#and I just wanted to share that and be a little off brand with the typical sibling dynamics

[jeondesu]

FRI(END)S — ꒰ 양정인 ꒱

── ✧ ˚. 𝓹airing ˒˓ yang jeongin x f!reader ˒˓ childhood friends to lovers 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. fluff, angst (not a lot, i hope..?), some profanity, kissing, i believe that’s it.. 𝔀ords. 3.8k

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — hello peeps, i’m back from the dead w a new fic that i’ve been working on for a while but i’m glad i finally finished it :D this is for my sweetheart @jeonginslittledoll, i hope you like it bestie <3

𝓼ong 𝓲nspo. fri(end)s by v

Jeongin doesn’t remember a time in his life when you weren’t there. Dating all the way back to kindergarten, you were in all his drawings— your pigtails lopsided and stick limbs holding his hand. He remembers how he’d always draw the sun in the corner and you’d insist on adding glitter stars even when it was supposed to be daytime. You shared your crayons with him without hesitation, even your special sparkly ones, which at five years old was basically the pinnacle of loyalty.

You were there the first time he cried over a scraped knee, when he wanted to show you this cool trick and ended up falling off his scooter. He tried not to let it show, but you saw anyway, gasping so dramatically he cried harder, until you kissed his knee and told him you had ‘magical healing powers’. He never once questioned it.

In third grade, he failed his math test for the first time. His hands were far too shaky to hand the paper to his mom, so he showed it to you first. You sat beside him on the swings, bumping shoulders, and told him you’d help him study, even if you both sucked at fractions.

When sixth grade rolled around, you were there to console him when a girl told him that she “just wanted to be friends.” He didn’t even like her that much, not really. But he still looked for you after class and said nothing when you handed him your last fruit roll-up and gave him a little nudge, a signal that meant “I’m here for you.” You didn’t bother with the clichés or telling him there were plenty of other fish in the sea. You just stayed. That in itself was enough for him.

He never got over how easy it was with you. How stupidly, infuriatingly safe he felt around you. Like all the worst parts of him didn’t matter because you already saw them and accepted him exactly for the way he was— choosing to remain by his side.

You knew him when his voice cracked, when he had braces, when he tried hair gel for the first time and looked like he’d dunked himself headfirst in a bucket of oil. You gave him a beanie and said, “we’re pretending this never happened.” He wore it every day for two months straight.

You were his first crush, too. Of course you were. He was eleven, you had the most god awful haircut, a gap in your front teeth, and you laughed so hard at his stupid Pokémon impressions that chocolate milk came shooting out of your nose.

He swore that day that he’d marry you.

And even though he was just a kid who barely understood the concept of love yet, some part of him must’ve already known— because every person he’s tried to love since then were miles behind you.

You were his first sleepover. The first person who saw him cry when his goldfish died. The only one who remembered the day his great grandfather passed and left a cupcake on his porch even though you had just came back from out of town.

He fell in love somewhere between then and now. Quietly. Foolishly. Permanently.

Maybe it was sophomore year of high school, when you made a Spotify playlist just for him called “for when your brain won’t shut up”, and every single song felt like a lifeline. Maybe it was that summer you got into a shouting match with a guy who tried to cut in front of Jeongin at the movies, even though the guy was like twice your stature. Or maybe it was during junior year of college, when he saw you at 2 am— bare-faced, exhausted, curled up in his hoodie on the couch, nodding off mid-sentence and realized there was no one else he’d rather listen to ramble about life and cereal brands until the end of time.

But you never knew a thing.

Because what kind of selfish asshole would risk twenty plus years of friendship just to say, I wanna kiss you so bad it hurts?

What kind of friend looks at the one constant in his life, the only person who’s witnessed all his bad days, all his awkward phases, all his heartbreaks, and confess that he wants something more?

So he kept it all in. Repressed every emotion until it was buried so deep underground that there’s no way you could possibly detect his true infatuation for you. Through the birthdays, family gatherings, and movie marathons, the way you’d unconsciously rest your head in the crevice of his shoulder during long car rides. Every sleepy voice note you’d sent to him when you couldn’t fall asleep, every text that ended with a heart or a “love you!” that he knew was platonic… but still made his chest tighten.

He learned to smile while watching you fall in and out of love with other people. Learned to perfect the role of the supportive best friend you’d never lose— at the expense of being the boy you’d never choose. Because that’s the thing about loving someone who’s always been there.

You’re too afraid of what might happen if they’re suddenly not.

+

“You think this looks okay?” You ask, finally stepping out after rummaging through half your wardrobe.

Jeongin glances up from the TikToks he was watching on his phone, sitting comfortably on your bed. He hears the faint rustle of fabric swishing around before he sees you, feet shifting nervously against the hardwood floor. You’re in a white babydoll dress, thin straps, low-cut neckline, the soft flowy hem brushing your thighs— for a second, he forgot how breathing works.

You’re so pretty, it kills him, only causing him more stress and inner turmoil from staring at you for so long. He wants to thank your parents for creating such a masterpiece. If this were a cartoon, his eyes would’ve been filled with nothing but hearts and practically jumping out from his sockets.

You strike a awkward pose. “Is it too much..?”

“No,” he croaks, throat instantly going dry. “You- you look great.”

You look like everything he’s ever wanted and never got to have.

He sees the way you pause, smoothing down any wrinkles on the garment, then scrunch up your nose like you’re not convinced. You do a little half-spin toward the mirror and Jeongin props himself up on his elbows, watching as you inspect yourself with furrowed brows.

You beam anyway. “I’m a kinda nervous. Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve gone out on an actual date.”

Jeongin forces a stiff smile, straightening his posture, elbows now resting on his knees, hoping that his voice doesn’t give out on him. “You’ll be fine. Jake seems… like a decent guy.”

His voice dips ever so slightly on the word decent, but you don’t catch it. Of course you don’t.

You don’t notice how carefully he avoids eye contact. How he keeps wringing the hem of your throw pillow like it might save him from saying something reckless. You don’t see the way he keeps shifting on your bed like the mattress is made of nails.

You move towards the mirror of your vanity and start dabbing lip gloss on, tongue between your teeth like you always do when you’re concentrated. “You think he’ll like this lip color?”

Jeongin’s heart almost shatters. “Yeah,” he whispers. “He’s gonna love it.”

But he hates it. He hates all of this. Hates the way you hum a little tune to yourself while curling your lashes, the way your perfume already smells like a goodbye, and the way your phone lights up with Jake’s name and not his.

You suddenly groan, tossing the lip gloss onto your vanity that’s cluttered with a bunch of other products and dig through your makeup bag like it just insulted you.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” you laugh dryly, half out of fear and half out of excitement. “This one’s too pink, the other one makes me look like I’ve been kissed by a ghost, and I swear this eyeliner’s plotting violence against me—”

“You don’t need any of that,” Jeongin says quickly, before he can stop himself.

You blink, turning to him, lip gloss wand frozen midair. “What?”

He swallows. “I mean… you look fine. More than fine. You’re pretty without any of it.”

The room stills with a bitter silence and Jeongin panics.

“I-I’m just saying,” he stammers, scratching the back of his neck and glancing everywhere but at you, “if this guy can’t accept you for who you are, like, as is— then he’s not the one for you.”

You stare at him for a beat too long, then your gaze softens at his words, “…Jeongin.” Your lips tug upward, just barely.

He swears the way you say his name will be the death of him.

You look down at your feet, suddenly shy, your hand fluttering over your mouth as if the compliment just fully hit you. A rush of heat spreading across your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you mumble, eyes flicking up. “That was.. really sweet.”

Jeongin shrugs, trying not to combust. “Just being honest.”

You face to the mirror again, a little quieter now, a little more smiley and upbeat. Still touching up your mascara, still blissfully unaware that he’s sitting there on your bed, watching the love of his life get all dolled up to go fall for someone else.

Yet he stays, because there’s nothing else he can do.

Even when it hurts like hell.

+

The night feels like an itch under his skin.

Jeongin doesn’t go home, telling himself that he’s just “killing time” by driving around aimlessly like he always does when his thoughts get too loud. But somehow, he ends up parked outside the diner down the block from where your date is happening, pretending like he’s just “in the area” as if it’s some kind of coincidence.

The cars still running, headlights dimmed. He fumbles with the radio, trying to drown the silence with anything that doesn’t sound like his internal monologue going back and forth. But every damn station seems to be playing some kind of love song, sappy ballads or cheesy pop lyrics about holding hands and finding “the one”.

He switches the station again. Then again. And again.

No luck.

“You are the best thing… that’s ever been mine…”

He groans and smacks the power button. Back to silence, which is even worse, somehow.

His fingers twitch around his phone as he mindlessly scrolls through different apps, reading the same unfunny tweets, the same recycled memes, and the same dumb messages from the groupchat. Staring blankly at the screen until everything fades into nothingness.

Ultimately, he gives up. Tossing his phone into the passenger seat with a defeated sigh.

He’s now people watching through the windshield. Spotting a happy couple that’s walking as if nothing else exists around them, the girl’s giggling like some lovestruck teenager and clinging to her boyfriend’s arm like she’s been permanently glued to him. Another pair drinking a milkshake inside the restaurant booth next to the window, sharing a straw as they interlock hands. Some other guy pulls his girlfriend in by the waist outside the door and kisses her like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Jeongin exhales hard through his nose, balling his hands into a fist like he’s going to punch the air.

It’s like the universe was straight up mocking him at this point.

This is what it’s supposed to look like, right? The hand holding, the lingering glances, the closeness, the quiet knowing.

And he has that, with you. Just not in the way that counts.

Not in the way that lets him pull you close and kiss you in public. Not in the way that lets him say, God, I wish it were me instead of him.

There’s a constant ache in chest that settles behind his ribs, dull and relentless.

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. You’re allowed to go on dates. You have free will to go like other people and fall in love without asking for his permission, but that doesn’t stop the nausea that keeps rising in the back of his throat like bile.

The sick pit in his stomach just won’t dissipate.

He even picks his phone back up and hovers his thumb over your name in his contacts. Just to... check in. See how it’s going, or maybe make up some fake excuse. ‘Hey, did you leave your charger in my car again?’ Anything to hear your voice, to make sure you’re safe. To remind you that he is the one who knows your favorite coffee order and your allergies and the way you always double tie your shoelaces out of habit.

But he doesn’t hit call. He just stares blankly at the phone screen like it might explode in his hands.

And then it does.

His phone lights up with a new notification from you. Heart leaping out of his chest as he picks up on the first ring.

“Hey,” he says, trying not to sound too eager.

Your voice is small, sounding mildly upset. “Can you come get me?”

Jeongin’s already starting the car. “Of course. You okay?”

There was a long pause, but you reply soft-spokenly, “Yeah. Just… not what I thought it’d be.”

Your voice cracks a little on the word thought, and something in him twists hard.

“Stay there,” he reassures, “I’ll be there in five.”

Another pause follows suit. Then you respond with a quiet, “okay.”

He hangs up, his grip on the steering wheel grew tighter, trying his best to ignore the heat that’s crawling up the back of his neck.

He should be relieved. Over the moon even. But mostly, he’s terrified of the outcome of this. Because tonight, for some reason, he feels as though something’s going to break— and he’s not sure if it’ll be his heart, or the silence between you. Maybe both.

+

Not even ten minutes later, you’re climbing into his car, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Your perfume comes floating in with you, faint but familiar, like vanilla orchid and late nights— and Jeongin swears it knocks the air right out of his lungs.

You don’t say anything at first. Just buckle your seatbelt with stiff hands, staring out the windshield like it personally wronged you. Your eyeliner’s slightly smudged, your earrings are missing, and your cheeks are flushed, but not from laughter, he can tell. From frustration. From disappointment.

He doesn’t pry with questions. Just hands you the bottle of water he always keeps in his cupholder, label half-peeled from your constant fidgeting over the years.

You take it with a ‘thank you’ so low he barely catches it.

He watches as you untwist the cap and sip in slow silence. The streetlights flickering across your face in a rhythm that feels far too fragile.

It pains him to see you like this.

“He talked about himself the whole time,” you mutter eventually, still choosing not to look at him. “Didn’t ask me anything.”

Jeongin watches the way your fingers pick at the label on the bottle, thumbs moving in distracted little circles. You always do that when you’re thinking too hard. He wonders if you even realize.

He wants to tell you that any guy who doesn’t ask about your favorite Studio Ghibli film within the first five minutes doesn’t deserve a second of your time. That if someone can sit across from you and not feel a magnetic pull toward your laugh, your weird stories, the way you ramble when you’re nervous— then they’ve never had a heart worth trusting in the first place.

Instead, he replies, “that sucks.”

Because it’s the safest thing to say when his own heart is gnawing at the inside of his ribs.

“He also said we should hang out again,” you add, letting out a bitter laugh that sounds more tired than amused. “Said he ‘vibes with my energy.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

Jeongin’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight he could almost break it in half, knuckles whitening, clenching his teeth.

He’s quite a second too long before forcing out, “Do you want to?”

You finally turn your head towards him. “No,” you admit, looking at him. Really looking.

That almost undoes him.

Your eyes are searching, soft, but laced with something deeper. Something older. Something that knows him too well.

“He’s not you.”

He blinks rapidly, caught off guard. “Huh?”

You shrug. “I mean, I don’t know. I just kept thinking how easy everything is with you. Like… he didn’t laugh at my weird stories. He didn’t know how I take my coffee or why I hate pickles or that I cry during Pixar trailers. It felt like I was performing. But with you, I don’t have to.”

Jeongin swallows hard, throat going dry, his mind racing ten miles per minute.

You said it so casually. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s not unraveling every thread he’s spent years pulling taut just to keep himself together around you.

“You shouldn’t settle for someone who makes you feel like you’re not enough,” he tries to remind you of your worth, how there’s no need for you to deal with these sorry, weak excuses of men when he can be all you need and more.

“I’m not,” you say, voice gentler now. “That’s why I’m sitting here. With you.”

Something in his chest snaps upon hearing that. It’s so abrupt even he’s shocked by it. Like something he’s been desperately trying to hold back finally breaks free.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You freeze, raising an eyebrow of confusion. “What?”

He turns to fully face you now, deciding that now was the time to change everything, everything he’s been suppressing for as long he could remember.

“I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you.”

The car goes eerily quiet. Even the night outside seems to be at a standstill.

“I’ve been in love with you y/n, since we were kids,” he continues, the words come tumbling out— raw, scared, unstoppable. “Since you wore that coat that was a hideous shade of purple every winter and made me dance with you in your living room at midnight. I’ve loved you through it all. I can’t stress enough how much you mean to me. You’re all I think about, I can’t even look at other girls the way I look at you, there’s no comparison. It’s either you or nothing, I really don’t care about anyone else.”

You blink several times to register all of what he’s saying, but none of this still seems real to you. Even after he’s confessed everything, poured his whole heart out while looking at you with a straight face and candor of his actions— it’s still not clicking for you.

He can’t believe he just admitted to all of this out loud but truthfully, it’s like a weights been lifted off his shoulders, finally freeing himself of this mental prison he’s locked hisself in for so many years. If you say no he’ll ultimately have to accept it, though he won’t let you go just yet.

“Jeongin..” your voice trails off, too lost in thought to even conjure up a proper response.

He cuts in before you get the chance to react, “You don’t have to say anything. I know this’ll probably ruin everything and you might not want to remain friends, I- I get it. I just couldn’t watch you walk away again and wonder if maybe I should’ve said something. I had to say it. Just once.”

Your silence is a living thing, stretching thinly between you and trembling, full of everything neither of you said your whole lifetime. The car feels too small, too intimate, too heavy with history.

And then, you reach for him.

With no hesitation, a set of lips are pressed onto his. Eyes wide open from shock, but soon melts into you, deepening the kiss with a fiery passion that could only be ignited from years worth of pining.

He’s only ever kissed you in his daydreams but the real thing? It doesn’t compare one bit. It felt surreal kissing you, touching you, holding you this closely.

Your lips sync together in motion, connecting as one. His hands cupped your face perfectly; so soft, so warm, and inviting. Your fingers were now tangled in his hair and he tilts his head to capture more of you. The sweet taste of you was exactly as he imagined, he couldn’t believe he went this long without kissing those pretty lips of yours.

Dopamine floods his senses like static electricity, it was all too much for him yet he couldn’t stop himself. He was intoxicated by you. It was probably that favorite cherry chapstick you always wore, he knows that was your go-to flavor of choice. He wanted to savor you in this moment for as long as he could.

You left each other breathless by the time you pulled away. His lips red and puffy from all the pressure.

“I hope that clears up my response,” you express finally, “I know you said I may not want to remain friends after telling me this, but that’s okay. I don’t want to be just friends, I’ve always wanted something more with you too.”

His eyes lit up. It felt like he could finally breathe again. He poked your arm, lightly touching you to make sure this wasn’t another lucid dream he could’ve been having.

He was going to ask you to pinch him but he’ll save himself the embarrassment for later.

“I feel so secure when I’m with you, it’s like nothing else matters when I’m around you. I know how certain I am of my feelings for you. We don’t have to date right now.. we can take our time if you want. I just feel so truly blessed to have someone like you in my life.” Jeongin does his best to articulate his words but he never feels like it’s enough to convey.

There wasn’t a million words in the world that could ever describe the feelings he has for you but he was adamant on showing them.

“I love you Jeongin.”

His heart almost stopped once he heard that. This felt way better than a dream, the reality was far more sentimental. He wasn’t expecting the night to turn into a sappy love confession between you two but here you both are. Sitting in his car through the late hours, looking with nothing but admiration for one another.

“I love you y/n. Always have and always will, I’ll continue to love you in every way possible. I’ll never let you go from this day forward.”

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[thatnightlamp]

KONRAD CURZE NSFW ALPHABET

Tags : @incrediblethirst, @iluminatka16, @myns-world, @dyonys, @absynthe-mind

A = Aftercare

Silent and shaking. He doesn’t know what to do after, it overwhelms him. Sometimes he curls around you and sobs against your chest, muttering half-formed apologies. Other times he vanishes into the dark and watches you sleep from the ceiling.

B = Body Part

Your eyes. He stares into them while he fucks you, searching for fear, love, worship, anything to tether himself.

C = Cum

Hot, fast, and a little frantic. Konrad finishes like it’s being ripped out of him, shaking, growling, his body tensing as if the pleasure hurts. If he cums on you, he’ll stare at the mess with a mix of guilt and reverence, whispering apologies or licking it away like penance.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s carved your name into his skin. Over his heart. With his claws. You’ll never see it, he won’t let you, but when he touches you, his fingers tremble over that spot. Like your name is the only thing keeping his ribs from cracking open.

E = Experience

A nightmare made flesh, but a careful one. He studied what brings people pleasure the same way he studied how to break them. At first, he was cold and confused, but once he learned how to make you moan? He became addicted.

F = Favorite Position

He likes to see your face. Him between your legs, one hand pressing your wrists above your head, the other stroking your cheek. The contradiction of violence and worship. “Look at me,” he begs, voice cracking.

G = Goofy

Never. There is no laughter, no lightness. Sex with Konrad is a ritual. A collapse. A grave you fall into together. If you do laugh, he’ll freeze and stare, stunned and unsure how to process it.

H = Hair

Slick black, always damp at the roots. On his body, it’s fine and barely visible, his flesh is almost corpse-pale, like moonlight. Below the belt, it’s sparse, black, and neat. He shaves it sometimes, not for vanity, but to feel cleaner.

I = Intimacy

Terrifyingly intense. He cups your face with clawed hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. He’ll whisper, “Why are you still here?” and then fuck you like he’s trying to brand the memory into your soul. When he’s gentle, it’s trembling, hesitant, like he thinks he doesn’t deserve you.

J = Jack Off

Only when he’s desperate. Usually after a nightmare. He hates how much he needs you, so he punishes himself, harsh, painful strokes in the dark, muttering your name like it’s an accusation. He always ends up collapsing, shaking, whispering “forgive me.”

K = Kink

Somnophilia. He watches you sleep, hard and aching, and sometimes… he touches. He fucks you slow and careful, whispering apologies into your neck.

Fear kink: He thrives on your trembling, your gasps, your heartbeat racing. He never wants to hurt you, but your fear feeds his desire.

Mommy kink. If you let him call you that: instant emotional collapse.

L = Location

Dark rooms, your bed, his coffin. Places he feels safe. Or not safe, he likes fucking where he shouldn’t. One time, he took you in front of his brothers' armor displays. They all watched through dead glass.

M = Motivation

The fear he sees flicker in your eyes before it turns to trust. The way you reach for him. The way your heartbeat speeds up when he growls your name. He’s a predator who lives for the moment his prey chooses to stay.

N = No

He won’t share. Ever. Even the thought sends him spiraling into a jealous, self-loathing pit. And he won’t degrade you, not truly. He might growl like you’re prey, but he worships you, body and soul.

O = Oral

Giving. Wild. He eats you out like he’s starving, moaning into your flesh, his claws digging into your thighs to hold you down.

P = Pace

Frantic. Unrelenting. Every thrust like he’s trying to bury himself in you and never come back out. If you ask for gentle? He tries. It just breaks down when he hears you gasp.

Q = Quickie

Yes, but not casually. If he takes you against a wall, it’s because something broke, panic, arousal, anger. He’ll slam into you hard, panting against your neck, like it’s the only thing grounding him.

R = Risk

Unhinged. He’ll try anything that feels like sin. Bloodletting. Binding. Psychic connection during orgasm. He wants to feel your soul against his. He wants to haunt you forever.

S = Stamina

High, but fragile. He can go multiple rounds, but emotionally? He’s wrecked after the first. If you coax him gently, he’ll keep going until you can’t breathe.

T = Toys

His claws. His tongue. His voice. He doesn’t trust devices, he thinks they’re impure. But sometimes he’ll carve your name into a candle and fuck you beside it while it burns.

U = Unfair

Oh, he can tease, but not in a smug way. In a desperate way. He’ll hold you still, his breath shaky, whispering “I shouldn’t…” while grinding his cock against your thigh, trembling with need. He gets off on denial, yours or his.

