze flicked up, barely, and landed somewhere near my shoulder. Not on me. Never at me.

“I don’t,” she said flatly.

Right.

I huffed a quiet breath through my nose. “Then why’re you going?”

She shrugged. “Eden wanted to. Figured it wouldn’t kill me to sit in a cabin for two days.”

Her tone was so dry it could've cracked ice. No smile, no teasing like she used to. Just that careful indifference.

It stung more than I wanted to admit.

Nick raised his brows at me over his glass, like really? you’re trying now?

Matt just kept scrolling on his phone, probably pretending not to listen. Eden looked between the two of us, her expression unreadable.

I sat back again and stayed quiet, trying not to clench my jaw. Fine. If she wanted to act like I wasn’t here and like that tension never happened, then two could play that game.

Jules suddenly shifted in her seat, her eyes darting away from the group. Without a word, she pushed back her chair and stood up abruptly.

“I need to go,” she said quietly, voice tight.

Eden’s eyes widened with concern as she stood too, stepping closer. “Babes, you didn’t even touch your food.”

Jules forced a small, tired smile, shaking her head. “I’m not hungry.”

Eden frowned, arms crossing. “You didn’t eat this morning either.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Jules replied, but her voice lacked conviction.

Eden softened, reaching out to gently squeeze her arm. “Okay… but do you want me to come with you?”

Jules hesitated, then shook her head slowly. “No, it’s alright. I just need some air.”

As Jules turned and walked away, I found myself watching her back more closely than I wanted to admit. The way she moved—like she was carrying something heavy beneath that calm exterior.

I’d noticed before—how she never really ate, how she sometimes disappeared at odd moments. But seeing it now, up close, made something knot inside me.

I swallowed hard, the urge to follow her rising, but I stayed seated, biting back the words I wanted to say.

I tried to focus on the conversation, but my eyes kept drifting toward where Jules had disappeared. That tight knot in my gut wouldn’t loosen.

Finally, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I stood up, mumbling an excuse, and slipped out of the dining room.

The hallway was quiet, empty. No sign of her.

I cursed under my breath and headed toward the dorms, where I figured she might go when she needed space. Outside, the cold air hit me sharply. My breath puffed in front of me as I scanned the sidewalk.

There she was, walking briskly, her head down, hands stuffed deep in her jacket pockets.

“Jules!” I called out, my voice louder than I meant.

She paused for a moment, just long enough to glance back at me—eyes guarded, unreadable—but then she turned and kept walking, fast.

I scoffed softly, frustration bubbling up. No way I was letting her just disappear like this. I was done with these long periods where we ignored each other. 

She glanced over at me, her eyes sharp and tired. “Go away, Chris,” she said, quiet but unwavering, her footsteps steady against the pavement.

I kept pace with her, refusing to fall back. “Why’d you leave like that?”

When she didn’t answer, I quickened my steps and moved in front of her, forcing her to stop.

She looked up at me, her expression unreadable under the glow of the streetlamps.

“I’m tired,” she said, her tone flat.

“You seemed fine—laughing, joking—right up until I showed up,” I said, my voice laced with frustration. “So, what changed?”

She blinked slowly, then exhaled like she didn’t have the energy to argue. “What do you want me to do, Chris?”

I looked at her for a second—really looked at her. There were faint shadows under her eyes, and her posture was tense, guarded like always lately.

“I miss you,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I’ve been dodging me for the past month, Jules.” 

She flinched—barely—but I caught it.

Her eyes flickered away. “Well… you shouldn’t,” she muttered. “I told you how I feel.”

The coldness in her voice hit harder than I expected. I stood there for a beat, swallowing around the ache in my throat.

“You don’t mean that,” I said quietly.

She looked back at me then, and for the briefest second, her expression cracked—just enough to reveal something raw behind her calm. But she blinked it away fast.

“I do,” she said, her voice clipped and emotionless as she walked past me.

I turned, scoffing under my breath as I followed her again. “You don’t,” I said, sharper now. “I know you don’t. You’re just saying that to push me away.” 

She stopped walking but didn’t turn to face me. Her arms stayed crossed tightly over her chest, like she was bracing herself against something colder than the early November air.

“Maybe I am pushing you away,” she said over her shoulder. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.” 

Frustration tightened in my chest. I took a few steps forward, words boiling up before I could stop them.

“You confuse the hell out of me, Jules,” I said to her. She paused—barely. Just a hesitation in her eyes, but it said enough.“You tell me one thing, then act like it never happened. You told me you liked me.”

She turned then, slowly, her face unreadable. The streetlight above cast soft shadows over her expression, but her eyes were sharp, unforgiving.

“I never said that,” she replied coolly.

“Yes, you did.” My voice was rising, pained. “Maybe not with those exact words, but you did.”

She let out a small, humorless laugh and shook her head. “No. What I said was… I can never bring myself to.”

I looked the girl deep in her eyes. My heart was pounding out of my chest. My heart had never felt this way before. 

“Why?”

I asked again, softer this time. There was a quiet ache in my voice I didn’t even try to hide.

Her shoulders rose as she inhaled sharply, like she was trying to keep herself together. And when she finally looked at me, her eyes were glassy, on the edge of tears she didn’t want me to see.

“I don’t want to keep explaining this to you, Chris,” she said, her voice cracking at the edges. “I’m tired. You don’t get it—maybe you never will.” 

“Then help me,” I said, taking a step closer. “Explain it to me.”

She shook her head, slowly, her expression collapsing into something worn and raw. “We don’t work,” she whispered, like saying it any louder would hurt more. “Whatever you’ve built up in your head—this… romantic notion of us—let it go.”

My brows pulled together. “Notion?”

She blinked, one tear slipping free, and she quickly wiped it with the back of her sleeve. “Yes,” she said, firmer now. “Because whatever you think this is, it’s not love. We are not meant for each other. We fight. We hurt each other. That’s not something you build a relationship on, Chris.”

I stared at her, stunned and silent. Every word hit like a punch to the gut.

Her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold everything in—her tears, her anger, her heartbreak. I should’ve let her go. Maybe that would’ve been the decent thing to do.

But I didn’t.

“Can you honestly look at me and tell me you feel nothing for me?” I said, stepping forward, my voice hoarse and full of emotion. 

She froze.

Didn’t turn. 

Didn’t move. 

Just stood there in that awful silence like the air had been pulled from her lungs.

“Because if you can,” I pushed, walking until I was right in front of her, “then fine. I’ll back off. I’ll walk away. I’ll let you pretend none of this meant anything, but what I can not do anymore is pretend I don’t feel anything for you.”  

She kept walking, but her steps slowed, hesitating. Like part of her wanted to turn back, and part of her didn’t trust herself if she did. I watched her shoulders rise and fall with uneven breaths, eyes blazing.

“You’re making this really hard for me,” she said, her voice cracking just enough to betray how close she was to breaking. “You’re making it really hard.”

I stared at her, jaw tight. “It doesn’t have to be hard”

“Yes, it does, Chris,” she snapped, stepping forward now, frustration spilling out. “You think just because you finally decide to care, it fixes everything?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Her voice was rising, and so was the heat behind her words. “You want me to drop everything I’ve been feeling just because you suddenly feel something? You don’t get it. You never have.”

“I’m trying to,” I said quietly, but it only seemed to fuel her more.

She shook her head, bitter laughter slipping from her lips. “You’re always trying when it’s too late. That’s the thing about you, Chris. You don’t actually fight for people—you just don’t like losing.”

That one stung. My fists clenched at my sides.

“You want the truth?” she spat, eyes wet but furious. “Sometimes I think you only want me because I don’t fall at your feet like everyone else does. Maybe I was stupid enough to think that meant something, but it doesn’t. It’s just your ego, dressed up in affection.”

My stomach dropped.

She wasn’t done.

“And if I did let myself love you, if I actually gave in to everything I feel—” her voice dropped, trembling—“you’d get bored. You’d ruin it and you’d ruin me. Just like you ruin everything you touch.”

Silence. So thick it rang. 

I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. She looked at me like I was a stranger, like someone she was trying to convince herself she hated.

Her chest was heaving now, her words hanging between us like shattered glass. I blinked slowly, trying to process the fire she just threw at me. Every part of me wanted to snap back, to match her heat, to say something sharp.

But I didn’t.

Because maybe she was right.

Or maybe she was scared.

Or maybe both.

I stood there, stunned for a second, swallowing against the burn rising in my throat. My jaw locked on instinct, like it always did when something got under my skin, and this—this really got under. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Just silence and the sound of my own thoughts crashing into each other. Then, finally, I let one word slip, barely more than a whisper.

“Wow.”

She blinked, like she hadn’t realized what she said until right then. I saw her shift slightly, arms dropping a bit, her face flickering with something—maybe regret.

“Chris, I—”

“No.” My voice came out sharper than I wanted, my hand lifting instinctively like I needed to put a wall between us. “Don’t do that, don't try to take it back.”

She flinched.

I shook my head and exhaled hard through my nose, trying to stay calm, trying not to just snap right there. “I came here because I missed you,” I said, my voice rough. “I’ve been losing sleep over this for weeks. And you stand there and say I’d ruin you like I ruin everything I touch?”

I looked away for a second, jaw tight. I didn’t want to say more. But I couldn’t stop. I turned my eyes back to her. “Yeah, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But don’t paint me like some reckless asshole who’s just after you for fun. You think this is fun for me?”

She looked down. She didn’t say a word.

“I know you’re scared,” I muttered, almost defeated. “But don’t twist it into something it’s not. Don’t do that just because you don’t want to deal with what’s actually happening between us.”

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing a few steps back before turning to face her again. My chest felt tight. The kind of tight that comes when you’ve been holding too much in for too long.

“You know what’s crazy?” I muttered, voice low but sharp. “I have a million things going on right now. Deals. My company. Family shit, I haven’t even begun to sort through. I shouldn’t even be thinking about anyone right now. Especially not you, Jules.”

Her eyes widened just slightly, and I saw her open her mouth—but I kept going.

“Do you even understand what kind of scene this would cause if we were actually together?” I asked, my voice rising a notch, more out of frustration than anything else. “If our parents found out? If the press found out? Hell, even if the school hinted at it?”

I laughed, bitter and short. “It would be a nightmare. Photos and rumors, and more headlines than there already are.”

Her lips parted, and for a second, she looked like she might say something. Like she might care. But I didn’t let her speak.

“I know all of that,” I said. “I’ve thought about it. And you know what? I’d still risk it for you.”

I stepped closer again, just enough to feel the pull of her presence. My voice dropped, cold and final. “I’d risk all of it—everything—because I want you.”

She froze.

“But if you’re just going to keep pushing me away every time it gets real, maybe I’m the only one who ever actually wanted this.”

I stared at her, let the silence hang for a second longer, then pulled back.

And with a look that barely masked the disappointment behind my expression, I added, “You don’t have to worry about me ruining you. I’ll make it easier and just stay away.”

Then I turned, not giving her the chance to say anything else, and walked away, towards the boys' dorms. My heart felt like it was going to fall out of my chest. 

If someone had told me last year that I’d be crushed over Julianna DeFrancis, I would have laughed in their face. Yet here I was, feeling like a kid experiencing his first rejection.

The worst part? I still wanted her more than anything. 

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[a/n: guys, next chapter is going to be a banger. I'm so excited to post it! mwah I love you. like and reblog!] - ceyana

tags: @chynapleasehavemercy @sweetheartsturn @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer @chriss-slutt @sturnsflirt @idkwhatthisis2009 @angelicsturns @fmg05 @enviedparty101 @cupiidsbows @malox12 @chrissturniolodailysluts @ribbonlovergirl @kitty-meow-meow44 @jaybirdie34 @mattscore @mattsfrenchtoast @sturnsobsessed21 @kingofeverythingmb @courta13 @slvtf0rchr1s @mattspillowprincess @thewizardfall @sturnsfluff @ifamils @le4hsblog @carrielovesmatt @mattysmrwrinkleton @sturnsplatter @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @ellssturn @meatballlover10 @sagesturns @kiarasmaybank @malox12 @sturnsblogs @mattsdivaa @wesj11 @headzgonewest

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[offdxty]

Once again, Kane listens.

And he listens. And listens. And... listens, as his features begin to soften, brows to furrow, the lips to turn into a subtle, downward C-shape. He listens as he blinks, as he, carefully so, turns his head just enough to look at Arthur now, to look at him as the other man looks at him and bleeds so openly---

Bleeds and lets it bleed, to be seen by a man who's barely a week old, and who's perhaps gotten a bit too close for things to remain casual. A man who'd not even known what he is, what he is going to be, but found his way and clicked into place somewhere because of a doctor who is working in the very same facility that does not care about him, at all.

