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demonic0angel · 6 months

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Celestial Bodies AU (maybe part 1/?)

(Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)

Superman flew through space, eying the new galaxy that he and Batman had discovered the night before.

“So? What does it look like?” Batman asked him through the communications.

“Well…” Superman looked around. “It’s definitely weird. It has an enormous cluster of stars, but I’m not feeling stronger…”

“What? Are you saying that the radiation isn't working?"

"The stars here are all white stars or above, but they don't make me feel stronger. Actually... I think I'm feeling weaker too. Something is definitely wrong here."

Batman was quiet for only a moment before he asked, "Are you in any current danger? Can you defend yourself?"

"No, I'm fine. I don't sense any living beings around me. I can defend myself." Superman understood what Batman was trying to say. "Are you asking me to stay and continue observing?"

"If you can."

"Of course. I'll stay and continue investigating."

"Thank you," Batman said softly and Superman smiled at that.

"Don't sweat it! Let me get the receiver."

Superman pulled out the device that allowed him to connect to radio signals from space, and began turning it on. However, the moment it turned to life, the radio began to malfunction, short circuiting and turning into static as it shook itself. Superman nearly tossed it away before suddenly, it was normal again.

And then, the signal began to pick up.

And it began to sing.

Superman stared wide eyed as a symphony of music and singing came through the radio. It was a little choir of humming and barely audible voices, sounding as though they were underwater. Still, it was undeniably beautiful, like something heard from heaven.

"Batman," Superman said, hushed, "are you hearing this?"

"... yes."

"It's amazing! Are these stars making these sounds?" Superman continued flying, observing the blue and yellow stars, each radiating a heat that could not power him. He continued flying, listening to the ethereal song that called for listeners.

He hadn't been paying attention when he felt an ever sensed blistering heat and a force beginning to drag him forward. He turned his head and his eyes widened again before he cursed and flew a little distance away.

"Superman? What is it?"

"Batman, turn on your visuals," he said as he turned on the camera.

There was silence before Superman heard the barely audible click and then a buzz of a camera. The camera was attached to Superman and it would send the views back to Batman, allowing him to see just what Superman was freaking out over. When it turned on, Batman was silent for a moment, clearly as confused as Superman was feeling.

"... tell me what I'm seeing."

"A quasar, a protostar that is possibly becoming a blue star, a neutron star, and a black hole all coexisting right next to each other. As well as several planets all circling them like stars."

Superman watched the scene with a sense of both interest, awe, and horrified confusion.

The scene in front of him just wasn't possible. Not only would a black hole consume everything around it, there was already a quasar nearby doing the same thing with an even stronger force. However, the protostar and neutron star were fine even though they were so close, along with the few planets. The planetary nebula around the neutron star circled around each celestial object in an assembly line, flowing from the neutron star to the black hole to the quasar and then to the protostar. If the nebula wasn't taken by one celestial object, it was passed onto another.

Most of the nebula seemed to be absorbed by the quasar and protostar, but the two of them seemed to coexist in peace. The neutron star continued to spin and the black hole surrendered most of the nebula to its neighbors. The planets also spun peacefully, a few even had rings that were not taken by the quasar or black hole.

It was like only foreign objects, like Superman himself, would be absorbed.

It was fascinating. Like they were alive and knew how to live with one another.

Superman explained it to Batman in detail. Batman was silent before he said, "This shouldn't be possible. How could this occur? Unless there was some sort of external force that is keeping each astronomical object to themselves and prevents them from destroying each other, there's no way this could be a natural occurrence."

"Are you suggesting that this is man-made?"

"How could it be anything but? Aren't you listening to singing right now?"

Superman raised the receiver and the singing on the other side continued without pause, a constant symphony of voices.

"... you could be right. Do you want to try and make contact?"

"Yes. Send back a signal."

Superman pressed a few buttons on the receiver to send a radio message back and in an instant, the singing died down, leaving only a faint crackling and a water-like noise.

Biting the bullet, Superman then spoke into the receiver.

"Hello. My name is Superman, and I come from the Milky Way galaxy. I am a kryptonian from the planet Earth. I wish to peacefully connect with you, whoever you are."

More crackling.

Batman cursed softly in his ear and Superman winced, already feeling that he was too impulsive. However, just as he was about to backtrack and escape from this particular galaxy, there was a whispered, shuddery, "Hello."

Superman blinked and then called out, "H-Hello!"

There was silence again, only that underwater staticky noise coming through.

"Can I take this as you accepting my peace offering?"

"... yes."

The sound that came from the receiver seemed to come from many, all joining together into one.

There was a hitched gasp and then Batman hissed, "Keep talking! Ask them questions! Ask them if they want to make contact with us or if we can form an alliance!"

Superman nodded to himself and spoke into the receiver, "Can you see me?"

"We see you."

Superman paused and then continued in stride, "I'm sorry, but I can't see you. Can you show yourself?"

"In front of you."

There was nothing but the strange collection of celestial objects. Unless there was someone inside? It could be possible, but Superman hadn't detected anyone living around him for awhile now.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but—"

"In front of you."

Batman then said through the communicator, "Superman, the neutron star!"

The neutron star in front of him then began to spin faster and faster, before lighting up into a pulsar in the very next second.

Superman was stunned at the sight, as the radiation emitting from the neutron star passed over him over and over and over, radiating with a cold burn that resonated through his bones and made his limbs weak. The impossibly quick change from a regular neutron star into a pulsar only made him even more frightened as the radio signals made the receiver scream.

"We are here." The crackling voices said again, all as one.

Superman flew backwards, his breath caught in his throat.

"Superman?! Why did you go backwards?" Batman demanded.

Superman flinched and then he said softly, "Sorry. Instinct."

It was true. The fear that had entered his body had made him instinctively retreat. It was even worse than looking death in the eye. It was like the feeling of knowing the End of All, of knowing that your existence would be wiped out, of knowing that resistance would be futile and that your death wouldn't even be enough to save the ones you loved.

His heart pounded as he flew a little closer, enough to feel the heat from the quasar again and almost reluctantly said into the receiver, "Are you the neutron star?"

"We are all what you see in front of you."

"'We'? Are all of you speaking to me?"

The neutron star pulsed again, spinning just a little faster like before.

"I am the King. And these are my family."

The voice than switched out, a barely noticeable change in the difference because it was all the same voices speaking as one. However, now a different voice was leading.

"Ask your questions, Son of Jor-El. What do you seek?"

Superman's eyes widened. Then after a moment of silence, he said, "I am here to explore the universe and find protection for the planet I live on. Could you help us?"

"We are but objects in the sky. We will only answer questions."

Batman interrupted. "Ask them if they can see the future and if anything will happen to Earth."

Superman explained to the collection of celestial bodies, "This is my colleague and partner, Batman. We work together for Earth's safety."

"We know. He is the best of you."

There was silence from both Superman and Batman. Superman was stunned, but he also couldn't help but smile. "Yes, that is true. Can you see the future? Can you tell us if any dangers will be coming to earth."

Another voice came to life, taking the lead in speaking. "We can. Whatever comes, you and your Justice League can handle it."

Superman could hear Batman breathe a sigh of relief. Superman felt the same and he placed a hand on his heart as he gave a sigh of relief as well. "Thank goodness." Before Batman said anything, Superman asked, "Could you tell us more about yourself? How do you have a consciousness?"

The radio crackled and popped for a little while before the first voice, the one who called themself 'King' spoke up.

"We were like you once. But then I became a legend."

"Like me?" Superman asked.

Batman then said, "Ask them if they were human."

"Were you human?"

More silence.

And then—

"Yes."

Superman's eyes widened and he couldn't help but gasp in shock, a hand flying to his mouth as he stared at the celestial bodies in front of him, all of which used to be human. These enormous objects that used to be human, now forced to succumb to emptiness and spin in space without pause.

"Are... are you okay? We have magic users in our team, maybe we can offer you help?" Superman asked.

Batman hissed in the comms, "Superman! We don't even know them!"

The receiver crackled some more and the voice changed again. The sound of them being underwater seemed louder than ever.

"We are fine, Son of Jor-El. We are happy."

The person speaking switched to someone new.

"Ask your questions and then leave." The receiver quieted again. And then they spoke, "My little sister needs her rest for her rebirth."

Superman's eyes flicked over to the protostar, which was still absorbing most of the nebula. The only thing that could have possibly been 'reborn' was the protostar, as it needed to heat itself to start the transition to become a main sequence star. Was that one the little sister?

"Just two more questions, if that's alright." He could hear Batman's deep, frustrated sigh. He probably had more questions but was frustrated by Superman's curtesy and his lack of scientific curiosity. Superman knew he was annoyed but he felt an odd camaraderie with the celestial objects. He didn't want to anger them if necessary.

"Speak."

"How old are you? And will you help us again in the future?"

The receiver crackled.

The voice changed once more. "We are all far, far, far older than you imagine. Time does not work for us like other stars."

The speaker switched again. "But in human years, we have not reached our adult ages yet."

The honest confession made Superman's eyes widen, especially as he realized what they meant.

A bunch of children had turned into stars and black holes before they were even adults?

Superman was suddenly starkly reminded of Robin, Batman's sidekick, one of the very few children that he knew in their line of business. By Batman's silence, he was probably thinking along the same lines.

"Speak your last question and leave."

"Can the Justice League depend on you for further help and assistance in the future? I would like to come back if I can."

"Our King was once a hero too. Come if you need it."

That was when the quasar sent out a flare, the gases and planetary nebula around it rubbing against each other hard enough to send sparks Superman's way. It was clearly a warning, especially as the neutron star began spinning rapidly again, radiation beginning to light the air around him in a devastating chill.

"Leave," They all chorused.

Superman immediately turned away without hesitation. "Thank you very much! I will come again!"

The receiver did not speak again. Instead, the songs restarted and the voices continued to sing a song that he could not recognize. It was ethereal, if not haunting.

Superman was smiling as he left. Batman was silent in his ear and Superman finally asked, "So? What do you think?"

"... I think we need more information."

"You're just feeling soft because they said they were heroes and were also children," Superman teased.

"How do you know they weren't lying?" Batman sounded angry.

However, Superman wasn't concerned and only laughed. "Lying? For what? They could definitely rip me apart if they wanted. They even had a baby star with them."

"Hnn." The old softie definitely suddenly had a moment of heartache from remembering the baby star.

Superman glanced behind himself, where the fascinating cluster of stars, planets, and black holes all existed in harmony together. The quasar and neutron star lit the way alongside the other stars and the tiny galaxy grew smaller and smaller as Superman flew away.

Whatever this galaxy actually was, Superman would be glad if they could find the help they needed and helped the Justice League in turn.

".... let's come back in a month," Batman said, sounding like it was pulled out from his teeth.

It was good that Batman felt the same way.

Perhaps the next time Superman came, he could chat some more with this little galaxy?

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I did so much research for this, it's crazy 😭

Dan is the black hole and Danny is the neutron star. The reason is that both of them are technically star corpses (a large or high-mass collapsed or dead star can either result in nothing, a black hole, or a neutron star) and while Dan consumes everything around him, Danny is a remnant of a star before him. The planetary nebula that came from Danny going supernova is consumed by his siblings, mostly Jazz or Dani. Dan and Danny don't fight over it bc they love their sisters.

Dani is a protostar, which is also a baby star. I hc that she used to be a star before, but she's just restarting her rebirth until she becomes a black hole or a neutron star like her siblings :3

Jazz is a quasar, which is a different type of black hole, (inspired by this post I made). She and Danny light the way for their little galaxy.

Tucker and Sam are also there, as planets! They used to be stars but they're reborn as planets this time. Tucker is a desert planet with several Saturn-like rings of metals and sand. Sam is a terrestrial planet and is capable of life. All that's on her is plants and animals tho (they haven't gotten enough time to evolve yet). The rest of the crew (Valerie, Wes, etc) are also there and are planets. They never really reach the level of stars tho.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #jazz fenton #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #celestial object au #dan phantom #dani phantom #dani fenton #danielle fenton #danielle phantom #phantom family #dp crossover #dp au #dp x dc au

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miguelhugger2099 · 4 months

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Just a silly little request👉👈

Do u think fem!reader likes to wear crop top with no bra and Miguel's boxer. You two are just flirting and teasing each other until Miguel decided to toss the remote to reader for movie night and reflex, she tries to catch it reveal her tits and Miguel just "😳... Nice catch..." And smut if u want. Having his hands speezing them I'm going insane 😭😭

Just One Touch

a/n: this ask has been in my inbox for so long and ur not gonna believe what got me out of my month long stump to write this. everyone thank sir-mix-a-lot's song "ride" it possessed me and gave me energy. excuse the crappy writing, i'm still lowk having writers block so it's not my greatest work. please enjoy and as alwayssss i can rewrite this if you'd like <3 Art: mar_mar0u on instagram ! Unedited btw, plz dont crucify me ill die :(

It wasn’t unusual for you and Miguel to wind down after the sun had set. Movie night was a must, whether it was cheesy romcoms for you to sob to, horror movies for Miguel to be annoyed at, or even action movies to make fun of–as long as it was together. Still, Miguel teased you by holding the remote up above his head and out of your reach. He grins with one hand on his hip and watches you reach up with no progress in sight. “Give it!” You laugh, trying to keep your anger believable. “No, first you take my clothes and I know you’re gonna pick one of those creepy knock off animated movies.” He chuckles and he walks off. Due to the size difference, every step of his was three of yours–practically chasing after him. “Put respect on Over the Hedge’s name! It’s not even a knock off!” Miguel plops on the couch on one side with a huff of laughter. “Fine, fine. Here–take it!” He throws the remote above your head and you pause and stumble back.

You reach high up to grab the remote. “You asshole!” You laugh. The remote hits your fingertips and bounces a bit farther back. Your crop top rides and flows up as you lean back onto one foot to finally grasp the device in your hand.

Miguel could feel everything happen in slow motion. The small glimpse of your underboob before your nipples finally come into view. The grin on Miguel’s face slowly drops and he could feel drool slipping from his lips. He watched your boobs bounce, the roundness of your flesh and perky buds making his cheeks go red. He can’t help the disappointment in his face when your arms fall back down, shirt hiding the glorious view of your tits.

“Caught it!” You smirk at him triumphantly. His eyes continue to glance at your tits. “Yeah, uh…” He gulps. “Nice catch.” He adjusts his shorts, hoping his growing bulge wasn’t too apparent.

You don’t notice, too engrossed in your victory and making Miguel speechless. So, you crawl in his lap, Miguel’s hands suspended in mid-air as you nestle yourself in his arms. You feel his muscles surround you like a warm comfortable blanket, leaning your back on his firm chest while you click the buttons to turn on the TV.

“So what are we picking this time?” You ask, flipping through random trailers to find what you’re looking for.

“Huh? Oh, uh, anything’s fine.” Miguel shrugs half-heartedly. He’s too focused looking down at your crop top. Slowly and gingerly, his fingers caress your stomach–light and feathery as if trying to be discreet.

“Yeah sure, whatever. Don’t complain if you don’t like it.” You laugh softly, clicking on a random movie that looked good enough.

“Mhm.” Miguel mumbles, not even hiding his disinterest in a damn movie right now. While your eyes are on the opening scene on the TV, Miguel’s eyebrows scrunch together, his lips into a tight line as he resists his urges.

He can’t help it though. He gets handsy, Miguel carefully caressing your stomach. You barely notice it since the two of you always get snuggled up like this.

You only notice when he hikes higher up, his hips shifting slightly while his fingers run up and down the valley of your tits. You smack his arm around your waist with the remote.

“What are you doing?” You ask, trying to sound annoyed but the smile seeps through your tone.

“Nuthin’” He murmurs. Miguel then feels the curve of your breast, his fingers itching for a squeeze.

“We’re supposed to be bonding.” You move to turn your head up at him. You try to meet his eyes but he stays glued downwards to your chest.

“We are.” Miguel insists, his lips slightly parted. His thumb swipes across your nipple and you gasp, feeling your cheeks burn. He can feel the nub perk up and his tongue darts out to lick his lips, biting his bottom lip to hide the satisfied smile on his face.

Miguel takes his chances, bending down to kiss along your neck, tugging you closer to him and making you melt. His body moves against yours and your eyes flutter shut. His mouth gently sucks and licks your skin and you shiver. Miguel grabs your left tit, the plump flesh squeezed in his palm. His fingers flick your nipple, circling around before gently twisting it.

You back arches and you moan. “Ah–fuck, Miguel!” You hissed, a burning heat crawling up your neck. Your hand lifts up to curl in his hair while he attacks your neck, his other hand running down to his boxers you were wearing. He slips his fingers in the front hole of the boxers, using his index and middle fingers to spread your folds apart. You feel him nip your neck with a smile as he smears your slick around your clit.

He then uses both of his hands to lift your shirt up and over your head. Your breasts are now out in the open, the cool air hitting your chest and making your nipples hard. You barely get a word out, Miguel already cupping your boobs and squeezes them. Your hips buck back to grind on his crotch, eyes closing as he plays with you. Miguel used his fingers to tease your nipples simultaneously, flicking and tweaking them. He lifts them up and watches them fall down before squeezing them again. Your pussy is soaking through his boxers, aching for more stimulation that’s making you feel empty.

His eyes are dark watching his own hands play with your chest, the memory of the bounce of your tits as you caught the remote high in the air. He wanted to see that again.

Miguel could feel his cock swell and twitch along with each bounce of your breasts. You have your body arching, hands behind you and holding onto his thighs. He plays with your tits switching with his hands or his mouth–but if you asked him, he preferred sucking on them. So that’s where he was now, lips attached to your right nipple and his right hand playing with your left. You slammed down on his cock, whining since you barely felt him thrust up. But in all honesty, Miguel could do this forever with your tits in his mouth and his cock buried in your cunt. While his tongue sucked and lipped your nipple, he knew if he didn’t focus, he’d cum instantly. He looks up at you after playfully biting down on your nub, your squeaks making his dick twitch against your walls. You look down with glossy eyes, hips stuttering and pussy throbbing when you see him smirk up at you with your boob in his mouth. One of his hands that was on your waist comes up to your back to keep your body arched. Miguel scrunches his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed while he sucks on your nipple, his hips jerking and balls slapping against your ass. You wail with each thrust, falling forward and holding onto the backrest making your boobs squish in his face. Miguel groans as he lets you fall on top of him, hands falling down to your ass as you grind on him. His cock slips in and out of your wet cunt with a wet squelch. It makes you bite your lip with a loud whimper, the action making your man under you tug on your nipple with his teeth. He’s obsessed with you, Miguel pulling away just enough to make your tits swing in his face. He glances up at your pleasure filled face, sweat glistening down your face and body while you panted and whined. He’s entranced, eyes falling down to follow the way your boobs bounce as he fucks up into you. Miguel trusts you to keep fucking yourself on his while his hands leave your ass to come up and cup and squeeze both your breasts. He kneads them and watches your mouth drop open to moan. Your head hangs and your foreheads almost touch. Miguel doesn’t need to tell you a damn thing, his lips parted while he looks at yours. You lean down to kiss him, Miguel immediately slipping his tongue past your defenses with a low groan. He continues groping you, his hips smacking up with your thrusting and he can feel himself about to cum. He can tell you’re about to too by the way your pussy spasms wildly, sucking him in deeper and soaking him in your slick.