V = Volume

Mostly quiet. Whimpers. Ragged breathing. Sometimes, when he’s close, a deep broken moan like something being torn open. He’ll bury his face in your neck to muffle it. When he cries out, it’s because he’s lost in you.

W = Wild Card

He carves your name into his armor. Not on the outside, inside, on the chestplate where it touches his heart. So when he fights, it’s with you against his skin. Always.

X = X-Ray

Lean but deceptively thick. Long enough to reach deep and brush that spot that makes your legs shake. Veins dark and raised. Tip flushed purple when he’s fully hard. He loves pushing it in slowly, watching you stretch around it.

Y = Yearning

High. Too high. He craves you like a drug, fights against it, then gives in and devours you. If you’re gone too long, he withdraws into himself, and when you return, he doesn’t even speak. He just kneels, clutches your hips, and breathes you in.

Z = Zzz

Sleeps very little. He lies beside you, staring. Memorizing. Sometimes, he rests his head on your stomach and listens to your breathing until it calms him enough to doze off.

[shelovesosa]

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

PAIRING: Nepobaby!Kento X Meangirl!reader CW: enemies to lovers, fake dating,tension, cheating (not from kento or y/n)

SUMMARY!! Y/N is a spoiled, sharp-tongued nepo baby who thrives in the spotlight. Kento Nanami wants nothing to do with wealth or her — until a fake relationship becomes their only way out. But somewhere between staged kisses and stolen glances, the line between performance and something real begins to blur.

(Mean girls masterlist here!)

You weren’t thinking about forever. You weren’t the type of girl who needed it. You just wanted something that felt golden while it lasted—effortless, fast, and camera-ready.

And that’s exactly what Riku Sakamoto gave you.

He wasn’t your first kiss or your first heartbreak, but he was the first one who fit—who walked beside you like he was built to, already trained for the spotlight. Tokyo’s rising actor with a face that made brands clamor, a laugh made for interviews, and the kind of gentleness that melted under your tongue at night.

Everyone said you two were a power couple. A perfect storm. But you didn’t care about their opinions. Not really. Because when the world dimmed, when it was just you in bed with him, his breath on your collarbone, his fingers lazily brushing your hip—you believed him. That he liked you for more than the name, more than the dresses, more than the legacy you never got to choose.

And you… loved him. That was the dangerous part. You actually did.

Tonight, he was late—but that wasn’t unusual. He’d been filming all week, shooting some late-night crime drama in Yokohama. You knew the schedule. You knew the stress. You told yourself not to get upset.

Still, the candles had burned too far down.

You sat alone at the rooftop table he promised to meet you at—just the two of you, no cameras, no stylists, no press. Just his hoodie draped over your chair and a view of the cityscape stretching into silence.

Your phone buzzed.

Riku: On my way. Sorry, babe. Five more min.

You bit your lip. Forgave him like you always did.

Slipped on his hoodie and leaned back against the chair like it was an embrace.

He’d show. He always did. Fifteen minutes later, you heard the door behind you click open, and you didn’t even look before you smiled.

“I was starting to think you ghosted me.”

A kiss pressed into your hair. “Never.”

You turned, and there he was—your Riku—still in half-makeup, traces of red lipstick from a scene, and a silk scarf you didn’t recognize tied around his wrist.

But he looked beautiful. He always did.

“I brought matcha cake,” he said, holding up a bag from that little café in Daikanyama you used to sneak off to after shoots.

You took it with a laugh. “You’re forgiven. Slightly.”

He smiled and tugged your hand into his lap. “How long do I have to keep earning it?”

You didn’t answer. You just leaned your head against his shoulder and let the city hum around you. Your heart beat fast in the quiet, like it was still trying to catch up to him.

Maybe it always was.

“I think I love you,” you said, softly, like it was just a thing to share between two people suspended in the glow of Tokyo Tower’s distant lights.

Riku froze for half a second. Just long enough.

Then he looked at you and said, “I know.”

He didn’t say it back. But he kissed you slow and deep, like that counted for something. And you let it count.

The next morning, he was gone before you woke up.

There was a note on your vanity mirror: Call you later. Big script meeting. You were amazing last night, as always.

You stood there in your silk robe, holding the note like it meant something permanent. Like it was proof he hadn’t disappeared entirely. Like it made you worth waiting for.

But beneath that quiet thrill of still being wanted... was a chill you couldn’t name.

You shook it off. You had a photoshoot. You had a name to wear. You had stories to post. You couldn’t afford to feel uncertain.

Not when the world only loved you when you were sure of yourself.

The invitations were white-gold lacquer, sealed with wax and flown in from Paris.Your mother liked to say it wasn’t a real party unless the budget could pay off someone’s student loans.

This one? It could fund a university. The annual L/N Foundation Gala wasn’t just a fundraiser — it was a declaration. The social event of spring. The glittering peak of old money and new influence converging in a single glass tower overlooking Minato.

And you had to look perfect. Not for the press. Not even for your mother. But for Riku.

You let the stylist curl your hair into soft, vintage waves. Let them zip up the open-back gown in shimmering champagne silk. You didn't flinch as the earrings tugged your ears or the heels pinched slightly. It was all part of the illusion.

You didn’t let yourself question why he hadn’t answered your call that morning.Didn’t ask why he stopped sharing his location.Didn’t demand to know whose lipstick that had been two nights ago. It was fine. Everything was fine.

By the time the car pulled up to the red carpet, you were every bit the girl the world wanted to see. Glittering. Laughing. Wrist looped through Riku’s as cameras flashed like lightning on every side.

He looked stunning, of course. Charcoal tux. That practiced smile that made even photographers go breathless.

And you, standing next to him, felt like a prop with a pulse.

Still, you smiled. You posed. You played your part. Because what were you, if not beautiful together?

Inside the ballroom, light reflected off crystal chandeliers and mirrored walls, making it hard to tell where the world ended and your image began. You floated from guest to guest, champagne in hand, painting kisses on cheeks and laughing at conversations you weren’t really in.

Riku had already wandered off. Talking to a director. Shaking hands with a pop star. Whispering to someone with too much lip gloss and not enough clothing. You pretended not to care.

Until you turned — and saw him.

Kento Nanami. Standing by the bar in a clean black suit, no tie, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he had somewhere else better to be.

His posture was perfect. His expression unreadable. But his eyes were already on you. And they stayed there. Your stomach flipped.

Not because he was handsome. He always had been. Not because of the years of tension. That never left.But because Kento didn’t look at you like the others did.

He wasn’t impressed. Or envious. Or curious. He looked like he knew something. Like he saw through something. You broke eye contact. Fast.

“Don’t,” you murmured to yourself. “Not tonight.”

You tried to lose yourself in conversation, but the room had changed.Or maybe you had.

You saw things now. How Riku lingered a little too close to a girl in red satin.How his phone lit up every ten minutes, face-down.How he didn’t reach for your hand, even when the cameras weren’t watching.

It felt like something inside you was turning hollow. You caught yourself in the mirror. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t believe your own reflection.

Later, when the music softened and the crowd thinned into clusters, you stepped out onto the rooftop balcony for air. The wind caught your hair. You held onto the railing like it could keep you upright.

“You always hated these things.”

The voice came low and dry from behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know.

“Kento,” you said, keeping your voice even.

“Y/N.” His footsteps stopped beside you. “Still playing the perfect girl?”

You stiffened. “Still pretending you don’t enjoy the view?”

He didn’t smile. He never did.

But his gaze slid to you, heavy and sharp. “You look tired.”

“I’m glowing, actually,” you said, brushing a hand over your cheekbone. “This dress is worth more than your car.”

“I walked.”

“Of course you did.”

A pause. Not cold. Just quiet.

Then:

“Is it true?” he asked, softly.

You turned. “Is what true?”

“That he’s cheating on you.”

Your mouth went dry. The words hit harder than you expected. Like they’d been sitting in the air between you all night, waiting for someone to say them out loud.

You swallowed.

“He’s not,” you lied.

Kento didn’t flinch. “You think saying it makes it less real?”

“I think it’s none of your business.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s not.”

“But you brought it up anyway.”

“Because I’ve seen this before.”

Your nails dug into the railing. “You don’t know anything about me, Kento.”

“I know enough,” he said. “You’re not the kind of girl who can fake being fine forever.”

You bit back a laugh. “And what would you know about faking anything? You’ve been brooding in the shadows since prep school.”

“I know what it looks like when someone’s trying not to fall apart.”

That silenced you. And in that silence, for just one second, you let your shoulders drop. Let the mask slip. Not enough for the cameras. But enough for him.

“I loved him,” you whispered.

Kento didn’t respond with pity.

He just said, “I know.”

The wind moved through your hair again. The city blinked below like it didn’t care.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. And for the first time that night, you weren’t pretending.

The morning it hit, you were still half-asleep in your penthouse suite, draped in sheets and luxury. Your coffee had barely cooled when your phone began vibrating off the marble nightstand.

Five missed calls. Fourteen messages.Every one of them some version of:

“Are you okay?”“Don’t look online.”“Delete the comments.”

You didn’t panic. You were raised in a glass cage — panic was for the unprepared. You tapped open the link. And there it was.

“Golden Boy Riku Sakamoto Spotted with Co-Star — Late-Night Rendezvous Sparks Cheating Rumors”

Photos. Blurry but damning. His hand on her waist. Her lips too close to his jaw. Their cars pulling into the same hotel.

You stared at it blankly. Read the paragraph twice. Took a bite of your croissant like it was any other Tuesday.

Then, you threw the plate across the kitchen.

“You don’t want to be here right now,” you hissed into the phone at your assistant. “Reschedule my shoot, cancel my Pilates, and if my mother calls, tell her I’m on the floor crying or something. That’s what she wants to hear.”

“...Are you okay?”

You snapped your sunglasses off your head. “Do I sound like I need therapy or do I sound like I’m about to become the most talked about girl in Tokyo?”

Silence.

“Exactly. Have my driver ready in twenty. I’m going to his agency myself.”

You stormed the marble lobby like a girl born on scandal. You didn't need clearance. The receptionist knew not to speak when your heels echoed like war drums down the corridor. The interns stepped aside like they’d been trained for it.

You were wearing black sunglasses the size of your ego, a vintage Vivienne coat, and a temper that could curdle cream.

The receptionist stammered, “Riku-san is in a meeting—”

You cut her off. “He’s about to be in one with me.”

You pushed open the door to the conference room like it owed you money.

There he was. Riku. Cool as ice, shirt half-unbuttoned, surrounded by his PR team. And suddenly, the room shrank. You didn’t say hello. You didn’t cry.

You said, loud and slow:

“Did you forget who made you famous, or are you just that good at pretending to be loyal?”

He stood up fast. “Y/N—”

“Save it. You got caught. Again. Sloppy.”

“Let’s talk somewhere—”

“Oh no, we’re doing this here. You cheated. You let her wear your hoodie. The one from my closet, by the way.”

His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Do you know how many men say that? Do you know how basic that line makes you?”

His manager cleared his throat nervously. “Maybe we can all—”

“Don’t speak unless your next sentence is: ‘Riku’s career is over unless he begs for mercy.’”

No one moved.

Riku tried to reach for your hand. “Y/N, please. I didn’t want it to happen like this—”

You recoiled. “Of course you didn’t. You thought I’d find out in six months, cry in Chanel, and post a breakup note in cursive.”

He winced.

You leaned in close. “You forget. I don’t fall apart. I rearrange the narrative.”

An hour later, the headlines had changed.

“Y/N L/N ‘Blindsided’ by Cheating Allegations — Sources Say She Plans to Focus on Herself”

“Heartbroken Heiress Still Classy in Wake of Scandal”

“Y/N Seen Leaving Riku’s Agency — Stunning in Black, Ice-Cold Glamour”

You weren’t heartbroken. You were furious. But fury, when funneled correctly, looks a lot like grace.

The real twist came two days later.

At a gallery opening in Ginza, draped in pearl silk and diamond tears, you spotted him again: Kento. Standing near a minimalist sculpture like he belonged to a different world entirely.

This time, you didn’t avoid him. You walked straight up to him, smirking.

“Looking for the exit again, Nanami?”

He took one look at you and said, flatly, “You’re trending again.”

You sipped your wine. “Of course I am.”

“You always are when you get hurt.”

“Correction. I’m trending because I handle getting hurt better than anyone alive.”

He tilted his head. “So what’s the next move?”

You smiled like you were born on a chessboard.

“I fake a new relationship. Maybe with someone who doesn’t bore me to death. Someone rich, photogenic, and a little morally gray.”

He stared at you.

Then, dry as ever: “You mean someone like me.”

Your lashes lowered. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not.”

You stepped closer. “If I asked you to play the game, you’d fold in five minutes.”

“Try me.”

And just like that — the next story was already being written.

The first time the press caught you and Kento together, it wasn’t an accident.

It was the Met Aoyama. A fashion gala so exclusive even the guest list had an NDA. You arrived late. Deliberately.

In a black Versace gown with a slit that dared the city to blink.Your arm was hooked through Kento’s like it had always belonged there.He wore a deep navy suit with no tie and an expression that said: kill me now.

The cameras exploded. You smiled like sin on heels. Inside, the crowd parted for you. You knew how to work a room — glitter in your laugh, a trail of perfume and perfectly timed glances.

Kento, on the other hand? He looked like a hostage. He didn’t fake his smiles. Didn’t flatter people. Didn’t thank the waiters for canapés he didn’t touch.

And yet — they ate him up. The press labeled him “mysterious.” “A classic gentleman.”You choked on your champagne.

“If they only knew,” you muttered.

He leaned in, voice low. “What exactly do they think we are?”

“Revenge. Rebound. Tabloid gold.” You clinked your glass to his. “Pick your poison.”

He didn’t drink. Just stared at you like you were a puzzle he’d thrown away years ago but was now being forced to finish blindfolded.

“Why me?” he asked quietly.

You tilted your head, lips glossy and cruel. “Because you hate this world just enough to make it interesting.”

Four Hours Earlier

Kento stood in front of the mirror in his apartment, adjusting a jacket that cost more than his monthly rent. One of Y/N’s stylists had sent it over in a white garment bag, along with a handwritten note:

“Make sure he brushes his hair.”

He hated this. Not just the suit. Not just the performance. Her.

Y/N L/N — the spoiled brat who used to push him into fountains at prep school. Who once told an entire auditorium he cried during The Little Prince.She’d ruined his rep, out-shined his every quiet win, and now?

Now she wanted him to play her lover? The only reason he said yes — the only reason — was because of a deal.

His mother, the queen of passive-aggressive disappointment, had promised:

“If you’re dating someone, even her, I’ll stop setting you up with heiresses and diplomats. I’ll leave you alone.”

It was an out. And Y/N? She was a deal with lipstick. He could handle a month. Maybe two. Just until the photos faded and the story dried up.

Back at the Gala

“Smile,” you whispered, teeth white as diamonds as a reporter with a mic approached. “We’re happy, remember?”

Kento didn’t smile. But he slipped an arm around your waist like muscle memory. The press leaned in.

“Y/N-chan! Kento-san! How long have you two been together?”

You purred. “We like to keep things private.”

“You make a stunning couple! What brought you together?”

Kento, dry as dust: “Poor judgment.”

You laughed, loud and bright. “Isn’t he charming?”

More flashes. More fake questions. More glittering lies.

But somewhere in the chaos, you noticed something: the way Kento’s fingers had stayed on your back longer than necessary. The way his eyes kept finding yours when he thought no one was looking.

He hated this world. Hated you. But he didn’t pull away. Not once.

Later, the afterparty was a blur of clinking glasses and silk against silk. You leaned against the marble bar, Kento beside you, both of you watching a parade of rich kids pretend they had problems.

“Tell me,” you asked, voice softer now, “Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“This life. You used to belong to it.”

He glanced at you. “No. I survived it.”

You traced a circle on the rim of your glass. “Then why did you come back?”

He looked straight ahead. “Because you asked.”

You froze. Just briefly. He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did.

Back at your place, the night cooled. You kicked off your heels. He loosened his collar. And for the first time, the silence didn’t feel like armor.

“You think I’m awful,” you said, staring at the Tokyo skyline.

“No,” he said, after a beat. “I think you’re exactly what they made you.”

That hurt more than you expected.

You scoffed. “And what are you, Saint Kento of Disdain?”

He shrugged. “Someone who knows that being rich doesn’t mean you have to be cruel.”

You turned to face him. Eyes locked. Tension alive between you — resentment wrapped in silk, old wounds held together by expensive threads.

Then, barely above a whisper:

“Why do you still hate me?”

His voice came low. “Because I remember you before the world taught you to be heartless.”

You laughed bitterly. “Then you should’ve hated the world. Not me.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t flinch. He just looked at you — really looked at you — and for one terrifying second, you wanted him to keep looking.

Before she became the Y/N L/N, she was just the girl in the front row who always wore ballet flats that cost more than the lunch budget for the entire school.

Your name was whispered with equal parts fear and awe, even back then. You had the bag. The last name. And the mouth.

St. Valencia Academy for the Gifted & Golden.Where the uniforms were Dior and the detention slips were printed on linen cardstock.

You ruled it like Versailles with Wi-Fi. Kento hated it. And he hated you.

You first met in Year Seven — when you insulted his shoes before learning his name.

“What are those?”“Loafers.”“My father owns that brand. Those are from last season.”“Didn’t realize rich girls had expiration dates.”

You blinked. Then smirked. You didn’t know it yet, but that was your first real match.

By Year Eight, you had weaponized charm like a born politician.

The girls followed you in swarms. The boys tried too hard. Teachers praised you for effort you never gave.

And Kento? He refused to play the game.

You called him “Nanami” like it was an insult. He called you “Princess” like it was a warning.

At a winter dance, you asked him to be your escort in front of the whole cafeteria. Not because you wanted him. Because you knew he’d say no.

“Come on, Nanami. Be my date. You’ll look good standing still.”

He blinked once. “No.”

You tilted your head. “Shy?”

He leaned in close. “Bored.”

And you? You were furious. Not because he rejected you. But because he meant it.

It only got worse.

You switched seats just to be closer to him in class. You flirted to annoy him. You turned the entire Latin Club against him for a week just because he beat your score.

He didn’t fight back. He didn’t care. Except for once.

The day it cracked was the infamous Goldleaf Gala — a fundraiser hosted by your family.

You’d been given a speech to read. You hated speeches. But you loved being seen.

You wore pearls too heavy for your neck and heels too high for your age. Your mother stood in the front row, nodding politely, waiting for perfection.

Your hand shook. You missed a word. Then two. The room blurred. You wanted to cry. You wanted to run. And then—

Kento, from the corner of the crowd, barely mouthed a line from the speech.

The next. Then the next. You followed his lips. Spoke the words. Saved your legacy. No one else noticed. But you did. You never told anyone.

And the next week? You tripped him in the hallway and smirked as he fell.

Because if he was going to be better than you — smarter, quieter, good — then you’d be worse. You’d be unforgettable.

Now, years later, that same boy stands in your penthouse kitchen holding your almond milk and judgment in equal parts.

Kento places the milk down. “You ever think about St. Valencia?”

You scoff. “What part? The pool you pushed me into or the time I made your girlfriend cry in Year Ten?”

“I didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, right. Then who was that girl crying into her escargot at the spring formal?”

He smirks. Just barely. “You remember everything.”

You swirl your glass. “So do you.”

Silence.

Then, quiet and dry: “You’re not who you were back then.”

You arch a brow. “Worse or better?”

Kento looks at you for a moment longer than necessary.

“Both.”

They say Milan is the city of style, scandal, and silk sheets that don’t ask questions.

You arrive draped in ivory Jacquemus and attitude, sunglasses the size of your spite. Cameras swarm the airport like vultures circling art.

Kento trails behind, suitcase in one hand, emotional detachment in the other.

“Smile,” you hiss as the flashes pop.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Pretending to like me wouldn’t kill you.”

He leans closer, low enough for only you to hear.“Don’t tempt me.”

Click. Click. Click.Just like that, you look like a couple.In the photos, at least.

The Suite was bigger than most apartments in Tokyo.

Polished marble floors, gold accents, an entire wall of glass looking out over the Duomo. One bed. You both stop.

You turn to the concierge with a voice dipped in sweet venom. “This is supposed to be the executive couple’s suite. Why is there one bed?”

The concierge smiles. “Because most couples share.”

You laugh. Kento sighs. The room is silent after they leave.

You kick off your heels and collapse into the armchair. “We’ll switch. You take the bed tonight. I’ll take it tomorrow.”

Kento’s already moving toward the couch. “It’s fine. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“Brooding keeps you awake?”

“Loud girls do.”

You toss a pillow at him. He catches it without flinching.

Dinner is at a rooftop event hosted by Vogue Italia. You’re seated next to someone’s heiress daughter. Kento’s on your left, stiff in a black suit and no tie, pretending to be amused.

You’re the main show. As always. You tell jokes. You name-drop with elegance. You laugh with your mouth closed. And Kento? He watches you.

Watches how effortlessly you weave through the crowd, as if your ego was stitched into your spine. He watches the way you flirt with power and wield your smile like a threat. He hates it.

He also doesn’t look away.

Back at the suite, you peel off your heels and collapse into the bed with a groan.

Kento's still standing, trying to undo his cufflinks. He’s tense. Quiet. Still wearing the evening like armor.

“You know,” you say, sprawled across the mattress, “You don’t have to act like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like being near me is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

He looks at you. Slowly. Then:

“It’s not.”

You blink.

He undoes the last cuff. Rolls up his sleeves. “But it’s definitely top five.”

You laugh. It's real. Ugly. A little too loud. He doesn’t smile. But he looks... less like he wants to escape. You both end up on opposite ends of the bed. Pillows between you. Tension everywhere else.

The lights are off. Still, you speak.

“You ever think we would’ve been different if I wasn’t like... this?”

He’s quiet.

Then:“You mean spoiled, rude, insufferable?”

You smirk in the dark. “Exactly.”