And said doctor bleeds, opens up old wounds to talk, to share details of his life he probably hasn't shared with anyone in a very long time. Kane might not be good at being alive, might not really know how it works just yet - doesn't have much experience when it comes to conversations, to emotions, to sensations, feelings - and yet he knows that everything that's offered to him here is fragile, personal, is something that's meant to explain why things are the way they are.

Why Arthur feels the way he does. Why he pulls back, and why he demands to be who he is. Why he's hurting Kane in such a way, despite telling that neither of what he did was meant to hurt him.

---And Kane wonders: Is this the truth? Is that story about his husband - not wife, husband - a true one, a memory of a life he'd gone through in his past? Is he being sincere, is he bleeding in honestly, offering vulnerable pieces in an attempt to... comfort him?

To soothe Kane? To console him? To let him know why whatever he's feeling, expecting, seeing in the other is not worth it?

To make Kane realize that this man next to him won't be there for him, won't save him, won't be able to catch him when he falls...

He wouldn't lie. Not like that.

A swallow, a beat of a heart, sadness that spreads - sadness that's made of different feelings, of different kinds; The story he's just listened to is heartbreaking, and it's shattering something inside Kane into a thousand little pieces. Arthur shouldn't have gone through all of this, shouldn't have forced to witness it...

But there's also sadness about the fact that he seems to have given up, in a lot of ways. Given up of himself, of his own actions, of... what he could possibly do.

And, subsequently so, he's also giving up on Kane, in a way.

It hurts. It hurts, and Kane bites the inside of his cheek as he keeps looking at him with his gaze intense, brows and lids heavy, eyes glistening with wetness. It hurts and he wants to change it - he wants to go back in time and try to help, wants to stay here and tell Arthur that he feels so sorry about what has happened. That his heart is bleeding in just the same way as the other's own is, having opened up in such a way.

...But Kane also wants to ask why he's not worth it. Why Kane, this Kane, the Kane who's taken on Kane's name and was given this existence without his consent, isn't worth it - despite fighting so much, despite clinging onto life and wanting to be more.

I’m telling you, Kane, because I do care about you. I am not the person you should rely on. I am not going to be there, when you need me. I am not going to be able to take care of you. I can’t save you. Do you understand?

"...I understand."

It's barely there, and Kane's voice breaks halfway through it - too high pitched within a second and a half, wavering. He swallows again, briefly looks to the side, inhales a deep breath that hurts inside his chest, as if muscle is going to tear apart---

But Kane breathes through it, feels the pain, experiences it. Allows it to linger before he exhales, long and slow, the sting in between his ribs sending even more tears to his eyes. He doesn't care, doesn't mind; It feels real, it feels... anchoring.

"...But you're lying."

A pause. A heartbeat. And Kane's gaze is back on Arthur, brows knitting, something almost close to desperate defiance on his features as colorful eyes meet the bright ones of the other.

"...Because you already have been here when I needed you. You already took care of me --- did so mere minutes ago. Did so for days on end. You stayed for hours upon hours, you broke what must be some kind of protocol repeatedly just to be here, to treat my injuries, mend my mind back together."

Still a little high-pitched, but a lot more stable, as Kane speaks that truth out into the silence between them - he blinks again, shakes his head ever so gently, as those dark brows knit in even further.

He thinks. Then he goes on.

"Whether you can save me or not, I cannot judge. Whether you can save me from being killed in here - because we both know that's going to happen, no? I'll die. They'll end me, as soon as I have given them everything they could ever want to hear from me." Once again, a pause. Important. Heavy. "---I don't know, as said. Maybe you can't, and maybe that's just what it is." ... "...But you cannot know that either, Arthur. You can't know. You can only hang onto what you've experienced, like I cling to what I have experienced. You think you failed twice, that's what your memories tell you, what you tell yourself..."

A lick of a bottom lip, a gaze almost burning at this point - a tear is falling, finally, but it's ignored, and Kane doesn't care.

He doesn't. He doesn't fucking care about what he looks like.

"---But you're still right, despite it all - if you don't try to do it, then you will fail, because you didn't even attempt to change an outcome. You didn't move, you didn't do anything. You just watched, watched, watched... you watched it all fall apart. You did nothing. Like I did nothing. Both of us just watched, then. I watched him burn, you'll watch me die." ... "The difference is - you have the chance to do something. To be more than nothing, because it hasn't happened yet. Kane has died. He is dead. I can't go back and make it undone, like you cannot go back and... ---save his daughter. Save him. Save all three of them. You can't. But you... you have the chance to do something in the future. To change something. To try."

There it is. That voice that breaks again. Is Kane begging to not be killed? Not really. Maybe a part of him is, but that's not what this is about.

He doesn't want Arthur to give up - on Kane, yes, but also not on himself. He doesn't deserve that.

"...You can still try and make a decision. You can be alive. You can be a someone. ...For your own sake, Arthur. For you to feel something. To know that, despite how much it hurts, and despite of what you didn't manage to do in the past... you are still worth it. You're still here, and you're still breathing. You are a living thing, and you have a life. I might never have one, but you could have one for both of us, at least, once I'm done here. You can go on, you can... take all of this, and you can keep it. ---And you can say of yourself that you tried, at least. You weren't a something that just watched." ... "...I'm not trying to beg you to break any further rules. I just..."

More tears, eyes that finally fall closed.

"...I just like you too much to let you be a nothing. You deserve to be more. You deserve to be alive, okay? You've been born, and you're here, and that's beautiful."

Kane's head turns away, chin against his chest. Perhaps none of what he'd just said makes any sense. But it's out there. It just is now. Even if Arthur is going to hate him, he's at least... given something. For whatever's worth.

Arthur watched the silence, the way Kane was pulling back almost immediately. It was easy to feel guilty, of course; Arthur hadn’t meant to hurt him. 

That thought came without any kind of protest. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t wanted to. But now Kane sat beside him, eyes fixed on the opposite wall like it had something worth looking at - and Arthur knew what he’d done. Of course he did. He’d done it a thousand times before, it had been given by a hundred versions of himself. 

A quiet recoil. A sinking inward. 

He’d gutted Kane, he knew. Worse - he’d done it with nothing but the truth.

His own truth, anyways. 

Arthur’s fingers were twitching. He curled them into his palms to make it stop; Kane’s voice was softer, now. It was blank. It wasn’t the voice that Arthur was used to; it was just a report. An answer on a sheet, nothing more. 

It was good. It was correct. 

Arthur hated it. 

He let Kane talk again, without interruption, but he couldn’t pretend that it didn’t land harder than he wanted. The sad, flat tone. The stare. The warmth that Kane normally carried had bled out. 

Arthur didn’t move. He sat still, trying to think of what to say - perhaps not wanting to say anything. Perhaps wanting to say everything. 

“… I see,” he answered, his voice low. “That’s helpful. Thank you.” 

It sounded awful. Empty. He hated himself for how it landed, for how he sounded - but it was the only thing he could think of that wouldn’t make it worse. 

Arthur studied his knees. He picked a point between them, the base of his cane, and just stared, like it could offer him some kind of instruction. His hands felt to, his spine was straight; habit.

Comfort in familiarity, in pattern. 

“… I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, eventually. “I want you to know that. That’s not the point of what I said.” 

He never wanted to hurt Kane. It was almost ironic; he was hurting Kane by shoving him away, but he was shoving him away to keep him from getting hurt. 

He exhaled again. It felt like he was at war with himself, his mind screaming at him from too many angles; there was too much to say, and yet so little that could be said. 

“… That thing I told you,” he eventually spoke; and he looked to Kane as he did it. “About the man who carried his daughter, thinking he could find help?” His hands had found his cane again, finding comfort once more in the handle. “It was true. But he wasn’t a friend, he was… he was my partner. My… husband.” 

They hadn’t been legally married. They had barely gone into officially being anything - the times had been odd. Things had been… 

Arthur shook the thought out of his head, not letting it finish. He took a breath, instead, wishing it didn’t get as stuck in his chest as it did. 

“His daughter's name was Lina. She didn’t like me much, at first - it took a while to earn her trust. And she was… hm. I loved her. She was brave, she was bright - she would catch bugs. We’d find her with them all over her arms, y’know.” 

He swallowed. Looked away. There was a comfort in just staring at the wall; perhaps only because it was less stimulating.

“… What happened… happened. She was young, we didn’t have the right supplies - he thought that we could make it to a nearby town. It was a gamble, and…” Arthur shrugged a shoulder, shook his head. 

“… She died in his arms. We buried her. And he…” Again, his voice trailed into nothing, as if saying the words would make them too real. “He only kept going because he wanted to take care of her. When that was gone, he just…”

He’d collapsed. He hadn’t spoken, again. 

“I carried him. My leg was… fucked. I don’t remember how far it was, I don’t remember how long it was. I don’t remember when he died. I didn’t even dig his grave right, I…” he smiled, bittersweet, shaking his head and pushing his thumb harder into the handle of his cane. 

It hadn’t been deep enough. He hadn’t even buried him in a good place. 

Arthur breathed again, slow and deep. The detail had been unnecessary. 

“Before that, I was with someone else. Someone in high school - he was struggling. I wasn’t there for him, in the ways I should have been. I’m not good at most things, with that. I gave him space, I let him work through his problems.” Arthur shifted, using his thumbnail to briefly scratch the bridge of his nose - casual. 

“I found out that he’d killed himself, when his father called me two days after. I didn’t even check in on him, when he stopped coming to school.” His hand fell back down to his cane, blue eyes again looking to the other. 

“I’m telling you, Kane, because I do care about you. I am not the person you should rely on. I am not going to be there, when you need me. I am not going to be able to take care of you. I can’t save you. Do you understand?” 

It wasn’t because he hated Kane - it was because he knew what would happen. He was uncomfortable with the knowledge. Arthur saw people in pain, and he gave them space instead of help. He saw someone bleeding, and he moved too slow. He dug graves too shallow, without care, because he wasn’t good at caring. 

…

He was scared of Kane. Because the man reminded him so heavily of the ones that Arthur had loved; if he opened this door, what would happen? He would look up, and Kane would one day be gone. Kane would die. And then what? What would Arthur have left? 

Nothing but something more broken than it already was. 

[yumerinns]

→ gn reader

→ multi

→ kinda self-indulgent??? :3 i gave up at the end :3

men who are not loud on your relationship, but aren't quiet either.

they're not the type to flaunt your relationship out loud to the public- if anything, they hate anything of the sort. being flashy and standing out is completely unnecessary, they think.

but at the same time, he makes sure the world knows someone is holding his hand, brushing lips against his cheek, and supporting him through whatever choices he makes in his career- in the quietest way possible.

it starts off small, way before anyone knows about your relationship.

in an interview, there's a colourful piece of string wrapped around his left wrist, a small daisy charm hanging on it.

when asked about it, he responds with a shrug before walking away from the camera's view, despite the crew calling after him and the heavy sigh of the reporter.

and then, it starts growing, bit by bit.

the next time, a photo of him with a pink phone charm dangling on the side of his phone is leaked on social media.

and people go wild over it for two main reasons: 1) he's definitely not the type to get something like that and 2) connected to the previous reason, who got that for him?!

fans are speculating about a girlfriend, which obviously, is definitely the most reasonable and likely answer.

he doesn't respond to it.

you, however, are losing your mind over this, because you really had not expected for him to actually put it on his phone. you had expected him to keep it in his drawer, or somewhere in his bag, or return it back to you, but putting it on and getting caught with it?

the same exact phone charm is clutched in your hand tightly as you zoom in on the blurred photo, his head lying on your shoulder as he tells he'll get it sorted out and you needn't worry about it.

and when he says he'll sort it out, he means taking a long video showcasing all the matching keychains and jewellery you bought for him and putting it on, and posting it on his main, very important account.

thinking of sae itoshi, seishiro nagi, kozume kenma, rintaro suna, wakatoshi ushijima and your favs ! (i have no other anime watched that fits here)

© yumerinns '25 ; do not translate, copy, plagiarise, upload my work as yours or feed my work into ai.

divider cred ; @/saradika-graphics

from anna: lil something before i want to take a break from tumblr and focus on vb and stuff 💗

[sugarcubesandinsanity]

Sending in some thoughts on Self-Aware! Phainon, hope you don't mind ><

If player plays HSR on say a laptop, would Phainon be able to see player when HSR is minimised? And can he see what player is doing elsewhere on the laptop? (Same concept with HSR running in the background on mobile) If that's not the case, he would still be able to hear what comes out of their speakers to know what's going on though, right?