So he hammers into you, grunting as he puts all his strength in making you cream. Your eyes roll back, mouth separating from his to dig your nails into his shoulders and roll your hips. You can barely get a word out, garbled moans of his name escaping you while your body twitches, ecstasy flowing through from top to bottom. Miguel watches your chest heave as you catch your breath, your juices dripping out of your a making a sticky mess in his lap. You’re dizzy and weak, body flopping forward on his chest. Miguel soothes you, curling his hand in your hair and pressing you into the crook of his neck. He kisses the top of your head and you’re too numb to feel him take your body off him. He places your back down on the couch, hair sticking to your face with sweat, lips plumped from kissing. You’re whining when your sensitive folds feel his still hard cock rub in between them, accidentally slipping his tip in a few times. You swallow to get the dryness out of your throat. “Mig…Mig…” You’re cut off when Miguel slams into you, your body jerking and tits bouncing with the hard thrust. Your hazy vision rolls onto his face, Miguel glued onto your chest still. He gives another few soft thrusts and watches your boobs jiggle around. You feel his cock jump inside your walls, a soft hum of approval coming from deep in his throat. He bends down, biting and licking the side of your tit to add another mark to his collection. His teeth marks littered around your plump and round flesh–his favorites being the ones around your areola.

His face is buried in your breasts while he pounds into you, your head thrown back and legs locked around his waist. Oh, he’s in heaven.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader reblog #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel x y/n #miguel x you

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some-bunniii · 8 months

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My Charming Red Savior [1]

・❥ You’re harassed by a man following you down the street. Luckily, a rather smiley demon swoops in and claims to be your husband.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

x: no use of y/n. i said this was going to be short and I lied, it’s about 6k words.

warnings: mild swearing

Warning! Battery at 1%! Device will power down in 3..

You stared down at the phone in your hands as the message lit up on the screen. Eyes widening, you quickly tapped the screen, trying to bypass the pop-up and get another glimpse at the digital map you were using.

2…

“Hold on now! Just let me see where I'm going, please!” You begged the small device, your grip tightening around it as you tried to figure out what direction you needed to go.

1..

You peered around the small pop-up. Okay.. Pete Ave was that way, which meant you needed to take a right after the stoplight and go-

Device powering down! Have a nice day :)

“Damnit!” You growled as the screen flashed once, and then faded to black. You squeezed your eyes shut, face lifted to the sky as you took a deep breath to center yourself.

“Move it, won’t ya?” A demon woman chastised as she hurried around you. Lowering your head, you realized you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, your spot interrupting the flow of pedestrian traffic. Quickly, you backpedaled until your back hit a brick wall of a building.

It was getting late in Pentagram City, and that meant you needed to hurry to get to your friend's place before the worst inhabitants of Hell came crawling out.

She had just gotten married and moved into a rather quaint little home, and you were very happy for her. You had not seen it yet, just in pictures she had shown you on her phone and the one time you drove past it.

“Oh, pleaseeee won’t you come over tonight? I can’t wait to show you all the renovations we’ve done! It looks so much better since we bought it.” She had begged over the phone that afternoon.

You had stood there, your nails clicking against the countertop in your kitchen as you thought. You had nothing important going on, just some light cleaning and shopping. What was the harm in going over there and visiting?

“Okay, sure. Yeah, I can come over.” You finally spoke.

“Ahh! I’m so excited, we’ll have a big dinner and everything. I can even rent a movie for us to watch, what are you into again? Those sappy romance flicks?”

“Whatever you want to watch, it’s your milestone we’re celebrating. I’m not the one picking.”

“Geez, you know how hard it is for me to decide things like that! But, i’ll do it. Oh! Before I forget, could you stop by the store on your way and get some Cajun seasoning? It’s for the meal!”

“Of course. I’ll see you soon.” You had told her, before hanging up. Eyes moving to the clock, you realized you two hours before needing to arrive. Which meant you had to get moving on those dishes and errands.

It didn’t take long before you were out the door. Wearing a nice outfit and new shoes, you strolled down the street. The digital map on your phone guiding you across the city as you moved.

Being so close to the city center, you didn’t have a personal vehicle. Instead, you took public transport all the way past the Entertainment District, your eyes gazing up at the rather tall VoxTek building as the bus sped by.

You didn’t know much about the Vees, other than they were very powerful Overlords with a lot of influence in the media industry. In fact, you didn’t know much about Overlords at all. Were they nasty demons? They must be, if they bartered in souls.

But there had to be better ones, right? You knew of the cannibal, Rosie, and despite her, well.. dietary choices, she seemed to be a rather motherly and courteous demon. In such a way that the residents of Cannibal Town held very high regards for her, which proved her ability to lead in a just manner. She couldn’t be the only one with a more ethical moral code.

Your mind lingered on that train of thought, before you were pulled back into reality by the bus driver’s call for your stop. Quickly, you had hurried out of the vehicle, before continuing your directed path forward.

You arrived at the large storefront, a cozy cottage-like building that whispered of deliciousness as the scents of spices and other meal-making goods wafted through the open door.

Taking a step inside, you quickly darted through the aisles, searching for the Cajun seasoning. What was your friend making tonight? You weren’t too familiar with these kinds of ingredients. Hopefully, it was going to be tasty.

When you found it, you turned it in your hands, inspecting the product. Yep, you’ve never seen this before in your life.

After paying for the item, you quickly departed. Your next destination set on your phone.. but not for long.

Just a few more blocks, and you’d have been welcomed by the two love-birds with open arms. A nice, hot meal and a good movie to finish the night.

Except, how were you supposed to get there now?!

Your phone was useless, and the digital displays around you showed nothing but advertisements and the latest news.

Frantically, you looked around for any familiar landmarks, hoping to rely on your memory to guide you. But the streets of Pentagram City, with their twisting alleys and repetitive buildings, all looked eerily similar in the dimming red light of dusk.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you tried to recall the route from memory. Pete Avenue, right after the stoplight, then… was it a left or a right at the next intersection? You berated yourself for not doing a better job at memorizing the way before you left.

Turning, you raised a fist at the VoxTek HQ building, cursing them for your suffering. Stupid technology and their shitty battery life.

Slowly, you started walking again. Past the neon signs beckoning you to take a glance at what they had to offer, past the girls on the corner who were calling out to you to come have a ‘good time’.

Sometimes, you wished you had someone else to lend a hand at times like these. But, your heart and your home were unimaginably lonely when it came to a romantic partner. It was something that others around you couldn’t stop pestering you about.

“You really need to get out more,” another friend of yours had said one day, while you two dined at a cafe, “there’s this new dating app, called ‘Ozzie’s Love Link’. Everybody is buzzing about it. You should totally give it a whirl!”

You had rolled your eyes at her suggestion, a dating app? Those things were practically a fraud. The demons on there either wanted sex, or their idea of a relationship was twisted and foul. You even had heard stories of people playing into sick traps of the perfect first meet, only to be murdered and left in an alley to rot.

“I want something real, not some.. temporary escape. Have you ever met anyone that’s actually found ‘The One’ through one of those things? And, who knows, maybe the demon of my dreams will just walk right into me one day.”

She had laughed at your words, holding a hand to her mouth to contain her giggles.

“Oh, you. You’re still hanging on to those silly stories of a Prince Charming, hm? C’mon now, this is the real world. Nobody is going to swoop in and save you, and then fall hopelessly in love with you. That's a fairy tale. You need to put in the effort.”

You shrugged. Maybe, she was right. Maybe, those stories you had digested were just fairy tales, meant to enrapture you with promises of the perfect life. You were in Hell, after all.

‘She just doesn’t understand,’ you reminded yourself, ‘all her relationships have been toxic. She doesn’t know any better.’

You weren’t going to let her judgments get to you, you could live your life however you wanted, with whatever dreams you chose.

As you walked down the bustling streets, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It was as if unseen eyes followed your every move, sending shivers down your spine.

‘Stop freaking out,’ you told yourself, ‘it’s just your imagination, there’s people all around you. They have their own lives, they’re not watching you.’

Nearing the curb to an intersection, you glanced up at the street sign. Pete Avenue, finally. Now, think. Left?

Looking left, you peer down the rows of strip clubs and bars. The crowds only got bigger from there, and there seemed to be no residential streets. You turned your head to the right, and it began to branch out into more domesticated buildings and neighborhoods. The farther your gaze traveled, the quieter the sidewalks became.

So, right it is.

You turned the corner of the block and kept moving, your pace quickening as you checked a large digital clock on the side of a building. It was getting closer to the time you had promised to be there.

But, now where were you supposed to go? You turned your head, until your gaze landed on a small imp standing near an alley, a cigarette between his lips.

Walking forward, you raised your hand up in greeting. “Excuse me, do you know where Magdalene Drive is, by any chance? I’ve just gotten a little turned around and would greatly appreciate some guidance.”

The imp regarded you for a moment, his eyes squinted in thought. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, and exhaled a large breath. A plume of gray smoke vented from his lips, and he coughed harshly.

“Yeah, I do. You see that big statue over there?” He pointed to your left, the cigarette hanging between his fingers.

Turning your head, you leaned slightly backwards. Off in the distance, a large marble statue depicting an unknown owl demon practically glowed against the darker backdrop. It seemed to hold resemblance to an Ars Goetia family member, but you couldn’t put a finger on who.

“Right when you pass it, take a left. Go two blocks straight, then take another left. One more block, and another right, and you’re on Magdalene Drive.”

Jeez, that was a lot of directions thrown at you in one sitting. Not wanting to pester the man any further, you waved a thanks and walked away.

How far have you come, exactly? You turned your head behind you, looking down the sidewalk of where you had just come from. Something flickered in your peripheral vision, a dark figure skirting from your gaze. Was someone watching you?

You shook your head. No, it’s just your imagination. Keep moving.

Slowly, you turned back and started walking. The sidewalks were practically empty now, the glow from the street lamps above you illuminating your path as you strolled up the large statue.

Twisting your head to get a better look at it, your gaze skimmed across the royal figure. The owl-demon was staring up at the sky, one arm raised with what seemed to be a ball of energy in his grasp. Swirls of gold marble laced the pearly white sphere. He was holding up, like it was an offering to Heaven.

Maybe, you’d come back later and take a look at the plaque below the statue. There had to be some significance, although you didn’t see yourself as a master of the fine-arts to te-

Crunch

What was that? That sounded like someone crushing a twig beneath their feet. You twisted to face behind you, and saw nothing once more.

‘Alright, this is getting a little freaky.’

You weren’t going to stop now though, you didn’t want any potential onlookers seeing you stalking the perimeter like a weirdo simply because your paranoia was having you hallucinate things.

Keeping your pace, you took a sharp left on the corner and continued down. How many blocks did that guy say? Two, if you could recall correctly.

That’s how many blocks you traveled, before stopping in your tracks. Which way did he say to go? Right? Left?

You rubbed your face with a hand, why did you suck so badly with directions?! If only you had charged your phone before you left, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Turning your head, you tried to figure out which way could be the correct one. There was nothing, though. It didn’t remind you of anything you’d seen when you had driven past her house.

“Hey, you lost?” A gravelly voice came from behind you. Eyes widened, you spun on your heel to face the stranger. He was tall, much taller than you. He sported scars running across his face, one eye half-lidded permanently from some kind of nasty wound.

He sported a dark leather jacket, with a thin sweater underneath. His hoodie was up, masking most of his features like a shadow. His skin was a dark red, and his eyes were a pale yellow. He seemed to be a Succubus demon, being too large for an imp.

There was no kindness in his tone or in his smile. Your brain screamed danger, you needed to get away from him. Quickly, you shook your head, trying to give him a well-meaning smile.

“No, i’m not! I’m just uhh- waiting for someone, they’ll be here soon anyway.”

“People that aren’t lost usually don’t ask strangers on the street for directions,” he chuckled darkly, “why don’t you tell me where you’re trying to go? I can give you a lift.”

As he closed in, you could smell the bitter taste of alcohol on his breath. You had to steel yourself not to recoil at his looming figure. Widening your smile, you attempted to not display any fear as he got closer.

“No, thank you. I would hate to bother you, my.. partner should be here soon, so you can continue on with your day!”

“Don’t you know this place ain’t safe for sweet dolls like you to be roaming alone? C’mon, let me take you to where i’m parked, i’m sure you’ll enjoy my company.”

You quickly stepped backwards, trying to widen the distance from this creep. It wasn’t until your back hit the wall of an abandoned storefront, did you realize you were trapped.

“I said no. I’m not some damsel in distress. Now, if you can excuse me, I need to keep going before it gets too late.”

You turned away from him, trying to break any kind of contact with the demon. Maybe if you kept your cool, he’d abandon his little mission.

That was until you felt his hand snake around your wrist, his grip tightening and pulling you to face him. In your state of shock, you dropped the bag containing the Cajun seasoning. You tried to tug your wrist free, but his yellow nails were practically digging into your skin, preventing your escape.

“What’s the rush, Doll? Scared i’m gonna bite or something? Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna harm you. I just want to show you a good time.”

Your eyes narrowed, gaze heated at the stranger. You frowned, glimpsing at his hand on your wrist in disgust.

“What are you doing? I don’t want anything to do with you, now let go of m-!”

“There you are, my dear!” A masculine voice exclaimed next to you. You felt the creep’s grip on your wrist loosen suddenly. His hand yanked away by another, and your gaze traced the light touch of unknown dark-red fingers gently taking your hand instead.

You snapped your head to the unfamiliar voice, taking in the sight of a second demon standing right besides you, a large grin on his face. He was tall, and he stood a little bit higher than the creep in front of you. His hair was styled in a cropped, angled bob, with an odd pinkish-red shade. Two small antlers protruded from the top of his head, and were those.. ears next to them too?

He was dressed rather formally, with a red pin-stripe coat adorned with a large black bow-tie. Over his right eye, you took note of the small oval-shaped monocle. He held a cane, with an odd looking end. The small oval in the center of it reminded you of an eye. He looked very dapper, like he was from a much older era.

His gaze was soft, as he looked at you. It wasn’t until his eyes snapped to the stranger in front did they take on a cold, dark glare. That smile never faltered, though.

Who was this guy? Why was he touching you? You felt the need to tear your hand from his grip as well.

Except, when he turned back to you, his eyes sent you a hidden message. Something like, ‘Go along with it, if you want to get rid of him.’

Seeing as you were stuck between two strange demons, with no idea what this new guy had in store for you, maybe it was a good idea to follow his silent command. Your hand went limp in his grip, and the deer demon raised it to his chest, patting it lovingly.

“Goodness, I leave for ten minutes to go pick up your favorite herbal tea and poof, gone! You are a slippery one, my sweet.” Static dripped from his voice, seemingly connected to the cane at his side. Was it some kind of microphone?

“Who are you?” The stalker questioned, backing up a step as he regarded the new face.

The red demon laughed, an audible ‘ha ha’, as if the creep just told a rather good joke. He extended his free hand in greeting, and the succubus only eyed the gesture with suspicion.

“The name is Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, sir, quite a pleasure. It’s rare for people these days to not recognize my face, although i’m sure it’ll become familiar soon enough.”

That ‘soon enough’ sounded quite ominous to you. And, was he some kind of celebrity or something? You didn’t remember him from anywhere.

“Well, do you mind? Me and the lady were in the middle of a conversation.” The succubus retorted, a slight growl in his tone.

“The better question is, do you mind, my good sir! Here I am, searching for my dear wife, only to see you bothering her on the corner!”

Wait a second, did this guy just call you his wife? You stood there, shocked, as you listened to the two bicker. Never would you think you’d hear that uttered from a man.

“Not only that, but touching her without her consent? My word, what degenerate behavior!” The demon, Alastor, continued. He shook his head in disapproval, an audible tsk-tsk coming from his lips.

“There was no harm in it, we were only having some fun. Ain’t that right, Doll?” The stalker turned to you, fire in his gaze as if daring you to speak.

You shook your head, your gaze snapping to Alastor. He watched you for a moment, before turning his attention back to the succubus.

“It seems your mother neglected to instill in you even a modicum of respect. If my wife weren’t here to witness, I'd be more than obligated to educate you on proper decorum.”

Something flickered in the creep’s eyes, and for a moment he looked almost afraid. After a moment, He sneered, eyeing you up and down. "I don't see a ring on her finger."

Alastor smirked, and gently lifted your hand forward for the demon to get a look at. His grin was that of triumph, as though he was showcasing a prized possession.

Your eyes widened at the sight, a gasp almost escaping your lips. On your finger, was a small gold ring. It was snuggled nicely around your digit, a perfect fit.

The Succubus leaned in, and so did you. Where the hell did that come from? That was not there a few minutes ago!

On closer inspection, you noticed something about the small band. Engraved in a tiny rose-gold font, was a single letter.

"There, now do you see?" Alastor's grin widened, his demeanor playful yet menacing. His eyes narrowed, as he waited for the demon's response. You felt the air crackle with some kind of energy, it was dark and cold. The hair on the back of your neck began to stand on its end, like static. Which one of the demons was doing that?

The stalker’s expression shifted from arrogance to confusion, then to frustration. He furrowed his brow, studying the ring intently as if searching for some kind of flaw.

Was he going to try and argue? The proof was there, albeit fabricated. Alastor dropped your hand, and instead snaked his arm around yours, locking you in place.

There was no argument didn’t, instead, the succubus took another step back. The demon straightened himself and shrugged, like the scene before him was not a bother, like his filthy plan wasn’t thwarted by the appearance of the powerful deer man.

“Whatever, I ain’t got time for this anyway. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lovebirds.”

As the man turned away, Alastor’s grin widened as he nodded his head. “Farewell, and may your endeavors be as futile as your manners!”

He turned to you, that dark look gone from his eyes as he gently tugged at your arm, still laced with his. “Now, my dear, shall we continue on our evening stroll?”

You nodded slowly, and together, the two of you turned away from the creep and began to walk. You had only made it a few steps before you heard the soft knocking of Alastor’s staff hitting the cement walkway. What was he doing?

Behind you, a strangled cry filled the silence, before a loud thump hit your ears. You jolted at the sound, did something just happen? It sounded like someone got hurt!

Right as you were about to turn your head to look at where the noises had emanated from, Alastor’s head snapped to you and you felt another gentle tug on your arm to turn your attention back to him.

You looked up at him, a smile forming on your lips as your nerves settled. “Thank you, for saving me, kind sir. I could have been a goner.”

“It was no trouble at all my dear, and please, call me Alastor. I was simply in the neighborhood and couldn’t just stand by and let that rapscallion manhandle you like that! Now, where are we off to, if I might ask?”

“Oh, well, Magdalene Drive! It’s a house right at the end of a street, my friend's place actually. She’s expecting me for dinner, that’s why I have this bag of…”

You became suddenly aware of the empty feeling in your hand. Did you forget to pick up the seasoning after you dropped it?! You groaned internally, your head hung in defeat. After all that, you didn’t have the one item you had taken this route to get.

Alastor raised an eyebrow at your reaction, and you quickly explained, “I needed to get Cajun seasoning for the meal they are making, but I dropped it when that.. man was harassing me! I’m terribly sorry, I have to go back and get it.”

Alastor only smiled, as usual, and shook his head. He waved his hand in a sweeping motion, brushing off your attempt to turn around.

“Nonsense! We don’t need to bother that poor soul any longer. Here, let me give you one from my personal collection!”