“You’re asking if I would’ve liked you.”

“Would you have?”

He doesn’t answer. But you hear him shift. And you feel it — the line between hate and something heavier — stretch so tight it could snap.

In the morning, someone leaks photos from last night. You two — standing close.Him — hand on your back.You — laughing up at him like he’s your favorite sin.

Headlines explode:

“New Power Couple: Y/N L/N and Kento Nanami Take Milan by Storm”“Not Just a Rebound — Y/N’s Unexpected Romance Continues Abroad”

Your publicist texts: Keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. They love you two.

You turn to Kento, who’s still shirtless, reading the headline with mild disgust.

“Guess we’re convincing.”

He doesn’t look up. “Or people are stupid.”

You grin. “They’re stupid and obsessed with us. The perfect combo.”

You stretch across the bed, unbothered, beautiful, and a little too comfortable with the way he hasn’t moved away from you since waking.

“Ready for round two, lover boy?”

Kento closes his phone. And this time, he doesn’t say no.

Milan Fashion Week was a monster that fed on lust and linen.

Every party bled into another. Every room echoed with names that weighed gold and scandal. You and Kento had become unofficial mascots — the pair everyone whispered about.

The spoiled heiress with teeth like diamonds.The reluctant heir with hands that stayed in his pockets — unless they were on your waist.

Together, you looked untouchable. But inside? You were cracking.

Tonight was the Fendi afterparty. Too many balconies. Too much champagne.

You wore red. Kento hated when you wore red.

“It’s a little loud,” he’d once said.

“Perfect,” you’d replied.

Halfway through the night, a London DJ’s voice slurred into the mic. “And look who just walked in — the It couple of Milan!”

Every head turned. You and Kento stood under the lights, picture-perfect. And then— Someone touched your arm. Him.

Dante. Half-French model, full-time provocateur. He’d been orbiting your world for years — never quite in, never quite out. But he knew what you liked.

He was tall. Tan. Barely buttoned.

“Still with the grumpy one?” he whispered in your ear.

You smiled. “He’s growing on me.”

Dante laughed. “You’ve gone soft.”

You turned. “Have I?”

He leaned closer. “Bet he doesn’t even touch you like I would.”

You laughed, sharp and glittering.

But when you glanced over —Kento was staring. Expression blank. Jaw tight. Drink untouched. Your stomach twisted — not in guilt. In power.

An hour later, you found him on the balcony, sleeves rolled, eyes on the city.

He didn’t look at you as you lit your cigarette.

“So what was that?” he asked flatly.

You blew out smoke. “Define ‘that.’”

“You flirting with Paris Hilton’s body double.”

You smirked. “Jealous?”

“Embarrassed.”

You turned to him, eyes burning. “Then maybe don’t look like you’d rather be anywhere else when I’m on your arm.”

He turned too, calm but clipped. “I’m doing this for you.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping closer. “You’re doing this for yourself. So your perfect family stops parading you around like a prized dog. Don’t twist it.”

“You think you’re the only one sacrificing something?” he said, voice low.

“I’m not pretending to love someone I can barely tolerate.”

“Then stop pretending.”

You stared at each other, breathing hard. Too close. Too real. Too much. He leaned in, voice quiet.

“You like making me mad, don’t you?”

You blinked. “You make it so easy.”

But neither of you stepped back.

The hotel suite was dim. Too quiet. The city below buzzed with a thousand lives you didn’t have to live.

You sat on the bed in an oversized shirt, feet bare, makeup smeared. A glass of wine in one hand. Kento sat across the room, staring at nothing.

Neither of you spoke. Not at first. Then:

“You never asked me how I got out.”

You looked up. “Out of what?”

He turned. “My family.”

You waited.

“I started refusing things. Little ones at first. No to a trust fund. No to internships with fake titles. I lived in a studio the size of your closet and worked in finance like a peasant.”

You scoffed. “Sounds awful.”

“It was,” he said. “But at least it was mine.”

You stared at him.

This boy — the one who hated your world so deeply — had walked away from everything you spent your whole life mastering.

“You don’t get it,” you said finally. “You chose to leave. I never got to choose. I was born wearing diamonds and expected to smile through the choke.”

He looked at you. Really looked. And for once — didn’t say anything. Just crossed the room. Sat beside you. You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You both just sat — in the quiet, in the truth, in the moment where hate stopped being armor and started being… something else.

“If you weren’t who you are,” he asked, “would you still be this cruel?”

“If you weren’t who you are,” you whispered, “would you still hate me?”

He didn’t answer. And you didn’t need him to. Because when he finally reached over, took the glass from your hand and set it aside—

And when his fingers brushed your jaw— And when you didn’t stop him— The game, for one second, was gone.

You sat on the edge of the bed, heels off, hands tangled in the soft fabric of your dress. Kento leaned against the window frame, eyes tracing the city below like searching for answers he didn’t have.

Neither of you spoke. Not yet. After what felt like forever, you finally broke the silence.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re fooling anyone?”

He turned slowly, eyes catching yours in the dim light. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter.”

You laughed softly, the sound barely more than a breath. “It should matter.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be fake.”

He took a step closer, voice low. “Neither do I.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. The space between you shrank. But neither moved forward.

Just two people standing at the edge of something unspoken, something fragile.

You whispered, “Why do I feel like I’m waiting for you to decide if I’m worth it?”

He looked away, fingers curling into his pocket. “Because maybe I’m still figuring that out.”

Your breath caught. It was the closest thing to honesty you’d had in weeks.

The night crept in, and the city lights flickered like distant stars.

You and Kento remained there — close but not touching — two worlds colliding, slowly breaking down the walls that kept you apart.

The longer Milan stretched, the easier the lie became. You weren’t pretending anymore.Not exactly.

You still posed for the paparazzi. Still kissed his cheek at rooftop events and clung to his arm during dinners.But something had shifted.

You’d catch him looking at you when he thought you weren’t watching. And you’d find yourself laughing — really laughing — at something he said, even if it was barely a joke.

It was dangerous, how natural it was becoming.

The suite was quiet, filled with morning light and the smell of espresso from the machine he’d somehow figured out how to use better than the staff.

You walked out in a silk robe, hair still messy, eyes bleary.

“Are you... humming?” you mumbled.

Kento glanced up from the coffee machine. “Was I?”

“Yes,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Which is illegal before noon.”

He handed you the mug. “Arrest me.”

You blinked at him, confused. He smiled. Small. Subtle. Not fake. Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

Later, at a Designer Launch Party. You wore navy satin. He wore black. Together, you looked like every tabloid’s fever dream. As you walked into the room, your hand slipped into his out of habit.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t let go. Even when the cameras stopped flashing. Even when the press wasn’t looking. He kept holding it.

A woman approached him later, tall, stunning, overly interested.

“You’re Kento Nanami, right? I remember you from Zurich. I think we were seated together at the Max Mara dinner. You had less hair back then.”

You smiled politely. Didn’t speak. She laughed too loud. Leaned in too close.

Kento, ever polite, nodded. “You might be right.”

Then — with no announcement, no drama — he slid his arm around your waist. Pulled you closer.

“This is my girlfriend,” he said. “Y/N.”

The woman blinked. A flicker of surprise, maybe jealousy. Then she smiled thinly and walked away. You looked up at him. His arm still around you.

“Convincing,” you said.

He didn’t move. “It didn’t feel like pretending.”

2 days after Milan,

You both lay on the bed, back to back, but not asleep. The space between you felt charged. Fragile. Like something important was about to happen but neither of you could admit it.

You whispered into the dark:

“If this wasn’t fake…”

He didn’t speak right away. You waited. Then:

“Would it be different?”

You held your breath.

“No,” he said, quietly. “I think it’d be exactly like this.”

Kento’s house was cold. Still. Designed like someone who didn’t want to be remembered. You stood in the center of the living room, heels off, hair undone, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

No staff. No cameras. No champagne. Just you. And him. And the weight of everything that had gone unsaid for too long.

You didn’t even know why you were mad.He hadn’t done anything. That was the problem.

He hadn’t touched you since Milan. Not since that night at the suite. Not since the mornings filled with coffee and silk, or the nights where he fell asleep inches from you but never close enough.

You kicked off your shoes with a little too much force.

“You’re impossible,” you said, pacing.

Kento didn’t look up from where he stood by the kitchen counter.

“Because I’m not kissing you in my foyer?”

You whirled around. “Because you act like none of this matters!”

He stared at you, jaw tight. “You wanted a deal. This is the deal.”

“You kissed me in Milan.”

He blinked once. “It was public.”

“Your hand stayed on my waist after,” you hissed.

He didn’t answer. You stepped closer, blood buzzing.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured wildly. “Looking at me like I’m something you want and then pretending like I’m poison.”

Still, he said nothing. You were spiraling now, fingers shaking as you spoke.

“I don’t know what we are—what we’re doing—but if you don’t feel anything, then you’re a better actor than I thought—”

“Stop talking.”

His voice wasn’t raised. But it was sharp. Final. You froze. Then slowly, he crossed the room. Stood right in front of you. His voice low, barely a whisper:

“You have no idea how badly I want to stop pretending.”

Then he kissed you. No warning. No breath. Just heat. Just hands, suddenly in your hair, on your back, gripping you like he’d finally given up resisting.

Your whimper slipped out — small, broken — and it only made him pull you closer.

You kissed him back like it was survival. Like you were angry at yourself for wanting it this badly. Like you were furious it felt this right.

His mouth was hungry. Unapologetic. Yours matched him — fire to fire. You pushed him back against the wall. He let you.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt. He ripped open the top buttons himself.

“You’re so goddamn spoiled,” he muttered against your lips.

“And you’re still pretending you don’t like it.”

You gasped as he kissed down your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. His hands never stopped moving, desperate and careful at once.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was two years of hate, months of tension, and one final unraveling.

And then—when it slowed—when his hands cupped your face and your forehead rested against his and your breathing matched—

The silence said more than either of you could.

No lines. No games. Just you. And him. And everything finally, finally real.

The photo leaked three days after you returned from Milan.

Not from a press release.Not from a friend. From a former assistant — someone who’d overheard just enough and sold it for a story.

The image was blurry, but damning.

You and Kento on the hotel balcony. No event. No red carpet.Just him behind you, arms around your waist. You laughing — head tipped back into his shoulder. No cameras in sight.

The caption:

“Inside the PR Romance: Source Claims Y/N L/N and Kento Nanami Faked It All for Family Freedom”

You stared at your phone in his kitchen, screen glowing like a grenade. He was behind you, towel over his shoulder, just out of the shower.

“It’s out,” you said flatly.

He froze. “What?”

You turned the phone to show him. The air left the room. By noon, the story had made headlines.

Your name trending. His name trending.

#KentoLies#YNExposed#PRLove

Your publicist called four times.His mother once. Your inbox filled with interview requests. Your father sent one line: Fix it now.

You didn’t cry.

Not until the second night, when the house was too quiet and you heard him pacing in the hallway like a caged animal.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” you whispered into your glass.

Kento stopped. Turned slowly.

“We can still get ahead of it,” he said. “We could… say we ended things. That it was complicated. That we—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, standing. “Don’t pretend again. Not after what we—”

His face tightened. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want protection,” you said, voice cracking. “I wanted to keep you.”

Silence. Then:

“Then let me stay.”

Your lip trembled.

“But now it’s real, isn’t it?” you asked. “So what happens when they know it didn’t start that way?”

He stepped toward you.

“I don’t care how it started,” he said softly. “I just care that I’m not faking it now.”

You looked up at him — messy, afraid, undone — not the girl the world knew, just the one who wanted him to stay.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t out of heat. It was out of hope.

It was raining in Tokyo.

Not the dramatic, movie-scene kind. Just a slow, steady drizzle that tapped against the windows of Kento’s apartment and made everything feel like it was supposed to be still.

You were curled up on the floor with a bowl of soup and a cashmere blanket over your legs. No makeup. No earrings. Just you.

Kento was across from you, in sweats, scrolling mindlessly through some article on his phone.

The headline read:

“Love or Lie? The Couple Who Played the World.”

You threw a crumpled napkin at him. “Don’t read that garbage.”

He caught it easily. “I like to keep up with what my girlfriend is allegedly plotting.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. If I were plotting, I’d be running the agency by now.”

“You already do.”

You smirked. “Exactly.”

There was a long pause. The kind that used to be tense. Now? Just full of something softer.

He put the phone down and leaned his head back against the couch. “You know, I hated you.”

“I know,” you said. “You were very dramatic about it.”

“You were impossible.”

You shrugged. “I am impossible.”

Then: “But you still kissed me.”

He looked over at you, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. That was stupid.”

You scooted over until your knees touched his. “Was it?”

He took your wrist gently, fingers sliding into yours.

“No,” he murmured. “It was the smartest thing I ever did.”

Outside, the rain picked up. Inside, you leaned your head on his shoulder. And for once, there was nothing to prove. No one to impress. No lie to maintain.

Just you. Just him. And the truth.

The morning after, the world didn’t end. There were no reporters banging on the door. No family emergencies. No grand gestures.

Just the soft rustle of cotton sheets. And Kento standing at the stove in his t-shirt and your silence.

You sat on the edge of the sofa, knees drawn up, watching him quietly like if you spoke too loud, it would all disappear.

He turned around with two mugs. Offered you coffee.

You took it with a murmured, “Thanks.”

For a while, that was it. Later, when you were folding the blanket you didn’t end up needing, you asked:

“What do we tell them?”

He looked up from where he was cleaning up two abandoned wine glasses. His expression didn’t change. But his voice did.

“We tell them the truth.”

You blinked. “That we faked it?”

He walked toward you, stopping just close enough that your heart started stammering again.

“No,” he said. “That somewhere in between all the pretending… we didn’t anymore.”

You looked at him for a long time. And then you smiled. For real.

The first time he introduced you as his girlfriend, it wasn’t at a gala or a launch party.

It was at a quiet bookstore in Tokyo, when the owner said, “Back with your cousin?” and Kento rolled his eyes and said, “Not my cousin. My girlfriend.”

You’d almost choked laughing.

The headlines came later. Photos of him holding your hand at a ramen shop. You smiling into his neck while he tried to pay without being noticed.

“Y/N L/N and Kento Nanami: Real or Still PR?”“From Enemies to Italy to This?”

You didn’t bother answering. Eventually, the press moved on. The cameras got bored.

But Kento didn’t stop reaching for your hand. Even when no one was watching. Especially then. You used to be the girl who needed the world to look.

Now? You just needed him to. And he always did.

Taglist: @wonubby @asteriaskingdom @insideoutjulie @kkataleena @endedlove @nanam1nz @recispeices @unadulteratedtranquility @eolivy @wyshaij @exitingmusic

[cherrycranes]

Dream Girl 3 (Neil Lewis x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Fem!Reader Summary: Your boyfriend Neil becomes your co-star when you film something really special with him... Word count: 3,208 Contents: (Minors DNI). Reader is a camgirl. Fluff & smut, filming, unprotected sex. Author's notes: Happy birthday to me lol. Here's the final part of the dreamgirl series! Hope you enjoy. Here's part 1 and part 2. Co-written with the wonderful @fuckiingloser. XOXO

Neil, with his beautiful baby blue eyes glimmering like a child’s on Christmas morning, took your hand and helped you out of his car, leading you up the steps of his lovely suburban house like a total gentleman who didn’t just fuck you on his office desk half an hour ago.

“After you…” He said courteously, opening the front door for you and making you chuckle.

His house, homey and comfortable, with movie posters and memorabilia everywhere, welcomed you like it had been expecting you all along, like you were the missing part of it.

“So… what do you think?” Neil guided you through the first floor, giving you a slight smile of satisfaction at the way you looked around.

“It’s definitely very you…” You chuckled, and he joined you.

“That’s a good thing? I hope?” He asked, crossing his fingers so adorably you couldn't help but say yes.

Despite how cute and sweet the moment you shared was, you both looked quite tired, not unexpected, as it was 11 pm and the last few hours had been… Intense.

“We could stay up if you want… watch a movie on the couch?” He offered. “Or we could go right to bed, whatever you want…” 

He truly made your heart melt, so caring and always making sure you were comfortable.

“I’m pretty tired from earlier…you really put in work…” You joked with a little smirk, and Neil nodded in cheeky agreement.

“Me too… My room’s upstairs.” And with that, he held your hand just as gently as before and led you up the stairs to see his typical, but rather clean, boy room, decorated with movie posters and a big, comfy bed in the middle. From his drawer, he pulled out a big, old Led Zepellin t-shirt for you.

“You can wear this to sleep… one of my favorite shirts…” he smiled charmingly, so kind yet somehow it never failed to surprise you. He then pointed to his bathroom door on the left. “Feel free to use the bathroom too, there should be some new toothbrushes under the sink, pick one out and it can be yours…” Butterflies filled your stomach. 

“You’re quite the host, Mr Lewis…” You joked softly, making him smile.

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable…” He assured you, giving you some space to settle comfortably for the night. In the bathroom, you shed off your tank top and skirt, replacing them with his big band t-shirt that just barely managed to cover your little thong. You picked the promised brand-new purple toothbrush from the drawer and brushed your teeth, then washed your makeup off, a little nervous to let him see you so unfiltered and natural for the first time. But today had a lot of firsts, and all of them had been good so far…

When you finally came out of the bathroom, Neil was already in a simple white t-shirt and plaid boxers, sitting on the bed watching an old movie. When he turned to look at you, his baby blue eyes widened, putting him in a mindless trance for a moment before he could gather his wits and smile sweetly and genuinely at you. 

“God, you are stunning.” He muttered in awe, and your heart fluttered. You climbed into bed and sat next to him.

“Neil, I don’t even have makeup on…” You whispered, self-consciousness taking over after only being seen in your best. Neil reached up to touch your cheek. You truly didn’t know what he saw. 

“Shh… every part of you is beautiful, makeup or not…” He whispered, both his voice and touch so gentle with you. So good it was hard to get used to.

Instead of using your words, you leaned in and gave him a soft, thankful kiss, not only for being so sweet and lovely, but for the impact it was having on you. After a second, you got under the covers with him, safe in this oddly comfortable cocoon that felt like home despite this being the first day you met in person.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whispered softly after a while, breaking the peaceful night silence of the suburbs.

“Of course…” Neil whispered back, his baby blue eyes curious, his brain silently racked as he wondered what you could possibly have to tell him. 

You swallowed a little, finding your words.

“I-I never offered a private call to anyone else…” You started nervously, almost like you were confessing a sin and not something this sweet. “Only you… was hoping you’d do it so I could have a reason to talk to you and see you privately…” You rambled on, finally revealing your secret.

You watched as the anxiety left his face and was replaced by a sweet smile curling up. 

“Really?” He asked in somewhat disbelief. This entire thing started because you had initiated it… You wanted to meet him first. 

You nodded shyly.

“You just seemed kind… sweet. Just wanted a reason to see you… Talk to you one on one…”. Neil's smile grew even bigger.

His response was to lean in and give you another gentle, perfect kiss that said more than words ever could. 

Maybe he was perfect…. Maybe you were perfect for each other after all…

──── ୨୧ ────

Six months had passed after that fateful night you took a chance and met him in person, and so much had changed since. You and Neil were now dating, both incredibly smitten and in love, spending all your time together at his place, yours, or Gumshoe. 

Neil truly was the picture-perfect boyfriend, showing up at your door with a bag of Chinese food whenever you had a bad day, binge-watching old black and white TV shows all night, having constant dates at the movies, art museums, restaurants… And whenever you let him, he’d spend hours between your legs ravishing you… Overall, you did it all. He was the kindest, cutest, goofiest guy you had ever known, and he was yours.

As for your work, it was an adjustment for him at first, of course, but he understood. Like the stars in the adult film section of Gumshoe, it was just your job. Eventually, he started to help you out, editing your videos and lightening your workload.

The men who purchased your content only got you in 10-minute videos through the screen. Neil got you all the time in real life, authentically. Your mind, body, and spirit were all his at all times, and that was all that mattered.

It was a rainy Sunday night, and you and Neil were already snug in his warm bed after spending the entire weekend together. The TV flashed over you as you made out, your favorite thing to do.

Your tongues swirled together in the slow, passionate makeout session as Casablanca played in the background, completely ignored by now. His big hands roamed your body, and you rolled around his bed together. He gripped your hips and pulled you closer before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You moaned into his mouth when he ground his hard-on against you, making him groan too. His hands released your hips and slid under the band of your underwear, gripping your ass cheeks greedily as you melted into each other. 

“You make me so fucking hard…” He groaned into your lips in between kisses, bringing a smile to your face. Although it was obvious, you still loved hearing it… Neil always made you feel like the sexiest, most beautiful girl in the world. 

He rolled you over, pinning you onto his bed, kisses moving from your lips down to your neck with reverence, then tracing all the way over to your ear.

“What if… We made a little movie tonight?” He whispered into your ear, and your eyes shot wide open. You had suggested this a few months ago, still in the throes of a particularly hot round of sex after a date night and a bottle of wine. The idea thrilled you; a real homemade tape with no crazy edits, no cheesy music, just his cock and you recorded from his point of view.

But, despite all the things you had done in your prolific camgirl career, you had never filmed with a partner. It was all about you and you alone, and doing something like this would be a first for both you and Neil. But at the time, he wasn’t ready. Not completely refusing, but not being the most confident either, so you understood and moved on, thinking that maybe being part of your content just wasn’t for him… Until now.

“You're serious?” You asked him honestly, looking deep into his eyes in search of certainty and conviction.

“I’ve been thinking about it…” He admitted. “I think it sounds so hot… Let everyone see how good I fuck my girl…” Your pussy fluttered at his words. He did fuck you good, and he knew it.

His newfound confidence in the moment was shocking yet so sexy. Usually, he was a pretty quiet, reserved guy for the most part. Something you had been helping him work on for the last few months. And finally seemed to be bearing its fruits.

“I’m down if you are…” Your eyes were as wide as your smile. Any nerves you could have in that moment were squashed by the excitement and lust this confident Neil made you feel.