Imagine him being able to see what's on their screen, like if they were reading fanfiction of him or scrolling through fanarts... Or if you want to go down the jealous route, maybe he's aware of who's constantly messaging them on social media? Imagine him sending a message that implicates something about an event going on in their life, and player is left panicking when they realise no one else has gotten it before...

COME ON INNNNNN AND TAKE A SEAT BABES i don't bite hehe (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝) 🤍

that was actually my intention all along with this series !! (we interconnected our minds fr) the hsr characters can see EVERYTHING as long as you have the game opened. but they do respect your space and wander off to do their own things. or they just don't care enough to stare at whatever you're browsing. except phainon. he's your most used dps and should be taking his time to rest but no. he stands still, eyes glued onto your expression and the media you're currently consuming.

he wants to know everything about you. your favourite colour. your favourite song. what genre of movies suits your fancy. what's your most googled ao3 tag.

he knows them all by heart. he even writes them down to keep track of your latest interests!

'dear diary,

my precious dawnlight yelled at their screen again today watching, what was it called again? ah, squirt games. i don't know why my darling watches such a show but their reactions are just too cute to resist!'

(I HAD TO.)

you can't keep anything hidden from phainon. he probably knows you more than yourself! he knows what food you're gonna order later. what book is on your mind even though you don't say it out loud. even your sleep schedule has been memorised by him. (it's just the moment you closed the game ngl but let him have his moment)

he can't help but grin whenever he sees your search bar type his name. oh, you minx! he's right there, sweetheart. although the art and writing of him you view is... not appropriate at times, who's he to judge? he's flattered that you view him that way. (he does that too bro) his heart flutters that you take time out of your day to view content with him in it. it reassures him that you love him too.

if you ever, EVER receive a flirtatious message from your irls, they should thank the heavens phainon can't dash out of your screen and find their location. he will reread the text at least 12 times before laughing. this loser thinks he stands a chance with his dawnlight? pathetic.

the next day when you boot up the game, a message is waiting for you.

'a cafe outing is so underwhelming... how about a stroll with me through okhema's markets instead, dawnlight? wouldn't that be far more enjoyable?'

the message is gone when you click on it again.

[kenzieluvsnanami]

"imma bitch, imma BOSS!"

kenzieluvsnanami :: secretary!nanami x boss!reader (18+) ✧✩₊˚

cw // (18+) SMUT // office au, big bad horny boss reader, gojo is our bsf, toji cameo, jealousy, mutual pining, nanami is a workaholic, silly bickering/jokes, inappropriate work place behaviour, püssy eating, fÏngering, degradation (not too much tho), role reversal (she tells him what to do vice versa), pënetration, accidental phone-calling during the act, lowercase intended etc. desc // daddy dearest gave you free reign over the family business! work hard, read documents, and do... whatever it is you do. there's really only one rule: do not, under any circumstances, sleep with your employees! should be simple enough... right? // wc :: 6.7k words

fuck.

it was monday, a new working week - a fresh start to the monotonous period of your life called work.

only there was nothing fresh about the stacks of paper pilled up on your desk, or the stale mugs of coffee littered around every free surface - the weekend giving them apt time to capture the fruit flies that had laid nest in your mostly-dead succulent.

it had been just over a week since your secretary had taken his paid time-off, one that you actually mandated him to go on. he was a hard worker but even he had to admit that working 40 hours a week, every week for the past year could only lead to burn out. he had actually managed to negotiate out of the month long break you’d suggested; his argument being how you’d need him after 3 days.

and you had only gone and proved him right, the disarray of your workspace adding even more for you to do today. preparing for the meeting you had scheduled this evening was going to have to wait as you reluctantly opened the blinds and began shuffling the discarded papers into the trash.

…

space cleared, you settled down to work - eyes beginning to glaze over as you idly scanned through the proposed plans for the business, thoughts drifting to your secretary.

it was his hard work and dedication to your family’s business which is what made you consider him to be your “right-hand man” in the first place, daddy dearest handing down the business to you a couple years ago so that he could “finally relax”; much to your dismay.

being part of the c-suite brought on a whole new level of pressure that you hadn’t accounted for. having nanami as your secretary genuinely took a large weight from off your shoulders and made work that much easier.

you could feel a stupid smile creeping on your face as you thought about him, cheeks heating up as you imagined his muscular build - tanned forearms peeking out from under rolled sleeves, veins tensing slightly as a slender finger points out a specific term in the mess of legal documents the two of you regularly reviewed.

it was funny how vivid your imagination was because you swear you could see that same arm reaching out and pointing over your shoulder, feel the rush of heat emanating from his body, even smell the deep musk of his cologne.

“….-ou ok?” a voice that you’d heard countless times spoke, your head whipping back as you took in the sight of your real life, in-person like actually there secretary crouched behind you, seemingly trying to show you something on your monitor.

he said your name, his eyes moving down to yours - the intensity of his gaze forcing you to avert your eyes.

you seriously needed to calm down. take a fucking cold shower when you got back home or something.

“i’m sorry i’m late…” he began, hands skimming over the papers strewn haphazardly (you had already made a mess again) over the table as he organised them into their usual neat piles. you remained silent, mind rapidly trying to push fantasy nanami back in your perverted mind palace, far away from actual nanami that was your secretary… your employee.

“you see, there was a lady at the bakery.” he looked back up at you from the papers, as if there was an implicit understanding of what had happened from his sentence.

you had never seen your secretary so inarticulate, usual stoic demeanour being replaced with a more sheepish energy as he tried to find his words.

“just spit it out already” you huffed impatiently. you genuinely had no clue what he was trying to say, mind still trying to rangle the horny devil in your mind that kept flashing images of nanami - him shirtless at the last years summer pool party, the way the water dragged his trunks lower, distinct blonde happy trail leading all the way down his sharp v line to his-

“well she asked me for my phone number.”

you stiffened abruptly. horny devil was silenced. this was urgent.

someone had asked for his number?

for some strange reason this really annoyed you.

you obviously didn’t own nanami. he just worked for you. he was just a colleague. a name on the payroll.

but still? a girl wanted his number?

you stood up and turned to a nearby cabinet, trying to fein indifference as you pretended to look for a folder.

“did you give it to her then?” you said evenly, hands shaking with… anger?

“no.”

you let out a breath you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding, biting down a smile as you sat back down at your desk.

the relief you felt from hearing that was definitely not professional. but, why did he reject her?

“why not? i..never see you with anyone.” you asked in a friendly co-worker way… of course.

even though your office is at the top of the building and quite isolated, you still try to make an effort to keep up to date with the current drama and gossip, the whispers and giggles from the breakroom filtering up into your office one way or another.

and whilst you’ve heard rumours about almost everyone who’s worked here, you’d never heard a peep about nanami’s life.

...

”it wouldn’t surprise me if he was a virgin” gojo slurred out, the head of marketing seeming to have had a few too many drinks at the christmas work social.

the two of you had developed a friendly relationship within the workplace; it was nice to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t intimidated by your high status within the company and was willing to gossip with you about anyone and anything.

you spluttered, the smoke inhaled from your cigarette now billowing out of your nose. how gojo had the balls to say any of these things never ceased to amaze you.

“…you really think so?”

it was entirely inappropriate to indulge in a conversation about the sex life of an employee who worked directly underneath you… but the open bar and soft buzz of nicotine had made you slightly less cognisant of that fact. that night you didn’t want to be the big scary boss…

you wanted to be like everyone else.

he drawled out your name dramatically, a hand on his heart as the other grabbed your shoulder, “i’ve never seen him with anyone! not even when i drag him out to the club… and its not like girls don’t want him.”

your eye twitched.

he continued, “he always steals all the hotties and then i’m left with no one! bad bitches are always the most fun to dance with!” gojo had now completely crumpled onto your shoulder in mock agony, making you shift away so that he would fall onto his face. unfortunately, he seemed to have some kind of 6th sense, slender body remaining hooked onto yours as he slung an arm over and stole a drag of your cigarette.

“why areee you so curious, boss?” he squinted his eyes at you as if he could peer straight through your skull and into your thoughts.“might as well ask him yourself since you two are so closeeeee”

you didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the crisp breeze of the december evening or the fact that gojo thought the two of you were close but you could feel your cheeks heating up as you glued your eyes to the ground, brain frantically trying to generate a rational response.

“i wouldn't say we are close… more that we work alongside each other often.”

but the more you really thought about it, you truly didn’t know the man that you worked with at all.

you knew he liked uniformity; you could tell from the way he’d arrange your documents and files that chronological, alphabetical order was a must.

you knew he liked to take care of himself. he never had a hair out of place, golden strands lightly gelled in a side part, face always clean-shaven and nails clipped down.

you knew he enjoyed good food because he would always recommend the finest restaurants for you to take clients to.

but all the things you knew about him were within the context of work.

which isn’t a terrible thing. because you are his boss.

but it still feels… inconsiderate.

because he knows almost everything about you.

i mean it’s his job, right?

but he knows intricate details about you; your blood type, your favourite nail colour (you kept forgetting so you had to ask him to remember, he never even had to write it down) and even seemingly your menstrual cycle (your usually caffeinated tea being switched out to decaffeinated, snack draw replenished and a heater placed strategically under your desk).

you took this level of intimacy as a given, a pre-requisite even, to him being your secretary. everyone knew you were high maintenance and if he wanted to fulfil his role as your secretary then that was part of the job.

at least, that’s what you told yourself.

because as you looked up into the deep night sky, bright stars obscured by the trails of smoke that flittered out your nose, you felt…

guilty.

…

“i don’t have time for a relationship” his tone was steady but the words seemed tinged with regret.

“…anyway, what tasks do you need me to complete today?”

the day continued on as normal, the two of you exchanging ideas and notes for the evening. you were going to wine and dine a potential client at a nearby italian restaurant, his possible investment bringing billions of dollars into the company.

you were nervous but in a good way, the nervous energy making you even more productive and focused, meaning you managed to finish up work slightly early.

you made sure to pass by nanami’s desk as you got ready to leave, discussing the timings and dress code for the meeting.

everything had to be perfect.

and you knew you could count on nanami for that.

…

it was 30 minutes to the meeting and you were slipping your red-bottomed heels on in a rush.

nanami had offered to pick you up; his black mercedes parked up on the curb outside your penthouse. your heart started to beat a little faster once you realised that this was actually the first time that he had come to pick you up at your apartment, most of your interactions being confined to the walls of your office or his.

as you grabbed your coat off the rack and went to open the door, you really started to feel that large glass of wine you’d had a couple hours before.

your nerves had been all over the place so you thought a little self-medication couldn’t hurt, which is why you poured yourself a glass.

which then turned into another one and then maybe one more for good luck which sort of ended up with you finishing the entire bottle.

now, you certainly would not call yourself a lightweight (you’d gone out with gojo enough times to be able to handle your liquor) but finishing a whole bottle of wine in the space of an hour? yeah you were definitely a little tipsy.

you nervously approached the car, previous nerves melting away into a giggly excitement. you weren’t even thinking about meeting with the client but more about your secretary, indulging the horny devil on your shoulder.

would he like the dress that your wearing?

it wasn’t your usual style, a lot more revealing than you would normally go for; a large slit running up the side, all the way to your upper thigh with a corset-style bust that left out your décolletage. you were trying to “dress to impress” as gojo put it, his low whistle when you walked out of the dressing room letting you know that this was certainly a bit of a… risqué outfit.

…

“you don’t think it’s too much?” you felt super exposed, hands awkwardly dangling by your sides as you scrutinised yourself in the ostentatiously large mirror in the centre of the boutique’s dressing room.

“spin around” gojo said demanded as if you weren’t already embarrassed enough having him parade you around the dressing room. you silently obliged.

“hmmmm, he’s gonna loveee this dress”

you whipped your head back, “..w- who’s going to love this dress?”

“oh, um- the client of course!” he had said this innocently enough but the wide, shit-eating grin that was starting to grow on his face made you weary.

“whatever, satoru….”

…

you were about to reach out and open the car door when your secretary stepped out, briskly walking over to open it for you.

for once he wasn’t wearing that awful sand-coloured suit, instead an all black one. fitted jacket emphasising his broad shoulders and strong forearms, tailored slacks straining against his thick thighs.

oh.

trying not to look completely gormless, you politely thanked him and slid into the cool leather seats. you didn’t know whether it was the bottle of wine you’d downed or the impending doom of having to actually schmooze with this client but you were burning up, the airflow in the car feeling like it was depleting second by second.

“you look, um- nice.” you said desperately trying to break the awkward silence that had settled in the car as you turned up the a/c.