He lifted his free hand, and snapped his fingers. In a flicker of green light, a small spice jar landed in his palm. Your eyes widened, an amused smile gracing your lips as you watched the little trick. That was pretty cool. Was that the same kind of magic he used to secretly place the ring on your finger?

“Here you are! The best Cajun seasoning you can find in Pentagram City, my personal favorite. I was going to use it for something special, but it seems you are in need of it more than I.”

He lifted his hand toward you, and you took it gratefully. Lifting it to your nose, you inhaled deeply. It was an odd scent, one you couldn’t quite place, but it smelled quite delicious.

“Not many dishes require such flavoring, what is the meal you are having tonight?”

You shrugged, “I'm not really sure, to be honest. She didn’t say.”

“Hm, a pity. Have you ever tried Jambalaya? It is a rather magnificent dish, my personal favorite actually! My mother was quite the cook, indeed, and her craft would never miss when producing such delicacies.”

“No, I've never tried it before. What does it taste like?”

“It is hard to put a description on it. It’s almost like.. fireworkings popping off in your mouth! Ha ha, that is a good way to put it. You really must try it sometime.”

You smiled at Alastor as you listened to his words. Perhaps, you would.

“What got you into this pickle, anyway? Surely you didn’t actually feel like taking a stroll so late in the evening, hm?” He questioned as the two of you continued your pace, “a pretty face like yours will cause quite the stir amongst the filthy rats that like to inhabit this place.”

“Oh, well, I was using my phone for directions. It died on the way here, unfortunately I'm not familiar with this area and couldn’t find my way forward.”

His words finally processed in your brain. Did he just call you pretty? You didn’t get to think about that for much longer as his static-laced voice filled the air once more.

“Ah, of course. This new.. modern technology is nothing short of a fraud, if I do say. What ever happened to the old fashioned paper map? If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be so reliant on such faulty equipment.”

“Is that what your staff is? It looks like a microphone.” You said, pointing to the cane in his other hand.

Alastor glanced down to his cane, and then back to you. “Aha, a clever one indeed! Yes, my dear, I use it for my radio broadcasts!”

You perked at that. Radio? You had one of your own at home. Although it was quite dusty, you did occasionally turn it on to see what latest hits were circling around in the music industry.

“You do radio? That’s actually kind of interesting! Do you have a big audience?”

“Yes, indeed! Back when I was at my highest with it, I had many listeners. Unfortunately, my absence from Pentagram City has led to other forms taking the spotlight. I plan on rectifying that once I've settled in. Perhaps, you could listen in as well to see what I have to offer?”

You nodded at that, perhaps, you would listen in. He had a nice, pleasant voice. It felt like you could sit there for hours and just listen to him speak. Even if the words that came from his mouth was nothing but gibberish, you’d still let his voice drown out your thoughts.

“What about you?” The static dripping from his voice causes you to turn your head, “what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, well, I work at a men’s formalwear store. So, like tuxedos, dress shirts, and all that jazz. I help assist with fittings and greet guests, basically the doorgirl. Nothing too important.”

His ears perked slightly as he listened, and he turned his head to you. “Well, isn’t that interesting! Just recently, I had an awfully rude encounter with another demon, who had torn a piece of my suit. That slippery little serpent got away before I could.. question him about his antics.”

“That’s awful! Who was it?”

Alastor chuckled, rolling his eyes as he recalled the event. “Oh, nobody of importance, I assure you. Just some pretentious upstart fancying himself as an Overlord, with a knack for building rather ghastly creations of destruction. Since that encounter, I've been in the market for a fresh look. If a place of formal employs such splendid characters like you, I think it would be in my best interest to take a look in your establishment for a new coat”

Your eyes widened, he wanted to buy a new suit at your work because.. you were there? How charming.

Taking another glance at him, you realized he was rather good-looking. His red hair popped out against his much paler skin, it shined against the streetlights above. It looked rather silky and smooth, like you could comb them with your fingers and not find a single knot.

And those ears? They were pretty cute, actually. They stuck up from his head, and every so often they would twitch or shrivel in the direction of sudden noises. They seemed so soft too, would they feel as good as they looked if you were to squish them between your fingers?

He was a well-mannered gentleman, a pretty rare specimen in Hell. Not only that, but he stepped in to defend you from that creep when he could have simply walked by. He didn’t, and that made your cheeks heat up. Especially with the fact he called you his wife, instead of something simpler like ‘friend’.

What about when he called you pretty? Did he actually mean that? You never regarded yourself as such, but if Alastor thought that, maybe you cou-

“Is this the house?” Alastor’s words pulled you back into reality. You blinked, before looking up at the pale blue cottage snuggled nicely between two large Victorian homes. The talks you were having must have kept you from noticing the large distance.

“Yes! This is the place!” You exclaimed happily, finally, you were here. You turned to him, before looking down at your arm, still laced with his. Slowly, you pulled your arm free. The cold that replaced his touch was unwelcomed. Which felt odd to you, why did you want him touching you still?

You had only just met him, but perhaps his way of speaking and heroics swooned you enough to miss the warmth of his grasp. Lifting your head to meet his gaze, you tried to see what he was thinking behind that constant smile.

His eyes were unreadable, but the cold stare he had given the succubus, and to the other onlookers that you had occasionally passed was missing as he looked at you. There seemed to be a smile in his eyes, one that was meaningful and true.

“Well, I'm glad I could assist you in finding your way home, my dear. I quite enjoyed our chat, it is refreshing to hear from a new face once in a while. Especially one as eloquent as yours.”

You had to keep yourself from visibly blushing. He really was a gentleman in all regards. You bowed your head respectfully, before meeting his gaze again.

“The only reason why I'm here is because of you, Alastor. Thank you, and I do hope to run into you in the future. Our conversation was very interesting, I'd love to hear more of it sometime.”

He tilted his head at you, as he regarded your words. “Indeed, perhaps we will. Maybe, the next time we cross paths, I can give you a glimpse into my mothers recipe of Jambalaya. I’m sure your friend would be interested in trying something new the next time you sit down for dinner.”

You smiled at him, before waving goodbye. Turning towards the door you lightly rapped your knuckles against its wooden frame. It was then that you realized you never properly introduce yourself.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I never got to tell you, my name is-”

The words halted in your mouth, as you found the space in front of you empty. Alastor had vanished, not a single trace of his presence remained.

He was gone already? Damn, that guy moved quickly. Maybe, he was just a hallucination, a dream too good to be true. You stood there for a moment, before closing your mouth in thought.

Suddenly, the front door was flung open and a hand reached out and grasped your top. You turned your head just as you were yanked inside. Before you had time to blink, the door was slammed shut behind you. The window near it was shielded by curtains in seconds.

In front of you, your friend stood there. She was breathing heavily, a hand to her heart as if she just witnessed the scariest thing in her life. She quickly held your shoulders, scanning your body for any injuries.

“Oh my gosh! You’re lucky I pulled you in here quickly,” She exhaled a breath to calm her nerves, “You could have been that guy’s next meal!”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, an eyebrow raised at her strange demeanor.

“Alastor! The Radio Demon! Y’know, the guy that murdered all those overlords years ago?”

You raised an eyebrow as her words settled in your head. That demon was the Radio Demon? No way! He was such a gentleman, and rather pleasant too!

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! I don’t know what happened between the two of you, hopefully not a deal, but you need to stay away from him. He’s nothing but a bad omen!”

You smiled, shaking your head at her antics. She was just being silly, Alastor saved you from potentially being kidnapped. You doubted he’d lay a finger on you in a harmful manner.

“Well, I brought that seasoning. Why don’t we go take a tour of the place, hm?” You said, pulling her away from the doorway and down the hall.

She nodded, her face lighting up instantly. “Yes, a great idea! I can’t wait to show you the kitchen, we replaced practically everything. The flooring is a beautiful marble tile and…“

She trailed off as her gaze shot to your hand, her eyes widening at the sight. Quickly, she grasped it, and pulled it closer to inspect it. You tensed, what was she doing?

“..what is that on your finger? I didn’t know you wore this kind of jewelry!”

Following her gaze, you turned your hand slightly to see what she was so enthralled about, and your eyebrows raised in surprise at the sight.

Still perfectly snug on your finger, was that gold ring Alastor had magically placed on you. You assumed that it would have dissolved or vanished when he left, but that small A still glimmered in the overhead light.

“I’ll explain it over dinner.” You simply replied, pulling your hand out of her grip and beginning to walk further into the house.

Your eyes kept landing on the golden band, though. Alastor not far from your mind as you listened to your friend fill you in on all the renovations. It was quite pretty, and it seemed to look great on you. For a moment, a rather odd thought crossed your mind, causing your cheeks to heat as you lamented over it.

Would it be so bad if you just.. kept it on?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

woah, first fic of Alastor! I thought he’d be the perfect guy for this scenario. i wrote the reader as sort of a hopeless romantic bc it’s the complete opposite of al and i thought it was funny

EDIT: Part 2 is coming!!

lmk what you think! :)

#Alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #Alastor #radioapple is my crack ship so it makes sense i give al and luci love on my blog lmao

3K notes · View notes

seiwas · 6 months

Text

if art can be touched, will you let me hold you? | nanami kento

wc: 7.2k

summary: you press love into each piece of art you create, and nanami wonders if you’ve ever been loved that way.

contains: f!reader, non-curse!au, ceramic artist!reader, pov switching, slowburn, reader wears a skirt, food mentions, bad breakup (mentioned), mentions of art critiques, almost explicit sex, it’s love without words.

a/n: a concept and fic i didn’t expect would be so dear to me; there are some very small personal touches in this but the main inspiration for this is ‘we’ve been loving in silence’, but some bgm are ‘can’t take my eyes off you’, and ‘make you feel my love’.

ao3 (needs account)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: showing ‘i love you’ in all the ways you aren’t used to

CLAY. Take your material of choice; turn it over, get a feel of it. Is it a suitable medium for your art?

You first meet Nanami in the halls of an echoing applause.

The host’s spiel is muffled through the walls, but you know the program flow like the back of your hand—you’ve rehearsed your entrance every single day since being invited to announce your upcoming exhibit. In just a few minutes, your name will be called.

Yellow cue cards slip through your fingers, scattering to the floor as a result of the haste from your last minute touch-up just moments before.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, checking the time.

As you crouch low, a pair of brown Derby shoes land in front of you—long and thick fingers reaching for your cue cards on the floor. The time on his wrist matches yours, each second highlighted in the stark contrast of a dark face and silver exterior.

You’re quick to receive his help, taking the cards into your hands as you lightly graze his fingertips. When you look up, you’re met with sharp lines—an angular jaw, eyebrows set straight; a pointed nose and his cheeks carving out hollow shadows.

A geometric study on blank canvas.

It’s embarrassing, the way you fluster and bow, thanking him with a stutter as you’re brought back to the urgency of the matter by the sound of your name being called out.

The rush to the conference hall has you breathing heavily, the nerves hitting you full force as you step up the stage, nearly tripping at the last step. Hues of blue, yellow, purple, and green lights glare at you, and when the host hands you the microphone, you chuckle nervously, clearing your throat before addressing everyone in the room to thank them for coming this afternoon.

Your exhibit is called ‘What is the Face of an (Un)Touched Soul?’—a collection of ceramic sculptures molded to the realism of a human face, with the soul imagined as varying patterns and colors that fit each featured individual.

It’s been half a year since you started, with three out of six sculptures completed already. Two are in-progress, and you have yet to find a subject for one more; there are six more months for you to complete everything.

The audience sounds their applause, sophisticated claps and nods a familiar tune in the many years of your sculpting career. Critics in the room jot down their thoughts, reporters holding up microphones and recording devices to cover your announcement.

You smile wide, the rehearsed kind.

And at the end of your presentation, stepping down the stage, you spot him again.

You think to approach him in that moment, to thank him properly instead of the fumbling mess you’d choked out in the hallway—but you’re pulled towards a crowd of reporters and critics, recording devices pushed just below your chin as you watch him disappear into a sea of faces not nearly as interesting as his.

You meet Nanami again in the bustling morning rush at the bakery near your studio.

The past few weeks have been head-down and tedious, late nights working on painting some of the last few pieces for your exhibit. One of them is of your niece, 5-years-old in mint and white innocence; your brushstrokes are featherlight, softly accentuated by sponge dabs—a slate barely filled in, with room for more colors to appear with time.

Another is of your neighbor, an old man whose eyes have seen war beyond your comprehension—a retired soldier, a veteran of the military force. He plants primroses by his windowsill, the pastel yellow a stark contrast to the life he’s lived in red; neither of the colors cancel each other out, neither of them blend. You drag harsh strokes against his jawbone while smoothly gliding watercolor across his eyelids.

The people in your sculptures have sparked an untapped curiosity within you—for stories, for lives, for souls and what those might look like.

You bump into Nanami on his way out, the sandwich in his hand falling to the ground as you frantically attempt to pick it up.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” you turn over the sandwich, checking for any holes or openings in its packaging, “Let me–”

It only registers that it’s him when you notice the same brown Derby shoes, the same watch with that dark face and silver exterior, the same geometric perfection on his face when you look up and finally come eye-to-eye with that same fixed stare.

You clear your throat. Well, this is embarrassing.

“Let me buy you another sandwich.”

He doesn’t exactly look angry, expression set in straight lines, but you can’t tell for sure—there isn’t much you can go by.

“There’s no need,” he dusts off the wrapper, “it’s still sealed.”

“Please, I insist,” you pat down your skirt, linen rough on your fingertips, “As a thank you too, for last time.”

He arches a brow, and for a moment you worry that you’ve remembered him wrong—honey blonde hair and features you’ve been intrigued by since.

“You insist.” he repeats, clarifying more than questioning.

You nod.

He sighs, checking his watch before pocketing his sandwich and turning back to open the bakery doors.

The silence in line to the counter is awkward. Nanami remains impassive, hand tucked inside his pocket—you can’t read a single thing about him.

“I was meaning to thank you after the exhibit announcement,” you start, turning slightly to face him before looking ahead again.

He hums.

“But I couldn’t find you, so…”

He hums again.

The lack of response makes you nervous and quite honestly a bit irritated. Here you are, trying to be nice, and all you’re met with are dry—

“It’s no problem, but that’s thoughtful of you, thank you.” he finally says, “I didn’t expect you to remember.”

A pause.

“I’m sure you meet a lot of faces in your line of work.” he further clarifies, in case his earlier remark had offended you.

You snort, “I wish.”

The line moves forward.

“Ceramic faces, maybe. People not so much.”

When you glance at Nanami, the look he returns is still characteristically inscrutable, but you think the corners of his eyes soften just a bit—to feel for you maybe, you hope, you think.

The line moves quickly after that, and next thing you know it, you’re by the cashier, pointing at one sandwich for you and another for him. You buy him a cup of coffee too, just as an extra kind gesture (—for his time; you’re sure he has places to be and people to see), but he stops you.

“Coffee’s on me.” he pulls out his card.

“Oh,” you look up, surprised, “you don’t have to do that—”

“It’s only fair,” he nods as the cashier punches in the order, “now we’re even.”

You attempt to rebut, but find no room for argument in the unbending weight of his gaze.

An interesting man.

You watch him stand by the claiming booth, hand in the pocket of his khaki suit. Nothing about him feels cohesive, yet he makes it work. Artistically, from a sculpting standpoint, the sharp lines on his face would be an interesting challenge—but beautiful, nonetheless. A study of near-perfection, you think.

And it would seem obvious, that from the rigid cut of his jaw and the sharp edges of his cheekbones that he’d act just as pointed.

Except, he doesn’t—a stark contrast to how much of a gentleman he seems to be.

His blue shirt stands out when you’d assume he prefers subtlety, and it’s ridiculous, but that yellow cow print tie feels simultaneously out of place but so fitting.

He walks toward you with your coffee, sandwich resting on his forearm.

“Thank you, Mr.—” you smile sheepishly, “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

“Nanami Kento.” the corners of his lips lift slightly.

“Mr. Nanami,” you repeat, introducing yourself right after.

“Thank you as well.” he adds on as you both walk towards the doors.

Something tells you this is a missed opportunity. Something tells you there’s more to learn about this interesting man and what lies beneath his straight-faced sincerity.

The chatter from the bakery is replaced by the city’s breaths—cars passing, dogs barking, footsteps on pavement rushing to get to their next destination. And you and Nanami stand by the entrance, neither knowing how to say bye.

“Do you come to this–”

“My studio is just by the corner, so–”

You quickly look at each other. Nanami bows his head slightly, hand gesturing for you to go first.

“Sorry, um,” you tuck your sandwich in the crook of your elbow, “yes, I come here pretty often. My studio is just around the corner, so I drop by for quick meals when I can. You?”

“It’s on the way to work most days.”

You nod, humming.

Another awkward pause.

“I hope you–”

“I should get–”

You look at each other again, a bit more amused this time. The slight wrinkling of his eyes is impossible to hide.

He gestures for you to go first again, but you shake your head, offering him instead.

“I hope the pieces for your exhibit are going well.”

“Thank you,” you smile, bowing your head slightly.

That ‘something’ in your brain speaks to you again.

“Actually,” you begin, “sorry if this is weird, please feel free to decline, but,” you shift your weight, “I have one last piece to do and I was wondering if I could ask you.”

Nanami looks taken aback for a moment, eyes wider than normal as he processes what you’d just said.

“Ask me… for an opinion?” he clarifies.

You mentally facepalm yourself—you really should have made yourself clearer.

“Sorry, no, I meant,” you take a deep breath, fingers fiddling with your skirt, “if you’d like to be the subject for it.”

The expression on his face is as indecipherable as ever.

MOLD. Be familiar with your art, learn more of its intricacies. What will you shape it to be?

In the most unexpected play of events, Nanami says yes, but not without his hesitations.

You explain your process: the selection of a subject, an interview to get to know them better, then a few meetings at the studio to create the mold of facial features before coating it in plaster.

Never in his entire law career did Nanami ever think he would be into art, much more be chosen to be the subject for it. But he figures, if anyone were to get him to do things so wholly out of character like this, it would be you.

After all, he’s been a fan of your works for a while—from your third exhibit up to your seventh one now.

People love paintings and the strokes on canvas, admiring textures and blends of colors bleeding into one another; Nanami loves sculptures, a mixture of materials and techniques forming an object with more than one viewing plane.

“Have you always loved sculpting?” he asks, sitting still on the wooden stool in your studio.

A few meetings have gone by by now, and he’s told you a few things about himself for this to be a comfortable enough way to spend his Friday night: he’s a lawyer in a firm he’s co-founded with a good friend, evenings being the only free time in his schedule; he lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment and his neighbor’s cat often lands on his balcony every morning; he likes coffee and tea, paperback books and music from the 30’s and 60’s.

He chose to be a lawyer to correct the shitty system that’s vowed to help but has instead made it difficult for anyone genuinely trying to be good.

“I started with paper craft first,” you mold out the slope of his nose, looking back and forth between him and the mass of clay on your desk, “you know that 3D looking paper art that kinda pops out of the page?”

He hums instead, careful of any slight movement that may disrupt the pose you’re trying to replicate.

“And this?”

Your metal scraper drags on the sides of the sculpture’s nose, sharpening it as it narrows to the bridge.

“I picked it up in college, was an outlet to keep me company during that time.”

The PR answer.