He smirked, leaning in to kiss you. His tongue slid over your bottom lip in a hot kiss before breaking it to reach for his phone and get off the bed. He took you with him to the edge, standing between your parted legs and unceremoniously taking your lace panties off and tossing them away. Then, he pulled his boxers down, his hard cock springing free, already leaking precum at the sight of you.

With one hand on his cock and the other on his phone, Neil opened the camera app, the light flashing between you briefly. You bit your lip, focused on his pink tip as he rubbed it between your folds, coating them in arousal.

You looked up into the camera, smiling for it. No nerves could get to you in this moment; you were a natural. It was just you and your boyfriend.

“You want my cock baby?” He purred confidently from behind the camera, his voice low with arousal. You smiled, biting your lip a little. Seeing him easily step up to the challenge and slip into the role like a pro made the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“Yes, please…”You looked up into the camera, giving him your best eyes, pleading so sweetly you almost wouldn’t think you were begging to be fucked. Almost. Neil smiled in satisfaction at your sexy submission before moving his hips forward, the leaking tip sliding between your folds. His hand found your soft thigh and then pushed it even farther apart from its twin.

Your mouth fell open, letting out a loud, breathy moan. His long cock slid in until it bottomed out and filled you up. He groaned loudly, his eyes fluttering shut, forgetting for a moment what you were doing, too caught up in the hot tightness of your little cunt and the pretty sounds of your moans.

“Fuck me-you love it, baby?“ He breathed out, hips starting to move back and forth. The flash of the camera picked up the glisten of your slick coating his cock with every thrust. You nodded frantically, trying to remember how to respond as he picked up speed. His free hand moved from your thigh to pull your shirt over your bouncing tits, giving the camera a perfect point of view.

“Love your big cock-” You panted, brain turning into mush already. He pistoned his hips even harder than before, the sounds of his balls slapping your ass filled the room and got picked up by the phone’s mic. Maneuvering it, he took a close shot of his cock spearing in and out of you.

“This pussy takes me so good- so fucking tight n’ hot…” He almost growled, pulling the camera back to see your whole frame; tits bouncing rhytmically, whimpers falling from your lips as he fucked you stupid, so much so, you were not even putting on a show for the audience like usual. Neil was just that good.

Your cunt squelched around his cock deliciously, the familiar tingle of a looming orgasm making you close your eyes in utter pleasure. Moaning like a slut, you arched your back, lifting off his bed with your toes curling.

“Tell me how good it feels, pretty girl…C’mon, you can do it…” He encouraged you behind the camera, his free thumb finding your clit and keeping up with the delirious pace that slapped into you. 

“I-i-i love it…” You stuttered, your overstimulated brain struggling to speak. 

Neil panted with a smile, watching in amazement through the phone screen and alternating with the sight of you. This had been much easier and far better than what you always imagined. You were both born for this.

“Flip over, baby.” He commanded, voice so rough with need it took you by surprise. He took his thumb off your sensitive clit, nearly making you whine and cry from the missing stimulation. This was not part of the plan, completely improvised by his inner film director, but you trusted his vision… And you were too fucked-out to care.

Neil pulled out his hard cock coated in your slick. It bobbed with need, just waiting to sink back into your tight cunt. You flipped over obediently, face down, ass up, back arched for him and the camera. He groaned at the sight of your tight little asshole and pink puffy folds from the back.

He zoomed in for a moment, giving the future audience a perfect view of his index and middle fingers spreading your pussy open, before pushing his hips forward to sink into you again, moaning in unison as you connected.

“Jesus Christ, this pussy is so good- I swear it was made to be wrapped around my cock…” he groaned and you moaned loudly. Doggy was your preferred way to fuck, his long cock would always hit you deep and poke your g-spot over and over. And even before you started to move, it just felt so damn good he couldn’t stop cursing. Who could have ever thought sweet Neil Lewis could say such sexy, dirty things? 

He started his thrusts slowly at first, before gaining speed. One hand gripping your hip viciously as he pounded into you, his full balls slapping against your clit. Your mind was so hazy with pleasure, no full coherent sentences could fall from your mouth now.

“S-so deep..” That was all you could manage before his big hand came down to spank your asscheek hard, leaving a handprint in its wake. You cried out, your cunt tightening around him, pain turning into pure pleasure.

From the camera’s point of view, your pussy swallowed his cock again and again, soaking it.

“m’gonna come…” You whimpered loudly, the burn of your orgasm in the pit of your stomach growing faster and faster…

“C’mon baby… give it to me… come on my cock…” He encouraged, going into overdrive- That’s when suddenly, you were right at the edge, babbling nonsense with your cheek smashed against the bedsheets. His pelvis slapped against your ass, urging you to give in. He gave you another sharp smack to the asscheek, making you whimper.

“Fff-uck…” You nearly screamed, writhing in pleasure. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave and refused to let you go. Every nerve ending of your body tingled as your tight cunt pulsed, finally creaming around his cock.

Neil whined loudly, feeling you let go around him. Your walls clenched tightly, trying to milk his orgasm out of him with desperation.

“Good girl-such a good fuckin’ girl…” He muttered under his breath. You were giving it all to him; moaning, whimpering, panting. He couldn’t help but come too. 

“Coming…” He barely choked out, pulling out and wrapping a hand around himself. He pumped his slick-coated cock, hot ropes of cum covered your sore asscheeks and marked you for the camera to see.

Webs of his semen dripped down on your soft rear, reaching your asshole and puffy pussy as he squeezed every drop from his tired cock. It was the hottest sight he had ever seen in his fucking life… And of course, he had to capture every second for posterity. 

“You look so pretty covered in my come, baby…” Neil praised you sweetly, making you giggle. You wiggled your ass for the camera a little, before he panned to your face against his sheets.

“Thank you…” You purred sensually, smirking a little and giving the tape one last perfect shot before he hit the stop button.

Dropping his phone onto the bed, he collapsed down next to you, completely out of breath. His chest heaved, looking up at his ceiling while you both recovered your energy and the air in your lungs.

After a minute or two, he reached over to grab a t-shirt on the edge of the bed and cleaned you up gently. He wiped most of his release off you rather lovingly, before tossing the now dirty rag into the hamper by the door.

Then, he pulled you closer to lie on his chest. You wrapped an arm around his stomach and stayed there, enjoying each other’s warmth.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He asked with concern etched upon his pretty face, almost making you laugh from how sweet he was. You just had the time of your life, and he was worried about his spanks being too much.

“No baby, not at all, you were so good… Better than good…” You smiled, looking into his pretty blue eyes. Neil immediately returned to his sweet self, a stark contrast to the man who, just a few minutes ago, was telling you how good you felt on his cock.

You laid there in comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke again. 

“It was fun… We should do that more often…” He suggested with a cheeky, blushing smile, and you nodded right away. “Even if it’s just for our personal collection…”. You raised a playful eyebrow at that.

“You did say when we first met you���d always dreamed of being a director…” You teased him, making him laugh.

“That’s very true, baby...” He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you even closer to pepper a few soft kisses across your cheeks and to your lips.

Neil was everything you ever wanted in a man, but never seemed to find, until the call that started everything so many months ago now. It had been a whirlwind since then… And look at you now. You went from perfect strangers, to client and camgirl, to partners, and now, you were co-stars too.

“All of my dreams have come true, I guess...” He whispered, brushing a hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear gently before leaning in to speak into it, his hot breath tickling your ear… “All thanks to my dream girl..”

Pinterest moodboard by @fuckiingloser

[sturniololuvz]

“who the hell are you?”

meanmatt! x partygirlreader! - part 15

⸻

“Why are we going to Walgreens at 11:52 p.m.?” you asked from the backseat, curled up in Matt’s hoodie that he didn’t remember giving you but couldn’t bring himself to ask for back.

“Because Nick wants Funyuns,” Chris deadpanned, flicking the turn signal as he pulled into the parking lot. “And apparently that’s a crisis.”

“I forgot I also wanted peach rings,” Nick added, pushing his way out of the passenger seat like he was storming a battlefield.

You laughed, shoving your feet into your slides. Matt stood by the car door, waiting for you, which wasn’t unusual anymore—but he didn’t make a big deal out of it either. He just held the door open with his hip and looked down at you with the tiniest smirk.

“You coming or are you gonna sleep in my backseat?” he asked, like he wasn’t thrilled just to be near you.

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Dunno. Might stay here. Real cozy back there.”

“Get your ass out the car, baby,” he muttered under his breath, but there was a gentleness there. Like he liked calling you that even if it slipped out sometimes.

—

The Walgreens was empty—fluorescent lights humming above, too loud music playing some early 2000s song no one could name but everyone pretended to know.

Matt walked close beside you down the snack aisle, not touching you but brushing his hand against yours like it was muscle memory. You reached up, grabbed a can of Pringles, then promptly dropped them when Chris shouted, “YO THEY GOT SLIPPERS IN HERE??”

You all doubled back toward the weird Walgreens seasonal aisle.

Chris was now wearing pink bunny slippers over his socks. “These are incredible,” he said with complete seriousness.

Nick threw a rubber duck at him.

You were laughing so hard you leaned against Matt’s shoulder, and he didn’t move. In fact, he tilted his head down like he was watching the sound of your laugh, memorizing it. You noticed too.

“What?” you whispered, catching the way his eyes softened.

“Nothing,” he said, then added quieter, “I just… really like the way you look when you laugh.”

You froze for a second, caught off guard, but then Matt turned, distracted by Nick shoving a pack of gummy worms in his hoodie.

—

Later, in the makeup aisle, you were trying on lip gloss and made Matt rate them.

“This one?” you asked, smacking your lips dramatically.

“Too sparkly.”

“This one?”

“Looks edible.”

You raised a brow. “In a good way?”

Matt shrugged. “In a really good way.”

You stared at him for a second too long. He looked away first, pretending to study a display of Listerine strips.

Chris and Nick wandered past, Nick mumbling something about shampoo and Chris loudly asking if anyone wanted to try Walgreens-brand chocolate milk.

You and Matt stayed there for a moment.

“Why are you so nice to me sometimes?” you asked, mostly teasing.

“I’m not,” he replied, instantly. “You’re annoying.”

“You literally just told me I looked edible.”

“That was an accident.”

“Sure.”

You leaned in a little, just playing around. But Matt’s eyes flicked down to your mouth again.

This time, he didn’t hide it.

He kissed you.

Right there in the middle of aisle seven, under shitty drugstore lighting, with Chris yelling “YO MATT, THEY GOT A GUITAR PICK KEYCHAIN!” in the background.

You laughed into the kiss, hands braced on his hoodie, and Matt smiled too—real, boyish, rare. He pulled away slowly, forehead resting on yours.

“Did you just laugh at me mid-kiss?” he whispered.

“I laughed with you,” you corrected.

“Same difference.”

“Nope.”

—

By checkout, Nick had four bags of chips, a bottle of Vitamin Water, and a weird lava lamp he found in clearance. Chris bought the slippers. You and Matt shared a bag of gummy bears.

On the drive home, the car was loud, but Matt kept looking over at you like you were something he forgot he’d been needing for a long time. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to.

You caught him staring once and poked his cheek. “What?”

He just shook his head, small smile tugging at his lips.

“Nothing. You’re just really… something.”

You blinked at him, heart doing that dumb soft flip thing.

And for the rest of the ride, you leaned into his side, the car buzzing with warmth and laughter.

Even Nick noticed it—caught Matt watching you while you talked to Chris.

He leaned over to whisper, “You’re down bad, bro.”

Matt didn’t argue.

He just whispered back, “Yeah. I know.”

—

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[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

may we have platonic tisha x messy ahh reader? the reader is physically incapable of keeping things tidy xd

Platonic Tisha With A Messy Reader!

I first wanted to say a big thank you for everyone who send something in when I was going through a lot. I found an amazing group, you guys and them have really been helping me recover from all of this.. I think I'm ready to come back now! Even if things might be kinda slow!

Here you go, dear anon! I hope I did it well, I really like Tisha haha. My room isn't the best either, if I was ever a toon in Gardenview, she'd cry- SKSKSK here you go, thank you for requesting! <3

I hope I still got my writing skills oughhhh..

-Anna

-Tisha is always working so hard to keep the entire place clean and tidy, even helping the toon's rooms not be as messy. Though for some toons, she does get quite frustrated, she wants others to be considerate of her time, especially if it's the same toon that ask for a cleanup on the same place. You can still hear her say a firm "no" when Sprout begs for the kitchen to be cleaned or a toon talks about the mess in their room while looking at Tisha. You think it's good that she denies those, especially since she seems to overwork herself so much.

-In your case, Tisha really tries talking to you about your room. She's not.. exactly mad or anything but she is firm and honestly a bit concerned for you. If she sees that you are someone that is actually struggling keeping things tidy, together and it seems out of your control too, Tisha is more understanding in these moments. She's even willing to help keep your room at least in a presentable state or make it so it doesn't feel suffocating or anything like that to stay in there. If you are struggling with something, she's there to listen to you while she cleans around, it helps her understand you better.

-She does try some ways to help you out with anything you are struggling with, whether it's a specific chore or showing you how to do it yourself. She might even ask Shelly or someone else for some advice about how to make it not so boring for you, maybe make it into something that makes you feel like you did something good or it's just fun overall. She might not have the most time for you because she has places to clean but she tries to teach you what she can. Maybe even ways you can do them easier or make it more fun, how about stacking your clothes and seeing a tower of them? Maybe posing your figures in a cool way? Anything helps!

-If you can, you can handle the easier parts of keeping your room tidy and clean. Tisha doesn't mind handling the other more difficult parts for you, it's something she likes doing, after all. You can show her what stuff has dust on them or gather objects around and placing them somewhere, whether it would be a box or on top of a table or just anything while she sweeps and dusts things off. Anything that can help her get the job done a little faster, she will really appreciate it. Sometimes you clean in silence or share some talk together as you tidy up your room and make it brand new again.

-When she is not so busy, Tisha likes bringing you small rewards for helping her. She hopes they help motivate you to keep things tidy as much as you can at least, even small progress is still progress. If she's busy, she likes leaving them outside your door, knock and walk away. She has such a specific polite door knock that you can immediately tell it's her. By the time you open the door, she has already left, either cleaning one of the rooms around you or having left the floor you are currently on. You still wonder just how quickly she can be when it came to stuff like this. She really has mastered the whole thing.

-If you get better at it or even can do more, Tisha feels proud of you, even if it's small progress. It really shows in her smile when she observes your room and she really appreciates that you are putting effort in, especially if it's something that could be quite hard for you. Of course, she knows that some days can be hard so she doesn't want to say anything that might discourage you or make you feel bad, she understands not everyone can feel okay all the time. She tends to clean your room quietly while you rest, she does tell you to still take care of yourself though.

-If not, please don't feel bad. Tisha won't really get angry at you for it. You two can always find other ways that work for you to get through these difficulties. She will feel concerned if you seem genuinely distressed over this. All she can do is let you know that she is not really mad or anything bad. She might get you something nice to drink or to eat to help comfort you in some way. Like said before, you two can always find other ways to push through, it's something she tells you so you don't feel bad or anything.

-Sometimes Shelly might volunteer to help with it! She can be pretty smart and come up with various solutions or even ask around for any advice or tips. She comes up with the idea of listening to music or something as background noise while cleaning, something that can help motivate you maybe. She even goes to ask around to see what everyone else is doing while doing their own tasks and chores, she writes down everything that sounds useful and wants to try them out with you if it sounds good. She's such a sweetheart too, encouraging you and everything. She and Tisha will try their best to help with whatever they can.

-It's pretty funny but you and Tisha have built this unique friendship that isn't really seen anywhere else. You two bond over cleaning and tidying up your room, sharing small talk here and there. She actually talks to you about the events of her day while you two clean together. In a way, she's your background noise and it can be a pretty nice experience. Tisha feels nice talking about her day here and there, though it's mostly small talk in the beginning as she is focused on taking care of your room and making it look new again. She doesn't mind listening to you though, even if she gives small hums and that as an answer.

-As time goes in, you two even start hanging out outside of the whole cleaning your room stuff. She likes making some time to check up with you at the end of the day and make sure you are taking care of yourself properly, especially if she sees you struggling with that too. Sadly, it doesn't last too long as usually at the end of the day, she doesn't show how exhausted she is, just offering a tired smile. Tisha hopes she can help you with not being messy anymore in the future, she's pretty adamant on this.

Thank you for reading! <3

[birdcatt]

new guys my brain invented in a daydream

[alygator77]

just a little drabble for my current wip. arranged marriage with clanhead gojo.

warnings: mdni, smut, breeding kink, lots of breeding, praise, creampie, bit of angst.

arranged clanhead! satoru who still isn’t used to sharing his space, even after months of marriage. the grand Gojo estate, once his sanctuary, feels smaller with you in it—your scent lingering on the furniture, your soft hums echoing in the halls—not unpleasant, but… unfamiliar.

arranged clanhead! satoru who notices how your shampoo smells so sweet, clinging to his pillow. how your hair clogs his drain and it drives him fucking insane, yet he still finds himself instinctively reaching for your favorite brand of conditioner while he’s out, tucking it into his basket without a second thought. he doesn’t know why—it’s not like he cares… right?

arranged clanhead! satoru who steps into the kitchen late one evening to find you leaning against the counter. your hair falls in loose strands around your face, messy but still maddeningly pretty, and you sip tea from a mug—his favorite mug. you’re draped in one of his shirts, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh—your bare legs illuminated by the dim glow of the overhead light.

for a fleeting second, he freezes. you look… almost at home. he doesn’t want you to look at home. or does he? he shakes the thought away.

“couldn’t sleep?” he drawls, his eyes lingering on the curve of your legs. “or… were you waiting up for me? ‘cause I could really blow off some steam.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who emerges from the bathroom later that night, his snowy hair damp and tousled, a towel slung lazily over his broad shoulders. he’s wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants, the defined lines of his abdomen on full display as he rubs the towel through his hair, his gaze sliding over to you lying on the bed.

“ready for tonight?” he asks, tilting his head with that signature nonchalance, as though he isn’t about to fuck the hell out of you, as though his sole intention isn’t to fill you so full of his cum that there’s no question the Gojo Clan will get their heir.

arranged clanhead! satoru who pushes you into a mating press the moment he’s on top of you, his large hands gripping your thighs as he folds your legs back against your chest, pinning you beneath him. his cock slides against your slick folds before splitting you apart, and his breath shudders as your cunt swallows him greedily.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, panting through thrusts. “always so good f’me. always takin’ me so fucking well.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who hates himself for the shameful thrill that bubbles up within him, the sick satisfaction of watching you come undone beneath him. the way your pussy clenches around his dick, the way your gasps and moans echo in his ears, drives him to thrust harder, deeper, as though his very existence depends on filling you—which it does.

arranged clanhead! satoru who’s pace is merciless, hips slamming into you with an almost feral hunger. he tells himself it’s just biology, but deep down he knows better.

“good fucking girl…” he smirks, pushing your legs higher as you squirm beneath him—your nails digging into his arms, but the sting only spurs him on. “don’t worry sweetheart—haaa—this time, for sure, m'gonna breed that pretty pussy. gonna make you drip with my cum ‘til you can’t hold it all…”

arranged clanhead! satoru who watches your eyes roll back as his cock slams into you, the bed shaking beneath you as his focus narrows on the way your breasts bounce with every forceful thrust.

“you’re mine,” he groans, the words slipping out before he can stop them, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you—hot, thick ropes of cum painting your walls. his body trembles against yours as he buries himself to the hilt.

“fuuuck, take it…” he rasps, his forehead dropping to press against yours. “so fucking good f’me.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who doesn’t move for a long moment, his chest pressed to yours, his weight pinning you to the mattress. your breath mingles, warm and uneven, and for a fleeting second, he almost forgets why he’s here. why you’re here. but then reality creeps in, sharp and cold, and he pulls out slowly, watching as the mix of his cum and your slick drips onto the sheets.

arranged clanhead! satoru who remembers his duty as clanhead, as the leader of the Gojo Clan. like a good husband—like a good leader—he doesn’t waste a single drop. he shifts, his fingers dipping between your legs to scoop up the cum leaking from you.

“can’t let this go to waste, sweetheart,” he mutters as he pushes the thick mess back into you. his thumb presses against your clit, and he smirks when it earns a soft gasp from you—his fingers sliding deeper. he watches, transfixed, as his cum disappears inside you again, his cock giving a weak twitch at the sight.

arranged clanhead! satoru who rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling as his chest heaves with the effort of catching his breath. he doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t hold you, and you don’t reach for him. the silence afterward is louder than any moan you could make. he tries to ignore the ache in his chest, something he refuses to name.

arranged clanhead! satoru who lies awake long after you’ve drifted off, his arm slung over his eyes as he tries to ignore the ache in his chest. he won’t admit it—not to you, not to himself—but he’s starting to crave more than your body. he craves the softness in your voice when you call his name, the quiet way you laugh when you think he’s not listening.

but this is just obligation. just duty. just… fucking. right?

full fic in the works 🫶🏻 lmk if you wanna be tagged. update: it's out! read it HERE!

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- making out, masturbation (toru hehe), teasing and some very kinky ass thoughts, but mostly TENSION. Eventually - Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink. Gonna be a miniseries, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. WC this Part- 7.5k

Songs for this - Lose Contol // My Boo // Friends

This was supposed to be a oneshot but it's going WAY too long, so I'm separating it into three parts! (Also ty for 5k hehe) Comments and reblogs appreciated <3

Masterlist - Part Two>>>

Part one

“You love me, right?”

You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, he’s been your best friend all throughout high school and even before you’ve known him. You’re sitting across from him, while he’s sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.

“What’d you get into this time, Toru?” You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.

“Excuse me, missy? I’m just asking if you love me.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. “Of course, you know I love your goofy ass.”

 Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you haven’t today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.

Being Satoru Gojo’s best friend wasn’t for the weak.

“How much you love me, hmm?”

“What is it you need, an alibi?” He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.