“thank you. you look… great too.” he looked back down at you, adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

great.

how… underwhelming. he could have said amazing or beautiful or just anything but great?!

so you definitely were not sober.

the smart thing to do would be to carefully (did you really want to ruin those leather seats?) sip the bottle of water that nanami had brought for you and sit quietly whilst you drove to the restaurant.

so then why was your mouth now opening and why were you asking him "that girl from the bakery… what did she look like?”

you'd shifted in the seat so you were completely facing him. the slit in your dress inching up, exposing more of your plush thigh.

after a short pause, your secretary responded; eyes fixed squarely on the road as he answered.

“she had dark hair.”

“was she hot?”

even in the darkness of the car you could see a slight flush growing on his cheeks, his composed demeanour crumbling slightly as you impatiently waited for his response.

“…i-i think we’re close to the restaurant now, are there any key details you think we should revise before we go in or should i start with the opening brief”

your disappointment at his evasion of your question was evident; manicured fingers balling into fists as you screwed up your lips.

“the opening brief is fine, thank you.”

…

moments later you pulled up in front of the restaurant, the valet whisking the car away as the two of you walked in.

“may i?” nanami asked, moving his left arm away from his side to interlink with yours. he was probably just trying to help you from falling flat onto your face but you still felt giddy, the warmth radiating from his body heating you up even more.

you had purposefully planned to be a couple minutes early to allow for time to settle yourselves and devise a game plan for dealing with the client.

so far you only knew a few things about him; that his name was toji fushiguro and that he ran a shockingly successful chain of gymnasiums and leisure centres. if he was willing to sign over exclusivity to your company’s chain of high-end hotels and resorts, the payday all of you would receive would be unimaginable.

a waiter had passed by to take drink orders, you quickly recited mr fushiguro’s preferred order before turning to your secretary.

“do you not want anything? …i know you love a bit of bourbon” you winked.

nanami suppressed a small smile as he looked back at you, warm brown eyes making your heart beat a even faster.

you must still be tipsy.

you have to be. because why are you feeling so nervous around your secretary? and why are butterflies starting to creep your stomach?

“..i’m glad you remembered” he seemed genuinely pleased, the waiter bringing your drinks just as mr fushiguro walked in.

and suddenly, your mouth was dryer than rosé you’d ordered. eyes widening as they took in his solid, athletic build - black dress shirt straining at the buttons from his broad frame, the outline of his six-pack pressing tighly against the flimsy fabric.

“seems like ‘m right on time” the scar on the left side of his lip raised slightly as he smirked.

“you. look. beautiful.” green eyes scanned up and down your figure, drinking you in. his large hand engulfing yours as he pressed a kiss onto it, causing your whole body to shiver.

seems like gojo was right…

you tried to assume that mr fushiguro was just trying to be polite with his flattery but the lingering glances and uh, not-so-subtle glances at your cleavage were telling a very different story.

you could tell that nanami was starting to notice his… intentions too, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he reached into his briefcase to distribute the handouts detailing the expansion.

“so, mr fushiguro- ” he began.

“please, call me toji.” he said with a wink, gaze locked onto you the entire time nanami spoke. he didn’t even attempt to pretend to look through the handouts the two of you had painstakingly poured over for the past few months, hands busy restyling his raven hair.

“…and so if you took a look at page 57, you’d see-”

mr fushigu-… toji turned to you, leaning his head close to yours.

“this guy’s kinda boring, hmm” his low tone in your ear making you feel something that was definitely not appropriate for a business meeting.

however, insulting your secretary was not right. at all. especially, considering that he was the only one at this point who was actively trying to facilitate some form of business transaction.

but instead of responding back with something of value, you simply giggled back at him, brushing the heel of your shoe against his leg; his body shuddering slightly in response. “you minx..”

messing around with toji was… good. at least that’s what you told yourself. the feelings you were harbouring for your secretary were purely just lustful, and if you had the opportunity to expel these feelings, it would be much more effective than your previous attempt at “compartmentalising”.

the two of you being so caught up in, whatever that was, had meant that you hadn’t realised that nanami had stopped talking, like 5 minutes ago and was just silently watching the two of you eye-fuck each other.

his expression was generally quite stoic, to the point that the average person would never realise when (if ever) he was even remotely pissed off. but having spent enough time around him, you could see his right eye slightly twitching; his one and only tell. this was the-photocopier-fucked-up-the-hundred-page-hand-outs-we-made-so-we-have-to-start-printing-and-stapling-all-over-again levels of anger.

shit.

it was this realisation that sobered you up quite effectively, leg falling back down to the floor as you tried to regain some semblance of composure.

you cleared your throat. “s-so, toji. tell me straight. what do you think about our business deal?”

as much of a flirt toji was, he had a pretty solid poker face. his playful demeanor masked any scent of what his true opinion of your proposed project was (the extent to which he had an opinion was certainly questionable considering that he hadn’t even read the handout).

“hmm, maybe we can talk about it some more next time we meet, gorgeous” his smooth talk still making you feel flustered even though that is not what you wanted to hear. you were so certain you were going to walk away from this table with a decision, the disappointment of not getting one slowly starting to sink in for you.

but you were anything if not resilient and, from what you’d gathered, toji was one of those clients who you’d have to mix business with pleasure to get anywhere with - his insistence on seeing you outside of a professional setting seeming to be the crux of this business deal.

so if you had to flirt back with a hot client (poor you) to get a deal, so be it.

leaning in slowly, you reached out a hand to run along his forearm, “i wouldn’t mind that…”.

now you wouldn’t normally feel so awkward flirting with an attractive man... however, you had nanami staring daggers into your back, quite literally feeling the vitriol he had for toji in your bones. and whilst you would argue that flirting back with toji was for the greater good of the company (and dampening your growing affection for your secretary), you would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it a little bit.

you could tell by the way toji was smirking that he was enjoying riling up nanami, eyes sparkling as they darted upwards to catch his reaction when he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek; the rough skin on his scar tickling as he pulled back.

he said your name softly and hummed - as if it tasted sweet on his tongue, “good night, pretty…. i’ll be seeing you soon”.

he sauntered out of the restaurant, leaving both of you slightly stunned. your face burning from the onslaught of compliments you’d been dealt.

that was not a successful business meeting.

you’d been left with no deal and a seething nanami, right eye still twitching.

now, you didn’t know it was all of a sudden it was a crime to flirt back with a fine ass man. maybe the two of you couldhave been more focused on the task at hand but was it enough for him to be that mad about it…

…

the two of you silently left the restaurant, the drive back to your apartment being weirdly tense.

even when nanami was annoyed he would still speak to you a little, or at least just debrief the events of the business meeting.

…as co-workers do.

“soooooooo, how do you think that went?”

silence.

more silence.

even more silen-

“i don’t think we should be doing business with someone like that”

oh.

“well, mr fushiguro has a lot of capital that woul-”

“i don’t care.”

sorry? did he just… interrupt you?

“i don’t think any respectable person would conduct themselves in such a manner during business negotiations.”

oh, wow.

you’d never really seen nanami actually unravel like this, his usually neat hair having broken free from their neatly combed prison, resting on the top of his forehead.

he’d never looked more attractive to you than he did now, suit jacket now removed leaving him in just the plain white shirt. his sleeves rolled up to reveal those his tanned forearms you loved, veins straining under the thin layer of skin as he tried to contain his annoyance.

you knew it wasn’t smart to push his buttons any further. you knew what he meant.

but you just haddd to make sure.

“in what manner are you saying mr fushiguro conducted himself in, nanami?” your voice taking a deceptively curious tone. you had an inkling as to why he might be pissed but you just had to hear wanted to hear it with your own ears.

unaware of the trap he was walking into nanami snapped.

“he was just shamelessly lusting over you- i mean beautiful? gorgeous?… pretty? such surface-level compliments. is that any way to speak to someone you want to sign a multi-billion dollar deal with? i think it’s completely unprofessional.”

his voice was strained with annoyance, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight you were scared it might fall off.

the car fell silent once more. you had arrived outside of your apartment block but neither of you made any attempt to leave the car.

unprofessional, huh.

“forgive me, i think i cros-”

“do you not think i looked beautiful tonight?”

the moonlight shone through the windscreen, casting a cool toned light over your secretary’s face; his pale cheeks flooding with a deep shade of pink.

“well, i-”

“look at me when your speaking” you murmured as you shifted closer, hands now resting on the center console.

“i think you looked absolutely breath-taking.”

ok, so he can come up with good compliments.

there was about a hair’s breadth of space between the two of you, nanami’s fawn eyes drawing you in deeper and deeper, your hand reaching up to caress the side of his face.

this is a bad idea.

we shouldn’t do this.

i shouldn’t do this.

we can’t do th-

his lips crashed onto yours, a soft moan leaving your mouth as you parted your lips slightly, giving him better access into your mouth; his hands sliding down your frame, smoothing over your dress down to your thigh, harshly squeezing the exposed flesh.

he drew back slightly. "i think you're intelligent" he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth - "i think you're kind-hearted", tilting his head town to your neck he whispered "and i think you're the best boss i've ever had."

you whined as he fully pulled back.

“is this oka-” you croaked out, heart pounding as you tried to catch your breath. the horny devil that hid in your cerebellum was shockingly quiet - seemingly as surprised at this turn of events as you were.

“i want you now”

wordlessly, the two of you rushed out of the car into your apartment complex; the elevator ride up to the penthouse feeling like an eternity.

as soon as you breached the front door, nanami guided your back into the corridor wall, strong hands running along the underside of your thighs as he effortlessly picked you up in one movement. his lips rejoined yours as you sloppily made out, tongues crashing together as he panted into your mouth.

“do you know how long i’ve waited to have you like this?” he muttered into your neck as he carried you towards the bedroom. “how long i’ve watched other people touch what’s mine.”

oh. if you weren’t already gushing, you might as well have been a waterpark at this point.

unable to form a coherent sentence at the prospect of getting entirely wrecked by your sexy secretary, you just let out a licentious moan. hands frantically running over his firm torso as you desperately tried to unbutton his shirt.

with a small chuckle, nanami gently grabbed both your hands as he pushed you down onto the bed. hovering over you, he leaned down close to your ear.

“i’m going to ask you to be patient for me, do you think you can do that?”

patient? you had waited in that damn elevator and now he was asking you be patie-

“i need a yes or a no.”

now, pretty much all of the blood that was once in your head had rushed down to your throbbing cunt.

you were never submissive in your everyday life, you were always the one in charge, the responsible one - the boss. having your subordinate tell you what to do…. well it literally had you on the precipice of an orgasm.

“…mmmh, y-yes i can.”

“good girl”

pushing your dress up to your waist, you could only lay there and just watch as your secretary slowly inched his face closer to your clothed cunt, sheer panties soaked in your own essence. his usual hazel eyes had darkened, blown out pupils scanning over your body as if he was trying to commit every single detail to memory. you could feel yourself getting restless, hands itching to bury themselves into his blond strands.

but you had to be patient.

“hmmmm, i don’t know if you deserve this” his slender fingers traced along the underside of your thigh, purposefully going around the one place you wanted him most.

“w-whyyyyy” it was almost impossible to concentrate on having a coherent conversation with him, your whole body was actually trembling with need and all your secretary wanted to do was continue your argument?!

“look at you. who goes to a meeting dressed like a slut?” his fingers had now hooked themselves into the sides of your panties, snapping the elastic waistband against your hips before dragging them down at a painstakingly slow pace.

“whoring yourself out for that… gormless excuse of a man. would you say a woman like that deserves any of this?” he had settled himself between your thighs, words saying one thing but his actions seemed to tell another story.

you didn’t know whether to argue back or to beg for forgiveness. dressed like a slut… did he really think that? cause if you were dressed like a slut, he was dressed like a goddamn incubus.

“…n-nanami,” you began, jumbled thoughts desperately trying to organise themselves into an intelligible order that would get you to convince him to fuck you.

were you actually remorseful for flirting with toji? hell no. especially since it had led to your secretary’s head being buried between your thighs. however, the situation you were in might mean that you need to show a little… empathy.

he murmured your name softly, his breath fanning over your now exposed cunt. you were so sensitive now that the slightest movements were becoming even more intense.

“i love when you make that pretty little scrunched up face. that’s how i know you’re thinking hard, but i never know whatyour thinking about.”

you were about to protest when he lightly sunk his teeth into the softness of your inner thighs, causing you to let out a mixture between a yelp and a moan.

this man was going to be the cause of your death.

“baby, we’re not at work. you don’t need to worry about a thing now. just answer my question and i’ll show my cunt how happy i am to finally see her.”

baby? my cunt? as in, he was already taking ownership without ever having been inside of it, not even having had a taste yet.

somehow you got the feeling that this wasn’t going to be the one night stand you’d expected.

nanami genuinely looked at peace whilst he was in between your legs, his usual tense shoulders had relaxed, the harsh contours of his face mellowing out as he gazed into your core; lips actually curved upwards in a soft smile.