Nanami knows most of your general story; pamphlets and exhibits always give a run-down of the artists’ individual histories. You’d started sculpting as soon as you entered college, a need for company while in a completely unfamiliar place with no more home to return to. It was all or nothing, and as the sculptures grew in number, so did your popularity—you are by no means a fresh name to the scene 10 years later.

“Why do you love it?” he looks you in the eye.

You pause, holding his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, focusing on the chunk of wet clay between your fingertips as it turns more pliable.

“It’s gotten me through a lot.” you sigh, attaching the piece of clay to form his lips, “Touching clay feels therapeutic sometimes, and you can tell from how it looks if it’s been molded with love.”

The stillness in your studio is extra quiet, filled only with the faint sounds of your fingertips sticking onto clay; he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Sorry, that was cheesy.” you scrunch your nose and pout.

He chuckles, a low laugh, “Not at all.”

You lock eyes, the curve of your lips upturned. He feels his eyes soften around its edges.

It makes sense, and he thinks he can understand; there must be a reason why he loves books with creased spines, why he prefers weathered pages—why the scratches on his vinyl records don’t bother him as much as it should.

You both like your coffee without milk, just with a bit of sugar for yours.

Nanami’s taken up baking, specifically breadmaking, in his spare time—he brings you sourdough the next Friday you meet.

Your studio is an organized mess, scraps of clay decorating the otherwise bare and white space. To the left of the room is a large cork board filled with pinned sketches and some color swatches—a visual representation of the creative chaos in your mind.

A whiteboard to its right holds your schedule, and everywhere across the room are your art pieces—on shelves, in glass cases. He assumes most of them are the versions that didn’t make it, considering that the ones that have are either auctioned off or left as collector’s pieces in exhibits and art museums.

“That’s the first one I ever made.” you sneak up behind him, biting off the sandwich you hastily put together.

The sculpture is smaller than the busts you’ve made for your current exhibit, but it still occupies a third of your shelf. It’s unlike any of the works you’ve ever done, but he supposes it makes sense, given how much your style has probably evolved over time.

The piece is a lot simpler in comparison to the edgy twists most of your works now contain, but the little girl fast asleep in the sculpture begs questions he’s not sure how to ask you—if he even should.

He continues to stare, clearing his throat; you eye him knowingly and snort.

“Just ask, I know you want to.”

The texture of the carved blanket catches his eyes, the ripples and creases made to conform to the girl’s curled up figure. There’s a sadness underlying her comfort, a search for security while being wrapped in a bundle of safety.

“Who is it?” he asks.

You pause before you answer; he’s worried he’s crossed a line.

“Me.” you admit, a near-whisper.

He hums, back still faced towards you. It explains, then, why he’s always felt an underlying sadness beneath the creases of your smiles.

When he turns his face to the side, an attempt to catch your eyes, you look away, diverting.

“Which one introduced you to me?” you gesture towards the rest of your pieces.

As it’s come to be, Nanami’s learned that you’re good at that too—creating curves of deflections, pockets where you can hide when you feel something’s gotten too close.

He plays along, turning around to view the expanse of your studio; it’s amazing, how the art pieces that stack shelf upon shelf all boil down to your hard work. You briefly mentioned that you haven’t taken a break from creating because you still don’t believe you deserve it.

“It’s not here,” he puts his hands in his pockets, “the one with the hand clutching a heart.”

‘Unhand’—his favorite piece of yours; he’d seen it in one of the museums he had to visit for one of his clients. Hyperrealistic branches of veins and arteries running across an anatomical heart, every curve and indent a carefully placed texture to bring your piece to life. It comes clenched in a hand, the veins streaming across each finger while blending into those of the heart’s—at first glance, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts.

It’s a different view from each angle—that’s why he likes it so much, along with the graphic nature of it. The pain feels vivid, real.

“Ah,” you run your fingers across your work table, fiddling with the small pieces of clay before taking a seat again, “that one.”

Nanami follows but he doesn’t say anything, resuming his place in front of you in the usual way he’s done the past few weeks.

“I didn’t think I was the type to be moved by art.” he confesses, sitting still as you continue the final work on the clay wisps of his hair.

You encourage him to go on, nodding along.

And he does, watching the way your steady hand forms features that look uncannily like him, if not better; strands of your hair always fall from behind your ears and he’s almost tempted to tuck it back to where it came from.

He tells you of the pain he feels from that piece, how it presents itself in different ways depending on the area you focus on—the constricted blood vessels, the buildup of pressure from a vein blocked by a thumb, the strain of muscles at the back of the hand.

A small smile makes its way onto your face, slightly sad but somehow relieved, “Didn’t expect you to be such a poet.”

“Must be from being around you so often,” he responds.

And if it’s a trick of the light, a part of him sinks at that possibility—he thinks your smile stretches wider, suppressed only by the shyness trying to hide it; no pain whatsoever.

Unexpectedly, you share with him the story. Not the filtered version, but the one just as raw and vivid as the sculpture made from it—a failed relationship that had you clinging onto sculpting as your lifeline. You spare him some of the gruesome details but hint at it enough that he can fill in the gaps on his own.

You tell him that you’re a people pleaser, you’ve learned—it’s the only way you can view that relationship with grace, that at least you understand yourself better because of it. That even when the grip on your heart wrung tight enough for each beat to hurt, you still clung on with all your worth.

(Now you know you shouldn’t have.)

People have come to you with stories of their own, sharing how much your art means to them. Critics write articles, both good and bad, detailing the technicalities of your work. The applause follows you everywhere you go, yet it has never touched you—has never gotten too close.

If your art has touched others, has listened and spoken their truth in your handiwork, who does that for you?

During one of the last few Friday meetings, you offer to teach him how to mold clay.

He looks at you curiously, watching the way your fingertips pinch and squeeze, how they glide to smoothen the material and press down to create indents on the surface.

“Do you want to try?” you ask, gaze still set on his sculpture in front of you. There’s a teasing edge to your tone, one that’s developed over the months of getting to know you more.

“Would that be troublesome?”

You laugh at his rigidness.

“Of course not.” you push your piece aside, standing up to gather clay from the mound of it to your right. You lay down a wooden platform for him–his own little workspace–and slam a chunk of clay atop it, “I think you might be good at it actually, since you like making bread.”

The movements are familiar but not entirely the same. He rolls up his sleeves, blue cotton pinching at the creases of his elbows; you hand him an apron to protect the rest of his clothing. There’s not much kneading involved, not much palm action too, but he learns to move his fingertips with a force he can only compare to creating little dimples into focaccia dough.

You teach him how to make a bread basket—something practical but beginner-friendly; something he can use and keep as a reminder of you.

The trickiest part of it is mimicking the rattan weavings, and you notice him struggling with it when his strips of clay begin to break.

A screech fills the room as you push back your chair, standing up to go behind him as he attempts to salvage his work.

“Here, let me–” you reach over his shoulders, flattening some of the cracks from above him.

You’ve never been this close before, the thin strands of hair dusting your arms tickling the sides of his ears. These past few months, he’s watched your hands press and pull and form, turning each detail of his face into art. It’s only now, right next to his larger and rougher ones that he’s noticing just how small and delicate yours are.

It’s dainty work, weaving and braiding. He attempts to do it again, but the clay only falls apart when he pulls too hard.

You stifle a giggle, the vibrations tickling his back, “We might take a while here.”

“I don’t mind.” he mumbles.

“You sure you don’t have anywhere else you’d rather be?” you lean forward, pressing closer until he feels your warmth against the back of his head, “I feel bad, I’ve been taking up most of your Friday nights already.”

It shouldn’t mean anything; he shouldn’t feel anything—you seem to be unfazed; art is meant to be taught by doing.

But then your hands go over his, guiding them to lift each strand of clay gently before interweaving them with one another, and he thinks—

—this must be what it feels to be touched by art.

So, no.

There’s no other place he’d rather be.

DRY. Give it time, let it settle. Watch your art come into form. Is this a good foundation?

“Will you be free next weekend?”

His question surprises you as you stand in line at the bakery. You tend to catch each other at just the right times almost everyday, saving a spot for whoever’s running a little late.

Today, it’s you, rushing in slightly frazzled with your hair sticking out which way; you’d just finished up molding the sculpture late last night, letting it rest out to dry. Nanami’s head is turned towards you, hands in his pockets as he directs the same pointed gaze you’ve become all too accustomed to.

You must have forgotten to mention it.

“Oh,” you turn to him, “there’s no need, our sessions are over.”

His silence makes you nervous, just like it did the first (second) time you met.

Did you upset him? Did he already cancel plans to free up time for your studio?

The entire trip to the cashier is quiet, but you find that he’s ordered ahead for you—your sandwich order and a cup of your usual coffee. He pays for it too, despite your refusal (and confusion).

It’s when he hands over your drink by the corner of the room that he finally speaks.

“Not for a session.”

You tilt your head curiously.

The coffee feels warm on your hand, and you think you see the same warmth at the tips of his ears, dusting it light pink. He coughs, fingers clenching around his tie before loosening it.

“For a date.”

You begin to take up his weekends now, too.

Since that day at the bakery, when you’d nearly dropped your coffee before stuttering out your availability, you’ve already gone on seven dates (to you, at least; Nanami would officially count three).

He insists on still visiting you every Friday, bringing you dinner as a reminder that you should eat on time and not the moment you’re keeling over from a rumbling stomach and a pounding headache. You count these as dates too—because what else do you call spending time with someone you like while having night-long conversations over good food?

(Nanami creates a distinction though, prefers his dates to be more planned out and intended. On the three official dates you’ve gone on, he’s brought you to three different locations—a weekend market, a picnic by a lake after you’d mentioned something about it, and a vintage record shop on the outskirts of the city, a place he frequents often).

The near-perfection you once thought of the man, a geometric study on canvas—he’s still every bit of it, still every bit as interesting as what he seemed, just in a completely different way.

For a man typically so nonchalant, he is extremely particular about his tastes, borderline picky with trusted company.

Nanami enjoys coffee (as expected), but the fermented filter kind, dripped down a V60 pour over to extract different notes of sweetness and acidity. You’d think he enjoys a straight black, face stoic enough to handle its bitter bite; but no, his jaw clenches when he dislikes the taste, his tongue sounding the faintest click against the roof of his mouth before he downs the entire thing in one gulp.

He also happens to be extremely gentle, in a way you don’t expect from a man of his stature and build. Veins run through the back of his large hands, branching to webs around the thickness of his fingers; they may not be delicate enough to weave clay, but he carves out different patterns on the sourdough he presents to you every Friday.

The first time he held your hand, it wasn’t exactly planned—an instinctive move to reach out his palm as you climbed the steps of the spiral staircase in the record store out of town. You’d barely felt it then, just the featherlight hold of his thumb pressed against your knuckles as you gripped the fabric of your skirt.

(To your surprise, he kept it up all the way through, slipping his fingers through the gaps between yours as he showed you around vintage vinyls and the sound of love in muffled 60’s tunes.)

You imagine him to be like clay, a softness hardened over the years that have shaped him; smooth but solid to the touch, breaking into powdered shards once you manage to work your way through.

It’s unexpected, but you like that.

And you like him—quite a lot, really.

This date–the tenth, or fourth, whichever–is a lot fancier than all the others, a more formal dinner with a few glasses of delicious wine whose name you by god, don’t remember. You’d been too focused on something else—the handsome way he’d slicked back strands of his honeyed hair.

Black suits him, contrasting the paleness of his skin and complementing the sharpness of his features.

Black, the color of his suit, pressed neatly to fit him perfectly. He looks clean, broad shoulders with straight slacks falling to exactly where they’re supposed to be.

Black, which is the only thing you see, pressed up against him. You’re so close by your doorway, that half-minute of deciding whether to stay or walk away; he has one foot behind him and one firmly planted right next to yours.

You share a breath, fingers lightly intertwined with his.

There had been signs the entire night that it would lead to something like this—he’d played with your fingers a lot more, kept much closer to you than he ever has before.

Every sound around you is amplified—each inhale and exhale, the gulp he makes; your heart beats on rampage.

When you look up, your noses are almost touching, and his eyes are shut, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

It’s a look you’ve only seen once before, when he’s stuck contemplating.

“Kento,” you whisper.

His eyes blink open slightly, the color of your coffee. He leans forward, forehead resting against yours as he takes a deep breath, “I–”

Then you kiss him.

It’s mostly a peck really, and wholly out of character for you, but it’s that same something that compelled you to ask him to model for your sculpture months ago that’s pushed you to do this right now.

You’re worried for that first split-second because he doesn’t move, shows no sign at all of reciprocating. It’s a moment before you consider parting that he finally softens, relaxing his lips as he glides them over yours. His fingers slot themselves by your ear, palm pressed against your jaw as he deepens it; you almost stumble back, his other hand catching your weight as it leans on your door.

It’s a good thing you did this then, because you learn that he likes you too—very much, actually.

Things are good a month until your exhibit.

Things are good until they aren’t.

You end up reading a premature critique on your exhibit, calling it ‘overrated’ and ‘boring’, detailing the trajectory of your decline as an artist, citing your works as having become increasingly more lackluster over the years.

The critic calls your theme ‘lazy’ and ‘unoriginal’, predicting your pieces to be nothing extraordinary or different from your older sculptures.

All this time, your publicist and manager have made it a point to protect you from things like this, requesting that you avoid searching up your name on social media or search engines. You’re usually fed with praises and the occasional constructive criticism, but never anything as spiteful as this.

It’s every possible thing that could be said to invalidate your hard work.

And you break because of it—along with Nanami’s sculpture.

It tips over accidentally, the funk in your mood making you especially clumsy.

The damage is terrible, half of his face is gone, his neck down still intact but chipped off. It’s impossible to repair without redoing the entire thing—which, you don’t have the time for, either.

You groan, banging your head against the table.

Frustration leaks out in your tears, every inch of self-doubt surfacing.

Nanami finds you in your studio that way.

He’d texted you the entire day, tried calling you a few times to no success. It’s a Thursday, but without your usual ‘just got home’ text, he’d gotten worried and rushed over as soon as his meeting ended.

If he’s being honest, you’ve been off this entire week—stressed and distant, overworked from revisiting all your finished sculptures for the exhibit in case of anything to change or tweak.

Then this.

And it’s too much—it’s all too much.

Nanami calls your name from your entryway and you look up with tears streaming down your face. He’s never seen you like this, you could never want him to.

He hurries over, brows immediately furrowed as he digs into his pocket for a handkerchief. The cow print would make you giggle on any other day, but now, he uses it to wipe your tears away.

“What happened?” his gaze shifts to your right, his sculpture half-ruined.

Silence.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks hesitantly.

You shake your head, swiping at your nose, “It won’t look the same, Ken.”

“Do you want to redo it? I can clear up my schedule every–”

“There’s no time.”

Nanami takes your hands to rub his thumbs over your knuckles, soothing.

“Then we’ll do what we can.”

The sincerity in his voice hurts you, the reassurance in his eyes even moreso. You’ve never had anyone look at you this way.

“There’s no point.” your shoulders slump, lips trembling as another wave of tears pool on your lash line. “People are calling the exhibit a flop.”

“Who?”

You huff out, exhausted, “I don’t know, critics, media. Whoever.”

He furrows his brows, firm, “They don’t understand what you’re doing.”

You chuckle sarcastically, “They’re art critics, Ken, of course they–”

“If it means something to you, what does it matter to anyone else?”

That makes you look up.

Nanami stares at you with the same unwavering gaze, no longer indecipherable to you. There’s a softness in the squint of his eyes that you now know means concern, with every pointed feature only meant to drive his words home.

You’ve been second guessing everything down to the core of your abilities, because of what? A few words? This must be what you get for having a penchant to people please, for hinging on everything everyone has to say.

“If you love what you create, then continue to make it.” he squeezes your hands, as if pressing the words into your bones gently.

You remold and repair, and you build up your sculpture to something different but not worse than before.

You remold and repair to build up yourself.

The half that broke off isn’t as symmetrical as you’d like it to be—and it definitely doesn’t do justice to the man it’s sculpted of, but you think you like the softness you added to it, how his eyes look kinder. He means something else to you now, after all, compared to when you first started sculpting him.

And you think, you know just what kind of design speaks of his soul.

PAINT. Add the final touches, perfect your piece. Bring it to life with colors and details, whether it be for one pair of eyes or many. Do you now see?

Nanami teaches you how to make bread on a Sunday morning.

Flour coats every surface of his counter, dustings of it transferred to the deep blue of his apron. You’re wearing a white one, borrowed from your studio. Elbow-to-elbow you knead, and he only has to teach you once for you to get the hang of it, really.

He smirks, “You’re a natural.”

“Must do stuff like this a lot in another life or something,” you stifle a giggle, playing along.

It’s a beautiful day out, golden sunlight hitting your cheek—Nanami stares, sneaks peeks between every knead. The same strands of hair tucked behind your ear fall to frame your face, and he hooks his pinky around it to tuck it right back (because he can now, without having to hesitate).

You turn to him, daylight in your eyes when you grin your thanks.

His kitchen has an open space, deep wood and black metal detailings as its central theme (the white bread bread basket you made together stands out on the counter, but he’s done that on purpose). There’s a pretty extensive collection of alcohol in his liquor cabinet, along with his very particular coffee set-up right next to his record player slotted in the corner.

On Sunday mornings, Nanami likes to keep his music playing; today, it’s the classic 60’s–’Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’–serving as your background beat, with the soft meows from the cat on his balcony as added accompaniment to the melody.

He watches you sway, his feet tapping along, then you jolt, giggling in surprise when there’s a hiccup in the song (it’s from the scratches on his record, but he can’t bother replacing it with a new one). After that breakdown in your studio, you’ve seemed to loosen up immensely.

“Ken,” you call him, “how much pressure do you usually put into kneading?”

There’s no way to explain it, really, but to make you feel it yourself.

“Let me–” he lets go of his dough, dusting his hands with more flour before coming up behind you.

Nanami is a big man, tall and lean, all chest and shoulders—when he hunches over you, you look so small, delicately tucked into him. Heat rushes to his cheeks, if you turn around you’d see pink; the music is drowned out by his heartbeat.

He leans forward, palms clasping over the back of your hands, fingers slotting themselves between the gaps of yours.

“Like this,” he pushes down, his chest pressed against your back. To get a better look at the dough, he tilts his head to the side, nearly slotting it by your shoulder, “Can you feel it?”

You hum, your swaying gone. He’s trying hard to focus on the bread, but when you turn your head to face him, the tip of your nose touching his cheek, he stops.

The moment is tense, drowned into silence despite the music playing in the background. He can hear your every breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Nanami knows it’s for many things—for agreeing to the sculpture, for spending time on it; for this Sunday morning, for being there when you needed someone the most. But that’s not the whole point of this, he thinks. It’s how you sound, voice heartfelt and filled with something else—a kind of affection he’s all too familiar with himself.

This must be what you mean when you say you can tell if clay has been molded with love.

In the quiet, Nanami’s hands move loudly.

He holds you gently, just like he always has, but it’s a permission every time—like he’s asking if he can touch you, love you in ways you aren't used to.

Your apron falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, the fabric pooling by your feet. The faded gray t-shirt you wear during studio days is tugged over your head, dropped next to him. He takes his time with you, turning you over, feeling you, knowing you—thick fingers squeezing the sides of your arms lightly as his lips press against your neck.

A gasp escapes you.

Then you move, nimble hands undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open as you feel across the planes of taut muscle on his stomach and chest.