“M’not Suguru, shit… no, I need a really big favor. Like… the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.”

“Okay this isn’t a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?” Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.

“What if I said I’d help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?”

“Satoru, I don’t want your money, I do fine okay?”

“Your car is old enough to drink.”

“Fuck off!” Your glare makes him snort in laughter. “It is not, it’s like… not even old enough to vote… I don’t think.”

“It’s old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?”

“Satoru this isn’t Pretty Woman-”

“I love that movie!”

“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.

Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.

You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.

Not you and Satoru though.

For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.

“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.

“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”

“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”

“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.

“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”

“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“If I want to, what exactly?”

“Marry me?”

“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.

“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”

“Satoru…”

“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”

“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”

You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”

Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”

You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”

“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”

“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.

“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”

“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.

“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”

“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”

“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”

“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.

You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”

“Alright.”

“What!?”

He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”

“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”

“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.

“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.

“Satoru, you're insufferable.”

He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips. “Aww you’re still such a brat, since middle school.”

“You’re the brat here.”

“Meanie.” You both stick your tongues out, and when he’s walking you over to your shitty car, he wraps you in a big hug in his strong arms, making you melt against him. “Mwah, mwah, mwah you’re the best friend ever.”

“Oh, stop.” He’s smacking kisses on your head as you inhale his cologne, sighing as you contemplate just what the fuck you’re doing. “When do we do this?” You ask, pulling back a bit and looking up at him.

“I can have things going in a couple weeks, something super simple, like I said we’ll just live our lives, just be friends, it’ll be fine. Like a really long sleepover, hmm?” He teases, grinning now, putting back on his shades.

You figure, what’s it hurt? Your apartment is shitty, your car is old, Gojo is your best friend, and you’re down to help him avoid a miserable marriage for as long as he can. You nod then, smiling. “A long sleepover.”

One week of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

Satoru Gojo thought he would control himself decently living with you, considering how many times you’ve slept over, how many movies you both have crashed out on the couch together. He’s seen you in bathing suits over the years, he’s caught glimpses of your pretty body of course, he knows how beautiful you are and he’s always maintained himself.

Satoru treasures you far too much to fuck it up in any way, despite the amount of times he’s almost lost it. Aside from Suguru, you have been the most important person in his life, and perhaps you’re closer now. But he can’t help but compare other girls to you over the years, and he usually makes quick work of the small relationships that he has with them.

However, what he hadn’t anticipated? Living with you walking around in your fucking panties and a crop top.

You nearly took him out the first morning you were here, when he went to brush his teeth, he has a huge house but of course you went to the main bathroom that divides his room and the room he set for you, it’s the bathroom you used when you stayed over. So he should have maybe anticipated it, but nothing prepared him for you bent over the sink, washing your face.

Your ass looked far too tempting in those damn boyshorts, half of each cheek tempting him to smack it, grab it, fucking lift you by it and slide into you. He was shocked when he was hard from the sight of it, he’s not inexperienced or not used to women, and he’s used to you, but something about the sight made him fucking feral, and he had to literally run to one of his guest bathrooms.

He now was almost used to you walking around in almost nothing, but this morning you’re in some little white tank top and he sees the outlines of the curve of your pretty tits, sees your nipples perked up, begging for his mouth. You’re wiping your eyes, yawning, using his Keurig to make coffee, smiling at him as if this is in any way normal or okay.

He gulps as you turn your attention to him, hair in a messy bun, his eyes struggle not to just stare at your body, he has to shut his mouth because it’s just slightly ajar. Satoru, a man who sees women naked frequently, fuck he has business meetings at strip clubs, nudity is nothing. But he can’t take it, take how your breasts are calling for him, how your thighs shift.

“Good morning, Toru! We have that event tonight, right?” You say sweetly, as his heart hammers in his chest, and then you feel his gaze on you, making your nipples tighten, more apparent as you look where he is now, biting your lip. “Shit, white isn’t the best color huh? How embarrassing… it’s kinda cold…”

“Yeah, cold.” He clears his throat, stepping closer, and your eyes drink him in, shirtless and built so perfect. You’ve seen him this way of course over the years, Satoru had no issue pulling his top off to work out, play a game of ball, but something about him in his soft sweats that show too much makes your brain run awry.

You should be immune to it, the god-like body Satoru Gojo has, how fucking perfect he is built, how pretty he is, but something makes your tummy heat up lately, especially when he comes closer, blue eyes lidded. “Um, I’ll make coffee?”

“Yes please.” He smiles sleepily, far too pretty, and you have to remind yourself, as you have all week, that you’re not with him, not truly.

It feels too easy, too comfy.

That was the point though.

“Got it.” You turn now, setting to put the pod in, tiptoeing to get his sugar, he chuckles deeply, reaching above you now, far too close to you, his bare chest pressing against your upper back. Your fingers grip the counters, feeling the cool granite of them, your breath catching.

“I’ll put them a little lower.” He teases, smirking as he sets them down, leaning a hip on the counter, and you smile, pretending to be calm, like your heart didn’t just beat out of your chest.

You’ve literally hugged this man every time you’ve seen him, you’ve even crashed next to him, why is he fucking with you so badly!? You suppose his presence in pieces was just easier to cope with than anything, but now your brain keeps having ridiculous images. Him having you up on that counter, your thighs spread, so intense you drop the spoon, it clatters to his tile floor.

“Shit, sorry.” You bend down, and your breath is right against him, over his thin sweats, and you look up at him, creating the worst images of his best friends he can ever imagine.

“It’s… fine.” He clears his throat, turning so you don’t see the clear evidence of what you’ve done.

“You okay, Toru? Tons of sugar, like usual?”

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff, as he glares at his cock, willing it to go down, you blink curiously at his back, wondering what’s wrong. You clear your throat again and hand him the cup, stepping next to him, he takes it, having put his cock up in the waistband of his boxers now, smiling nonchalantly. “Thanks sweets.”

“Of course! Can we go over a few things later today, before we go? I don’t wanna fuck anything up.”

“Of course we can. I also ordered you a dress and some jewelry, that cool?”

“Oh what? I have dresses, pretty ones!”

“I know, it’s really uppity bitches there though, you need something top notch.”

“Oh…” You trail off, a blush decorating your cheeks now, making you look even more tempting. “But you don’t know my size?’

Satoru brushes a tendril of hair that’s come out of your bun then, smirking just a bit. “Think I don’t know your size, sweetheart?”

“I… um…” Satoru has you flustered, dammit. “Oh?”

“Mhmm.” As if he hasn’t eyed your body a million times over. “It’ll be here later, I have to go to work for just a couple hours.” You nod then, for some odd reason wanting to kiss him, but you bite your lip instead.

“Sounds perfect, I have the day off!”

“Even better, go take a nice bath and relax before we deal with the snobby old fucks.” You giggle at him, you have always loved how he speaks of rich people, when he’s filthy rich, but Satoru? He’s very different.

He’s just…

Satoru.

Satoru’s heart doesn’t hammer in his chest, it almost falls out after he’s got his three piece pinstripe suit on, adjusting a skinny silk tie and peering at his silver Rolex, seeing what time it was, as you appear in front of him. The dress he picked out was a lacy black one, perfect for evening, but the way it hugs your every curve, the way your breasts are pressed up in that top?

You do a nervous spin, revealing your pretty back, the curve of your spine, the v neck so deep he sees hints of the dimples on your back. You turn back around, eyes glittering, enhanced with a little mascara and eyeliner, your lips the prettiest shade of red he can imagine. You look…

Beautiful.

Is that even the word?

How does he even explain it, when he’s speechless, when he feels his ears heat up at just how nervous he is to be in your presence then, eyeing a delicate gold necklace that hits just so in the hollow between your collar bones. You’re tilting your head to the side, hair falling softly in curls you’ve put it in, clutching your pretty little evening bag.

“How do I look, Toru? You look so handsome, but when don’t you.” You tease, and he tries not to look at the slit showing far too much of your pretty thigh, so tempting to slip a hand up it, find your surely pretty little pussy.

“You look…” He takes a breath, trying to act somewhat normal, smiling then. “You look… hot as fuck.”

You giggle then, rolling your eyes. “Oh whatever!”

“You look… amazing. Really.” He steps to you, giving into the temptation to brush the backs of his finger across the apple of your cheek, then across your jaw line, watching your breath catch, your red lips part, showing a hint of your little bottom row of teeth.

How would that pretty face look so fucked out?

God, it’s been a week, he needs to stop.

His hand falls, and you barely hold yourself together, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “You look beautiful, sweets. Gonna make quite the impression.” His husky admission makes you blush further, looking down and eyeing that little knot on his tie, as it’s like the entire room is holding its breath, everything so overwhelming, his nearness, his scent.

“Thank you, really for this dress. It’s so beautiful, and this.” You touch the pretty gold necklace, just making his eyes watch your pretty breasts rise and fall.

“Of course, it’s part of this, you know.” His little admission breaks you just a bit, for some insane reason, you felt like this was some date? You rein yourself in just a bit, smiling.

“Yes, but thank you. Shall we go, hubby?’

“We sure can, wifey.” You both laugh, the friendship of years prevailing finally, when you slip into the back of his limo with him, trying to ignore the feeling of his strong thigh pressing against yours, burning through the silky layer of the dress. “So remember the story?”

“Yeah, it’s easy to think of it happening, friends falling.” You then panic, as his blue eyes catch yours in the dark of the limo. “I mean-”

“No, of course it is. I’ll say that… I started falling in high school.” Because he did, god he did. After you all are about to be at the event, he notices it, your nerves, this just wasn’t your scene. “You look perfect, really.”

“Oh no…” He leans close, cupping your face, but it feels too good, your lips are too close.

“You do, gonna knock 'em dead, yeah?”

“We both will.” You smile tremulously, inhaling the night air greedily as you both walk up to the event, being ushered in. You’re clinging around his elbow as he casually goes about it, going into Mr. Gojo mode, you’ve seen him do it plenty over the years, still keeping his charm and sarcasm, but he’s just a force, the way he plays them all.

Knowing Gojo wants to take most of these people down is thrilling in its own way, you’ve always been enamored with how he fights for his principles, how real and raw he truly is with you about it. How humble when he’s come from everything, but still he knows that role he must play, and play it he does, his hand pressing on the small of your back as you two make small talk.

“I always thought of you two falling for each other.” Says your mom now, yes even your parents had to think it was true.

“I did too… so sudden though? Young love.” Gojo’s mom says, tossing back her silky long locks with a smile.

“What can I say? Your son is hard to resist, he’s so persistent. Like a cute little puppy.”

“A what!? Brat.” He’s glaring, but your parents and his mom are laughing, and you know it works, being real.

“Aren’t you two so in love?” Another person says later, as they observe Satoru placing a little peck on your temple, and he smiles with ease, not realizing the entire mess he’s making you.

“A beautiful couple. Gojo, you chose well.” One of his work friends says with a grin.

“We’re very lucky, both of us.” You say softly, stopping Gojo’s heart, when you peck a little kiss on his neck, tiptoeing in your heels, he turns then, your lips far too close, so close you taste the sweetness of his breath, and your eyes lock. “Aren’t we, Satoru?”

He blinks, realizing… you’re just helping him, and you’re nailing it. He tries to shove back the odd fluttering in his tummy, tilting your chin up. “We are lucky.”

The night ends up with plenty of dancing, plenty of schmoozing back and forth, and plenty of both of you being the perfect team. It was so easy, you both knew each other like no one else, the answers flow, the dancing flows, you’ve both danced in school before, you’ve partied together. You’ve been a plus one even as a friend.

Too natural, too perfect.

You soon need a breath, as you feel far too much as Satoru dances with a lovely girl, you recognize her, Gojo dated her and she’s a family friend. You assume she was a candidate for marriage as you recall her family ties, but seeing someone in his arms suddenly makes your heart break.

It’s only been a fucking week!? Can’t you keep it together!?

Later as you both get home, you’re taking off your shoes, wincing as the heels are off your feet, and Satoru looks at you curiously. “You okay, sweets? Kinda a long night of assholes, huh?”

“Oh it’s fine, Toru. Truly. Um… I recognized a couple girls there.”

“Yeah, they run in the same circles.” He takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves of that crisp white dress shirt, revealing the veins of his strong forearms, addling your mind further, how fucking attractive he is when he loosens that tie.

“Um, I know you said discrete, will you be… bringing them here?”

Satoru blinks at you, head tilting, soft white hair falling just so. “What? Bring who here?”

“Um, her, or any of the girls there really. If so I think I’ll probably… wanna know if you don’t mind? So I can make sure I’m in the room or whatever. A little notice?”

Satoru walks to you now, your head is tilted back when he hooks two fingers under your chin. “You think I am interested in them?”

“They’re beautiful. And we’re not together, so it’s fine! Just… a little notice would be cool?”

“And you, what if you bring someone over.” His jaw tenses, his words surprisingly sharp. “Will you tell me?”

You laugh softly. “That won’t even be a thing.”

“In a year?”

“It’s… never been a thing really.” You realize then, that you are almost spilling it, the fact that the entirety of your experience is one fuck in college, a two pump event that involved nothing really.

His brows draw together in disbelief. “Never? You don’t…”

“Listen, we’re best friends, but that’s private. Okay?” He nods, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck, looking down.

“Shit I mean you date a bit though?”

“Yeah, I do. But… it’s… I need to get out of this dress.” You say then, suddenly rushing to your room, leaving Satoru’s mind whirling.

How do you think he wants anyone when you’re here killing him.

“Toru?” You lean your head out from the bathroom a few moments later.

“Yeah?”

“This is embarrassing, but the zipper is stuck, and it’s so expensive… I don’t wanna fuck the dress up.” You murmur, he smiles, feigning ease as he steps into the bathroom, peering at you in the golden gilded mirror.

“No worries, got ya. Huh it is a little stuck…” He gently tugs at the zipper, humming a big. “Um… hang on I need to pull it up a bit.”

“Sure. Be careful!”

“You’re worried about this when I could buy you ten more tomorrow.”

“Still!”

He smiles at your reflection, hand palming your bare back then, making you bite back a gasp, body shifting in desire at just the touch, your eyes shut so he can’t see them rolling back, but he sees those goosebumps everywhere. He unzips it then, revealing lacy panties that make him pause, letting the dress fall, you’re catching it at the front, gasping.

“I think I got it.” He says huskily, unable to stop his fingers from trailing up your delicate spine, blue eyes so bright in the mirror they wreck you, while you barely hold the material on. “Need any more help?”

“No! I mean… n-no.” Shit shit shit.

You’re soaked from a brush against your back!?

“Got ya.” He smiles just a bit, leaving you now, resting his back on the door, hand running across his face, curious how he’s throbbing with precum from seeing your fucking back.

Two weeks of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

You arrive at his work, the coworkers all greeting you so friendly, as his assistant Miwa escorts you, giving you both soft smiles. “Your wife is here Mr. Gojo.”

Satoru looks up in surprise, you’re in your pretty work dress, looking all cute and professional, holding a bento box in one hand, a boba in the other. You’re smiling brightly, as his lips part in surprise. “I had an early day and I thought I should bring some lunch?”

“Oh… oh thank you… Miwa if you could?”

“Of course, I’ll give you some privacy.” You hear her giggle and you smile at Satoru, looking as he’s leaned back in his big leather seat, smiling softly back at you, eyeing your hands.

“I get lunch made for me, shit I am lucky with my fake bride.” You snort, rolling your eyes and walking up to him, setting them on the desk.

“It seemed wifey to do? But also I really do have a short day, figured you might be hungry?”

Fuck you’re sweet.

Fuck you’re pretty.

God, you’re looking at him like that, leaned over just a bit, his eyes darting over your body that tempts him every day more and more, but your sweetness ruins him, the thoughtful nature you’ve always had, but now so geared to him. Is it all for show, he can’t believe it is when you open the bento and show him sushi, onigiri and greens placed so prettily his mouth waters.

“You ordered this, yeah?”

“No silly, I’ve been practicing. You helping me have some time off work has literally given me so much time… I hope they’re yummy? Oh, I didn’t make the boba though.”

“Why didn’t you get anything?” He asks, frowning.

“Oh I’m good, I just was dropping it off. You’re probably busy, taking down the villains huh?” Satoru’s words catch in his throat, looking you up and down again, before looking back down at the food in front of him.

“Stay a bit, it’ll… look good you know, us having lunch together.” He murmurs, lying out of his fucking teeth, as if he didn’t want to eat you then and there.

Your thighs spread, panties to the side, lapping you up?

Yummier than this. Killing him to imagine.

“Oh, um… where do I sit, over here?” You go to scooch a chair over, and he stops you.

“Nah those are heavy, come on.” He pats his thigh, earning your eyes widening, pulse fluttering as he smirks. “You’ve sat on my lap at parties plenty.”

“Y-yeah… but it’s… I…”

“C’mon, have a couple bites please, I’ll feel bad if you did all this for me and didn’t eat.”

“Satoru, you have bought me a new wardrobe and a car, can’t I make some sushi?”

“Sit.”

You sigh, it’s true you’ve sat on his lap, but the past two weeks of constantly being wet around him are taking their toll. You smile brightly, sitting on one of his thighs, praying he can’t feel it, the heat from your pussy as you’re pressed on a muscled thigh, and he’s picking up sushi with chopsticks, popping one in his mouth and moaning, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck that’s yummy. You made it for real!?” You giggle, nodding and trying to be more comfortable, it’s your Toru, right?

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. That’s got eel sauce on it, this one is the spicy crab.”

“You like spicy crab, here.” He pops one to your lips, and something feels too intimate, on his lap like this. “Open.”

Open.

Open!?

The pictures of you hearing him that while on your knees makes your cunt dribble, you shift nervously, clearing your throat.

“Open, silly.”

You do as he says, as he pops the roll in your mouth, and you chew, feeling the flavor hit your tongue, he grins now, popping another into his mouth, and you wonder if it’s easy for him to be this way. He’s so natural at it, sipping his boba and humming happily, all while his thigh presses where you’ve been aching for him, forcing yourself not to touch your pussy to the thought of him.

You can’t do that, it’s fucked.

You try to get up, and he presses you down, big hand on your waist, far too close when he leans the thick straw to your lips. “Take a sip, it’s so good.”

“Oh… um sure. Thank you.” You take a sip, lips pressing where his had, and he can’t stop focusing on how good your lips look, wrapping as you suck, cheeks hollowing and making his cock twitch.

You both sit there then, staring at each other, breaths coming just a little too quick from you, as he sets the drink down, but you stay on his lap. “Y’know… the event tonight, we should probably actually kiss? There will be cameras all over.”

“Kiss!?” He laughs then, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of part of it. You’re comfy with it right, not gonna fall head over heels.”

“Psh.” You already have, long ago, it’s all fucking hitting. “You’re so cocky, Toru I swear.”

“I can’t help it, my lips are so talented, you know. Makes girls fall.” He brushes his silky hair back, winking at you then, and you swear you can hear your heart in your goddamn ears.

“I remember you were pretty good.”

“Yeah, you remember?”

“Yeah it… was my first kiss.” You mumble then, looking away, sipping his boba nervously, he blinks rapidly, blue eyes wide in shock.

“What now!?”

“No biggie, we were like seventeen…”

“But you… never told me?”

“It was embarrassing.” Satoru’s mind races to that night, as does yours, as you sit in his office, just the hum of the fan and soft music playing from his little device, staring at each other, both in a haze.

You and Satoru Gojo were thrown in a closet together, you’re sighing as you’re pressed against him, peeking at your phone in the dark to see the time. Being too close to Satoru wreaked havoc on your brains at times, though you have known him so long, you couldn’t lie and act like you didn’t think of things… kissing him, maybe dating him? But you know they’re silly thoughts.

“Don’t freak out, we’ll just let 'em think we made out.” He says now, and you turn your eyes up to him, adjusting in the dark, but even here you can see the glint of those bright baby blues.

“Y-yeah. You’ve kissed plenty, though.”

“You haven’t really?”

“Um, no.”

Satoru’s gently turning you to him now, tilting your chin up while his eyes adjust to see your pretty face, you’re thankful it’s so dark that he couldn’t see your blush. “We could practice, you know.”

“Satoru!”

“What? A little practice between friends? You know you wanna kiss me.” He taunts, teasing tone as he grins.

“No way!”

“Not at all? I’m hurt, sweets.”

“Oh whatever, it'd be weird, we’re too close. Do you kiss Suguru?”

“Oh yeah, have you seen him?”

You both laugh then, when he leans down just a bit. “Well, if you kissed Suguru, I feel left out now.”

“We can’t have that. Show me what you do know, I’ll advise.”

“Kissing expert, hmm?”

“Mhmm.” You lean up then, as he bends down, your arms wrapping around his neck, you pause as his hands press against your waist, making your heart race. “Ya scared?”

“No! Goofy ass.” He’s chuckling until you lean up, pulling him down for a kiss, and your lips meet for the first time.

Your first kiss.

He pauses, your lips connecting just do something. Satoru at seventeen had done plenty of make out sessions, but they were fun, something to do, exciting at times, but nothing prepared him for it. For your sweet lips on him, tingling them, his heart beating in his chest.

Satoru falters, and he never falters.

He doesn’t slip his tongue in, he doesn’t pull you close, he freezes, so in shock at how good it feels, how right it feels. You ease back, nervous then, clearing your throat, as he hasn’t moved his lips. “I’m sorry I’m not…”

Satoru yanks you against him then, pressing your body on his, kissing you over and over, so deeply, taking your breath away, you’ve never felt something like this, you’re trembling as you feel his tongue slip against the seam of your lips. “Open them up for me.”

This isn’t silly Satoru, goofy ass friend, his husky declaration destroys you, and he uses the gasp to slip his tongue inside, swirling with yours, igniting something between you that night that you will both avoid talking about for years. When he presses you against the closet door, sighing into your lips, and you’re being picked up in his arms, as your mouths move over each other.

You both pull back, gasping as the timer goes off.

What was that!?