“i’m s-sorry if you felt i was… whoring myself out” your voice lightly shook as you spoke, the quietness of the room not helping your confidence. those deep brown eyes flitted back up to yours as he eagerly listened.

“but i was just trying to look nice for the meeting-”

“but you always look stunning” he huffed out in an almost childish manner. “even if you’d turned up wearing a trash bag you’d look gorgeous.”

you didn’t know whether you should be flattered or annoyed. you had never realised the intensity of the feelings nanami had towards you, this clearly being something more than just lust.

“well i could say the same for you then!” your frustration taking over. “you think i didn’t see the waitresses checking you out at dinner? you never wear any other suits apart from that tan one, but when i dress differently it’s a problem?”

“well, i didn’t wear my suit for the pleasure of others.”

“and neither did i!”

“you didn’t wear a suit.”

you actually sat up from the bed, the incredibility of this conversation now exceeding a tolerable level. you had never seen nanami be this childish or stubborn, and whilst in a normal context you would have been excited that you had chipped away further at his nonchalant demeanour, he was currently hovering over your now glistening cunt that just could not wait any longer.

“look, either you get over yourself and realise that it’s you between my thighs and not toji or-” you flung open you bedside draw with enough force to pull it off the hinges, hands scrambling to find the smooth oval bottle hidden within. once obtained, you squirted a fat wad of lube onto your index and middle finger - “i’ll just do this myself”

you slowly lowered yourself back down onto the bed, back arching slightly as your hand met your throbbing clit, the coolness of the gel and the pressure of your fingertips making you sigh loudly in pure unadulterated bliss.

it was as if the man before you had turned into stone, his entire body perfectly still; eyes glued to your entrance. you thought he would have been dismayed by your refusal to show remorse but he seemed even more turned on than before, confirming gojo’s prediction that he was more of a grower than a show-er.

your eyes flitted back down to his, your hand stalling slightly as you tried to gauge his thoughts.

“d-don’t stop” his voice had been reduced to a low rasp, all semblance of control and composure crumbling as he almost pleaded with you to continue. “…wanna see you fall apart from your own fingers.”

oh.

somehow he was back in control - the petty argument the two of you had been caught up in becoming as relevant as the layer of dust on the top of your wardrobe.

it had gotten so quiet all of a sudden, the only sound in the room being the wet sound of your fingers slowly sliding down up and down your puffy lips, two fingers spreading them apart to show the wrecked man infront of you how badly you needed him, how badly you wanted this.

you could feel the wetness of your own arousal sliding down your labia, dripping down onto your sheets.

“you can put them in now” you could hear how thick the saliva in his mouth was, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face as his doe eyes implored you to continue.

the first finger you slid in felt like heaven. the pressure that had built up in your abdomen had made you feel like you could cum from just this, eyes scrunching as you tried to buy yourself some more time.

“tell me how it feels”

well, honestly really good. but what you really wanted was to finish on his fingers, his tongue, his coc-

“maybe if you ask nicely i will” the bass of his voice rumbled through your body, stirring you from your thoughts …wait, did you just say that outloud?

“yes baby. now tell me what you want and i’ll consider it”

your other hand went to cover your face, cheeks aflame with both embarrassment and need.

for someone who was so good at taking orders, he was also very good at giving them too.

“i-i want you to use your tongue” you whispered, mouth dry from how hot you were. “..but i want to feel your fingers first.”

“what’s the magic word?”

you swear this man is going to be the death of you.

“…please.”

pushing up the pooling fabric, he ran his hands along the expanse of your thighs as if mapping each mole and freckle that littered your skin. his right hand inching towards where your hand once was, a featherlight touch caressing around the one place you wanted him the most.

you let out a soft sigh, hips moving instinctively to chase his touch; your own arms snaking up your body to release the clasp from the side of your dress. in one motion, nanami slid the dress from covering your body - the coldness of the air hitting your entire body.

“i’ve been wanting to do that all night” he chuckled, the rough pads of his fingertips finally gliding over your swollen nub. “f-fuck.” you could feel tears pooling in the corner of your eyes from how good his fingers felt, the pressure from his left hand resting on your thigh pushing you further into the bed - forcing you feel everything.

as he swirled your clit, his left hand positioned itself; two digits resting against your entrance.

nanami stilled, eyes softening slightly as he held your gaze - “are you ready?”

“ye-”

you felt his fingers breach the tight ring of muscle and hit deep into your inner walls, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stop you from crying out.

“does it feel good…boss?”

the way you clamped down on his fingers as he said that was definitely not HR approved… and you grabbing his wrist to fuck yourself on his fingers was most certainly not in any of the “appropriate workplace behaviour” pamphlets you had in the lobby.

but none of that mattered when you were this close to finishing, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as your secretary began to pump his fingers meticulously in and out of your cunt - the loud squelches of your own arousal echoing in the silence of your room.

“…hnng, n-nanami i’m going to.. i’m sooo close.” the pitch of your voice had peaked to a shrill squeak, which if in your right mind would have made you burn with embarrassment - but currently, you were hot and bothered for an entirely different reason.

he pulled back slightly, opening his mouth to allow for saliva to drip down rightttt onto your cunt and deep into your folds. your eyes locked as he let his spit drip down at an agonisingly slow pace, your legs trembling from how close you were.

“i have my fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt and you’re still calling me by my last name?” his voice was devoid of humor but a small smirk grew on his lips.

“guess i’m not doing enough to please my needy boss.”

not even a millisecond had passed until you felt his arms hook around your thighs, guiding your legs up onto his shoulders, the heels of your feet crossed over and pressed into his back.

bowing his head down, he licked a long stripe up your folds. his mouth dragged down, tongue dipping into your hole as his nose nudged at your clit

hands searching desperately for some sort of purchase to keep yourself grounded, you found purchase in nanami’s tousled hair; your fingernails lightly scratching his undercut causing him to groan directly into your cunt.

”that’s it…keep using m-me”.

the vibrations of his voice felt overwhelmingly good, too good, too much. your orgasm was threatening to approach - hard and fast, stomach tensing as you tried to croak out. the way he moved his tongue over your pussy was so precise whilst still remaining lasciviously filthy, the tip of his tongue tracing your inner folds, occasionally dipping back into your tight walls - the mixture of your arousal and his spit sliding all the way down to your asscrack.

“…hnng, n-kento i’m going to.. i’m sooo close.” the pitch of your voice had peaked to a shrill note, legs tightening around the broad expanse of his back to keep him right there.

then, right as he brought you right to the edge - he stopped. fingers slipping out of your tight heat and sliding right into his mouth as he licked them clean with a low groan.

“what are you doing?” you rasped, hands reaching out to pull him closer to you.

releasing himself from your legs, he pulled down his slacks at a agonisingly slow pace; intent clear from the precision of his movements.

“if i recall correctly, you said you wanted to feel my mouth, fingers and-”

“oh.”

you were definitely in for a long night. probably should cancel that morning call with marketing for tomorrow.

…

[bonus!]

the time was 3.47am. you were almost certain that walking tomorrow was going to be near impossible. you weren't sure if was the third or fourth round that you had come (haha) to this realisation - the first rounds structured thrusts turning into desperate, sloppy slow strokes. your face now nearly buried into the pillow as your hand flung out to grasp your phone opening up the messages app -

you: sorryyyy

you: know ur gonna b pissed but not gonna be able make tmrws meeting

shithead: seriously.

shithead: i literally had so much tea for u but wtever

shithead: hang on

shithead: yesterday was the day you had that meeting huh…

you: yes

shithead: and you cant make our meeting because???

you:…

you: staying up late reviewing documents

shithead: i didnt know you guys had nicknames??

you: ???

shithead: documents makes sense though

shithead: nanamis always working smh

shithead: suits him

shithead: wait a sec

shithead: whats my nickname then 😇

you: what

you: how tf did you know?

shithead: told u he was gonna love that dress

shithead: prolly blew a load in his pants after seeing you

you: satoru.

shithead: see you tmrw 😘

dick.

and you weren't talking about the one that was currently in you, body quivering as large hands splayed over the fat of your ass; pulling the cheeks apart to get a better look at how deep he was filling you, the slickness created from your previous rounds making it so easy for your secretary to slide allll the way out and thrust back in.

"f-fuckkkk, think I'm going to come again" he drawled out, body coming down to rest over your back - head resting in the juncture where your neck meets your jaw.

"m-me too." you don't even know if he heard you, large frame shallowly rutting into you as you moved back against him - both of your sweat-slicked bodies moving in sync as you both desperately trying to reach your fifth orgasm.

but before you can, you hear a distorted voice ring out from your phone; the unmistakable mocking tone sending a chill down your body -

"i know we share everything but you really didn't have to call me for this! i thought you were going to give me a nicknameee. but I am lowkey hard from this so-"

you threw the phone into your living room. shame would come later. right now, you needed to finish.

a/n :: ahh this fic has been sitting in my drafts for 9 months!!! i basically gave birth to it. i am so happy to finally get it out of my head and complete it oh my god. anyways the inspo behind this was definitely just wanting to subvert the typical tropes that I see a lot in fan spaces. no shade to office romances but I feel like I never see any where the woman is the one in control and the one who actually has power over the male li so this was very therapeutic to write. next post will probably be more drabble-esq.. I really like those type of posts (ik short-attention span whatever) but will definitely be active cause its summerrrrr!!!! love u guys and thank u for sticking with me even though I haven't posted anything really in a hot minute.

[sugarushwriting]

enhypen ot7 — their love language

just for fun!!

heeseung — physical touch and quality time

heeseung loves to show his affection by simple touches to you. even better lives when you’re around for quality time. if you’re there with him while playing video games, you don’t even have to pay him no mind, just being there makes his heart flutter.

jay — acts of service and words of affirmation

no surprise this man loves to fill your gas tank, clean your car, do your laundry, get your favorite food/drink, anything for acts of service. need help fixing that light? ask him and he’s all over it. on the flip, he loves words of affirmations from you. he loves that reassurance that you love him and that you’re proud of all he does.

jake — gift giving (acts of service) and physical touch

he’s buying you that tiffany ring and whatever else you want. he loves showering you in gifts. clothes. jewelry. knickknacks. your favorite books. anything. he loves your simple touches. holding his hand in public, hugs, you clinging to him. you could play in his hair and he swoons.

sunghoon — gift giving (acts of service and quality time

another tiffany gift giver. or just buying you whatever. in return, he loves you with him. he’ll go to the ice rink and just love you’re there. or if he has a shoot. or show. or if you’re watching movies.

sunoo — physical touch and words of affirmation

sunoo will give you simple touches to your forehead, or cheek, he just has to be touching you. in return tell him how much you love him, how great he is doing, or compliment his skin. he’ll be over the moon.

jungwon — physical touch and quality time

another toucher, accept full on. his arm is always around your shoulder or waist, or he’s always holding your hand. or he has his hand on your neck. or he’s hugging you from behind. or his hand is resting on your thigh, butt, anywhere, anytime. in return, you ask him “do you want to hang?” he’ll be happy you just want to be near him. he loves having you by his side.

ni-ki — acts of service and quality time

he does it in a nonchalant way. can’t get the pickle jar open? he’s got you. can’t poke the straw through that tough lid? he’s got you. i see him taking care of you like how jay and the other members did during predebut/early debut days. another one in return who loves quality time with you. you both could just be scrolling on your phones but he loves that you’re in the same room with him.

≽^•⩊•^≼

© work of sugarushwriting | do not repost as your own or translate

my inbox is lonely, send me something! 💌

[crowandagger]

Pairing: Sylus x Reader WC: 5.2K CW: Hurt/Comfort, self-esteem issues from Reader, no pronouns used for Reader, no use of Y/N either, GN!Reader, use of canonical nicknames (sweetie and kitten are gender neutral, fight me), Angst? I think? It's very emotional is what I'll say,

A/N: Dear god the amount of projection I did for this fic is off the fucking charts. Hope y'all enjoy the literary equivalent of me splaying my guts. Also, massive shoutout to @monikalizzie @chronicler-of-narrative and @willow924 for being my beta readers and being willing to listen to me lament about the pain and suffering (positive) of creating this fic. Plus, the poem in the summary was written by yours truly! I don't often try my hand at it, but I really liked this one!

Summary:

I can only starve myself of you Or make do with imitation Because for all of you I hunger far too much —I cannot let you be devoured by a beast like me

The house was still as the door fell shut behind Sylus, the rattling of his keys in the bowl resounding through the hall like thunder as the quiet and darkness settled over him. The echoes of gunshots, dying screams and desperate pleas still rang through his mind as he absentmindedly caressed the lightswitch in the hall as the memories faded to the back of his mind. The silence only interrupted by a singular caw from Mephisto.