He groans, soft and low, your fingers brushing against his skin, ticklish.

You take a step back and he moves along with you, letting you settle into yourself as you inch backwards, the back of your knees knocking against the edge of your bed. He holds your gaze as you move towards your headrest, your shy smile doing nothing to lessen the butterflies in his chest—you did mention that it’s been a while.

He kneels on your bed, the mattress dipping to accommodate his weight—his slacks have been discarded to the side as he crawls over you.

Beneath him, you look like the very subject art could only wish to replicate.

So, he makes sure to remember all of it—to look close and memorize every detail of you as he dips down, arm planted to the side of your head as his other hand cradles your face, tilting your jaw up for a kiss.

He catches your lower lip between his, running his tongue over it before sucking lightly. You moan, smooth and honey-sweet, bringing him closer with your fingers clasped behind his neck. The room is quiet save for your lips smacking against each other’s, warm and soft as the heat builds between you.

Slowly and tenderly, with the same care you tend to clay, Nanami discovers all your dips and curves; he kneads the flesh of your hips, gripping your thighs as he kisses his way down the slopes of your body.

You squirm in his hold, tugging at his hair when the sensation feels too much, too good.

(But when he reaches between your legs, arms locking your thighs over his shoulders, you realize, nothing could have ever prepared you for this, for him—he treats you as if you are every bit of the art you make, and looks at you like it too.)

Then, Nanami kisses you on the forehead when he’s inside you, lips pressing on the part of your skin that creases when your brow furrows.

A tear drips down your face.

“Should I–” he looks you in the eye, worried.

“No,” you breathe out, a watery smile as you nudge your nose against his chin, “keep going.”

So, he does; he loves you without the applause, with the feel of his hands, leaving no place untouched.

He moves his body against yours.

It’s only after, when he tucks himself into your neck, arms wrapped around you and skin sticking onto skin that you tell him your tears aren’t anything bad.

For the first time in a while, you feel full—perfectly content.

He thinks you should be the final piece to your exhibit.

It’s a grand event, the conference hall decked in some of your previous works; blankets of white cloth drape over the stage—the unveiling of all your sculptures. You’re standing to the side, looking pretty in a long white skirt while Nanami blends among the crowd, far back enough to remain hidden from reporters but close enough to catch your eyes should you look his way.

You present each one, introducing the titles with brief descriptions of the people they’re sculpted from. The reasons for your designs are left primarily up to interpretation, but you’ve explained it all to Nanami—he’s listened to every single one.

Then you present his sculpture, finding him through the crowd. The corner of your lips curl up slightly, the stage lights reflecting on your eyes.

He smiles at you the same.

‘The Undoing’ is what you call it—half-perfect and half-salvaged.

It’s far from your original vision for the piece, but you think you like this more, splitting down the part that’d originally broken off into two different colors. His entire color scheme consists of yellows, greens, and browns—the perfected side of his face appears in clean strokes of coffee, with light yellows highlighting his pointed features. The angles are clean and sharp, his gaze straight and dead-on.

Running down the cracks of the broken half is a sky blue line, an almost glowing effect added to the salvaged side. In a way, it’s an emergence, of the part of him you never thought existed—green wisps like leaves, a life springing from within. You add flecks of gold to mimic light bouncing off his irises the same way sand becomes a glittering sea of sunbeams.

To you, Nanami is warm but cold to the touch, and he’s undone you just as much, has chipped away at the parts of you that have built themselves over years of habits reinforced and untouched.

It is as much you as it is him.

That’s what happens when you love someone, he supposes—an intermingling of souls.

Kraft paper crinkles in his grip as he adjusts the bouquet of flowers behind him, deep red carnations and orange tulips decorated with white astilbe flowers—for when you get down, and he can have a moment with you privately.

Now, he looks at you fondly, shifting his feet from where he’s standing. You search for his face, eyes darting to where you know you’ll find him; he meets your gaze, and you smile brighter, that one look ringing louder than the standing roars of an echoing applause.

a/n: each segment represents the steps to making a sculpture that i tried to parallel with the development of their relationship. V60 pour over is a kind of set-up for drip/filter coffee.

thank you notes: for @mididoodles, this is my very late birthday gift for you midi, but i hope you like it! (this also so happens to be your request for my in's and out's event) 🥺 + @soumies @scarabrat for reading through the first third of this and believing in the vision for this when i was so unsure of it, i love you both 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me figure out what goes in the 'contains' 😭 + @augustinewrites to scratch the nanami itch 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento x reader #nanami x yn #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami kento x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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punkshort · 2 months

Text

Swept Away | Chapter 3: Go with the Flow

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You get to know the other hotel moguls and their partners a bit more at a lavish cocktail party, and things begin to heat up between you and Joel.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, sexual tension, flirting, sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics, smutty thoughts, alcohol and food consumption

WC: 8.4K

Series Masterlist

He tipped me.

Yay! How much?

I don't know, I didn't open it.

Why???

You stared down at your phone, Celine's words jumping out at you from the screen. It was a good question. Why didn't you open it? You could tell yourself it didn't matter how much it was. It wasn't like you were spending your own money for the next month, anyway. But when you looked over at the nightstand where the envelope still sat untouched, you knew deep down why you didn't open it.

I don't know, guess it took me by surprise or something

You heard a light tap on your bedroom door and you looked up from your phone. "Yeah?"

"You're up. Good," Joel's muffled voice said from the other side. "Wanted to see if you were hungry."

I gotta go get ready for breakfast, I'll call you later

Be safe!

"Ten minutes!" you called back to him before flicking your comforter off and hurrying to your closet to pick out something to wear. You settled on a pair of wide leg linen pants and a light pink sleeveless top that showed just a sliver of your midsection. There were too many accessories to choose from so you did your best to keep it simple with a dainty chain necklace and pink pearl earrings, then tossed your phone and other belongings into a white purse before swinging your door open and heading down the hall. At the last second, you turned around and grabbed the envelope of cash, tucking it into the bottom of your bag for safekeeping.

You stopped in the bathroom to put on a tiny bit of makeup and a quick brush of your teeth before running your fingers through your hair with a shrug. After meeting Glenn, you felt a lot less pressure to conform and give the appearance of some wealthy socialite and instead, leaned into the relaxed beach vibe he exuded.

"Morning," you said breathlessly when you finally entered the living room. Joel was sitting in the middle of the couch, one ankle casually resting on his knee, legs spread wide and looking completely at ease as he stared down at his phone. He pocketed the device when he heard your voice and stood up, eyes drifting down once to look at your clothes and giving you an appraising nod. If it were any other man standing before you essentially giving you his unsolicited opinion on your choice of outfit, you would have had a few unladylike things to say. But when Joel did it, something inside you preened at his approval.

"Mornin'," he answered, and when he brushed past you to walk towards the door, you caught a whiff of mint and fresh soap mixed with the scent of his hair product.

Fuck, he smelled good.

"What are we doing today?" you asked as you trailed after him.

"Thought we'd settle in, get somethin' to eat, then we got pretty much all afternoon free before headin' over to Glenn's house."

"Oh, we're going to his home?" you asked, stepping on the elevator once the doors opened. He nodded and tapped the button for the second floor, where you remembered seeing some shops and restaurants advertised.

"Yeah, invited all of us over for cocktails by his pool. Supposed to have a beautiful place," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring up at the numbers above the door tick lower.

There were only two restaurants open that served breakfast, so Joel picked the one that had open seating on the patio. The hostess led you both to a table attached to a bright red umbrella fluttering in the wind that had an absolutely breathtaking view of the ocean.

"I don't think I'll ever get sick of this," you said dreamily while Joel flipped through the menu, his sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose. He just grunted in response and kept his eyes lowered. In fact, you were beginning to think he was avoiding looking at you most of the morning. You tilted your head to the side and reached an arm across the table, tapping a finger on the wood to get his attention.

"Hm?" he said, still looking down.

"Everything okay? Did you sleep alright?"

"Slept fine."

You pressed your lips into a thin line before giving up and opening the menu with a sigh. When the server came to get your order, all you asked for was coffee and some eggs with fruit. Handing the menu over to her before she left with a smile, you looked back across the table at Joel. Once again, his phone was hidden from view. A habit you were beginning to notice happened with meals, but you almost wished he had it out because it would have been better than the thick silence that hung between you.

"So, you said we had the afternoon. Did you want to go to the beach? Or maybe-"

"I gotta work," he said abruptly, and you felt your heart sink a little.

"Oh, right, of course. Sorry."

You thought you saw guilt flicker across his face for a brief moment before he cleared his throat and looked out towards the crashing waves on the shoreline.

"You could go to the beach. Don't lemme stop you."

"What? No, no, I'll hang back. Maybe just take a dip in the pool, unpack a little bit. I'm still a little jet lagged, anyway," you found yourself saying. It wasn't even true, but the thought of going to the beach alone sounded boring.

"There's a spa in the hotel. Massages, facials, that kinda stuff. Whatever you want just bill it to the room."

"Oh... okay. Maybe, yeah," you stammered. He was utterly confusing you. He wasn't acting like the Joel who was pinching your chin in the clothing store or gazing at you with admiration over dinner last night. It felt like you were back at square one and you had no idea what happened.

Once your food arrived, you ate in relative silence. You spent most of the meal taking in the scenery and people watching the other guests staying at the hotel. It wasn't until your plates were cleared when you noticed a familiar face.

You straightened up in your chair and, without thinking, reached a hand out to rest gently on Joel's forearm. His muscles tensed under your touch but you didn't pull away. Instead, you leaned forward, eyes still focused somewhere over his shoulder.

"Isn't that Zachary?"

Joel twisted around to look and groaned before turning back to you.

"Must be stayin' here, too."

You watched as Zoe arrived moments later wearing a long, flowing patterned dress with a deep neckline, showing a generous amount of cleavage, and sporting a large sun hat and oversized sunglasses. She slid them down and glanced around, almost immediately catching your eye and tossing you a flirty wave. You smiled and let go of Joel's arm, not noticing how he retracted it under the table after, and waved back.

"They're coming this way."

"Shit."

He pushed his sunglasses on and ran his fingers through his hair just as they approached your table.

"Miller," Zachary said gruffly by way of greeting, clapping Joel on the shoulder. He glanced up and forced a friendly smile for them both.

"Mornin'."

"Heard you were staying here. Got the two bedroom villa, huh? Expecting company?"

Joel frowned and shook his head. "How'd you know that?"

"Owner's a buddy of mine," he said, tapping the side of his nose with a mischievous grin.

"I tend to travel heavy. Joel wanted to get me the extra space for all my things," you told Zachary, your voice dripping with sweetness as you shot Joel what you hoped was a look of adoration.

"How thoughtful of you, Joel," Zachary said, but you could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't very sincere. "Looking forward to drinks later. You're both coming, right? Or do you gotta hang back and work?"

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two men, trying to get a read on the sudden tension and where it stemmed from, but you were lost.

"Nope. We'll both be there."

Joel's voice was curt, fingertips tapping on the table, quite clearly wishing he would leave. Zachary got the hint and looked Zoe's way.

"C'mon, darling. Let's get you something to eat. Kept you up way too late last night," he murmured with a wink. She smiled sweetly at him and when they both turned to head back to their table, she waved to you again.

"See you tonight!" she said brightly over her shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the awkwardness you both just witnessed.

Once they were both out of earshot, you gave Joel a look.

"That last comment was kind of gross."

Joel sighed and stood up. "Yeah, that's Zachary for you."

You scrambled to stand and joined him as you walked through the restaurant, back to the elevators, giving the pair one more friendly wave before disappearing from view.

"Do you guys not get along or something?" you asked once you were safely inside the elevator alone. Joel shrugged and kept his eyes on the numbers ticking away above the door.

"End of the day, they're all competition. It's all a game."

It felt like more than that, but you let it go.

Silently, you followed him back to the villa. Once inside, you busied yourself in the kitchen, weighing your options for the day while he set up a laptop on the dining room table. You didn't want to be in his way, but you didn't feel much like exploring on your own just yet. The exterior wall of the living room was completely made of glass, giving you both a spectacular view of your pool and the ocean beyond. He had logged into work and was getting settled at the table when you finally decided to spend the day at the gorgeous, private pool just outside. As you headed in the direction of your room, you glanced over your shoulder, about to tell him of your intentions, but he had already slipped in a pair of earbuds.

That was fine. He would be able to see you from his seat at the table if he wondered where you went.

When reviewing your options for bathing suits, you were shocked to find six different choices. Who on earth would need more than two? But you shrugged and decided on a simple black bikini, changing quickly and applying some sunscreen before finding a sheer green coverup amongst your things and slipping it over your shoulders. Rifling through your duffel bag, you found a book, your headphones, and your own sunglasses, all of which you brought with you before opening the glass door leading from your bedroom to the patio outside.

There was a white linen pergola next to the pool with two lounge chairs and a cabinet underneath. You picked a chair and put your things down before opening the cabinet to find a towel and some bottles of water. The amenities in the hotel were outstanding and you found yourself still struggling to get used to it. Everywhere you turned, you had everything you could possibly need. Is this really how the other half lived?

You slipped your coverup off, tossing it on top of your phone, and ran the tips of your fingers underneath the band of your bikini bottoms, straightening out the fabric and making sure you had coverage before timidly stepping towards the pool. Even from this distance you could hear laughter and music filtering from the beach, the sounds of summer and joy bringing a smile to your face as you dipped a toe into the pool. It shouldn't have come as a surprise when you realized the pool was heated to the perfect temperature, so you glided right in, submerging yourself underwater and popping back up with a refreshing gasp.

If Joel wanted to work the whole time you were there, then that was his choice. You knew in all likelihood you wouldn't ever get an opportunity like this again, and you were determined to enjoy it.

He was supposed to be working. In fact, he was supposed to be paying attention while the head of finance went over the last quarter's numbers on his laptop screen via video call, but instead he found his eyes drifting to the massive window overlooking the pool. Every time you emerged from the water, your body slick and that skimpy bikini stuck rather obscenely to your skin, he couldn't stop himself from staring. Thank Christ the windows were tinted.

"Joel?"

His eyes dragged back to the laptop and he cleared his throat. "Sorry, WiFi's a little spotty."

"No problem. I said we made record profits last quarter and we should be in a strong financial position to expand without requiring any loans."

"Fantastic," Joel replied, his eyes darting briefly to the window, swallowing hard when you took a break to drink some water. You tipped your head back and closed your eyes, your soft lips wrapping around the plastic of the bottle. He felt his cock twitch and he forced his eyes back to the screen. This whole arrangement with you was proving to be a lot more challenging than he expected. He was doing his best to pull away from you and create some distance, but it wasn't working.

"What's the word out there? Think you got a shot at this piece of land?"

Joel shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Too early to say, but if I had to guess, it'll come down to me or Scott."

"Well, good luck, sir."

"Thanks. We'll talk next week."

Joel exited the meeting and the room was filled with silence once again. Emails popped up in the corner of his screen and he managed to focus for a couple hours, one call from HR in particular distracting him from looking at you, but around lunchtime he found his gaze wandering again. You were laid out on your lounge chair reading, legs stretched out, looking sunkissed and relaxed.

With a sigh, he looked down at his watch then stood up. Strolling to the kitchen, he picked up the phone attached to the wall while thumbing through the room service menu. He ordered a couple items for you to share before heading to his bedroom to find his swim trunks.

He never takes a break that doesn't involve clients, so what the hell? Just this once.

By the time he emerged from his bedroom and stepped out onto the patio, you had slipped back into the pool. You were gazing out towards the ocean with your chin resting on the backs of your hands as you leaned up against the edge of the infinity pool. When you heard his door close, you turned to look at him in surprise.

"Hey," you said happily, gaze flickering down his bare chest quickly before locking eyes with him again.

"Mind if I join you?"

You grinned and shook your head. "Not at all."

He tossed his sunglasses and the shirt he had clutched in his hand onto the other lounge chair, realizing for the first time he forgot his phone back inside, but he shrugged it off. He didn't need it anyway. Work could wait an hour.

"Feels nice," he said once he walked all the way into the pool, the water stopping just underneath his collarbone.

"Sure beats the above ground pool I had growing up," you joked.

"Hell, at least you had one."

"True," you sighed, wading over to a built in seat in the deep end so you could rest. "Got me in trouble a few times, though."

Joel quirked an eyebrow and slowly walked over, joining you on the other end of the seat. It gave you both the perfect view of the ocean. "What kinda trouble?"

You giggled and shook your head. "You know. Inviting my friends over to swim when I wasn't supposed to." You paused before quietly adding, "swimming with boys in the middle of the night."

"Boys?" Joel chuckled in surprise.

"Well, not boys. One boy. A boy."

He hummed and glanced at you. "Someone special?"

You shrugged, gaze still pinned on the ocean. "I guess at the time he was. He was my next door neighbor growing up."

"What happened?"

"He went away to college, I eventually moved out to LA, we just lost touch. I think he was my first real love."

For some inexplicable reason, Joel felt his chest grow tight. He rubbed it absentmindedly, refusing to give it too much thought.

"What about you?" you asked, tilting your head towards him. "Who was your first love?"

"Who says I had one?" he countered without even thinking. Now it was your turn to be surprised.

"You've never been in love?"

His eyes dragged down your face before taking a deep breath and looking away, already regretting sharing too much. "Been busy."

You laughed softly to yourself and shook your head.

"What?" he frowned.

"Nothing. I just don't think love checks with your schedule. When it happens, there's no stopping it, whether you like it or not, whether it's convenient or not."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Pretty profound."

You locked eyes and gave him an endearing smile. "I can be surprising."

"Oh, I'm very aware," he replied, his gaze dropping down briefly to look at the distorted image of your body through the water, then quickly met your eye again. "Nice suit, by the way."

Your cheeks instantly felt hot as you bit your lip and shyly looked away. "Thank you. You bought it."

"I have good taste."

"I think that's been established."

Shit. You were cute. And quick. But he already knew that.

"Wanna tell me what it's like?" he asked lowly, and you felt your breath hitch. "Bein' in love?"

"Oh, I don't want to spoil the surprise for you."

"I made it this far, ain't sure it's in the cards for me," he said, a smile pulling at his lips.

"I wouldn't count you out just yet," you replied softly.

He stared at you, your words hanging heavy in the air, as he struggled to formulate a response. Something about the way you were looking at him made him open his mouth before his brain had a chance to catch up. He was seconds away from telling you too much, from breaking one of his rules, from letting you in, but fortunately the door to the living room slid open, dissolving the tension in an instant.

"Mr. Miller? Room service."

You both turned your heads towards the two attendants holding silver trays with matching polished domed lids on top.

"Put them over there," he directed, pointing to the pergola. They nodded in unison and carefully placed the trays down, lifting the lids off with white gloves, and disappeared back inside.

"Thank you!" you called after them before the door closed. Your eyes drifted back to him but you could see the moment was over. When the living room door opened, Joel's door shut.

"Got us somethin' to eat," he explained, nodding in the direction of the pergola.

"That was thoughtful, thank you."

He spent another ten minutes outside with you, nibbling on assorted meats, cheeses and fruits until he stood with a groan, announcing he had work to get back to, and reminded you to be ready to leave by six that evening.

You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him slip back inside his room to change, convinced more than ever that there was a good man hidden underneath all that armor, you just had to keep chipping away.