“If I’d known it was your first kiss, maybe I wouldn’t have… gotten so excited.” He says with a little pink on his cheeks.

“No, you didn’t cross any lines, Toru. Don’t worry.”

He wants to laugh, because oh, he wanted to.

If he’d had more time he’s sure he’d have lost it, whatever control he has now he did not have as a seventeen year old. “Was it a good one at least?”

“The best a girl could have.” You say softly, smiling at him then, making his heart race when you both sit there, far too close, and he swears he can feel your heat against the hand that’s on your thigh.

“I know I’m pretty amazing hmm?” He teases, trying to hide the raging storm inside of him, you giggle, shaking your head and standing finally.

“You’re a conceited little shit.”

“Hey!?”

You’re both back at ease, as he stands now too, looming so tall over you, his presence making it hard to remember why you’re here. “I should go.”

“We should practice, though, yeah?”

“I mean… you think we’re that rusty?” You try to feign ease, he smiles then.

“Yeah, we gotta be. We’ll bump our heads together or some shit.”

“Okay… um…” You take a sip of his boba then, clearing your throat and smiling up at him. “Let’s practice.”

Satoru brushes his thumb across your chin, your ass pressed against his desk and you’re pinned between it and him, your hands sliding up his starch white dress shirt slowly, eyes lowering to his glossy lips. He presses a kiss against your lips, and you then know it, more than ever.

Nothing is like kissing Satoru.

Nothing is like his lips making contact with yours, as your eyes close, the feeling of him working his lips over you so gently, making you tremble, making you ache in ways you have tried to hide, to avoid. He pulls back, cupping your face and exhaling, his snowy lashes low over cerulean eyes, his lips parted just so, as you both stare at each other, speechless.

You don’t know if he’s as affected, and neither does he.

“How’s that?” He asks softly, and you lean up, your fingers enwrapping in his hair, as two of his hands bar you on either side.

“Maybe one or two more? To look natural.” You whisper, and you expect a smirk, or something cocky, conceited, but he slams his lips on yours now.

His tongue is swirling against yours in moments, as you both devour each other, hungry and needy, kissing each other desperate, messy now. A kiss like you’ve never had, as his hands press against your hips, then he lifts you on the desk, your thighs around his hips, making you cry out. The sound causes him to lose any semblance of control, he’s biting your lower lip, moaning into your mouth.

“Mmm!” Your hands pull his hair now, as his slip up your bare thighs, and then you feel it, the hardness under his slacks against your heat, your panties already sticky and damp, and you pull back with a gasp.

Your eyes shoot up to his when you break apart for just a moment, and Satoru’s breath is coming in little pants, his fingers scrunching your skirt up your hips, yanking you closer. You whimper now, head falling to the side, and he’s kissing down the side of your neck, your breasts pressing against his chest, dying for him inside you, as he’s ready to fuck you right on his desk.

“Satoru… what are-” You’re trying to whisper when his lips find the shell of your ear.

“I need-”

Knock knock knock.

You both pull back, his eyes dilated to the point they’re dark, his hands still on your bare skin, as his eyes dart down your body. “Yes?” He manages gruffly.

“Twenty minutes until your meeting Mr. Gojo.” You hear, and he curses softly, turning away, trying to calm his nerves, his racing heart, all while you’re hopping down, trying to pull yourself together.

You’re almost darting out of the door when he sees you. “Shit, please…”

“No, no. We um… were practicing?” You manage to whisper, as his hand is over yours on the knob. “I got carried away.”

He laughs, without humor. “You did?”

“I did. I’m sorry I don’t even do this.”

“Just how… inexperienced are you?” He asks softly.

“A lot.”

Because she can’t help but compare every man to Satoru Gojo.

“Well, you can’t tell, you’re an amazing kisser.” You blush furiously, looking down, biting your lower lip.

“You don’t have to say it.”

“You are, shit. My god.” He brushes your hair off the side of your neck, exhaling, breath tickling you, setting your body on fire.

“Thank you, so are you. We will be good to go tonight, you think?” You whisper, so nervous to say what you want to, and he pauses, clearing his throat, his hand falling off your shoulder now.

“We’ll kill it. Thank you again for lunch.”

“Of course.” You brightly smile, trying to remember.

It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake.

As you’re repeating it in your head, Satoru is struggling to not lift your skirt up and fuck into you right on this door, he wouldn’t care if the entire office heard you scream his goddamn name. When you slip out the door he rests his head on it, the cool wood doing nothing to his overheated skin, hands clenching into his fists as he tries to calm himself.

What was that, what is that with you both?

He promised he would be respectful, he has to try to rein it all in, he has to make sure your friendship isn’t ruined because he can’t stop himself. Satoru tells himself that as he wills his cock to go down, but he can’t stop himself, soon he’s stroking it right in that seat, remembering feeling your pussy pressing against his length.

God he needs you, he shuts his eyes, imagining sinking inside you while he twists his hand up and down his length, desperate for any relief. He had some regulars he would call back in the day, but not only does it feel so wrong to do so, he doesn’t want anyone but you, he can’t even put a vision in his mind but you.

‘It’s fine, baby girl you can take me’ he murmurs softly, snowy lashes shut as he imagines fucking into you, stretching you god he bets you’re so tight, and he could feel that warmth, imagining you as he spits down on his pretty cock.

His pink tip is oozing precum while his head rests back in his office chair, he can still smell your scent, that shampoo you use, the body spray you have worn since high school, it’s you. He’d kiss every inch of your body, have you so ready you beg for him, fuck you so good tears pool in your pretty eyes, he can damn near feel is as his hand strokes faster and faster.

He lets out a soft groan, muttering a ‘that’s it, you’re so wet f’me, huh?’ to the very image of you on that desk, tasting your sweetness on his lips, while he pinches his tip, the precum and spit wetting his cock enough that the sound of him stroking fills his office. His breath quickens as he thinks of shoving your thighs up high, slamming into your cervix, ruining you.

As he cums white hot spurts all over his palm he cries out softly, the release feeling so good, he’s fought it, touching himself to you, but he can’t anymore. He quickly cleans up, panicking as he sees what he’s done, jerked off to one of his best friend’s in the world, someone who trusts him, and he’s not even holding himself together for shit now.

He exhaustedly leans his head against the desk as his alarm for the next meeting starts, struggling to remember this isn’t real, but his cock sure didn’t fucking realize that, and by the time he’s home and he sees you all dressed up for the next event? He almost has to go jerk off again.

You’re smiling all nervous in this beautiful glittering gown, and he’s once again speechless, trying to pull together his usual charm, but it falls flat. You look at him, concern clear on your features. “Everything okay Satoru?”

“Of course it is. Look at you.” He smiles, putting on the best show he can, as you wonder if you’ve over thought that kiss, he just seems so normal really.

Maybe he just got carried away, should you act normal too?But how can you, when just the brush of his hand on the small of your back shoots desire straight through your body. It’s only been two weeks, how could you hold out an entire year?

Sooo to have written this in a oneshot would have been INSANE but expect the next two parts very quicklyyy ;) Gojo is DOWN BAD my god- smut in the next hehe.

Part two

taglist #1: @plaggi @baepsays @victoria1676 @flwerie @luringfantasy @moncher-ire @allonyyourmom @kindablackenedsuperhero @evelynxxo @jkslaugh97 @sugurusfavemonkey @ninikrumbs @s4ikooo1 @bunheadusa @twinkling-moonlillie @chameleonsoul111 @nina-from-317 @naammiii @whippedbyikemen @alygator77 @uarmyhopeworldwide @1satoruu @theclassbookworm @jud3thedude @isleqt @mcromer2999-blog @silvarys @orikixx @jiejies-corner-store @assbutt-inlove-with-koreans @lordbugs @ari-sa @blue-musingss @minaa-06 @uhnosav @cvixmei @seeiin @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @honeybunnnnie @gojosukuna2268 @haruhatake @strychnynegirl @jinjen @give-em-hellkid

[mrsfancyferrari]

My Husband

Summary: when you accidently called Oscar your husband, you didn't think it would affect him that much

Song: Haunted · Beyoncé

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 2.3k

MASTERLIST - F1

The quaint little bakery was a warm embrace of aromatic comfort, the scent of fresh bread and sugar-coated pastries dancing in the air as the bell above the door chimed, announcing the presence of a customer.

You stepped inside, the chilly autumn breeze kissing your cheeks before you shut the door. Oscar, your devoted boyfriend, followed closely, his eyes never leaving yours, as if the words you had just spoken had branded themselves into his soul.

You approached the counter, where Mrs. Petunia, the plump, grandmotherly figure who had known you since childhood, was carefully arranging a tray of her famous Tim Tams.

She looked up and beamed at you, her kind eyes twinkling with recognition. "Ah, my dear, what can I get for you today?"

Without missing a beat, you replied, "Oh, Mrs. Petunia, me and my husband love Tim Tams. Could we have a dozen, please?"

The words slipped out of your mouth as easily as honey off a spoon, and yet, they seemed to hang in the air, thick and potent, charged with an unspoken electricity.

Oscar's eyes grew wide, and a blush bloomed on his cheeks that would have put a summer sunset to shame. His heart skipped a beat, and his throat tightened with a mix of shock and excitement.

You hadn't meant to say it, but there it was, hanging between the two of you like a ripe fruit, begging to be plucked and tasted.

Mrs. Petunia looked from you to Oscar and back again, her gaze lingering on his flustered expression before she winked mischievously.

"Of course, dear," she said, her voice a gentle purr. "Congratulations to you both. I'll have your Tim Tams ready in a jiffy."

The silence that followed was a symphony of unspoken desires and unanswered questions. The air grew thick with tension as Oscar's hand found yours, his grip firm yet trembling.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel the sudden urgency of his touch.

As the baker's hands moved deftly behind the counter, wrapping your sweet treats in a paper bag with a flourish, Oscar leaned in, his breath a whisper of heat against your ear.

"Did you mean it?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and apprehension. "Did you really mean to call me your husband?"

You turned to face him, the warmth from his body seeping into yours, and took a moment to study his features. The way his eyes searched yours for an answer, the way his Adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow, it was all so… intoxicating.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling the heat of his gaze on your skin, and let the moment linger before finally speaking.

"It… it just slipped out," you murmured, trying to downplay the significance of your words. But even as you said them, you felt a thrill in your chest, a spark of something new and deliciously tempting.

Oscar's grip on your hand tightened, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. "But do you?" he pressed, his voice low and earnest. "Do you… see me as your husband?" His eyes searched yours, a silent plea for honesty that you found impossible to resist.

Before you could answer, Mrs. Petunia shuffled back to the counter with your order, her knowing smile as sweet as the sugary confection she placed in the bag.

"Here you go, lovebirds," she said, her eyes twinkling. "And just for the newlyweds," she added with a wink, "a little something extra." She slipped a small, heart-shaped cookie into the bag, and you felt Oscar's pulse quicken against your fingertips.

The weight of the moment pressed down on you, thick and heavy as the scent of freshly baked bread. His question hung in the air, a silent echo of the words you hadn't meant to say. Yet, as you looked into his eyes, you realized that you didn't want to take them back.

The thought of him as your husband, a partner in every sense of the word, filled you with a warmth that spread from your core to your fingertips.

"Thank you, Mrs. Petunia," you said, your voice a bit shaky as you took the bag of Tim Tams from her outstretched hand. The touch of the paper bag against your skin was a sudden reminder of the real world, and you forced a smile as you slid the question to the back of your mind.

The idea of a future with Oscar was both thrilling and terrifying, and you weren't quite ready to tackle it in the middle of a bustling bakery.

You turned to leave, eager to escape the intensity of Oscar's gaze, but he held fast to your hand, refusing to let you pull away. "We need to talk," he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. "But not here."

With a nod of understanding, you allowed him to lead you out the door and into the cool, crisp air. The wind played with your hair as you walked in silence, the crackle of leaves underfoot a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony of emotions in your chest.

The thought of the impromptu family gathering at the restaurant was a welcome one; it meant you had more time to figure out what you truly felt about the prospect of marriage.

When you arrived at the cozy Italian restaurant, the warmth from within enveloped you like a comforting blanket. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce mingled with the laughter of those already gathered, and the sight of your friends and family was a much-needed distraction.

You slipped into the role of the happy couple with Oscar by your side, his hand resting gently on the small of your back as you greeted everyone with pecks on the cheek and warm hugs.

Throughout dinner, the question remained unspoken, a silent third wheel to your conversations. You felt Oscar's eyes on you, the question lingering in the air like the scent of fresh bread from the bakery.

Yet, with every shared laugh and knowing glance, the idea grew more and more appealing. The way your family and friends interacted with the two of you, as if you were already a married couple, filled you with a sense of belonging and love that was undeniable.

As the evening grew late and the last of your relatives said their goodbyes, the tension between you and Oscar grew palpable. The warmth from his hand on your lower back had long ago seeped through your clothes, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

With each farewell, the reality of what you had said in the bakery grew heavier, a delicious weight that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Finally, it was just the two of you, the night air a crisp reminder of the world outside your bubble of uncertainty. The walk to his car was a silent dance of anticipation, your hearts beating in time with every step you took closer to the truth.

The cool metal of the car door handle was a stark contrast to the heat of your skin as you climbed inside, the leather seats a promise of the comfort and security you had found in each other's arms so many times before.

Oscar started the engine, and the low purr filled the car, a gentle hum that seemed to vibrate through your very core. As he pulled away from the curb, the headlights painted a yellow path on the dark road ahead, leading you to the house you shared, the place where so many of your memories had been made.

You watched the streetlights flicker past, their light casting shadows across Oscar's features that highlighted the strong line of his jaw and the intensity in his gaze as he focused on the road.

The journey to the house was a blur of unspoken confessions and unanswered questions, the vibrations of the car a rhythmic serenade that seemed to underscore the urgency of the moment.

His hand found yours again, fingers intertwining as if to hold onto the very essence of your being. The touch sent waves of sensation through your body, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that had grown stronger with every shared look and whispered promise.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, the house was bathed in a soft glow, welcoming you home with open arms.

The door clicked shut behind you, the sound echoing through the stillness like a gunshot, shattering the last vestiges of your ability to ignore the conversation that needed to be had.

But Oscar didn't give you the chance to retreat into the safety of mundane small talk or the comfort of the couch. He dropped his bags with a thud that reverberated through the floorboards, and in the blink of an eye, he was on you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, his body a wall of heat and need that made your knees wobble.

His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot and demanding as he whispered, "Tell me the truth. Did you mean it?"

You gasped as his teeth grazed your earlobe, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart was a wild animal, caged and desperate to break free, hammering against your ribs in a frantic rhythm.

Your breathing grew shallow, every intake of breath a silent admission of the desire that had been simmering just below the surface all evening.

He turned you to face him, his hands sliding up to cradle your cheeks. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, and you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you felt the warmth of his palms against your skin.

"Look at me," he demanded softly, and you obeyed, opening your eyes to find his gaze searing into yours. "Do you see me as your husband?"

The word hung in the air, a declaration of love and commitment that made your heart ache. You searched his eyes, the depths of his soul laid bare for you to see, and you knew that you didn't need to say the words aloud.

Your body was already speaking for you, your pulse racing, your breath catching in your throat.

With a groan, Oscar leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting and exploring as if he hadn't kissed you a thousand times before.

Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, your body arching towards his as if drawn by a magnetic force. His hands slid down to the small of your back, pressing you against him, the evidence of his arousal a stark reminder of the passion that burned between you.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as the tension that had been building all evening finally snapped. Your hands roamed his body, tracing the contours of his muscles beneath his shirt, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your palm.

His own hands found their way to the hem of your dress, inching it upward until he could feel the warmth of your skin, the softness of your thighs.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as you both panted, trying to catch your breath. "I need to hear you say it," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Do you see a future with me?"

You nodded, the words caught in your throat, the weight of the moment too much to bear. "Yes," you finally managed to croak out, the word a declaration, a promise, a surrender all rolled into one.

And with that, Oscar's control snapped. He swept you off your feet, carrying you with ease up the stairs and into the bedroom that had been the stage for so many of your passionate encounters.

The room was a blur as he laid you on the bed, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, his hands working to free you from the confines of your dress.

As the fabric slid away, revealing the soft curves of your body, he whispered, "I can't wait to be your husband," the words a fervent promise that seemed to resonate within your very soul.

His eyes devoured every inch of your exposed skin, the hunger in them making you feel like the most desired woman in the world.

You reached up to trace his jawline, feeling the stubble that had grown over the course of the day. Your touch was tender, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of what was happening between you.

"Oscar," you breathed, his name a prayer on your lips.

He hovered over you, his eyes searching yours as if looking for the tiniest semblance of doubt. Finding none, he claimed your mouth again, his kiss a declaration of his love and intentions.

Oscar's hands trailed down your body, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He reached the hem of your dress, his touch gentle yet insistent as he began to peel it off.

The fabric whispered against your skin, the coolness of the room a stark contrast to the heat of his gaze.

As you lay before him, bare and exposed, he leaned in and murmured into your ear, his breath a hot caress that sent shivers down your spine.

"I won't apologize for marking you up," he said, the words a dark promise that sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. "Everyone should know you're going to be married to me."

His teeth grazed the sensitive lobe, eliciting a gasp that was swallowed by the fabric of the pillow beneath your head. . . .

[thatnightlamp]

Nsfw alphabet Ferrus? Please

FERRUS NSFW ALPAHBET

Tags: @incrediblethirst, @iluminatka16, @absynthe-mind

A = Aftercare

Ferrus doesn’t believe in softness, but that doesn’t mean he leaves you bleeding. After sex, he’ll inspect you like a piece of finely forged work, running metal fingers over bruises, checking your breath, wiping you clean in silence. Then, without a word, he’ll carry you to bed, lay you down, and stay until you fall asleep. That’s all the affection he allows himself.

B = Body part

His hands. They’re metal, shine and heavy. He knows they terrify and arouse you in equal measure.

C = Cum

Scalding hot and heavy. He always finishes deep inside, barely able to hold back low, guttural growls as he fills you. If you whimper from the heat or clench around him, he’ll press deeper, grinding into you as if trying to brand you from the inside.

D = Dirty secret

He keeps the first cloth he ever cleaned you with. Hidden in a sealed container beneath his forge tools. It still smells like you. When he's too far gone with want or rage, he takes it out, presses it to his face, and loses himself.

E = Experience

Technically skilled, emotionally inexperienced. Ferrus learns your body like he learns a new alloy, testing, pushing, observing reactions. He might not woo you with words, but his hands (and tongue) are brutally effective. What he doesn’t say, he shows in action.

F = Favorite position

Standing doggy, with you braced on a workbench, your legs shaking while he fucks you hard and deep, his hand around your throat or in your hair. He loves watching your back arch, the angle letting him pound into you with force and control.

G = Goofy

Not at all. He’s serious, intense, and almost overwhelmingly focused. If you try to lighten the mood mid-act, he’ll just stare at you and say, “Focus on what matters.”

H = Hair

Short-cropped, black, and always a little dusted with forge ash. His chest is broad and covered in coarse hair, but his groin is kept trimmed, neat, practical. His skin smells like hot metal, old fire, and the sharpness of steel.

I = Intimacy

Quiet. Heavy. Ferocious. He doesn’t speak love in the traditional way, he holds you until your heartbeat slows. He kisses the back of your hand after he finishes inside you. He rests his metal palm between your legs, cradling your heat like a live ember.

J = Jack off

Rarely. He’s disciplined to a fault. If he does it, it's late at night, when he's worked himself into exhaustion and the ache won’t leave. He does it fast and dirty, knuckles white, your name bitten out between clenched teeth.

K = Kink

Strength play. He loves holding you down, restraining your wrists in his metal grip while he ruts into you.

Temperature play. His hand is cold. He'll spread you open with it, press it to your inner thigh, trace your lips with the chill until you shiver.

Obedience. Tell him “Yes, sir,” and he’ll lose control. Defy him? He’ll break you down until you’re crying with pleasure.

L = Location

The forge. A cot in the corner. A slab of metal. A stone bench. He doesn’t need comfort, he needs access. He also has a hidden chamber sealed by voice-code, meant for long, uninterrupted use.

M = Motivation

He doesn’t understand why he craves you. But when you touch him first, or sigh his name like a prayer, something inside him burns. That fire drives him to take you hard, possessively, like he can’t afford to let go.

N = No

He will not share you. Ever. He doesn’t do public play, doesn’t allow others to touch, watch, or even talk suggestively about you. You are his, and his temper is deadly when provoked.

O = Oral

Giving. He’s focused, a bit rough, but good. Will pin your thighs open and lick until you’re boneless. He wants to feel your muscles twitch.

P = Pace

Brutal and punishing. Deep thrusts, strong enough to make furniture shake. But if you’re emotional or sore, he can slow down, holding you still while he makes love to you with trembling control.

Q = Quickie

If the need is mutual, he’s all for it. He’ll press you against a wall, pull your clothes aside, and take you with a hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. Especially common when you come into the forge “just to say hi.”

R = Risk

Medium. He’s willing to try new things if they make you happy, but nothing reckless. If you suggest something new, he’ll ask questions, think it through, and only proceed if he knows he can do it without hurting you.

S = Stamina

Unbelievable. The man’s a machine. He doesn’t stop until you beg, and even then, he keeps going. He’s not trying to overstimulate you, he just doesn’t see a reason to stop until you break.

T = Toys

All custom-forged. Metal vibrators, cuffs, plugs, designed for you and no one else. He watches how you react to each one and adjusts them over time. If he catches you using them without him? He’ll punish you, sweetly and thoroughly.

U = Unfair

Not naturally a tease, but if you test him, he will edge you into madness. He’ll bring you to the brink over and over, whispering, “You wanted to play, didn’t you?” while his fingers stay just too slow.

V = Volume

Low. A growler, not a moaner. His sounds are deep, guttural, and controlled. But when he cums? He grunts, curses under his breath, and might whisper your name like it’s been torn from his soul.