He didn't need any light to help him navigate through the base as he headed straight for his office, where he carefully removed his weapons one by one. And with each one, the tension in his shoulders slowly drained away. Beside him, the robotic bird had started to preen its feathers; only giving Sylus a questioning look when it noticed the man's gaze on itself, before flying out of the room without another sound.

Only when he returned to the darkness of the hallway did the quiet turn into silence. He'd half expected to hear the tv running with whatever show you'd decided to entertain yourself with or to hear music of some form or another drifting from wherever you'd decided to make yourself comfortable for the night. But there was only deafening darkness.

He furrowed his brow when he didn't recall you having to be somewhere today —at this hour no less— and moved towards the entrance to the living room, which was in a similair state to the hallway. Bathed in darkness and void of the presence he'd gotten so used to coming home to ever since you'd moved in with him. He didn’t need to turn on the light to to know things had changed since he'd been gone, quietly cursing himself for not catching what was going through your head before he'd left to resolve whatever inferior problem had demanded his personal attention. Only a pale, flickering light in the direction of the kitchen told him that you were still here at all.

Sylus sighed as a heaviness settled within his chest. It was a familiar pattern at this point, an ugly game of hide and seek.

The rather messy collection of your favourite blankets, stuffed in the corner of the couch had disappeared along with the stack of books that had become a standard decoration on the coffee table. The latter now having been replaced by an —admittedly tasteful— ornament he'd not seen there before, while the former only left an empty space behind in the corner they otherwise occupied (somewhere he foolishly hoped you were just cold. Enough that you could somehow justify wrapping yourself in five different blankets).

The few sentimental memorablia you'd taken with you from your old apartment had also moved. Where they had once been proudly displayed around the tv frame, they had now moved to various spots among the bookshelves, only noticed when someone would be actively looking for them in particular. The same went for your own books, which previously had their own section so you would be able to easily find them had now been blended in with his own. They were still sorted by series and genre —he knew you were a stickler for that way of organising— but they'd been put between the other books he possessed and Sylus was almost impressed how easily their spines fell away as background noise. Almost.

Every trace of your presence that had manifested in the space ever since you moved in had either been removed, or prehaps even worse, carefully blended into what there had been before you had come into his life.

You were hiding from him. Again.

The thought twisted painfully in his chest and briefly, the idea that he may have caused this briefly reared it's ugly head. He banished it immediately, but the doubt was already there.

Had he? Had his words and actions been the cause of this?

He racked his brain trying to figure out just what it was. Every tease, every jab passed by, along with every response you'd given to them in return. Yet none of it stood out to him. He knew you had never been afraid afraid to stand up to him, your sharp tongued replies and genuine words were evidence of that. Even through every other time you'd slipped down this path, you'd never been afraid to speak your mind.

But then, how long had this been going on? How long had he been blind to this? And how had it slipped past him in the first place? These questions burned in his mind, consuming all other thoughts as he silently moved toward the kitchen.

You were hunched over the island bar in the middle of the space, earbuds carefully plugged into your ears and your feet dangling off one of the stools, whilst your attention was glued to whatever was causing the bright light of your screen to pass between every color on the visible light spectrum in a matter of seconds.

His heart squeezed in his chest as you quietly giggled at whatever was happening on the screen. Part of him wanted to leave you there in the dark, to not disturb whatever momentary pocket of happiness you'd found. The other —and ultimately the part that won— was desperate to close whatever distance had developed between the two of you in the time he'd been gone.

"Hiding in the kitchen, I see?" he cut through the one-sided silence, the split second of the near panicked look on your face as you paused and minimized whatever you'd been watching when you noticed him almost made him wish he'd kept his mouth shut instead.

"Sylus!" you greeted him excitedly as you half closed the laptop before hopping off the stool, "when did you get back? I thought– Holy shit it got dark in here." Whatever thought you had was cut short as you stopped half way through your motion of reaching out to him, seeming to think better of it as you let it fall back to your side and moved past him to turn the kitchen light on instead. "But who said I was hiding?" you said as you hopped back onto the barstool and Sylus did not miss the moment of hesitation in your movement as you brushed past him. He doubted you'd even noticed it yourself, likely thinking it nothing more than a fleeting thought as you kept moving.

"Surely the couch is much more comfortable. Especially if you've been sitting here as long as I think you have."

"True... but here I'm closer to the snacks. And the grapes," you added with a mutter.

"Ah, so that is where those containers always disappear to."

"Yeah. But let's be honest here, you don’t eat them anyway and I think it is a shame to let good fruit go to waste."

"I would," he chuckled, "if I had a chance to before they're gone."

"Oh. I– uhhh..."

"I didn't say I minded," Sylus cut you off before you could start apologising. "I'm glad you like them."

You hummed as you turned your attention back to the laptop on the counter and powered it down, fingers drumming on the lid for a second as you tried to decide what to do.

"I think the last half of the latest season of Sunset Runners came out while you were gone," you said as if trying to gauge yourself, "you wanna watch ‘em?"

"You didn't watch them already?"

"No? I mean, I did rewatch the seasons we already finished, sure... but we always check out the new ones together. I don't see why I would break that tradition just because they came out when you were on a mission."

"Do you think we have enough snacks left for a half season binge?"

"Probably, though they'd mostly be chips and popcorn. And I also may or may not have been thinking about making some myself, but that'd take time. They're not very complicated, I just don't know if I have enough energy left to make them."

"Tomorrow's the start of your weekend. We'll have plenty of time then."

"I thought you still had work tomorrow. You don't need to call off anything just for my sake."

"The twins can handle the few that have to be handled that day and the others can wait, if they know what is good for them. I do not care what they have to say, none of them are more important than you." he said as his hands covered the top of your thighs, not missing how your spine went straight, flexing the muscle under his palms for less a moment.

"Careful Sy, they might start thinking you've gone soft," you chuckled, avoiding his gaze as you spoke and instead trying to figure out what to do with your hands instead.

"Even if they do, you'd be the only one with the guts to admit it out loud..." he murmured as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. Your breath fanned over his face, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the muscle beneath them as his gaze briefly dropped to your lips.

"If you see something you like, just take it," you grinned, mirroring the words he'd told you so many times before, though you made no move to close the distance that still existed between the two of you, while your hands finally settled on his biceps. The movement of your thumbs mirroring his own.

"Do I not already have you then?" he teased back, nose brushing against yours as he waited. Quietly hoping you'd close the gap yourself and take what both of you knew you wanted. And you did. Mouth crashing onto his as your hands moved up from his arms to circle around the back of his neck as you pulled him impossibly closer.

Your teeth pulled at his lower lip, almost demanding he let you in before your tongue poked out to soothe over the same spot and he let you push into his mouth.

Your actions were fuelled with desperation and need to an almost comical degree while your hands drifted down to work on the buttons of his shirt.

"Something you want to tell me, sweetie?" he said as he pulled away just enough to speak, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as yours chased after him.

"Missed you," you mumbled, wasting no time in trying to put your lips back on his, to continue what you started; Gently nipping at his jaw in protest when he didn't let you.

"Me too," he said, still not allowing you to continue your previous ministrations and Sylus swore he could damn near hear the whine that bubbled up inside you before you almost choked on the sound as it caught in your throat.

"You're safe sweetie, no need to hide anymore," he murmured as he pulled you off the stool into a hug, your head falling against his chest with a 'thud' as you found stable footing.

"I know... 'm sorry, I just– I don't know how to stop," you said, the whisper of your voice almost inaudible as your hands curled into fists in his shirt. Yes, he'd figured as much after the first couple of times it'd happened. You didn't know it, but he'd asked around a little about this habit of yours when it became clear this would become a recurring pattern. And although he was unsurprised to learn this was not an uncommon thing for you to do in general, he was still no closer to understanding the reasons as to why.

"Please don't go," you mumbled as you opted to wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing as if you really thought he'd leave you.

"I am not going anywhere."

His words seemed to have at least some effect on you as you stopped trying to squeeze him like a lemon and your body relaxed in his hold. "Let's get you to bed, shall we?" he suggested and you didn't protest as he gently pulled you along towards your shared bedroom. Occasionally placating you with a kiss to your temple while both of you got ready for bed.

Once there, you wasted no time in snuggling up to him, your legs wrapping around his as you clung to him, your position not entirely unlike that of a koala. He wrapped his arms around you in turn, resting his chin on the top of your head as he let your scent invade his senses.

You were his. Irrevocably, and one day he would find the source of why you thought you wouldn't be and root it out. So this doubt would never again make you hide from him and it was with that quiet promise and the sound of your slow, steady breathing that he finally drifted off too.

When he woke, it was to the gentle sensation of you trying to pull yourself out of whatever embrace he'd, in your words, somehow trapped you in. An attempt that proved futile as he pulled you right back. His chest once again flush with your back as you said something about having to get up whilst prying at his arms, which had snaked back around your waist.

"You're in an awful hurry," he slurred, voice still heavy with sleep as he pressed a line of kisses over your shoulders, trying to deter you. Though it would seem his attempt too, fell flat as you said not everyone could afford to become a perpetual night owl like him.

"I still need to do a few things today, besides, while I'm out I can get the ingredients for the snacks I've been wanting to make."

"I can order them for delivery here. No need to trouble yourself."

"I know, but I am going to meet with some friends so I need to get out of the house anyway, and if I am out already, I might as well. No?"

"I seem to remember that was a dinner invitation," he tried again, refusing to let you go that easily, "It's only noon."

You laughed at that. "Sy, it's three in the afternoon and the trip from N109 to Linkon is not exactly short."

"Not four hours."

"Knowing you, it will be if you don't let go of me soon."

"Ten minutes," he bargained, "and you'll be free to go."

"Fine," you conceded with a chuckle, "I'll set a countdown."

"You think I won't keep my word, kitten?" he teased, teeth nipping at your shoulder

"No, I just think you'll fall back asleep somehow and sleep well past ten minutes."

"Which would be a problem why?" he asked, knowing full well he was not planning on letting you go anytime soon if he had a say in it.

"You know damn well why," you chuckled as you finished putting the countdown in your phone and put it back on the night stand, sinking back into his embrace.

He hummed as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting your scent wash over him. The silence between you two was comfortable, hearing you breathe in only once or twice to say something before deciding against it.

"Something on your mind?"

"Meh, nothing in particular. Just wondering how some of my friends have been doing. I haven't seen some of them in quite a while."

The quiet returned with ease, only interrupted by the occasional hum or sigh. Until your phone blaringly demanded that he let you go all too soon for his liking.

He watched as you got ready for the get together, pleased to see you pick several of the pieces of jewelry he'd gotten you to go with your outfit.

"I'll be back before you know it," you chuckled as you left him with one last kiss, slowly pulling your hand out of his as you stepped back towards the door. The click of of the door draped the room in silence once more. Trying to sleep would be useless to him now that you were gone and as if by clockwork, his own phone soon started ringing as well, displaying Kieran's number.

He hoped it was to tell him the job had gone smoothly.

Sylus was irritable when he finally got back from the improptu meeting. Not only had the man not taken the several warnings Luke and Kieran had given him, he'd also been condescending to both of them as if they were naïve fledgelings and to really add insult to injury, the wares he'd tried to sell him were comically faulty to the point Sylus was almost impressed he'd been able to smear it to enough people in the N109 Zone that he'd had the balls to try and scam him too.

Luckily for everyone else, he'd made sure that the man would not make that mistake twice.

As the door fell shut behind him for the second time in twenty-four hours, the scent of melting chocolate wafting into his nose as he moved towards the living room whilst the sound of one of your playlists filled the air as you hummed along with it.

For a moment he wondered how he'd survived so long in this life without you, as his mind drifted back to empty days where he'd only been able to hang on to his sense of everburning need to see you again. But those days were then and you were here now. He watched quietly as you turned something in the bowl of molten chocolate, so absorbed in your work you didn't notice him.

"My, that looks delectable," he said as he dipped two fingers in the bowl of chocolate, grinning when he noticed your wide eyed look as he sucked them clean. Neither of you looking away for a second as your gaze remained glued to his hand.

"Oh," was the only thing that came out of your mouth as your struggled to come back to your senses, your mind still very clearly occupied with the image of him cleaning the mess off of his fingers. One of your hands blindly feeling around for your phone for a few seconds as you turned down the music down to a background murmur.

"What are you making?"

"Chocolate bites—" you said, pointing at two small bowls filled with little chocolate balls covered in various different flakes, "though I had more chocolate left at the end than I thought I would, so I'm doing some simple fruit dipped slices as well..."

"I'm assuming these are ready?"