"I'll need to thank your assistant one day. Whoever they are, I gotta admit, they did a good job," you told Joel in the back of the private car that was taking you to Glenn's estate. You smoothed down the fabric of your bright yellow sundress, loving the way it hugged your curves and made your skin glow.

"Did you ever have any doubt?" he asked, sliding his sunglasses down his nose so he could look at you over the top. You grinned and shrugged.

"Maybe."

You found yourself growing excited for the evening ahead. Even though you knew it was all an act, that Joel was paying you to pretend to be someone you're not, you found yourself enjoying it more than you thought. But shamefully you especially enjoyed the way Joel acted around you when others were present. You liked his touch and his smile as opposed to the closed off version you had been stuck with the remainder of the afternoon. He was utterly confusing and his mood shifts were giving you whiplash, but at least you knew what to expect at Glenn's house that evening.

"You think you'll be alright on your own for a bit tonight?" he asked as if he somehow read your mind, dashing all your hopes at seeing that softer side of him again.

"Sure," you answered timidly.

"Good. Wanna try to get some one on one time with Glenn, make some progress with 'em."

"Of course."

You looked out the window, heart suddenly deflated. If it was apparent you were disappointed, he wouldn't have even noticed. Per usual, he was staring down intently at his phone, hardly sparing you a glance the rest of the ride.

The car dropped you off in front of a huge, sprawling manor built right on the coast. In the distance, you could see the twinkling lights from other resorts, but Glenn managed to carve out his own little private paradise smack dab in the middle of tourist country.

"This is beautiful," you said breathlessly as you gazed up at the Mediterranean-style architecture surrounded by palm trees and exotic florals. It was dusk and the outside of the house and gardens were lit up with gorgeous ambient lighting, set on the backdrop of a deep purple and pink sky.

"C'mon," was all Joel said, nodding towards the stone walkway, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his khakis. You hurried to catch up with him while your head tilted back to admire the outdoor chandeliers hanging high above the front entrance.

It appeared you arrived just after everybody else. As you walked through the foyer towards the kitchen, you could hear pleasantries and welcomes being exchanged, along with drink orders and details on what hors d'oeuvres were being served.

At the last moment you wrapped a hand around the inside of Joel's elbow, but his hand stubbornly remained in his pocket.

"Ah, welcome!" Glenn bellowed when you stepped into the massive and meticulously kept kitchen. You tried not to gawk and did your best to act like you were around homes like that every single day and not, in fact, only familiar with them through reality TV and magazines.

You waved shyly and glanced quickly around the room while Joel led you to the bar. Already, the significant others had split off from their respective hotel moguls, laughing and sipping on drinks on the other side of the room.

Joel handed you a glass of wine with a warm smile that you couldn't help but return, then subtly cleared his throat, his eyes darting to the others across the room. You got the hint but before parting ways, you planted a kiss on his cheek. His stubble felt rough against your lips yet you felt a jolt in your stomach at the sensation, anyway. Wiping your lipstick from his tanned skin with your thumb, you turned to leave, pleased to feel his eyes on your back as you walked.

Zoe noticed you first. She waved excitedly and you waved back. Even if Joel couldn't stand Zachary, it was undeniable that Zoe's energy was infectious.

"Long time, no see," you joked, and she laughed. Your eyes trailed down her outfit and you shot her an envious look. "Love that dress," you added.

"Thanks! It's Valentino," then she cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered conspiratorially, "it's not even out yet."

"Wow!" you said enthusiastically, playing along as if you had some idea how important that was.

Tammy and Lynne were huddled around Ian as he showed them photos from his phone and it was at that point you realized the three of them had been icing Zoe out completely. Your brow furrowed slightly and you looked at her, trying to figure out if you were reading the room correctly, but she didn't give anything away. She was still babbling to you about her dress and the lengths Zachary went to in order to get it for her, seemingly unbothered. Tammy glanced over her shoulder at Zoe when she heard her gushing about her boyfriend and you picked up on the unmistakable disdain written all over her face before she quickly blinked it away with a tight smile after she noticed you looking in her direction.

Tammy turned around then and greeted you by name, interrupting Zoe, and stuck her hand out. "Please let me see that ring, I was dying to get a better look at it last night."

You shot Zoe an apologetic glance but she just smiled back as she sipped her martini, watching Tammy closely over her glass. You stuck out your hand and all four of them gasped and fawned all over your ring.

"How did he propose?" Ian asked.

You repeated the fake story, hoping you remembered everything and looked sincere enough as you spoke, and when you finished up you gazed down at the ring on your finger. It really was a beautiful ring.

"The beach, huh?" Tammy repeated, and you nodded. "Doesn't sound like Joel."

A jolt of panic shot through you like lightning. "What do you mean?"

She just shrugged. "I never took Joel for a beach guy."

"Well, he knows I love the beach. He did it for me," you told her defensively. It was ridiculous to feel so protective over a fake relationship but for some reason, you didn't like her tone. Besides, what did she know about Joel? Was she implying she knew him better somehow?

"Hm. How romantic," Tammy replied sweetly, but you still picked up on the undercurrent of distaste in her words.

"Yes, I agree. He's very romantic," you couldn't help but say. You wanted to wipe that snobby look off her face. She stared at you, that fake smile still stretched across her thin lips, and you stared right back, refusing to be the first to look away.

A sharp clap of laughter came from the men across the room, breaking the tension between the two of you. You shuffled your feet and glanced back at Zoe who was giving you an amused look from behind her glass. Maybe you read her all wrong. Maybe Zoe wasn't clueless after all.

Mary, Glenn's wife, emerged from the butler's pantry with a wide smile. Her eyes drifted around the room to make sure her guests were taken care of as she headed in the direction of your group.

"So sorry! Just a little situation with the caterers," she explained, clapping her hands together gleefully. "How about we all head outside?"

You agreed and followed her dutifully towards the courtyard where a magnificent in-ground pool with built in lights that made the water look almost purple was in the center of an extraordinary backyard. There were plenty of seating and lounging areas, as well as an outdoor bar complete with bartender standing at attention. Gorgeous string lights were draped above your heads and all around the courtyard, connecting at the various palm trees and casting the area with the perfect amount of mood lighting.

"Mary, this place is absolutely stunning," Lynne gushed with a hand pressed lightly against her flushed chest. Mary smiled her thanks.

"We've been working on making this place our dream home for so many years," she replied, "it's everything we've ever wanted."

It didn't take very long for you to become a little bored with hearing the details of how their architect imported tile from Rome or how she had some prestigious artist, a name you'd never heard before, paint a mural in their master suite, but you did your best to remain polite and engaged. However, when it became clear Ian, Lynne and Tammy were legitimately interested in her interior designer's "risky" idea for her dining room, you didn't feel so bad when you let your attention wander for a bit.

Your eyes drifted around the pool in search of someone with food as you tipped your glass back, finishing your wine. Then you locked eyes with Zoe, who appeared to also be losing interest. She gave you a small smile before tilting her head toward the bar and you both politely excused yourselves in search of more drinks.

"Can you imagine living somewhere like this?" she asked when you got out of earshot.

You chuckled and shook your head. "Never. I mean, LA is nice but it's just not the same. It's so... peaceful here."

"It really is," she sighed. You both leaned up against the bar and ordered refills when you heard the door open. You twisted around excitedly, assuming it would be Joel and the others, but it turned out to be three caterers, each holding a tray at chest level. Zoe waved them down and you inwardly sighed with relief when you each took a small smattering of what they had to offer.

"Thank god," you mumbled when you popped something in your mouth that you didn't recognize but at that point, you didn't care. "I was starting to think no one eats."

She giggled and covered her mouth. "They probably don't, but I sure as hell do."

You laughed and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the others, aside from Mary, chose to decline the appetizers. "I mean, it's only polite, right?"

"Yeah, duh," Zoe answered before taking a bite of tuna tartare. "Mary'd be disappointed if no one ate. Kind of rude of the others when you think about it."

Your eyes widened and you glanced around, making sure the bartender was busy talking to another caterer and not paying attention before you spoke again. "I think that Tammy's kind of rude, regardless," you said softly, watching carefully for Zoe's reaction. She gasped dramatically as if you had committed blasphemy, then instantly dropped the act, giggling into her palm in agreement.

"Yeah, she's something alright," Zoe replied, looking once over her shoulder at the group. "You did good, though. Standing your ground, marking your territory. Still, you'd think she would be a little more subtle, considering."

You frowned and titled your head to the side. "Considering what?"

She eyed you coyly and winked. "Zach told me. Don't worry though, I won't say a word."

Your blood ran cold. Could she somehow know your relationship was all a lie? No, that wouldn't make sense. Still...

"What do you mean?"

She looked around and picked up her drink and food. "Let's go sit down."

You followed her over to a table with a semblance of privacy without looking like you were excluding yourselves. She brushed her hair off her shoulders and readjusted the straps on her dress before she continued. "He told me about Joel and Tammy. That they had an affair. You'd think after that song and dance last night about them being college sweethearts she would be a little more reserved or, god forbid, have some goddamn shame, but I guess not."

She looked down to scrape something questionable off a cracker while you tried to control your reaction to her news. How could Joel not tell you something this important? Was he crazy?

You swallowed the lump in your throat and steeled yourself, pretending you knew all along. "Does everyone know?"

She scoffed and shook her head. "Hell no. You think they'd be talking to her right now if they did?"

You breathed a sigh of relief but you still couldn't shake the tight feeling in your chest and the inexplicable anger you felt towards Tammy. Clenching your teeth, you took a deep breath in through your nose.

"That's good. Joel would freak if they knew."

She raised her eyebrows and nodded as she chewed and looked around. "Speak of the devil."

Your stunned gaze slid over to where she was looking, spotting the group of men exiting the house to join their partners, each of them carrying identical glasses of dark liquor. Joel's eyes found yours and he immediately could sense something was off. Then he looked at Zoe, his face unreadable before glancing back at you.

"C'mon, we should join them," she said.

Zoe stood up and you followed as if on autopilot.

"Maybe we can go to the spa one of these days? Get some lunch?"

"That sounds wonderful," you told her as you approached the rest of the group. She smiled and broke off to find Zachary, leaving you to face Joel alone.

"Everythin' alright?" he asked. He was smiling in case anyone looked your way but his tone was laced with concern. Worry.

"Yep," you said. You felt his hand brush against your lower back and your body stiffened. He frowned.

"You sure?"

"Mhm," you hummed, pressing your wine glass against your lips, looking anywhere but at him.

"Dad! Sorry we're late," a deep voice called from behind you. The guests turned around to find Trevor and Brooks, Glenn's oldest sons, step out into the courtyard.

"Boys! There you are!" Mary called happily. They took turns planting kisses on her cheek before shaking their father's hand and explaining some work emergency that held them up, but you couldn't stop noticing the way Brooks's fingers wiggled against his side. The longer you watched, the more you noticed. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, the energy rolling off him as his eyes darted around in search of alcohol or food or both.

Then they landed on you.

His gaze was dark and chilling, sending a shiver down your spine. You swallowed tightly and stepped a little closer to Joel, who was talking to Harry about some basketball team, completely oblivious to the way Brooks's eyes dragged appreciatively down your frame.

And just as quickly as it happened, he looked away.

Part of you wanted to tell Joel you weren't feeling well, that you wanted to leave, but you bit your tongue. You were there for a reason. You had to uphold your end of the deal. But everything about that evening made you feel uneasy and sick.

"Glenn invited us all to his yacht this weekend," Joel told you the following morning. He seemed happier than the day before. More upbeat. It should have made you happy, but you couldn't shake the dread that cloaked your shoulders since Zoe told you about Joel's affair, and then the look Brooks gave you right after. You had hardly slept, tossing and turning all night, unable to fully relax.

"Hey, you all good?"

"Huh?" you asked, sitting up straight in your chair and blinking the clouds from your eyes. "Oh, yeah, I'm good. You said a yacht?"

"Yeah. Two nights- you sure?" Joel asked, cutting himself off and leaning forward. "You were real quiet last night, too."

"Yeah, I'm just tired. Sorry," you said, waving him off and focusing on the fruit bowl in front of you.

"Don't need to be sorry," he mumbled. He wasn't really buying your excuse but he chose not to push you. "Why don't we stay in today if you're tired? Relax in the room or... whatever you wanna do."

You perked up at his suggestion. "Don't you have to work?"

He nodded and shrugged before leaning back in his chair. "I'm allowed to take a break."

You grinned and he could see the bad mood instantly leave your body. "Are you sure? I heard the CEO is a handful."

He tossed his head back and laughed, startling you with its rarity. "Oh, you got no idea," he replied. You felt your cheeks heat up so you dropped your gaze back to your breakfast, hiding your smile behind your fork. "You said you wanted to go to the beach, right?" he offered, and you quickly nodded.

"But if that's not your thing..." you trailed off, remembering Tammy's words from the night before.

"Who doesn't love the beach?" he replied before finishing his eggs and standing up. "I'm gonna go get ready, meet you out here in thirty," he said over his shoulder. You watched him leave with a little smile.

So maybe Tammy doesn't know Joel as well as she thought she did.

Once back in your room, you surveyed your bathing suit options. You already wore the black one, so you decided on a white bikini with a halter tie behind the neck and matching white bottoms that had a chunky, gold-toned chain which sat on either side of your hips. You slid it on and gawked in the mirror when you realized Joel's assistant accidentally left the tag on.

"Who the hell pays almost $200 for a fucking swimsuit?" you muttered under your breath before carefully removing it and tossing it in the trash. You liked the sheer green coverup from the day before, so you put that back on and began to pack a beach tote you found amongst the endless accessories purchased for you.

Once you made sure you had all your essentials, you tucked your sunglasses on top of your head and walked towards your door. When your left hand stretched out for the handle, you frowned as you looked down at your ring. You couldn't take that to the beach. You would never be able to relax, too afraid of losing it.

Knowing Joel had a safe in his room, you lightly rapped on his door.

"Yeah?"

"Can I put my- the ring in your safe?" you said, hoping he didn't notice your slip up.

"Sure."

For some reason, you assumed that meant it was clear to enter, so you opened the door and stepped through. Your eyes bugged out of your head when you realized he was still changing, your heart practically leaping out of your chest with embarrassment.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry!" you said, shielding your eyes and backing out of the room quickly. You heard him say something but you couldn't hear him over the curses you were spitting to yourself, so you hurried into the living room and began to pace around nervously, desperately trying to wipe the image from your memory.

Oh, god, he was going to be so pissed. Just when you had him back in a sweet mood, you went and did something so fucking stupid and in all likelihood, ruined the entire day.

When Joel entered the living room, you were chewing on your nail nervously, still pacing around until you noticed him and skid to a stop.

"Joel, I'm so sorry-"

"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout," he said with a smirk. "Ready to go?"

He could have knocked you over with a feather as you stood there, blinking rapidly and trying to keep up.

"Y-yeah, I'm ready," you stammered, swiveling around to grab your tote, then jogged to catch up with him. "Wait! The ring, I never-"

"Oh, right," he said, turning around and holding his hand out. You twisted it off and gave it to him. While he took the ring back to his room, it afforded you a few more seconds to come to terms with what just transpired in the last ten minutes.

Before he joined you again, you had given yourself a mental pep talk: everything was fine, you didn't even see anything, and he wasn't mad.

Well, you saw something, but you weren't going to dwell on that.

The awkwardness only lingered in your system for thirty minutes or so. When you arrived at the beach and felt the warm sand underneath your feet, you immediately felt at ease.

"Lemme ask you somethin'," Joel said after setting down his frozen drink next to yours. Of course, he had bought a private cabana for the afternoon so you were each lounging on your chairs in the shade with silent fans aimed at each of you, spritzing you with a cool mist, keeping you perfectly comfortable in the tropical heat.

"Shoot."

"That story you told Glenn - 'bout me askin' you to marry me," he said, sitting up a bit to stretch. "That what you always wanted? You want someone to propose on the beach?"

You thought about it for a moment. "I don't know," you told him honestly. "I tried to think of the most romantic thing possible and it just popped into my head. I mean, I wouldn't mind it," you chuckled, brushing your hair from your neck.

"Well, when you were growin' up, how did you imagine it?"

"I-"

You cut yourself off, his question taking you off guard.

"I don't know if I ever thought about it."

He cocked his head to the side curiously. "Really? Hopeless romantic like yourself never fantasized 'bout it?"

You threw your head back and laughed, the sound instantly bringing a smile to his own face.

"I wouldn't call myself a hopeless romantic."

He tsked and picked his drink back up. "Yeah, you are."

You scoffed and shot him an agitated look. "What?"

"Whether you realize it or not, you are," he replied matter-of-factly. "No one comes up with those stories off the cuff without havin' a little soft spot for romance."

Your scowl melted into a grin. How was he so good at reading you? And why couldn't you do the same to him?

"How about you? When you-"

"Wanna go for a dip?" he asked, cutting you off as he stood to tug his shirt over his head. Your mouth went dry when you saw his bare chest and back, and then your gaze instinctively dropped. You instantly recalled walking in on him that morning and you had to tear your eyes away before he could see how flustered you were, but it was too late. Joel noticed everything.

"Yeah, sure," you mumbled, standing to shed your cover up. When you turned back to him you had to suppress your smirk at the way his eyes greedily drank you in.

It felt like the playing field leveled once again.

The moment you stepped out from under the protection of the cabana, the heat engulfed you both. Just the short walk to the shore made the back of your neck sweat and you couldn't wait to slip into the crystal blue water to cool down.

"This place doesn't seem real," you confessed to Joel as you waded slowly into the ocean with a ridiculous smile stretched across your face.

"Just imagine the kind of money one of these resorts rakes in," he replied before leaping forward into the water so the only skin that was exposed were his shoulders on up.

Joel didn't like to share much about his private life, that much you knew for certain, but one thing he always seemed open to talking about was work.

"If you win the lot, would this be your most successful hotel?"

He nodded and tilted his head back, eyes sliding closed as he basked in the sun's hot rays. "It would put The Parador on the map, open up countless possibilities."

"Oh, so no pressure or anything," you joked. Your foot grazed against something hard in the sand and you looked down, squinting through the water, then gasped.

"What?"

"Look!" you said excitedly, pointing down. His eyes followed your finger and he frowned.

"I don't see nothin'."

"The seashells! They're pink!"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Pink seashells, huh?"

"Yes!" you squeaked as you tried and failed to pluck one out of the sand with your toes. Joel sighed dramatically and gently pushed you back.

"What are you-"

He took a deep breath and plunged under the water, making you giggle as you watched him dig a few seashells out before popping back up. He shook his head like a wet dog, flinging water droplets at you and making you shriek before he triumphantly brought his hand up from underneath the water and gave you your prize.

"Oh, my hero," you gushed before carefully picking up each one to examine them closer. "Thank you, Joel."

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Your smile grew wider but you hoped he just attributed it to the seashells you were so fixated on. Realizing you had nowhere to put them without going back to the beach, you turned away so you could shove them into the cups of your bikini. You heard a deep chuckle behind you and you looked at him over your shoulder.

"I don't wanna get out!"

He laughed a little louder, the sound beginning to grow on you. He looked so young and relaxed, bobbing up and down in the ocean with his hair slicked back while the sun warmed his already tanned skin.

Turned out Tammy was wrong: Joel was a beach guy.