W = Wild card

He’s kept every ruined pair of panties, bitten collar, or cracked tool you’ve left behind during sex. Stored in a drawer only he opens. He says it’s for “analysis”, but the truth? It reminds him you’re real. That he has you.

X = X-ray

A massive, girthy cock, bronze-hued with thick veins, just a little too warm, heavy with weight. Circumcised, long with a broad blunt head. When aroused, it twitches and leaks like a forge about to burst.

Y = Yearning

Buried. He hides it under anger, under silence, under discipline. But it’s there. Raging. He craves your touch like fire needs fuel, burning for your skin, your voice, your surrender.

Z = Zzz

He falls asleep like a boulder. One arm around you, cock still half-hard inside you, breath heavy and warm. He doesn’t dream often, but when he does, he curls tighter around you. Like he’s afraid of waking up without you.

[starktonyx]

Alone in this shitty world (Bucky Barnes x Reader x John Walker)

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Word count: 2.4k

Description: After Yelena’s sudden outburst, the group scatters around the streets of New York. And, as if this wasn’t already the weirdest day of your life, you find yourself reaching to comfort the last person you ever thought you'd feel sorry for, John Walker. And Bucky is as confused as you are.

Content warnings: Supersoldier!reader, John Walker being a bitch as usual, protective boyfriend Bucky, mental health talk, hurt/comfort.

Note: After watching Walker’s storyline in this movie I felt like I needed to write some hurt/comfort with him. Enjoy!

Masterlist

"So, what kind of super serum you both get?" Alexei's thick accent cuts through the silence.

You were sharing the front cabin of a stolen truck, Bucky behind the wheel, you in the middle, and Alexei by the window. He'd already declared the ride to Valentina's location a 'super soldier party', clearly over the moon about the whole thing.

"I ... uh don't know. Regular? Hydra" Bucky is the first to answer, quickly brushing off what he considered to be an irrelevant topic. Alexei on the other hand, reacted like it was the only thing he'd been wanting to know the whole time.

"Hydra! Ohh, fancy" Alexei grinned wide, Bucky just huffed at his excitement. "I got something mixed, still good, still powerful" he puffed his chest a little. "And you, pretty one, what is your serum ah?"

"Uh ... mine was Shield's. It was developed from Steve's dna" You reply. Alexei's face lights up with more amazement. 

"Ayy Shield! Straight from captain Rogers. She gets the premium brand, ah winter soldier?" He speaks to Bucky like he was breaking news, the latter just nodded absentmindedly.

"A super soldier couple, ha! what are the odds? you two lovely creatures made for each other, strong, beautiful and dangerous. Like spy movie" his laugh booms through the cabin as he pats a heavy hand on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky pretends to ignore him, eyes still on the road, but his smirk was undeniable.

You just gave Alexie an amused smile, then gently squeezed Bucky's hand resting on the wheel. Without hesitation, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on it without taking his eyes off the road. Alexei just watched with a knowing grin.

Bucky kept driving in silence, enjoying the calm before of the storm, because once you found Valentina, and her new shiny creation, at the former avengers tower, all hell broke loose.

God, how you missed being back in that truck.

Now, you were limping away from the tower where Bob– or Sentry now, whatever the hell Valentina was calling him now, had beaten the living shit out of all you. Your thoughts were cut short when you noticed Yelena snapping at everyone.

"What, it's my turn now?" Walker asked defensively, his tone only adding fuel to Yelena's anger.

"Oh no, you already know you're a piece of shit. And your family knows too" Yelena shots back without missing a beat.

"Wow" he muttered, his eyes dropping to the bent shield in his hands. He didn't argue to that, he didn’t know how to.

"Yelena, you're not alone in this–" you started, but she cut you off before you could finish.

"You shut up! We're all alone in this shitty world, you only say that cause you have Bucky" She cries out, her finger pointed at you like a dagger.

You didn't fight back to her, you knew she wasn't lashing out at you, not really. Maybe it was the pressure, maybe it was the just the fear taking over her.

Bucky turned to you, curious about your reaction, but your small smile was enough to say 'I'm okay'. She wasn't wrong, after all.

Then your gaze drifted to John, when you noticed from the corner of your eye his posture had shifted. It wasn't only anger you saw in him, it was something heavier. Something that stuck with you longer than it should've.

Normally you would just ignore Walker, silence had always been your preferred way to keep your sanity intact around him. But this time you couldn't help it, you kept your eyes on him a little bit longer.

And you saw it.

The way mentioning his family made his entire demeanor shift. The same reaction you saw the first time Bucky brought them up. And now Yelena had rubbed it in, like salt in an open wound.

You couldn't believe it, and would probably never admit it out loud, but you felt something for John Walker.

Pity.

The next thing you knew, the group had scattered, everyone going in different directions after Yelena's outburst.

And without really thinking, with Bucky walking by your side, you walked towards the same direction Walker had taken. You didn't exactly know why, but you felt like you needed to say something to him.

"This is a mess, doll" Bucky sighs, eyes scanning around like he would find an answer in the clueless people walking by. "I didn't think I'd come to this, but I think I should call Sam"

"Uh huh. Sure, let's call Sam. He can totally take down Sentry" Your tone was half sarcastic half distracted, as your gaze darted around trying to find John, who had walked fast enough to get lost in the busy streets of New York.

"I think he might know something– wait, are you okay, doll? What are you looking for?" Bucky stopped walking, but you didn't, giving him no choice but to catch up.

"Huh?" You ask, barely registering the question.

And then you spotted it, a flash of black and red cutting through the crowd, stomping rather than walking.

"There he is!" Your voice lit up, picking up your pace to reach your target. "Walker!" You shouted his name, loud and clear. No way he didn't hear you, not with his enhanced hearing. The way he sped up to get further from you confirmed it.

"Okay now, Walker?" Bucky asks, completely baffled. As far as he knew none of you could stand the guy.

"Listen honey" You say softly, weaving between pedestrians "I love you, but it wasn't cool to bring up in front of everyone that his wife took his baby and left him. They're just gonna keep throwing it in his face now"

Bucky shifted slightly, but still defensive. "Yeah well, he doesn't exactly make it easy not to"

"I know" you admitted. "But weirdly enough we're all stuck in this shit show together. We might as well try to work with him" You pause for a second, knowing you could catch up to Walker anytime now. "Just give me a second with him Buck, please babe?" You bat your eyelashes at him.

He gave you a long look, raising an eyebrow, clearly ready to protest. But he knew what you were doing. And you knew he knew.

"Alright" he grunts, rolling his eyes. "I'll be right behind you. With my favorite knife. In case you need me to stab him for you, doll" He flashed you an ironic smile, and you nodded back amused.

You turned back around and quickened your pace, finally catching up to Walker. Bucky kept his promise, a hand resting on his knife holder as he trailed behind you at what he considered a safe distance.

"Walker!" You called again, now standing just behind him.

"For fuck's sake, give me a break!" He came to an abrupt halt, turning around to face you, but still keeping his distance. "What, Y/N?” His harsh tone pulled you straight out of your rush.

"Wow, okay. I didn't really think this through" you admitted, realizing you hadn't actually planned what to say.

"You know what? I'm done. I'm done with everyone making fun of me. I get it, okay? I suck. What's new?" He threw his hands in the air dramatically, bitterly trash-talking himself.

"About what Yelena said—"

"Oh, I heard her just fine. And she's right, isn't she? You're all right. I'm a fucking asshole. That's why my family left, why everyone hates me" He continues letting the anger speak for himself.

But now that you stared at him for a little longer, instead of seeing the prick he portrayed in front of everyone, you could see underneath all that rage, there was something much softer.

Hurt.

So you didn't get defensive, instead, you speak softly to him.

"That's not true, John"

He froze. Taken aback by the fact that you've never called him by his first name before.

"Really? Be fucking honest with me" His voice cracked just slightly. "Cause everyone's made it pretty damn clear"

"We don't hate you" you said carefully. "You're just... hard to be around sometimes" You explain, his brows lifted at your honesty. "Look, I'm not trying anything here. I just want to talk, okay?. That's all"

He looks around, hesitant at first, but decides to drops his guard. He rolls his eyes before taking a step closer to you, never admitting he was curious about what you had to say. You pretend to not notice the sheen in his eyes once he's close to you.

He looks behind you, catching a sight of Bucky in the distance, arms on his hips, watching your interaction like a hawk.

"Don't worry about him, he's keeping watch" you brush it off, slightly amused.

And after a deep breath, you start. 

"So, you know how the serum works, right? It …enhances everything"

He gave a faint nod, prompting you to continue.

"It can make the good parts of you better, but it can also make the worst parts unbearable" you continue, letting memories you had buried down a long time ago, come to the surface. " When I first lost Bucky and Steve, back in the 40's, I was completely consumed by grief, by this ...” You pause for a second, searching for the right word. “Emptiness” you continued.

“They were all I had back then, and suddenly all my days just went by, all alone. Until one day Peggy Carter contacted me, offering me a spot on a super serum program. She said it was developed from the last blood sample taken of Steve” That seemed to finally peak his interest.

“It was quite experimental but I didn't mind, I had nothing left to lose. So I said yes, because I felt like that was my way to honor them, but deep down, I just wanted to be strong enough to destroy Hydra myself." You let out a bitter breath.

"As you can imagine, I was in no condition to take the serum. But once I did? that emptiness only grew louder. I lost control. I let all my pain out on the battlefield, told myself it was for the greater good. But really, I just wanted to hurt the world as much as it had hurt me" You confess to him, not being able to make eye contact. He didn't mind, he just listened attentively, finding he related to you in more ways than he could have ever imagined. "It went on like that for a long time, and I thought I would never stop feeling that anger. And then one day, the loss felt lighter, the emptiness began to fade away. That's when I finally stared seeing things clearer" You finally lift your gaze to meet his eyes through your glassy ones.

"That anger you feel inside you? It's real, it's the serum turning the volume up on your worst pain, but it's not everything you will ever be" You explain, and now it's his turn to drop his gaze to the floor. "I know what it feels like to drown in that, I know how hard it is to climb out of it, but trust me, it will fade eventually. I got Bucky back. I got my miracle. Maybe you'll get yours one day"

He bitterly chuckles.

"It doesn't feel that way. I'm just ... too messed up" He mumbles, and you shake your head.

"Look around, Walker. Every one of us is messed up too" you chuckle ironically, gesturing vaguely behind you. "We're all running on red numbers here. The only difference is, our worst mistakes weren't, you know... broadcasted to the whole world" You carefully admit, remembering his public incident back in Latvia.

You paused, then added softly. "I'm sorry yours were"

He didn't say anything right away, just blinked a few times, processing everything you told him.

"Thank you" It came out quiet, but it was honest.

It was is the kindest someone had treated him since the day his wife left.

"You know, it's never too late to start over with us" You admit, referring to the new dysfunctional group you had accidentally became a part of. “So, are you? with us?" You question.

He lingers for a second, before he gives you a small nod. He didn't have to say much, you could see how much your words meant to him by the way he looked at you. It was different than before.

You patted his shoulder gently and nod happily, before turning to head back to Bucky.

Walker notices Bucky's face shift into a smile the second he saw you coming. And just before you were too far away, you hear his voice once again.

"You know... I can see why he's so protective of you. He's lucky to share this shitty world with you" He grants, hinting back at what Yelena said earlier.  A smile tugs at your lips.

Before you could turn around to respond, a sudden explosion cracked through the air, followed by pedestrian’s screams. Chaos erupted in the streets as people began running in every direction.

You barely had time to process it before you caught the sound of something heavy crashing down, a huge chunk of concrete, straight above you.

In less than a second, two super soldiers blocked the blow, Walker with his dented shield raised above you and Bucky with his vibranium arm braced against the falling debris that shattered around them.

Even though you were as much of a super soldier as he was, Bucky still protected you like you were made of glass.

"Are you okay, doll?" he asked immediately. His hands swiftly dusting away little rests of concrete off your suit, eyes scanning your body for any injuries.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Walker doing the same, he was more subtle, but still watching you closely, making sure you weren't hurt.

"Yes. Thank you. Both of you." You nodded quickly, still catching your breath.

Bucky gave a short nod in Walker's direction, a silent acknowledgment.

Then your eyes lifted, and your heart dropped.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, horrified at the sight. The people who had been running were now vanishing. One by one, melted into silhouettes.

You looked back to Walker, desperation setting in.

"You're with us, right?" You ask one more time.

This time, his nod came without hesitation.

"Great" you said, turning now towards Bucky. He nodded firmly, ready to jump into action. "Let's go"

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comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[botanicsoul]

Cigarettes during sex

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader (smut)

MDNI (18+)

description: Okay, so every time I hear Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex, all I can think about is this one fic (that I totally can’t remember the author of, but it’s one of my faves) where Bakugou and the reader share their first kiss, and the song is playing in the background. It was too perfect. So I took the band’s name, put a twist on it and ran like hell with it to create this little piece of chaos. Enjoy the ride folks!!!

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧. 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The house was quiet. It always was at this hour.

You’d grown used to it—the empty bed, the distant hum of the city beyond your window, the way the sheets always felt colder on his side. It wasn’t that you didn’t love your life with him. You did. But loving a pro-hero meant nights like these—curling up alone while he was out fighting villains, keeping the world safe at the cost of his own peace.

Your nightly routine had become muscle memory. Face washed, skin moisturized, teeth brushed. The only sound in the house was the gentle padding of your feet against the hardwood floor as you moved from the bathroom to the bedroom.

You pulled back the covers and slipped into bed, letting the familiar warmth wrap around you. The scent of clean linen and faint traces of his cologne still clung to the pillows, though it had faded over time.

With a quiet sigh, you turned on your side and let your eyes flutter shut.

And then—

The front door opened.

It wasn’t loud, but it was distinct. The telltale click of the lock, the heavy creak of the hinges, and then the sound of boots and his gauntlets hitting the ground.

Of course, you didn’t need to see him to know it was him. His presence was unmistakable, a force that filled the space like a storm rolling in. His steps were slow but firm, the heavy soles of his boots hitting the floor with just a little more weight than usual.

Then came the scent—smoke, sweat, and burnt caramel. It filled the room, wrapping around you, sinking into the fabric of the sheets like a brand. He always smelled like this after a rough night.

The bed dipped.

You were half-asleep, shifted a little to face his sitting figure on the bed, but then his voice cut through the silence.

“Go back to sleep.”

It was rough—sharp around the edges, like he didn’t want to be touched, like he was still caught in the whirlwind of whatever hell his night had put him through.

But you weren’t going to do that.

Instead, you pushed yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your voice soft. “Rough night?”

Silence fell for a moment.

“Somethin’ like that.”

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, still in his hero suit, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His head hung low, hair damp from sweat, streaked with soot. He smelled like smoke—but not the kind that came from a battlefield.

You frowned slightly. “Baby…”

He exhaled through his nose, the muscles in his jaw tightening. His fingers twitched slightly, like he was holding something back.

Then, with a sigh, he reached for the nightstand.

You watched as he pulled out a cigarette, sliding it between his lips with one hand while the other flicked open, a small spark from his palm igniting the tip. The ember glowed softly in the dark, casting shadows across his sharp features as he inhaled deeply.

Your stomach twisted. “Katsuki—”

“I know,” he cut you off, already irritated, already defensive. “Spare me the fuckin’ lecture.”

He was such a hypocrite.

Katsuki Bakugou, pro hero Dynamight, the same man who spent years sneering at people who smoked, scoffing at the idea of putting anything in his lungs that could weaken him.

And the worst part? It wasn’t even fresh. The pack was half-crushed, barely touched. You knew damn well he’d been smoking off the same pack for a month. That’s how little he did this, but he still did it.

Smoke curled from his lips as he exhaled, filling the space between you, thick and hazy. His jaw clenched, his fingers rolling the cig between them before taking another drag, letting it burn slow in his lungs before blowing it out in a long breath.

But then he got up and turned to face you, his fingers went to his belt.

Your breath hitched as he unbuckled it, the soft clink of metal ringing in the silence. Your eyes lingered—trailing down, following the way his hands moved, the way his fingers worked open the button, slid down the zipper. The way you could see his half-hard dick through his grey boxers and, fuck, that happy trail.

Heat crept up your neck, pooling in your stomach as your thighs pressed together instinctively.

Katsuki exhaled smoke through his nose before side-eyeing you, catching the way your gaze lingered.

The sight of him like this—half-dressed, hair a mess, cigarette hanging from his lips—was unfair. It shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.

“What’cha lookin’ at, doll?” he murmured, the cigarette still between his lips.

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away.

He smirked, tugging his pants down just enough to sit low on his hips before palming himself through his underwear, giving himself a slow squeeze. His other hand pulled the cig from his lips as he exhaled, voice dropping into something deep, rasped, something that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“Give me a break,” he muttered, eyes dark as they met yours. “Ride it for me.”

You swallowed, lips parting slightly, unsure. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to, but—

He tilted his head, exhaling another slow breath, his tone turning almost teasing.

“Don’t make me beg, baby.”

You hesitated for a moment, uncertainty gripping you, but the heat between your thighs was undeniable. The way he looked at you—hungry, almost desperate—pushed you over the edge. It was always like this with him, when the lines between frustration and desire blurred.

Katsuki wasn’t someone who begged, and he sure as hell didn’t expect anything from you that he didn’t want. The rawness of his voice, the way his gaze burned through you, left you with no choice but to comply.

But you wanted him to want you—just as much as you wanted him, right here, right now.

“Fuck, Katsuki,” you breathed out, barely able to keep your voice steady. “You’re making this hard…”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that made your pulse spike. He leaned back on the bed, cigarette dangling from his lips as his hands slid down his boxers. His fingers grasped his length, giving it a slow, teasing stroke, before his gaze shifted back to you—heavy, predatory.

You quickly pulled down your underwear, eager for his dick like you hadn’t just been fucked into the headboard last week by him. But last week felt like months ago.

Katsuki’s breath was hot on your skin, the intensity of his gaze never wavering as he watched you. The burn of desire in his eyes made you feel like you were being consumed whole, and you could feel the heat of his body beneath yours as you got on top of him and began to ride him with steady, purposeful movements.

His hand gripped your hips, guiding you as you moved, but he wasn’t just focused on you. His other hand, the one that wasn’t busy holding you in place, reached over to the nightstand. You watched him carefully, his fingers brushing against the box of cigarettes, pulling one free with a practiced motion.

Before you even had time to process, he was lighting another cigarette, the ember glowing bright as he took a deep drag. The smoke swirled around him, thick and heavy, wrapping itself around you both.

His eyes never left yours as he exhaled a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke, the hazy mist floating between you like a veil of temptation. You felt the burn of his gaze as much as you felt the heat of his body. His lips curled into a smirk, watching you move above him, and you couldn’t help the rush of heat that flooded your cheeks.

“You look good like this, doll,” he murmured between drags, his voice rasping. “But don’t get shy on me now.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, from the way he looked as he exhaled the smoke, the faint glow of the cigarette illuminating his sharp features in the dim light. The sound of his deep breaths, the way his chest rose and fell with every inhale, was like a rhythm that matched the pace of your body moving on top of his.

Your hands braced against his chest as you increased the pressure, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate motions. The friction sent a rush of pleasure through you, and you bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds building in your chest. Katsuki didn’t let up, though. His eyes followed every movement, his hands gripping you tighter as he took another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before blowing it out slowly, letting the cloud surround you both.

You leaned forward, your body trembling with the effort to keep moving, but the sight of him, so relaxed with that damn cigarette between his fingers, was enough to make your mind whirl. You felt the coil of heat tighten deep within you, threatening to snap.

“Fuck, Suki,” you gasped, your voice strained with the effort of riding him, the overwhelming sensation of him inside you mixing with the pull of his cigarette smoke. The blend of pleasure and the slow burn of nicotine clouded your senses.

He exhaled another cloud of smoke, his smirk widening. You could feel his cock twitch inside you, the way he was close but holding back, like he was savoring every moment of this. His hand moved from your waist, sliding up your body, cupping your breast in his hand, fingers squeezing roughly. His thumb brushed against your nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“I don’t need you to make it pretty,” he continued, voice dark and full of command. “Just fuckin’ ride my cock. You hear me?”

The edge in his tone made your heart race, and you pushed yourself to go harder, faster. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the air, your breathing frantic as you chased that release. The whole room smelled of him—his cologne, the lingering smoke, and the undeniable scent of sex that filled the space with every movement.

His lips parted, another slow drag from the cigarette as he let the smoke roll from his mouth, watching you with eyes that were borderline feral now. “You look so good like this,” he grunted, his grip on your hips tightening as he met you thrust for thrust. “Gonna make me fuckin’ lose it, baby…”

That was all you needed. The words, the sight of him with his cigarette hanging loosely between his lips, his eyes dark with hunger—it sent you tumbling over the edge. Your body tensed, your hands digging into his chest as you came undone, the pleasure rippling through you in waves.

Katsuki followed shortly after, his hands tightening on your hips as he gave one last powerful thrust up into your hips, his release hitting deep inside you as he groaned, his lips curling around the cigarette in his mouth as he took one final drag, blowing it out with a shudder.

You collapsed forward onto his chest, exhausted and sated, but he wasn’t done yet. He sat up a little, still holding you, still partially inside you. He took another drag from the cigarette, his breath shallow as he exhaled the smoke, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he said, his voice low and thick. “I didn’t mean to wake you in the first place.”

You chuckled softly, half-exhausted and still caught in the haze of the moment. “You promise you’re fine?”

He just smirked, tossing the half-finished cigarette onto the floor.

“Just some stupid fuckin’ villain got away, had me all fucked up, but you made me feel better.”

You watched him toss the cigarette on the floor, too tired to give him shit for it.

“I’m glad, but please no more cigarettes, alright?”

He rolled his eyes before closing them and pulling you in closer than you were.

“We’ll see about that.”

[pandapetals]

Sunlight & Sawdust

Chapter Eight: Carnations & Chisels previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop for free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

Content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. soooo sorry for the long wait but originally I had only 11 chapters planned and already wrote some of them. then decided to change things and make joel grovel/like show his feelings more.