You hummed in confirmation as you washed your hands of whatever candy remnants still stuck to them. "Just need to let this all chill in the fridge for ‘bout another hour and they'll be ready to go, but we can start binging in the mean time."

He nodded and picked up the few bowls that were ready, chuckling at your exasperated expression as he used his Evol to carry the few he couldn't comfortably carry in his arms.

Once there, he put them on the previously emptied coffee table—which had also been pulled closer to the couch for easy grabbing—and laid down on the couch as he searched your watchlist for the show you two were watching. It seemed a few new additions had joined in the time he'd been gone, some fantasy shows, a detective thriller if he were to go by the cover alone and something that curiously looked like a childrens cartoon next to Sunset Runners. And judging from how they were ordered, you'd been watching the former as early as last night, when he got back.

From the kitchen, the music came to a stop as he heard you clatter around with the last few bowls of snacks and a few bottles of soda. He watched you approach, delicately balancing everything in your arms as you tried your best not to drop everything.

"Need some help?" he asked, his Evol flickering to life before you could answer him properly. A few of the more precariously balanced items gently floating down to the table under guidance of the red and black mist.

You thanked him as you set down the remaining items on the table before you settled down on top of him, your head resting on his chest as he selected the episode where you'd left off.

Somewhere between the snacking and the beginning of the last few episodes, he ended up with you under him. Head on your chest as your fingers absentmindedly combed through his hair. The end of the season came all too soon for either of you and soon you were scrolling through the many thumbnails of movies and series that the streaming service had to offer. An endeavour that seemed to prove fruitless as the titles kept flying by.

"Having trouble picking something?"

"Yeah... Don't really know what I'm craving, so if you've got suggestions..."

"The one you were watching yesterday certainly looks interesting."

The expression on your face when he spoke reminded him of that of a child who'd got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. As if watching a show was suddenly a crime of the highest order. He could feel you physically trying to shrink into the sofa as you opened your mouth, words tinged with barely hidden embarrassment.

"That one? I don't think we'd last long enough through that to make it to the next season..."

"Why not?"

"It's a kid’s show, Sy," you sighed, eager to be done with it and move back to the problem of getting a new show to watch, but Sylus wasn't letting it go that easily. "Look, I was on a nostalgia trip and I highly doubt it'll grip you the same way it did for me when I was, what? Twelve? Maybe? It's not exactly high art."

"You still like it."

"Call it a guilty pleasure."

"Guilty for what?"

"...Elaborate?"

"What is it you feel guilty about for watching a show?"

"I’m a grown adult and it is a kid's show. I think the answer should be obvious here."

"Is it?"

"You're not that dense," you grumbled, putting the remote back on the armrest above your head. "I know you too well for that." You let out a deep sigh as you let you arms rest along the lenght of his back, but soon enough a hand found its way back on his head to play with his hair. A gesture he suspected was more to comfort yourself than him.

"You're allowed to like things, sweetie."

"I know..."

Your response was immediate, but Sylus didn't buy it and from the tone of your voice, he knew you did not either. "I'm willing to give it a try." He knew you were on high alert as he said it. Your body tense like a wound up spring. As if you were waiting for... something.

"Like I said, I was just on a nostalgia trip. So you don't have to," you chuckled, like you thought he was making a joke, "not for my sake." The pain tinged in your expression as you looked back at the screen told him otherwise.

"Do you think I'll laugh at you?"

"Can we please just pick a new show?" you grumbled as your voice cracked into a whisper, eyes still fixed on the screen, where a silent trailer for a different series played on loop. Further sinking into the couch under his weight as you released the tension from your body.

"No." With the merest flick of his wrist he used his Evol to turn off the tv.

"It's just a cartoon," you snapped at him, "Why do you need to keep picking at it?"

"No one would be this pressed about 'just' anything. Especially not you."

"Are you really that surprised when you are the one that keeps pressing me about it in the first place?"

"You really like lying to yourself, don't you?"

"What? I'm–I don't! That's ridiculous."

Sylus simply raised an eyebrow at that.

"I just don't understand why you feel the need to keep pressing me for a reason, because I genuinely don't know what you want to hear from me."

"You think something is going to happen when I see what interests you, what makes you happy. Tell me what that something is."

"Who says anything is going to happen?"

"You clearly think so."

"...You're deluded."

"Hm. Try again."

"You and I have a lot of overlapping interests, I'll admit that much. That show is not one of them."

"Close, but not close enough," he said as he grabbed your chin between his thumb and indexfinger to force you to look at him while the black and red mist of his Evol stole the remote off the armrest as you tried to grab it. "You're scared. It's written all over your face."

"Don't be ridiculous," you spat, but your words lacked any kind of real bite. "It's a kids show, what could I possibly be scared of?"

"You tell me."

"Fuck off."

"No," his voice left no room for argument as he spoke, "not until you give me the answer."

"What fucking answer?" you said, words sharp like a knife's edge, "the only answer I want is why you care so goddamned much about me not wanting to watch some stupid childrens cartoon."

"It's not the show that concerns me," he sighed in frustration. In the beat of silence that followed, Sylus swore he could hear the distant sound of a bomb going off.

"Then what is it?" you bit, his name on your tongue like it was a curse. "Because I cannot fathom anything other than the end of our relationship because you inevitably come to the conclusion I am an emberassment to be seen with! I know I am too loud, too cringe, too much of anything really. Dear god I know... But heavens forbid I try to keep it in check when I finally have someone I don't want to lose."

"I'm not leaving you," he simply said as his hand found yours, intertwining your fingers whilst he gently pried off the other arm that you'd thrown over your face to hide your expressions.

"Oh god... please don't– don't do that to me..." you whispered with a crack, your voice barely audible, "don't make a promise you can't keep..."

"Have I ever?"

"...There's a first for everything," you chuckled bitterly.

"What's mine stays mine. And that includes you. I won't let you slip away from me."

You didn't say anything, simply squeezing your laced hands as you let the silence settle over you.

"What's on your mind, sweetie?"

"Too much... and not enough."

"Care to tell me?"

"I... don't know if I can..."

"I won't run," Sylus hummed as he gently sqeezed your hand.

"That's– not what I meant," you snickered, and he briefly wondered if he'd imagined the relief in your voice. "It's just– the words won't come. Not the right ones anyway."

"Don’t force yourself. They'll come when you're ready."

"You think I'll ever be ready?" you said, free hand finding its way back into his hair.

"I know you will be."

"Thanks..."

He hummed, rubbing his thum over the back of your hand in soothing circles. "That being said, we still need a new series to watch."

"We do indeed... Any suggestions?" you asked as you grabbed the remote, the screen flaring back to life.

"I believe I already gave you one earlier," he grinned as he watched your head fall back into the pillow with a groan.

"No! We are not watching that!" You yelled, still somewhat embarrassed, playfully swatting his shoulder.

"Then pick something else kitten, but I am not going to change my mind," he said with a grin, unfazed by the piercing glare on your face.

"Bastard," you muttered as you turned back to the tv and started flicking through the options, deliberately avoiding one you had been talking about. But as you scrolled on, nothing in particular caught your eye and Sylus almost couldn’t surpress a chuckle.

"Shut up," you muttered when you caught the bemused look on his face from the corner of your eye.

"I haven't said anything."

"You were going to. Don't."

"If you say so."

"Can we just cuddle instead?" you sighed after a few more minutes of fruitlessly scrolling through various streaming services, "I can pick something tommorrow."

"Surely there's at least one that caught your eye," he grinned as you rolled your eyes at him.

"I–" you sighed in frustration when you couldn't seem to find the words you were looking for. Something Sylus took as an opportunity to start tracing your features in an attempt to comfort you.

"Are you sure about this?"

He nodded, not pausing his ministrations as he did so. "When it comes to you, I am always certain."

"...Alright then," you said as you navigated to the thumbnail of the show you'd been dancing around for the better part of the evening, before quietly adding: "Let's hope I won't regret this."

The screen exploded with color before he could say anything. As the intro played, he recognised it. The show had been created a good while before the Chronorift disaster, and had recently seen a resurgence in popularity due to a reboot of the original series. But it seemed you preferred the old version. Even if he had never seen the show himself when he was younger, he quickly understood why you'd grown as fond of it as you were now. The animation had a charm to it and the colorful and intricately designed characters were full of personality. And even though it was clearly written for a younger audience and the plot faltered here and there, he never once found himself bored by it.

When the credits rolled for the last time that season, you could barely keep your eyes open. Yet you still somehow mustered up the energy to look up at him, silently asking for an opinion with the slight raise of an eyebrow and the tilting of your head.

"As expected, you don't settle for less. Even when you were younger."

You chuckled. "That's about me, but what about you? Do you like it?"

"I certainly wouldn't mind coming home to you watching it."

"That's not answer Sy. I asked if you liked it."

"I do. I may not watch it with the same frequency you do, but I won't say no if you propose to watch it together."

"I see," you said with a quiet smile as you gently scritched his scalp with your nails. "Thank you. For staying, I mean."

"Like I said, you're mine. And I won't let you slip away from me. Whatever part you've convinced yourself you need to hide, tell me, and I will learn to love them anyway."

"Someone's being dramatic," you giggled sleepily, half-heartedly attempting to shape his mussed locks back into something presentable.

"I am not," he said, the intensity of his gaze seeming to catch you a little off guard. "I want to know everything about you. And appreciate them for being part of who you are."

You hummed contentedly, fingers coming to a stop on his head as your beathing started to even out.

"Sleepy, kitten?" he teased with a grin, earning him a half-hearted glare.

"No..." you protested, but before you could say more, he'd manouvered you on top of him, fingers gently massaging the nape of your neck as your eyes started to droop closed once more.

"Sleep," he gently nudged as you tried to keep yourself awake, "I'll still be here when you wake up."

[lcstonmyown]

Just enough time had elapsed to build up worry. Sebastian couldn't help but start thinking of the worst. His memory of the night was a little fuzzy, but he remembered most of it. Owen had spoken with such promise, dangling all of those temptations in front of him. He had fallen for it. Who knew just how truthful or genuine those words were. His parents easily reeled in people with silver tongues. His heart felt like it might just beat out of his chest. All until someone came stepping through the door. Confusion reigned for just a moment; the comment quick and simple but enough to still throw him off. It wasn't a demand nor was it quite a request. Just a statement. Even so, he knew better than to keep anyone waiting. He steeled himself with a quick breath and a small shake out of his arms before heading out.

The place was utterly gorgeous. Comforting in a way the rigid and cold halls of his home weren't. Then again, that could have very simply been more from the atmosphere that his parents created than the home itself. The thought stood. As his eyes landed on Owen, the first thing that Sebastian noticed was how relaxed he seemed to be. Relaxed, calm, peaceful. Still holding that aura of power but in a way that felt oddly soothing. Everything just seemed the polar opposite of what he had grown accustomed to his whole life.

As last evening, the movements were almost automatic. His body functioned before his mind could catch up to what was happening. He settled down, feeling a little less skittish. The attitude was the same as he remembered from last night. Still, fingers fiddled with one another under the table.

"I'm not really all that picky. Fine with anything. Or whatever you are having. If you are having something." That wasn't a placating answer. It was a genuine one. Sebastian wasn't all that concerned with what. He could eat anything. "So, uh, what happens from here?" Curiousity. A timid one but it was there. There was a little bit of that waiting for the other shoe to drop sense lingering but Sebastian had to trust that this was going to work out. He sat there, hoping that the trust wasn't misplaced, waiting for Owen's response almost eagerly.

Perhaps ten, fifteen minutes after Sebastian had awoken the door would open. A handsome man with blonde hair and relitively well dressed would emerge, hands behind his back with rather excellent poise and a nod of the head to Sebastian. "Good morning, Mister Halt. Master Matthews is waiting for you, when you're ready" He remarked and with that would politely walk out the door and leave it open for Sebastian. Nobody would follow up or demand he come out, however once he did step outside he was in for quite a sight.

The building itself looked to be a gorgeous villa, a mixture of wooden surfaces with modern stylings, thought without being too cold or impersonal. Owen himself was sat at the kitchen island, newspaper in hand and silently sipping a coffee in the other. His eyes would drift back to Sebastian, slowly setting the coffee down and a rather composed look on his face if not with a hint of amusement. "Good, you're awake. You've been asleep nearly twelve hours, clearly you needed the rest" He remarked, shifting his weight in the seat to face him more.

"Sit next to be, there's a good boy. What would you like for breaksfast - pancakes? eggs? fruit salad?" He made some offers, choosing a variety of options to offer in case he wanted sweet or savoury. "And you can stop looking around like a cornerned animal, you're safe here."