"I just think it's funny you're bein' so modest after you got an eyeful of me earlier," he told you, his eyes sparkling. You felt your chest and neck grow hot and you shook your head with shame.

"I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't see anything."

He cocked an eyebrow at you. "Don't lie."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, heart skipping a beat as you struggled with a response.

"Okay, I might have seen just a little bit," you confessed softly, looking anywhere but at him as you floated around, allowing the waves to push and pull your body ever so slightly.

"Ouch," he winced, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Little, huh?"

"Oh, god," you groaned, burying your face in your wet hands. "That's not what I meant."

He laughed heartily, enjoying your embarrassment far too much. "I'm just messin' with you."

You splashed him angrily but couldn't stop yourself from grinning. Why couldn't he be like this all the time? This version of him was so sweet, so intoxicating that you found yourself craving it and trying to find ways to bring it out of him more. So you decided to be brave and match his energy, just a little bit. Just to see what he would do.

"You're right. Little wasn't the right word."

He raised his eyebrows in shock and the smile slipped from his face. You thought you made a mistake and already you were scrambling to apologize, but then his gaze darkened and you felt his hand brush against your hip under the water.

"That so?" he said huskily, his tone sending a shiver down your spine and your heart to beat wildly in your chest. You bit your lip and nodded, not putting much confidence in your voice as he inched even closer. You could smell his sunscreen mixing with the salt from the water and the heat of the sun, the entire combination making you feel a little lightheaded. His eyes flickered over your shoulder briefly before you felt his other hand on your waist. "Shit, Zachary 'n Zoe are watchin' us."

Using it as an excuse, you draped your arms around his neck and hummed, pulling yourself so close that your noses were practically touching.

"Suppose we should act like we're madly in love, then."

His fingers pressed harder into your skin as he stared at your mouth, his breathing becoming shallow when your lips parted.

"S'pose we should."

When he pressed his mouth against yours, it was so delicate and soft it made you wonder if he was nervous. The thought excited you and you let your body melt against his. You already felt weightless in the water but the way his lips massaged yours made you feel like you might just float away.

His tongue swiped against your lower lip and you immediately granted him access, opening your mouth a little wider to allow him to deepen the kiss. You both knew you were playing with fire but neither of you stopped to consider it. He tasted too good: like sea salt and the coconut from his drink and it was making you ache for more. Your fingers dragged through the wet curls on the back of his head as his tongue danced with yours, both of you completely forgetting where you were and getting lost in the moment.

A small wave crashed into you, splashing you both with warm sea water and causing you to pull away with a gasp. You dragged in a few deep breaths but his lips drifted to your chin, nibbling and biting along the length of your jaw. You forced your eyes to open, surprised to find you had floated around so you could now see the beach from over his shoulder.

"I don't see Zachary or Zoe."

He froze, his lips still pressed wetly against the sensitive spot below your ear and you felt him smirk. He leaned back and gave you a guilty look. "Huh."

"Huh?" you repeated, and he twisted around to scan the shore.

"Coulda sworn I saw 'em..." he said, scratching his chin and trying to hide his smile. You gasped and shoved his shoulder, pushing him away with a laugh.

"Liar," you teased.

He shrugged and kicked his legs up so he could float on his back. "Guess we'll never know."

"You're unbelievable," you told him, attempting to sound annoyed but you knew your voice held no conviction. He just grinned and closed his eyes with a sigh. You followed his lead and leaned back so you could float, your body rising and falling with each soft wave while you ignored the arousal that flared between your legs. Looking out towards the sea, you spotted various boats speckling the skyline.

"So a yacht, you said?"

"Mhmm. Two days. If you get seasick, I got pills that'll help."

"What are we going to do for two days?" you asked.

"Eat. Drink. Jet-ski. Maybe check out some small islands or somethin'," he replied, eyes still peacefully shut.

"So we're sleeping on this yacht?"

He cracked one eye opened and looked at you. "Yep," he answered. You swallowed and looked back towards the beach.

"That means we'll have to share a bed," you said, feeling ridiculous for being so nervous at the prospect when his tongue was practically down your throat moments ago.

"That a problem?"

You shook your head. "Of course not."

He smiled and closed his eyes again. "Good."

Shit. You were in trouble.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us au #swept away fic

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sturnioz · 30 days

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fratboy! chris wanting to have phone sex on ft when him and shy!reader both go home for holiday break 🤭

"uh-huh. yeah, a'ight," chris murmurs, his voice a low hum as he leans back against the familiar backdrop of his childhood bedroom, listening to you animatedly babble over facetime.

you're filling him in on everything you've been doing since arriving home for the holiday break; diving into long explanations about cosy family dinners, catching up with old high-school friends, and even the plans that have been made for the upcoming days, wanting to share every detail possible.

but then chris shifts slightly, propping himself against the pillows as he interrupts your flow. "so, what are you uh.. what are you wearin'?"

your words come to an abrupt halt at his unexpected question, your eyebrows pinching together as you glance down at yourself, "my sweatpants and an old shirt.. i actually got this from—"

"i'm not talking about that, kid. fuckin'—" chris sighs, rubbing at his forehead in frustration and you frown at him, trying to decipher his expression on the screen as he raises his head back up. "i'm talkin' about your underwear, kid. like what you wearin' beneath all that?"

"oh..." you murmur, cheeks feeling a little hot as you mindlessly pull at the hem of your shirt. "just my panties."

"yeah?" chris hums, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as he folds one arm behind his head. "wanna uh... wanna show me?"

you're nervous and hesitant to follow through with his request, but you hold your phone up above you, awkwardly lifting your hips to pull down your sweatpants just a bit to reveal the waistband your cotton panties.

chris sucks in a deep breath, and the arm that he put behind his head a few moments prior was moved out of frame. you watch as he shifts again, the sound of his bedsheets rustling as he moves.

"take them off."

"take... take them off?" you repeat. you were making sure that you heard him correctly, despite his words being clear as day through the slight raspy tone he used. when he hums in response, you swallow thickly, eyes darting towards your bedroom door to ensure it's locked before propping your phone against the lamp on your bedside table.

you don't exactly put on an attractive performance as you clumsily and awkwardly tug off your sweatpants, which makes you want to hang up the call and not talk or see him again until you've recovered from embarrassment, but chris seems to be enjoying the show as he watches you, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his camera shaky as he takes you in.

"go reaaaaal slow for me, 'kay? wanna see you, bun." chris' voice rasps into the speakers, and the heat crawls up your neck as your fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs just like he asked. "good girl... jus' like that."

you place your panties to the side, pressing your thighs together to cover yourself up, feeling way too exposed like this.

"chris—"

"nah, open up f'me. told you that i wanna see you, yeah?" chris reminds you, and you nod your head slowly, parting your legs to bare yourself to him and he grunts, rolling his head back against the pillow, his camera more shakier. "fuckin' crazy what you do t'me when y'not even here... look, bun."

you lean in close to your phone, your eyes widening and lips parting with a light gasp as he moves his camera down, showing you his hand fisting around his cock. you can hear his grunts through the speakers, and you rush to grab the device and turn the volume down when he curses loudly, not wanting anyone in the house to hear what's going on behind the four walls of your bedroom.

"get your earphones or somethin', kid," chris tells you, bringing his camera back up to his face. "get them 'n put them on, yeah? 'cos m'gonna be sayin' some shit and m'gonna make you cum. hurry up."

#ᯓ꒰asks꒱#ᯓ꒰anon꒱#☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #★ ⋮ sturniolo hours !#★ ⋮ chris hours !

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asunflowerana · 1 month

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06:50 PM — Nanami Kento

"Fried or grilled chicken for dinner?"

"Uhm—" a grunt can be heard from the other line, followed by the sounds of slashing and inhuman shrieks. He must still be busy. "Uhm, grilled is good, love. What you're thinking for side dish?"

"Cheesy mashed potatoes and tomato sauce, just the way you like it." You close the fridge door, holding the phone with your free hand while the other arm carries the pot of fresh seasoned chicken you prepared a few hours ago. You organize the counter with all the ingredients, pan pre-heating with butter.

"Perfect." There are a few more distant grunts, but you can still understand your husband's approval, making you proceed with your dinner plans. "Don't forget to lower the heat, in case you want to practice your dance moves again."

"It was just once, Kento!" You sulk, not like being called out for grooving in the kitchen. Did you burn a few things back then? Yes, but who didn't? It was your favorite pop playlist, your body went on its own!

Making sure your phone stays still well between your ear and shoulder blade, you land the first filet of chicken breast on the hot pan, a not-so-usual sizzling sound taking place in the room. Yep, let's definitely lower the heat, you move your fingers around the knob. "I won't burn our food again, smarty pants. Stop bullying your wife."

But you can't stay mad at him for too long. Not when you feel his deep, breathless chuckles flowing right inside your ear, into your mind and heart, making your stomach flutter like a scholar girl just like every single time. "I'm sorry love, you're right. Your food 's heaven, burned or not."

Letting out a last huff, you roll your eyes, feeling your lips curve in a lopsided smile. You bet Nanami has a similar one on his face right now. "How long 'til you come home?"

There's a small pause, filled with lowly breaths and the far sound of crickets. Maybe he finished what he was dealing with. "45 minutes from now. Think you can hold tight?"

"You're not deserving, but I'll make an effort." Now you hear the perfect form of a snicker, making you wish you could kiss it away and fill that pretty cheeky face with even more kisses. You miss your husband. "Come safe, 'kay? I'll see you soon."

"See you soon, love. Stay safe."

And the red finish button is pressed. Nanami carefully returns the device inside his pocket, now investing his whole attention on the last, persistent curse gaping at him behind a pillar, thinking it could catch him out of guard.

Rubbing of the remains of blood coming from a small cut on his jaw, he roughly loosen the tight knot of his tie that you so lovingly did this morning. He needs to move without restraints if he wants to get the next subway, though.

"Let's finish for today, shall we?"

And like every weekday, Kento makes it on time.

#i'm not giddy you are #w.jjk #jjk x reader #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami #nanami fluff #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #kento x reader #kento x you #{ bouquet }

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 days

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Mission Control 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

That day, the bus is mostly empty. It's only you, an eldery couple, and the driver. The ebb and flow of traffic slows the wheels as the driver passes by vacant stops. You watch the pavement roll by between patches of grass.

The dulcet ride lures you into a calm even as your pre-work nerves buzz. You hug your bag in your lap as the driver stops and the doors open to let in another passenger. The axel squeals as the vehicular behemoth pulls away from the curb.

You continue to watch the city as the new rider strides between the seats. You sense their shadow loom closer and closer. You expect them to claim the empty seat across from yours. Instead, the sit right next to you. It's an odd choice given the few passengers aboard.

You fidget and make yourself smaller. You turn your head straight as you try to see the stranger from the edge of your vision. They're big. Broad enough that their arm presses to yours even as you try to shrink into yourself. Tall too, his knees against the row in front of you.

He sits rigidly beside you. Uneasy at his proximity, you fish into your side pocket and slide free your phone. You open it aimlessly, tapping habitually on the crossword app you play at work in the low times.

The solutions elude you as your mind can't detach from the man crowding you into the window. Why can't he sit anywhere else? You look around at the unclaimed seats. He stays as he is, stiff, straight, unmoving.

You close out of the came and lock your phone. You clasp your hand around the device as you hug your bag once more. Your other hand toys with the little pom pom that hangs from your zipper.

The bright bus signs pass by. You're stop is coming up. Now is the awkward part. Getting the man to let you out.

You pull the cord to signal your intent but he's already on his feet. You glance over and thank him softly, a brief glimpse at his face. A scar ripples from his hairline, through his temple and angles down his cheek to his jaw. His eyes are a bold blue and his nose finely cut despite the large blemish.

He stands back as you grab your bag and sidle out. You go to the doors. He follows.

Huh?

He grips the yellow bar behind you, his large hand gripping as if he might crush the metal. You stare at his knuckles and the bus jerks to a stop. You nearly fall off your feet. The man catches you by your hip with his free hand.

You set your feet and cough out another thanks. Embarrassed, you slap the doors and they open. You scurry off and the men once more trails after you. As you veer towards the mall, he waits until the bus takes off and crosses the street. With him, your suspicious leaves.

You're frazzled as you enter work. You don't know why. You just... are. Something about that man sticks with you. Even if he never said a word, it felt like he was trying to tell you something.

You clock in and try to shake it off. His face flashes in your mind. You can't place what seems so familiar about him. You would remember if you met him before. How could you forget?

You go to the counter as Layton talks with a customer about the new seasonal blends. The tea shop has its peak times, especially as winter approaches, but it's one o clock on a Tuesday and that's never very busy anywhere.

You greet the next customers. Two girls interested in the cold brew pots. You show them what you have and explain the store's points card. The buy a sampler and nothing else. Typical.

Layton finishes at four. The traffic picks up once he's gone. You don't mind as it keeps the time moving. It peters out as the dinnertime rush fills the food court. You can hear the crowd from around the corner.

You set to wiping down the counter and putting away the few stray canisters left out. As you turn back, you have to swallow down a shriek. You didn't hear the man over the mall's top hits playlist.

You hesitate as your eyes meet. It's him. The man from the bus. You blink and press your lips together.

"Hello, uh, how are you today?" You ask.

He just stares. No answer. No sign he even heard you.

He's in all black. Boots, jeans, cargo jacket. He stands like a soldier. You part your lips again, "are you looking for anything in particular? Today we have our apple crisp chai as the sample."

He still doesn't react. Not more than his eyes falling to the nervous twiddle of your fingers on the counter. Your scalp prickles and your nape burns. If he keeps this up, you'll have to phone security.

He raises his hand to reveal a familiar object. It's the fluffy pom pom from your bag. Your brows pop up, "oh? Thanks. It must have fallen off."

You reach for it and your mind races. As nice as it is to return the key chain, you can't help but wonder. How did he know where to find you?

As you grasp the soft ball, his other hand comes up and snares your wrist. Your squeak and try to pull back. You're stuck in his grip.

Your eyes round and flick up to meet his. His gaze bores into you and at last, his stony expression cracks. He smirks, the scar on the side of his face paling as the lines around his eyes deepen. He releases the keychain and grabs a fistful of your hair.

"Ow!" You squeal and yank again.

He rips your hair out at the roots and you exclaim again. Hets go of your arm and you hit the shelves behind you. He nods and spins on his heel, clutching the handful of your hair.

You whimper and rub your head as your scalp burns. Your eyes water and your lip trembles. You just gape at the door. What just happened?

#captain hydra #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #mission control #mcu #marvel #avengers #au

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twitchmattentusiast · 4 months

Text

｡°✩ PROVE IT . . . . .ᐟ

── MATTHEW STURNIOLO.

pairings. matthew sturniolo x female reader (mentions of christopher sturniolo)

❝ You know Chris would lose his shit if he saw us out here together, right? ❞

# warnings: drugs, alcohol, toxic chris + toxic matt, mentions of toxic relationship, female + male receiving, doggy style, recording?? dom!matt x switch (mostly sub) reader!

── authors note: matt and chris do NOT get along in this btw they’ve got some sibling rivalry. this is purely fictional so obvs i don’t think this is how they’d act in real life !

The house reeked of alcohol, weed, and sex—a combination that you wouldn't complain about on a normal day, but today wasn't a normal day; it was hell. The speakers blared some type of shitty trap music, and if you hadn't introduced your ex to real music, you would think that he was the one on aux tonight.

You were pissed off, which wasn't something unusual; you were usually in a bad mood, but tonight one particular person put you in an extra bad mood, ruining your entire night.

your ex.

christopher sturniolo.

Chris Sturniolo walked into your life like a storm that was dying to cause some destruction. and as you look back on your year-and-a-half relationship, you realise that's exactly what he had done. You first met each other at a party in your freshman year of college. your roommate, who had finally decided to sleep in your dorm tonight instead of staying at her boyfriends like she did every. single. night. dragged you to some kind of frat party and then ditched you for her boyfriend. You didn't mind. she actually asked you first if you were cool with her leaving, and at first you thought it was a good idea until you realised you didn't actually know anyone here, so you were left alone on your own devices with a full bottle of tequila.

It took you ten minutes to find your way around the frat, but you finally found the kitchen and found refuge in the fact that it was empty, so you did what any freshmen would do: drown your sorrows in alcohol because you were slightly too socially awkward to make new friends.

You were alone for a full twenty-five minutes until a group of obnoxious guys walked in, all talking loudly and pissing you off instantly. You wanted some alone time, and these stupidly drunk guys were ruining that. Your lips were twitching in a frown until your eye caught onto the last guy who walked into the kitchen, and you were instantly mesmerised.

It took him a minute, since he was so caught up on talking to his friends and laughing too loudly, but his eyes locked into yours, and they twinkled. There was just something about him that drew you to him, and so with some (a lot) of liquid courage since you had managed to down a large amount of the tequila, you walked over to him in attempts to start a conversation, hoping he'd eagerly respond and not laugh in your face.

He didn't laugh in your face.

Instead, he smiled at you, instantly sparking a conversation that he wordlessly carried, and to your surprise, your anxiety slipped away. You talked to him so easily. The conversation flowed for hours, with his friends biding him goodbye as they were off to meet some other friends or something.

an hour or something into your conversation, he split some tequila onto your white shirt and apolgosied profusely. It was your favourite shirt, but you were too drunk to care, and he was too cute. You didn't want to act dramatic and scare him away, so you let him grab your hand, trying to ignore the sparks as he dragged you gently up the stairs and towards the bathroom, attempting to get the stain away. He was sure it would work.

It didn't work.

You couldn't help but laugh at him, at how focused he was on getting the stain away when you didn't even care. The next thing you knew, you were staring at each other, and then your lips were connected, and all of a sudden you were making out, and then you were fucking in some random bathroom for what felt like hours.

and after that, you and Chris spent all your time together. It was like you were stuck by some kind of glue, as you never left each other's sides. You haven't known each other that long, but it felt like you were meant to be. You weren't officially dating yet; you were scared of commitment, and so was Chris, so you just stuck with having sex, and the sex was fucking amazing. You would go to visit Chris after his practice every day. Once they were all packed up and his friends had left, he'd drag you to his room and serenade you with his guitar, resulting in you two fucking. again.

and you guys would repeat the cycle basically every night.

You started showing up to his practices, deciding you wanted to actually get to know his friends. Chris would occasionally teach you how to play the guitar, and you started to fall in love with music. So you helped him come up with a band name, book gigs, and budget because, god knows, none of the boys knew how to do that and design their outfits. You went to every gig hiding behind the scenes because you hated being on stage, but they all treated you like you were part of the band because, with how much you did, you were part of them.

You helped with all of it even before Chris finally managed to lock it down a week later.

With how much time you spent with Chris, you thought you knew everything about him. After all, you guys would stay up all night just watching the stars as you smoked on his roof and talked. But it turned out that Chris had forgotten to mention one tiny little thing to you.

or rather three.

It turned out that Chris had a brother. but not just one of them. No, he had three brothers, and he hadn’t told you about a single one of them. Imagine your surprise when you show up at Chris's doorstep wearing nothing but a long trench coat and Chris's favourite lingerie set when someone who looks similar to your boyfriend but isn't quite your boyfriend opens the door with his own surprise etched on his face until he starts smirking.

That was the first day that you met Matt, and you quickly learned that the reason Chris never spoke about his brothers, especially Matt, was because he didn't get along with him. at. all.