[formulafanfics13]

Can u do one where the guys are meeting the new Cadillac drivers (that are girls) and Lewis starts falling for one over time like through team dinners and team activities

New Girl, Same Heart - LH44

Masterlist

summary: When Cadillac joins the grid in 2025, the motorsport world loses its mind over the fact that both of their full-time drivers are women. You're one of them. Calm, calculated, quietly confident. And from the moment Lewis Hamilton meets you, something in him shifts. This isn't fireworks. It's gravity. warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, emotional intimacy, subtle flirting, lewis being soft, reader is a driver, supportive grid chaos, first meetings, teasing, tiny sparks, gentle jealousy, minor swearing

The first time Lewis sees you, you're standing in the Cadillac garage like you've been there forever.

There's a headset around your neck, your arms are crossed over your race suit, and you're nodding along to whatever your race engineer's muttering into the radio. Your helmet's tucked under one arm. Your eyes flick to the screens every few seconds, tracking your teammate's out lap. You're completely unbothered by the commotion around you.

And Lewis Hamilton is floored. Not by your looks, though you're stunning. Not by the novelty of a woman on the grid, because if anything, he's furious it took this long. It's your energy. Unshakeable. Still. Focused. Like you don't need anyone's approval. Like you belong. Because you do.

The paddock is vibrating with opinions. Two women drivers in the same team? It's all anyone's talking about. Interviews. Speculation. Think pieces. But you? You walk through it all like it's white noise.

Lewis watches you from a distance all weekend. Not in a creepy way. Just... curious. Intrigued. You don't play to the cameras. You barely acknowledge the hype. You're fast, quiet, and terrifyingly composed. And when you smile, rare, fleeting, soft, it lands like a punch to the chest.

The first real conversation happens at the second team dinner. It's a sponsor thing. Half the grid is there. Mostly the senior drivers, some team principals, a few engineers who actually like to socialise.

Lewis ends up seated next to you, thanks to a very suspiciously convenient name card reshuffle by Susie Wolff, who gives him a look across the table like don't waste this.

You glance at him when you sit. 

"Hey."

"Hey." You smile, not polite. Real.

He leans in, elbows on the table. "How you finding it so far?"

You sip your wine. "You mean the circus?"

He grins. "That obvious, huh?"

You shrug. "I knew what I signed up for. Doesn't mean I like the clowns."

He laughs, full-bodied and warm. God, he loves your mouth. Smart. Sharp. Honest.

"You don't get overwhelmed?" he asks.

You tilt your head. "Should I?"

"Most rookies would."

You raise an eyebrow. "Are you calling me a rookie, Hamilton?"

"I'm calling you new."

"Then maybe you should pay more attention. I've been racing longer than half the grid. Just not here."

He lifts his hands in surrender, amused. "Touché."

You go back to your glass. But something settles between you. Comfortable. Familiar. Like maybe this conversation started years ago.

The next few weeks are a blur of PR events, testing, and press chaos. The Cadillac girls, you and your teammate, are the story of the season. You both race well. Speak well. Make headlines without even trying.

And Lewis watches it all unfold from just behind the curtain. He's never been so quietly obsessed with someone. Not in a desperate way. But in that soft, slow, I see you even when no one else does kind of way.

He watches you in driver briefings, the way you listen, the way you speak only when necessary. He notices you in the paddock, always early, always prepared, always just a little removed.

You're not aloof. You're just... careful. He gets that. He's spent his whole life being careful too. 

The third team dinner, he sits beside you on purpose. He's late. You're already there, hair slightly damp from a post-practice shower, skin glowing under the restaurant lights. You're wearing black. Simple, elegant, dangerous.

He slides into the seat beside you. You glance over. Say nothing. But your leg shifts slightly under the table, closer to his. He pretends not to notice. He orders you both a bottle of the red you liked last time.

You raise a brow when it arrives. "You remembered."

He shrugs, smiling. "Good wine deserves a round two."

You clink glasses without a word. And when the food comes, you trade bites of each other's meals like you've been doing it forever.

No big declarations. No flirting. Just... intimacy. Effortless. Natural.

Later, when the dinner ends and everyone's standing for photos and goodbyes, Lewis turns to you, hand brushing your elbow. "Going back to the hotel?"

You nod.

"Want to share a car?"

Your teammate smirks across the room. You blink at Lewis. "Just to talk?"

He meets your eyes. "Just to talk."

You hesitate. Then you smile. "Yeah. Okay."

[rainrot4me]

Zombie Toby x s/o:D what would their be dynamic? Idk ima let u have the pick of what to do w the idea!

~🪓🎀

P.s. make sure to drink water and munch on food if you ever skip meals!

“Ughhhh,” - Toby, probably.

── .✦

So, you have a zombie boyfriend:

Toby’s transformation wasn’t clean. It wasn’t a simple bite-and-turn situation. Whatever strain infected him corrupted his brain slowly, painfully. His body rots like any other, but his mind lingers somewhere between himself and something darker. And the worst part? He knows it. He’s aware of it all.

He’s still Toby deep down. Even when his skin turns an ugly gray color and his hair begins to thin and his bones crack with every movement. That’s still Toby Rogers, your boyfriend. It’s a slow transformation, a grueling decay. So for now, you still have him.

He doesn’t feel pain—thanks to his CIPA, that hasn’t changed. But now it’s even more dangerous. A rotting body can’t give you warning signs. He burns, festers, tears muscle, breaks bone… and never knows until you point it out. “Toby, your arm—”

“Ah. D-Damn. Must’ve been when I sh-shoved that guy into the fence.” Always casual. Always dismissive. It’s easier than admitting he’s falling apart.

But the hunger is new. It creeps in quiet. At first, he thought he could handle it. Then he started salivating at the smell of iron. Blood. Then he started dreaming about the taste of your skin.

The conflict:

Toby’s terrified of hurting you. He doesn’t feel the same kind of fear as before—not in the human way—but some sliver of his soul screams when your hand brushes his jaw and he has to bite back the instinct to sink his teeth into your wrist. Sometimes he’ll just… walk away mid-conversation.

“Toby?”

Silence.

“You okay?”

“I’m gonna r-rip your throat out if I d-don’t leave.” And he does. He leaves. Slams a door. Rips a branch off a tree just to do something else with his hands.

When he returns, it’s always with a stitched-up wound or a re-fastened cloth. A new bandage wrapped around a rotting spot on his neck. He always looks like he’s been fighting the world. But really? He’s been fighting himself.

Affection:

Showing love doesn’t really change after his turning, but it does grow more tedious.

Physical Affection is hard. He worries about hurting you with his decaying body, or worse—getting too close during a hunger spike. So he leans into acts of service: bringing you scavenged supplies, using his strength to fix things, standing guard at night.

But on rare, controlled nights, he allows small touches. His head in your lap. Your fingers threading through what’s left of his hair. He doesn’t say much, but he hums softly—like a rasping, dying engine—just to let you know he’s still there.

Don’t worry—he’s still stupidly funny. “I haven’t e-eaten anyone in weeks. That’s go-gotta mean something, right?”

He uses CIPA like a weapon. He’s reckless. He’ll throw himself into danger, letting bones break and skin tear if it means getting to you or protecting you.

But he does decay. You often patch him up, sometimes literally sewing him together. It’s intimate in a strange, macabre way. Your hands covered in flesh and black sludge, your voice quiet as you ask, “Still with me?”

He always nods. Even if his eyes have glazed, he finds a way to respond—even if it is just slowly turning into grunts and groans.

You become his anchor. The reason he doesn’t give in and feed. The reason he hasn’t let himself rot entirely. He needs you like he needs to breathe—except he doesn’t breathe anymore, and you know it.

You learn to read his tells: When his jaw clenches too long. When he stops blinking. When he stares at your neck or wrists for too long.

If you came into this thinking you were going to have sex? No dice. Toby’s body is fraying with every passing day—he’s literally dying actively. If you even thought about touching his dick it would fall off. He misses getting to touch you, no doubt, but it’s not worth the chance that he might also turn you if fluids get mixed wrong.

Dealing with him decaying:

At first, it’s subtle. Toby’s voice—already rough from years of misuse and damage—starts to crack more than usual. What was once a rasped mutter now becomes a strained whisper, words catching in his throat like they’re too heavy to climb out. You catch him coughing more, and when he tries to speak, it sometimes comes out as a low growl or broken syllable.

He notices it too. His brow furrows, frustration bleeding through his expression. His mouth moves like he wants to say more, but all he gets is static—garbled syllables or grunts. The first time it really happens, he throws his hands up and storms out of the room, fingers twitching, unable to express even that he’s angry with himself.

You try to make it easier—offering him a notebook, then a whiteboard, even just holding your phone between you two for him to type. But with every passing week, the decline worsens. His ability to spell, to remember simple words, even to focus long enough to form coherent sentences—it all slips through his fingers.

The CIPA doesn’t help. He doesn’t register when he chews the inside of his cheek raw or grinds his molars down. He doesn’t notice the cracked skin in his throat, or the torn vocal cords scraping like wire. He’ll try to hum, to grunt out noises when you say something funny, but it’s off. Wrong. Almost feral.

And then one night, he stops trying entirely.

Instead, he just looks at you with those pale, unfocused eyes. His posture is more animal now—head tilted, mouth slightly ajar, always drooling a little. He grips your wrist too tight, even when he’s trying to be gentle. His breathing is heavier, less controlled, and sometimes you catch him sniffing at you like he’s trying to recognize your scent, even if he can’t say your name anymore.

But he remembers you’re important.

His hands shake as he cups your cheek. A low rumble builds in his chest—not quite a purr, but not a growl either. His body remembers love even when his mind forgets language. You’ll say, “It’s okay. I’m here,” and he’ll nod, burying his face in your shoulder like a scared animal seeking warmth.

And in the quiet hours, when he can no longer speak, he still finds ways to communicate—tapping rhythms on your arm, nudging his head into your lap, tracing letters he can no longer write onto your skin with trembling fingers.

You never get a “goodnight” again. But you get the weight of him curled against you, limbs tangled with yours, undead heart still trying to beat in time with yours.

Even in his rot, he tries to love you. As much as he remembers how.

After all that:

Toby stops reacting to his name unless it’s said loud, sharp. He doesn’t look at you the way he used to; not with recognition, not even with confusion. His eyes go glassy, his jaw slack more often than not. You find him standing in corners, swaying ever so slightly, like the wind in him has nowhere to go.

He doesn’t pick up his hatchets anymore. Doesn’t grunt in response when you speak. The twitching worsens—violent, jerky spasms that roll through his limbs, like the last pieces of a dying machine still trying to run.

The only time he seems alert is when he smells blood.

You learn quickly: a paper cut, a nosebleed, even a bitten lip will draw him close, too close. He’ll sniff, hover, pupils blown wide. Sometimes his teeth chatter and his hands flex like he’s starving—and some part of him is. Something deeper than hunger. Something inhuman. His mouth opens like he wants to beg you for something—but he doesn’t know the words. He’s forgotten how.

One night, he tries to bite you. It’s not hard. Not brutal. He latches onto your forearm with just enough pressure that you feel the sting, the dull scrape of decaying teeth. But when you pull back—scared, bleeding—he doesn’t recoil in shame.

He moans.

You don’t sleep that night. You sit in the hallway with your back to the door, sobbing quietly, hearing him drag himself back and forth inside the room like a caged animal. You want to believe he’s still in there somewhere. That the boy who used to giggle under his breath and mouth “I love you” from across the room hasn’t been completely devoured by the thing he’s become.

But you’re not sure anymore.

The final straw is when you catch him crouched over a rabbit. Not just eating—tearing, ripping, blood soaked across his hoodie, coating his chin, pupils wild. When he sees you, he doesn’t speak. He only licks his lips and lets out a sound that rattles in his throat—somewhere between a growl and a whimper.

You run. He doesn’t chase. But later that night, he knocks on your door.

And you know. You just know—this is it. What’s left of his soul has gone quiet. He stands on the other side of the door, swaying, breathing heavy, maybe not even aware of what he’s doing. You open it, and his eyes meet yours—not in love, not in grief, but in hunger.

You have two options.

Let him turn you—feel those infected teeth tear into your shoulder, let the rot take your veins, the decay creep into your mind until all that’s left is the echo of what you used to be. Be with him. Be like him.

Or end it.

You raise the shotgun from under your bed. His head tilts, almost curious. There’s no fear in him anymore. No anger. Just need. And even now, as your hand shakes and tears stream down your cheeks, he reaches out—not to hurt you, not quite. He just wants to touch. To hold. The way he used to.

But you know what will happen the moment he gets close enough.

You whisper his name.

No response.

Just the soft, wet sound of breath, and the twitch of decaying fingers reaching for you again.

You decide.

꩜ .ᐟ