Every time you showed up at his house, Chris and Matt would get into some kind of argument that lasted for hours and got way out of hand faster than needed. According to Nick, they had some kind of feud and always had.

At first, you didn't have a problem with Matt. He was your boyfriend's brother, and even if Chris didn't necessarily get along with him, you didn't want to be rude. but eventually the way he'd always talk down to Chris annoyed you, and the way he'd always smirk at you when he'd see you. at parties, at his house, even at the dinner table! He'd sit opposite you, smirking at you as if he knew some kind of secret that you didn't know, and it drove you up the fucking wall.

You later found out that Matt was a womaniser, and that was a good reason for you to stay far away from him. You decided that if he wasn't going to be nice to you or your boyfriend, then you'd ignore him too. In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to do, but you didn't have much of a choice considering Chris instantly dragged you away when Matt was in sight.

but things were different now. Sure, back then Chris could have a say and decide what you could do. He had always been annoyingly controlling, but he had fucked you over so you could speak to whoever you wanted and do whatever the fuck you pleased. It was two days ago when Chris broke up with you, claiming he believed the relationship wasn't working out anymore and that you guys were heading down different paths. He had literally dropped out of college only a week ago, and his band, after a year of being together, had only slightly started to pick up, so you weren't even sure what the fuck he was talking about; you were just pissed off.

Once again, your roommate had dragged you to this party you didn't want to be at. Only this time you bumped into your ex, who was making out with some blonde girl on a couch. His only response when he noticed you caught him was a shrug.

a fucking shrug!

Now listen, you and Chris have broken up multiple times in the past year. Whenever an argument went too far, you'd decide to break up, but you'd always find your way to the other's house an hour later, but this time it was different. It had only been two days, Chris hadn't turned up to your house, and now he was making out with some random girl.

You were pissed off.

You usually don't smoke much, mostly because of your stupid ex, who always had to have a say in what you did, and you stupidly let him. had a problem with it. That never stopped him from smoking, though. With how annoyed you are now, though, a smoke seems like the only thing that will stop you from either having a breakdown in front of this whole party or killing Chris, so you quickly make your way outside, pushing the door open as you unzip your bag, beginning to fish through it for a cigarette.

As you finally pulled the cigarette from your bag, a trail of curses left your mouth. your mind going back to your stupid ex, who had apparently moved on just fine, which just pissed you off more. You wanted to piss Chris off and hurt him just like he had hurt you. You needed to find someone to make out with and maybe do a little something more, but you needed it to seem real. God knows, you couldn't fake anything anymore. but who? Sure, you could walk up to a random guy at a party, it wouldn't take much to convince him to makeout with you. but again, you didn't want to fake it. which left your options very limited.

so who?

nathan?

nah. he was just like chris.

"Need a lighter sweetheart?"

You didn't even need to turn around; the all-too-familiar cocky smooth tone hit your ears, causing your lips to slightly curve into a smirk.

It looks like you found your guy.

Matt leaned against the railings. His arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with a smirk on his face. It was the same smirk he gave you every time you walked past him. It was the same smirk he gave you when he first caught you checking him out when you first met. and it was the same smirk he gave you and Chris when you were all sitting at the table and he sat opposite you.

Matt was a pain in your ass, a thorn in your side, an annoyance you desperately wished you could flick away, but you couldn't, not when you were with Chris. but maybe you could now.

Chris would freak the fuck out if he knew you were even standing this close to Matt, let alone about to smoke a joint with him, but that made it all the more exciting. All you wanted to do right now was piss off Chris, and you knew that's all Matt ever wanted to do too. Before you can drag out the joint to answer him, he acts quicker, brushing his fingertips on your chin, almost tugging you closer to him. He licks his lips, wetting them with a chuckle.

He held the lighter up to the tip of the joint, watching as the flame licked at the dried herb. The smell wafted up, filling the air between them. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening slightly as he took in your appearance. He released the lighter, letting it dangle from its chain around his fingers.

His gaze lingered on your lips, and he wondered how they'd taste. He wondered how they'd feel wrapped around his cock. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

Your red dress that hugs your figure so perfectly that it makes Matt internally groan rides up your thighs when you straighten up. Taking an inhale from the joint, you blow the smoke in his face without a care. He watches each of your movements, the stupid smirk sitting on his lips growing wider the more his eyes move up and down your body. You almost want to chuckle at how easy this is.

He reached out, grabbing your wrist lightly. He pulled you closer to him until your bodies were just barely touching. He leaned in, whispering in your ear.

He knew exactly how to push your buttons, and he loved every second of it.

"You know Chris would lose his shit if he saw us out here together, right?"

His breath tickled your ear as he whispered the words, sending shivers down your spine. You could practically hear the smugness in his voice. He knew exactly how to get under your skin.

You glared at him, pulling away slightly. You took another drag from the joint, blowing the smoke in his direction again. You wanted to provoke him and see what he'd do next.

"Maybe I want him to see us together," you said, your voice low and sultry.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise before a smirk spread across his face. It felt like this was the most important thing that you'd ever said to him. Usually you just glare at him or simply ignore his existence, so to see you like this, smile at him, looking at him all boldly in that slutty red dress. fuck. He stepped closer, his hands finding their way to your hips. He pulled you flush against him, feeling the heat radiating off of you.

"Is that so?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave lower. "You want to make Chris jealous?"

He leaned in, his lips hovering just barely above yours. He could feel your breath hitching, and he knew he had you where he wanted you.

Little did he know you had him where you wanted him.

Matt was all about the chase. and you knew how to play that game all too well.

You licked your lips slightly, and Matt smirked as he trailed his hand up your arm. "You know... I always thought that you needed someone better to take care of you.”

You raised your eyebrows. "Someone like you?" You asked sarcastically, provoking him even more, and with the way his eyes darkened, you could tell it was working.

His smirk grew wider, his hand trailing down her arm to rest on your hip. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Exactly like me."

Your eyes twinkled. "prove it."

you challenged him, your eyes locked on his. you could feel the tension building between you, and you knew there was no turning back now. but that's exactly what yoy wanted, not that you would admit that to me out loud ever. you just wanted to push him some more and see how far he would go. Would he really kiss his brother's ex-girlfriend? Would he fuck you? God, would he eat you ou-

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "Always such an angel, hm?"

You smiled devilishly. You were starting to get impatient with all this talk. You weren't much for talking, especially when you felt your panties dappen even more, something Chris had never managed to do with some looks and words. You knew what Matt was doing; he wanted you to make the first move to brag that you had given in first, and if that's what it was going to take, you would do it. You're in his hands now. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to meet your lips in a passionate kiss.

He groaned into the kiss, his tongue darting out to tangle with yours. His hands roamed down the sides of your body, moving towards your ass to squeeze it, causing you to moan, leaving Matt to smirk into the kiss.

You pushed Matt against the wall, grinding your hips against his. You could feel his cock throbbing against you, making you moan into the kiss. You broke the kiss only to pant against his lips. "Upstairs," you said breathlessly as Matt reconnected your lips again and again, pulling at them harshly.

Matt pulled away from her lips just enough to say, "Yeah, upstairs."

He grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. He could feel your hips grinding against him, and he found himself getting harder. He wanted you; he always had. But this was different; this was revenge, and that made it all the sweeter.

you purposely grinded against Matt as you felt Chris's eyes on yoy. before you giggled, dragging Matt upstairs and waving to Chris sweetly as you passed him. disappearing out his sight.

Matt grinned, following you up the stairs. He watched you, admiring your form. He couldn't wait to have you bent over the bed, begging for him to fuck you. He knew it would be good, but he didn't think it would be this good.

His eyes flicked over to Chris, and he gave him a little wave too, copying your actions before disappearing up the stairs with you. He knew Chris would be furious, and that made him even more smug.

Chris had always told him to stay away from you, and now he was going to do the exact opposite.

You slammed the door shut behind you, locking it, before pushing Matt against the wall. You pinned him there with your body, pressing your breasts against his chest as you kissed him passionately.

Matt groaned into the kiss, his hands roaming over your body. He squeezed your ass, pulling your hips tighter against his. He could feel your hard nipples pressing against his chest, and he found himself getting harder.

"God, I've wanted you for so long," he murmured against her lips before kissing her again.

"Prove it," you teased again.

Matt growled, his teeth nipping at your neck. He could smell the alcohol on your breath, and he found himself getting more aroused. He wanted you; he wanted to claim you as his.

"I will," he promised. "How about I prove it to you and Chris?"

Confusion appeared on your face until Matt motioned to what was in his hand. a camera. excitement pooled in your stomach. Did he want to film you? Was he going to send it to Chris? You keep her face neutral, trying not to get your hopes up, knowing that if you were wrong, Matt would tease you for it forever.

Matt grinned, holding the camera up to show you. He leaned in, capturing your faces in the lens. He clicked the button, snapping a picture of you and then him. He then moved the camera down, pointing it at your cleavage.

"Trust me, Chris is going to love seeing this."

Chris wasn't going to love this. He was going to hate both of you. you knew that and so did he get that made it more exicitng. the idea of fucking his britter? the one Chris made sure to keep you away from at all costs? It turned you on so much, and Matt is filming you guys? Chris had never done such a thing, which just showed how different they were.

"You look so fucking hot." Matt murmured as he switched the camera to video and pointed at you, telling you to say hi to Chris, which you did, looking at the camera all shyly.

"Don't be shy, baby." Matt tutted as he lifted your chin up with his finger. "Chris brought this upon himself, being such an ass to you." he taunted.

You bit your lip as Matt slowly unzipped your dress, leaving you in your lacy bra and pants, which made him groan. "fuckk"

You reached behind and unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor, exposing your perky tits. "Now you," you said, tugging at the bottom of his shirt as your other hand trailed towards his budge.

Matt smirked as he faced the camera towards you. "See, Chris, your girl is begging to see my cock, but she never begged for yours like that, did she?"

If you weren't so turned on, you would roll your eyes at all the digs Matt was making. He was clearly doing this for the exact same reason as you to get back at Chris, only wanting to extend their britter rivalry longer, but you were literally dropping, so you ignored his digs, just agreeing to whatever he said so he could hurry up and just do something!

Matt must have sensed your desperation as he chuckled slightly, looking at you expectantly as he harshly pushed you onto the floor, making you moan pathetically. Chris had always been too soft when you fucked, which you didn't mind most of the time, but sometimes you wanted to be treated like a slut, and you knew Matt would do exactly that. "Well, go on then," Matt said. "Suck it."

You grinned wickedly as Matt stripped his shirt off. You kneeled before him, reaching for his belt. You undid it quickly, pulling his pants and underwear down enough to free his cock. You looked up at him, your lips wrapping around his length. You began to suck him off, your hand stroking the base of his cock as you bobbed your head up and down his shaft.

Matt moaned, running his fingers through your hair. He could feel your mouth working on him. "Fuck, you're so good at that," he murmured, thrusting his hips forward harshly.

You continued to suck Matt off, taking his thick cock deeper and deeper into your throat. You gagged slightly as you took every inch of his cock into your throat. Your eyes were glazed over with lust as you sucked him off hungrily.

Matt was so big. bigger than Chris. You couldn't wait for the moment his cock was inside you. God, you were literally going dumb thinking at that moment.

Matt angled the camera down at you, chuckling as you moaned as she took more of his cock. "That's it, baby, you're doing so good."

You moaned at his words. Praise had always been one of your biggest kinks, and hearing Matt praise you surprised turned you on even more.

You continued to suck Matt off, taking his entire cock into your throat over and over. You moaned softly as you felt him throb in your mouth. You continued to stroke the base of his cock as you sucked him off.

Matt groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair. He could feel himself getting close, and he wasn't sure if he could hold back much longer.

"I'm going to cum," he warned, pulling out of your mouth. He aimed his cock at your chest, groaning as he came. He painted your tits with his cum, watching as it dripped down your skin. He groaned as he pointed the camera at your chest, watching as you swiped some with your fingers and sucked on it, moaning in response.

"Your girl is such a slut, Chris. This is why you've been hiding her from me this whole time, huh?"

You licked up the remnants of Matt's cum from your fingers, smacking your lips. You winked at the camera as you did so, looking seductively into the lens before standing up and seductively walking up to the bed, making sure to sway your hips as Matt chuckled, walking behind you and smacking your ass harshly.

Matt chuckled, slapping your ass again. He could see the red mark left by his hand, and it only made him want to do it again.

"You're such a bad girl, baby," he purred, his hand trailing down to your pussycat. He rubbed your clit through your panties, feeling how wet you was. "You like that, don't you?" He smirked as he saw the wet spot on your panties. You were enjoying this as much as he was.

You shivered as Matt touched your pussy through your panties. You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to suppress a moan.

Matt chuckled, pulling your panties aside. He slipped two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out slowly. He curled them, finding your g-spot and rubbing it, still receiving no response as gasps left your mouth.

"You like that?" he taunted.

You cried out in pleasure as he rubbed your g-spot. You arched your back, pressing yourself further onto his fingers. You could feel the cold metal of his rings against your clit, and it was driving you insane.

"words sweetheart." Matt threatened as his pace slowed down.

You whimpered as Matt slowed his pace. You hated that he did that, especially now that you were so close to cumming. You were so desperate for release. "Please... please don't stop," you whined.

Your voice was shaky as you spoke. You had never been this horny in your life. All you could think about was how badly you needed to cum.

Matt chuckled, speeding up his pace. He could hear the desperation in your voice, and it only spurred him on more.

"That's it; just beg for it," he teased, adding a third finger to stretch your pussy out even more.

you screamed as matt added another finger to your pussy. you couldn't believe how full you were right now. you didn't know whether to be embarrassed or turned on by how loud she was being.

"Oh god! oh fuck!" matt smirked and leaned down licking her pussy.

Matt smiled, licking your pussy again. He could taste how wet you were, and it only made him want to eat you out more. He buried his face between your legs, licking and sucking on your clit.

"You're so fucking tasty," he murmured against your pussy, continuing to lick and suck on your clit.

You screamed out in ecstasy as Matt ate you out. You had never felt anything quite like this before. Even when Chris used to eat you out, it was never anything like this. You could feel an intense wave of pleasure building up inside of you. "oh fuck! i'm gonna-"

Matt kept eating you out. ignoring how you attempted to push him away. "Cum for me, baby," he said.

As Matt told you to, you lost control. You screamed out as your body tensed up. Your pussycat clenched tightly around nothing as you rode out the waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Matt watched as you came, your body trembling with pleasure. He could see how much you enjoyed it, and it only made it harder.

"Such a good girl for me, hm?" He smirked as he positioned the camera on the table.

You lay there panting, trying to catch your breath after the intense orgasm. You hated to admit it, but you don't think Chris ever made you come that hard. Before you can reply, Matt suddenly flips you over.

Your eyes widen. "Matt, I don't think I can take it." You shake your head. Your legs were already shaking. Fuck that. your entire body was already shaking simply from Matt eating you out. You're far too sensitive. You don't think you can survive anything else anymore.

Matt chuckled darkly. "What happened to me proving it to you, baby?" he asked.

Your lips clamp shut as Matt repeats your earlier words back to you. As sensitive as you are, you unfortunately never back down from a. Challenge aside, if Matt is that good at giving an orgasm from that alone, surely getting fucked will be a million times better, so you whine as he smacks your ass again.

Matt smirked as he saw your wetness drop down your thighs. Seeing you on all fours like this made you a million times hotter. Hell, the way you were moaning and whining for him, you were slowly becoming a hot mess for him. The lipstick smudged all over your face, showing that.

"You're such a dirty little slut," he murmured, sliding his cock into you from behind. He gripped your hips tightly, pounding into you hard.

"And you love every second of it."

You didn't have the energy to argue; you were still trying to catch your breath after your last orgasm, but even if you could argue, you wouldn't deny it; you were loving every second of this.

You gasped as Matt slid his cock into you even deeper. You loved how deep he went inside of you. You could feel every single inch of him filling you up. "Fuck Matt, yes!" you moaned out in pleasure as he pounded into you.

Matt slapped your ass again, figuring out that the last time he did it, you liked it. He smirked as you moaned loudly as the sound echoed through the room. "You love my cock, don't you, baby?" he asked.

You whined about the pleasure being too much; you couldn't reply until Matt slammed into you even harder, causing you to fall into the mattress.

"I said, Do you love my cock?" Matt repeated grabbing onto your hair as your ass was in the air and your head was buried in the pillow. tears pooled in your eyes;; thepleasure wase was too much.

"yes matt! yes! I love your cock!" you moaned.

Matt smirked and reached around, pinching your nipples as he fucked you.

"such a fucking whore loving mine and my brothers cock hm?"

His words made you feel even dirtier. Chris was never that good at small talk, but the filth that was leaving Matt's mouth made you go insane.

You could feel your body responding to each of his movements. You were so turned on right now that you could hardly reply. "Yes! Fuck yes, Matt!"

Matt chuckled. He loved how fucked up you looked, and he loved even more how fast you were becoming a mess for him. He gripped onto your waist, fucking you even faster from behind if that's even possible, loving the loud moans that leave your mouth. He can't believe his brother was the lucky guy able to fuck you. Chris; he didn't even do it right. You were probably left unsatisfied, and that just made Matt want to make you even more of a mess for him.

You let out a loud cry as Matt pulled your hair even harder. You could feel your body shaking as he continued to fuck you. You were so close to losing it again. "Matt!" you gasped, whine falling from your lips as you couldn't even form a sentence correctly. "i’m gonna cum aga-"

Matt chuckled upon hearing you say you were going to cum again. He loved seeing you lose control like this. He quickened his pace, thrusting into you hard.

"Then do it, cum for me."

You screamed out as Matt thrust into you hard. You could feel your entire body tensing up as you got closer and closer to cumming. Finally, you couldn't hold back anymore, and you came. hard.

"oh fuck! i'm cumming!"

Matt could feel your pussy clenching around his cock, and it pushed him over the edge. He groaned loudly, filling you up with his cum.

"That's it; take my cum." He praised as you moaned loudly, begging for him to come inside him.

Matt chuckled, thrusting into you one last time. He filled you up with his hot cum, painting your insides white, and then pulled out, watching as their cum that was mixed together dropped out of her.

"There's a good girl," he praised, kissing your back softly.

You were far too out of it to even reply. You just bummed softly as Matt trailed kisses on your collarbone, softly rubbing your sides as he asked, "Are you okay?"

You nodded your head. "Yeah, that was just." You trailed off, hoping he got the hint, and of course the cocky fucker did.

"amazing? the best you ever had? magical?"

You laughed and pushed him away from you. "Shut the fuck, you freak," you said. You were still trying to catch your breath, so you flopped back onto the bed, lying on the mattress, as Matt chuckled before disappearing somewhere.

You didn't question him; he was too tired to even ask where he was going, but he returned moments later with a bottle of tequila, a rag to clean you up, and a spare t-shirt of his.

He smirked up at you as he locked the door and pulled out a joint. "You want to dedicate a joint to that special somebody or what?"

You rolled your eyes at the boy but let him clean you up, put his t-shirt on you, and the pair of you spent the rest of the night drinking tequila, sharing the joint, and ignoring any calls Chris left either of you.

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BYEE was this too much? i feel like i lowk went overboard but i also feel like this kinda sucks idk but let me know if you guys want a pt 2 or not cause i had an idea of some jealous chris sex☺️

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut

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