Joel deserved this.

Hell, he deserved worse. If you had screamed at him, thrown something, cursed his name until your voice broke—maybe then, the guilt wouldn’t be sitting so heavy in his chest. But you hadn’t. You just looked at him, eyes filled with something quiet and aching, before calmly asking him to leave.

That hurt the most, how you could care so much and so little at the same time.

He left like you wanted, but that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about you. In fact, he couldn’t stop. It gnawed at him, kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and prevented him from eating anything more than a few bites before his stomach twisted. The memory of your face, the way your voice stayed so steady even while your eyes gave you away—it haunted him.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew why he had pushed you away. It was the same reason he always did.

Loving someone meant losing them.

Maybe not right away, but eventually. One way or another, life had a way of taking. Joel had learned that lesson the hard way, learned it the day he held Sarah’s lifeless body in his arms, her blood soaking into his hands, his shirt, his skin—like if he just held on tight enough, maybe he could keep her here. Perhaps she wouldn’t slip through his fingers like everything else.

But she did, and he had never really let go of her.

Sarah had been his whole damn world. The center of everything. Sure, he had Tommy. And yeah, he loved his brother—would take a bullet for him without hesitation. But Sarah? She was different. She was his little girl, his reason for waking up every morning, the best thing he’d ever done.

Until he blinked, and she wasn’t so little anymore.

Time had slipped through his fingers too fast, moving in ways he couldn’t control. One minute, he was teaching her how to ride a bike, his hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to catch her. The next, she was sixteen, holding her brand-new driver's license with that big, proud grin, which made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

He could still hear her voice sometimes. Dad, can I drive? C’mon, you gotta let me practice. She was terrible at first, stopping too hard at red lights, overcorrecting on turns. But she got better. He always knew she would.

Now she’d never drive again.

It hit him like a punch to the gut every time he thought about the things she never got to do. The things she’d been looking forward to. The things he’d been looking forward to.

He wondered what kind of woman she would’ve become. Would she have gone off to college like she’d always talked about? Would she have stayed close to home, still calling him every day just to check in?

Would she have liked you?

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his hands against his tired eyes.

Sarah would’ve liked you. Hell, she probably would’ve loved you. She would’ve teased him about how soft he’d gotten, about how much he smiled when you were around.

Maybe that’s why this all hurt so much.

Because as much as he fought it, as much as he tried to keep people at arm’s length, he had started to imagine a future again. A life that wasn’t just about surviving but living. And now, thanks to his own damn stubbornness, he was watching it slip away.

Just like he had with Sarah.

The grief sat heavy in his chest, familiar and suffocating. It never really left him. He just got better at carrying it. But right now, it was pressing down on him with full force, reminding him of everything he’d lost—and everything he was about to lose again if he didn’t do something about it.

That loss had settled into his bones, making a home inside him, whispering in the back of his mind whenever something good came into his life. It told him to keep people at a distance. It told him that caring too much, letting himself get comfortable, was just asking for it to be ripped away.

But then you came along with Ellie. Suddenly, he had something to lose again.

That scared the hell out of him.

So he did what he always did: He pushed, built up walls, and chose the comfort of old habits over the terrifying unknown of letting himself be happy.

Now he was alone.

Joel had spent years surviving, convincing himself that was enough. But now he wasn’t so sure. Because as much as he wanted to believe that losing you would be easier than loving you, his empty bed, his sleepless nights, and the hollowness in his chest told him otherwise.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Tommy’s voice carried through the dimly lit room as he leaned back against Joel’s worn-out couch, a beer resting lazily in his grip. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was full of exasperation, like he’d finally been waiting for the right moment to say what needed to be told.

Joel didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back with some sarcastic remark like he usually would. He just sat there, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held all the answers he’d been too damn scared to find.

Tommy took a sip of his beer, watching him. When Joel still said nothing, he exhaled and shook his head. “No witty remark? Nothin’?”

Joel just gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders slumped, his whole damn body looking tired.

And that’s when Tommy sat up a little straighter, his teasing edge fading.

“Shit, man.” He ran a hand over his beard, eyes narrowing as he studied his older brother. “I knew you liked her, but this is worse than I realized.”

Joel let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t about what I feel.”

Tommy scoffed. “Like hell it ain’t. You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here? You think I don’t know you, Joel? You’re pushin’ her away ‘cause you’re scared.”

Joel’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it.

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Man, I know you. I know how you get. You think if you keep people at arm’s length, it’ll hurt less when they leave. But you’re wrong. It just means you end up alone.”

Joel exhaled slowly, gripping his beer tighter. He hated that Tommy was right.

“I lost Sarah.” His voice was quieter now, rough, like the words were scraping his throat on their way out. “And I—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t want to finish the thought.

Tommy sighed, setting his beer down on the coffee table with a small thud. “I know you did, Joel.” His voice softened. “And I know that kinda loss—it doesn’t ever go away. But she’s not Sarah. Neither is Ellie. They ain’t replacin’ her.”

Joel swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

Tommy sighed again, but he wasn’t as frustrated this time. “Listen, man… You think you’re protectin’ yourself. Maybe even protectin’ them. But all you’re doin’ is makin’ everyone miserable—including yourself.” He shook his head. “She likes you, Joel. And if you don’t do somethin’ about it, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep, trying to keep himself together.

Tommy leaned back again, taking another sip of his beer before muttering under his breath, “Dumbass.”

Joel let out a small, bitter chuckle. “Yeah.”

Tommy glanced at him. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel didn’t have an answer. Hell, he wasn’t sure there was an answer.

It had been two days since you asked him to leave your shop—two days of silence, of walking around with a weight in his chest that wouldn’t let up. He’d thought giving you space was the right thing to do, but all it had done was leave him stewing in his own regrets.

What was there to do?

Showing up unannounced felt wrong. He didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready to talk to him. Didn’t want to make you feel like he was forcing himself back into your life when you’d been so damn clear about needing him out of it.

But at the same time…

The thought of doing nothing was unbearable.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I dunno, Tommy.” His voice came out rough, tired. “She doesn’t wanna see me. Ain’t like I can just waltz in and—” He gestured vaguely. “Fix it.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Joel, I know this is hard for you, but you gotta quit makin’ excuses.”

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy wasn’t wrong.

“I ain’t makin’ excuses.” He clenched his jaw, looking away. “Just don’t wanna make it worse.”

Tommy scoffed. “Worse than sittin’ around feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Because, yeah. Maybe Tommy had a point.

Maybe he hadn’t gone to you yet because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face you. Wasn’t sure he could handle whatever look you’d give him—whether it was anger, disappointment, or worse… indifference.

He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

“Look, man.” Tommy’s voice softened. “I ain’t sayin’ you gotta show up at her door with a grand speech or some shit. But you love her, don’t you?”

Joel’s grip on his beer tightened. The word made his chest ache. Love.

Like it was something he could have again. Something he deserved.

Tommy saw the hesitation in his brother’s eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “You ain’t gotta say it. I already know. But if you sit around waitin’ for the perfect moment, you’re gonna miss your chance.”

Joel stayed quiet, his thoughts a tangled mess.

Tommy sighed again, standing up and clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Think about it, man.”

Three days.

Three days since you told Joel to leave.

You had needed to do it. It was the right thing.

So why did it feel so goddamn awful?

The first day, you told yourself you were fine. You pushed through work, kept your head down, and ignored how your chest ached every time the door opened, but it wasn’t him. By the second day, Ellie had noticed something was wrong. She asked why Joel hadn’t stopped by, why you kept staring at your phone like you were expecting a message you’d never actually get. You made up an excuse about him being busy with work, but she wasn’t stupid.

By day three, the ache had settled in, deep and constant, and you hated it. Hated that despite everything, part of you missed him.

Because you shouldn’t.

Joel had spent years making it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. He glowered at you from across the room, spoke in clipped, dismissive sentences, and acted like your kindness was something he had to tolerate. You didn’t owe him anything.

Yet…

You curled your fingers around the counter, gripping it like it could anchor you and prevent you from sinking into this mess of feelings you didn’t want to deal with.

The truth was, you’d always liked Joel even when he was gruff, even when every conversation felt like pulling teeth. Even when you told yourself you didn’t.

There was something about him. Something steady. He had that quiet kind of strength that made people trust him without realizing they were doing it.

Joel was a good man. A good man. Even if he’d never shown you that side of himself.

Until he did.

Suddenly, he was fixing your floor without hesitation—without complaints, without a smug told-you-so attitude—until he kept finding more things to fix, as if he wanted a reason to stick around. Until he sat with Ellie, humoring her endless questions and listening as if what she said actually mattered.

And God—Ellie.

Your daughter had never warmed up to anyone so fast.

She wasn’t shy, but she was cautious. She tested people first, observed, and waited before she trusted them. But with Joel?

It was like she knew.

Like she’d been waiting for him just as long as you had.

A lump rose in your throat, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

No.

You shut the thought down because this thing with Joel—whatever it was, whatever it could’ve been—was complicated. Messy.

Yet, standing there in the quiet, with the hum of the shop settling around you, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache curling deep in your chest.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe Joel hadn’t just been fixing things to make himself feel better. Perhaps he’d been trying—really trying—to make it up to you. To make room for you.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the counter's edge like it could steady the spiral of thoughts spinning in your head.

Because the truth was, if you let yourself believe that… if you allowed yourself hope…and you were wrong? It would break something in you that might not be fixable.

But hadn’t Joel already cracked something open inside you?

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that you didn’t like him—that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter but then he started showing up. Not just in small ways, but significant ways.

Maybe, deep down, he’d always cared. Perhaps he just didn’t know how to show it.

You rubbed at your temple, frustration bubbling up because nothing was simple. Joel had spent years keeping you at a distance. Years convincing you that getting close to him wasn’t an option. That he didn’t want it.

So what changed?

What if this wasn’t real? What if he thought he wanted this, but deep down, it was just guilt or obligation?

God, you didn’t know what was worse—the possibility that you had let yourself get pulled into something doomed from the start, or the thought that maybe…Joel had finally figured out he wanted you too.

You hadn’t planned on running into Tommy.

When you walked into the diner to grab lunch, you knew there was a chance. Knew this was his usual spot. Knew there was a slim possibility Joel could be here too.

But you pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. You weren’t here for them.

Yet, Tommy was sitting in his usual booth with a plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon in front of him.

You tried to be subtle, to slip past before he noticed, but it was too late.

He was already sliding out of the booth, heading straight for you.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Don’t." You put up a hand before he could even open his mouth. "I don’t care what Joel told you—"

"I ain’t gonna defend him." Tommy’s voice was even, firm.

That made you blink. You had expected him to try to smooth things over, offer some kind of excuse, and “That’s just how he is” nonsense.

Instead, he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Trust me, I ain’t here to say he handled things right. He’s an idiot. Always has been."

That… surprised you. Your arms slowly lowered as you hesitated, watching him warily.

Tommy exhaled, glancing toward the window before looking back at you. "Look… Joel’s an odd one. Always has been. He’s never been good at bein’ open with how he feels, even before—"

He stopped himself, jaw tightening. You knew what he was going to say.

Even before Sarah.

Your stomach twisted.

Tommy cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "But I know him. And I know he wouldn’t have offered to fix your shop’s floor if he didn’t want to."

That made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for because, deep down, you knew that.

Joel wasn’t the type to do anything he didn’t want to. He sure as hell wouldn’t have spent all that time fixing your shop, eating lunch with you, answering Ellie’s endless questions if he hadn’t wanted to.

But then why had he said what he said?

Why had he made it sound like your kindness was the problem?

"He didn’t just shut me out, Tommy." Your voice was quiet, but the hurt bled through. "He made me feel like I was too much. Like being nice to him was some kind of…burden."

Tommy sighed again, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I know." He hesitated before continuing, his voice lower now. "Joel’s scared of shit he can’t control. And you… you make him feel things he doesn’t know what to do with."

You swallowed hard.

"That ain’t an excuse," Tommy added quickly, shaking his head. "He messed up. But I also know my brother. And if you think he ain’t been beatin’ himself up over it the last three days, you’re dead wrong."

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel bad for Joel after what he’d said.

You inhaled deeply, staring at the floor before glancing back at Tommy. "What do you think I should do?"

Tommy just raised a brow. "Ain’t my decision to make, darlin’."

You chewed on your lip, torn, emotions warring inside you.

You could walk away. Let this go. Pretend none of it mattered.

Or—

You could find out if Joel still had anything left to say.

You barely recognized yourself. You had actually done it. Asked Tommy to send Joel to the shop—had lied to get him here.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms clammy as you gripped the counter, trying and failing to steady your breath.

Your phone buzzed—a message from Tommy.

He’s on his way. Thinks the back door fell off the hinges. Don’t be too hard on him.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t just a lie.

It was a trap.

The bell above the shop door chimed, and your stomach twisted.

Joel stepped inside, brow furrowed, toolbox in hand. His flannel was slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and dust lingering on his jeans like he’d been in the middle of another job. His sharp eyes swept the shop before landing on you.

"Where is it?" he asked gruffly, nodding toward the back, already moving like he didn’t want to waste time.

Your fingers curled into the edge of the counter. "Joel." Something in your voice made him pause.

His shoulders stiffened, his back straightening as he turned to face you fully. "There’s nothing wrong with the door, is there?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "No."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the toolbox down with a thud. His jaw tightened like he was already bracing for whatever was coming.

"So why am I here?" His voice was low, guarded.

"Because I needed to talk to you."

Joel was still. Unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed. "Look—if this is about the other day—"

"Of course, it’s about the other day, Joel." You stepped around the counter, arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me."

The words hung heavy in the air between you.

Joel flinched barely, but you caught it.

"I know," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I was an ass. Always have been."

"I don’t need an apology, Joel. I need to understand." You swallowed, your voice softer now. "You said you didn’t like that I was kind. That it bothered you." You exhaled slowly. "Why?"

Joel dragged a hand through his hair, looking away, tension bracketing his shoulders.

You waited. You wouldn’t push him, but you wouldn’t let him run either.

After a long moment, Joel sighed. "‘Cause it made me feel somethin’ I didn’t want to feel."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Joel's fingers flexed at his sides like he was wrestling with the words before he forced them out.

"I spent years keepin’ people at arm’s length. Safer that way. Easier. And then you came along—" He huffed humorlessly, shaking his head. "All sunshine and patience and...just wouldn’t quit, no matter how much of a bastard I was to you."

Your throat felt tight. "And you hated that?"

"No." His voice cracked, and that did something to you.

His eyes met yours, and Joel Miller looked wrecked for the first time since you’d met him. "I was scared of it." 

The confession sat heavy between you, raw and real.

You took a slow step closer, voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

Joel hesitated. “Sarah.”

Your heart clenched. You’d known. Tommy had told you. But Joel had never said her name before.

His voice was rough, like it scraped against something inside him. "She was sixteen. Had just gotten her license. Was drivin’ with a friend. Some asshole ran a red light." His throat bobbed, jaw clenched. "She didn’t make it."

A breath shuddered through you.

"Joel."

He shook his head like he didn’t want sympathy. Like he couldn’t take it.

"After that, I told myself I wasn’t gonna feel that kinda loss again. So I kept my distance. Didn’t let people get too close." His voice went even lower. "Then you show up. And Ellie—" He stopped short, shaking his head. "And suddenly, I got this ache in my chest I don’t know what to do with."

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached for his hand.

Joel tensed at first—like the touch was foreign, like he wasn’t used to being comforted—but he didn’t pull away.

"Let me be here for you." Your voice was soft and steady. "As a friend. As someone to lean on."

Joel's gaze flickered downward, settling where your hand rested against his.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a quiet sigh, his fingers curled around yours—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold onto anything good. But he didn’t let go.

His hand was warm and rough, with calluses, but you squeezed it anyway, offering something solid and real.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t deserve comfort."

Your chest ached at how he said it—like it was fact, like it was something he’d told himself so many times it had become a part of him.

"That’s not true."

"It is." His voice was quiet but firm. "I failed her."

"Joel." You squeezed his hand tighter, forcing him to look at you. "It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do could have changed what happened."

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering with something raw—something close to breaking.

"I was supposed to protect her." His voice was hoarse like the words were physically painful to say. "I was her damn father."

You swallowed hard, stepping closer, letting your free hand rest lightly against his forearm.

"And you loved her," you murmured. "With everything you had. And I know she knew that."

Joel let out a slow, shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening like he was grounding himself.

You watched him carefully, giving him a moment, letting him process.

Then, barely above a whisper. "You remind me of her." Joel’s eyes stayed on yours, searching like he wasn’t sure he should’ve said that out loud.

"Not that you’re the same," he added quickly, shaking his head. "But the way you…care. How warm you are. How you make people feel safe just by bein’ around." He exhaled, running a hand over his beard. "It scared the hell outta me."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back.

"I never wanted to scare you, Joel."

"I know." He sighed, glancing down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed absently against your skin, and you weren’t sure he even realized he was doing it.

You gave him a small, sad smile. "I see you. And I know what it’s like to carry something heavy alone."

Joel’s throat bobbed, his grip on you steady—solid in a way that felt grounding, like he wasn’t just holding your hand but holding you there, keeping you from slipping away.

For so long, he had only seen one version of you. The warm, unwavering light, the person who always had a kind word, a soft smile, a gentle touch.

But there was more to you.

You inhaled slowly, gaze dropping for a second before you looked back at him, something fragile in your expression. "I may seem like I have it all together, but..." Your voice wavered, fingers tightening slightly around his. "I’m not always sunshine and rainbows, Joel."

His brows furrowed, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I have moments where I feel like I’m failing Ellie. Like I’m not enough."

Joel stilled. That was a side of you he had never seen before.

Not once had he heard you doubt yourself. Not once had he seen that uncertainty in your eyes. You were always sure, always certain about everything, about everyone.

He had spent years pushing you away, thinking you were too good, too bright, too much of something he couldn’t handle.

But you weren’t invincible, and that realization wrecked him.

"I don’t always know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I try my best, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If I’m enough."

Joel shook his head immediately, as if the idea alone was wrong. "You are."

You exhaled, blinking quickly. "You don’t know that."

"I do." His voice was firm, with no hesitation. "You love that girl more than anythin’. And she knows it. That’s enough."

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, looking away for a second. "You sound so sure."

"‘Cause I am."

The silence stretched thick with something unspoken and tender.

"She was like you. Strong. Always put everyone else first." His lips pressed into a thin line. "I used to tell her she worried too much about other people. She’d just smile and say, ‘Somebody has to, Dad.’"

Something inside you broke at that. 

You blinked, caught off guard. "Sarah?"

Joel nodded, exhaling slowly. "She would’ve liked you," Joel added, his voice quieter now.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you pushed through them, stepping a little closer. "I would’ve liked her too."

Joel swallowed hard, his hand still wrapped around yours. 

"Guess this makes us friends?" Your voice was light and teasing—an attempt to break the tension and bring back some of that familiar warmth between you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No."

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected some grand declaration, but that? That hurt more than it should have. 

You started to pull back, put some space between you, and guard yourself the way he always had, but then Joel’s grip on your hand tightened.

"You’re more than that."

Your breath caught in your throat.

He didn’t look at you at first, just ran a rough thumb over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, like he was still getting used to the feeling of holding on.

"I don’t do this. Don’t talk about things. Don’t let people get close." His voice was low, as if he was admitting something he didn’t quite have the words for. "But you…"

His gaze lifted, finally meeting yours.

"You got under my skin. Drove me crazy, always bein’ so damn warm. Always smilin’, always makin’ sure everyone else was all alright." He huffed, shaking his head. "I told myself I hated it. Hated you."

His thumb kept moving over your skin, slow and steady, as it grounded him.

"But I never hated you."

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and warm all at once.

You swallowed hard, searching his face, trying to piece together what this was, what he was saying. "What does this mean?"

Joel exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around yours like he was afraid to let go. "It means… I wanna try. If you’ll have me."

Your breath hitched.

"I mean—" He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting slightly. "If you feel the same. I don’t wanna push you or—"

"Joel." You smiled—soft, reassuring.

His eyes flicked to yours, cautious, uncertain.

"I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t feel the same."

Something shifted in him, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening, his jaw unclenching.

His gaze dropped briefly, like he needed a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Then let me take you out." His voice was quiet but steady, rough around the edges in that Joel way, but full of something real. "A real date. Nothin’ fancy, just… me and you. See where this goes."

Your chest ached in the best way.

"You’re really askin’ me on a date, Miller?" you teased lightly, but there was a tremor of genuine emotion beneath your words.

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Damn right, I am."

Your fingers curled around his, a warmth spreading through you.

"Okay."

Joel blinked, like maybe he hadn’t let himself believe you’d actually say yes.

Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth tugged upward—not quite a full smile, but enough to make your heart stutter.

"Okay." He echoed, his voice quieter now, as if he was letting himself have this moment.

Like he was letting himself have you.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock, @forpunishers, @yallgotkik, @cuteanimalmama, @worhols

[thoughtsforsoob]

how ateez shows their gf princess treatment <3

note: I hope this work finds you well! I really want to make this look good so please let me know if anything should be edited. Thank you and please enjoy. 

hongjoong

you're his PRINCESS! he takes it so seriously too. he puts a ring on your finger as soon as possible and treats you like actually royalty. is at your beck and call 24/7. his fsvorite thing to do is take you to events and show you off to all his friends and colleagues. "this is my wife. isn't she so beautiful? shes so smart and talented too." will show you off to anywhere and everyone. he's just so in love with you. he also let's you into his studio and has a special chair for you and plenty of pillows and blankets.

seonghwa

dresses you up in the finest clothing ever. sure, if you already have your clothes that you like that arent from any big name brands, he's not gonna toss them out or anything. he's only going to add your collection. designer bags, clothes, shoes, and even glasses if you wear them. he'll deck you out in only the more coveted brands.

yunho

he will turn off any game for you at any time if you ask for his attention. he wouldn't do this for anyone else but you. you're his special princess so you take priority over his games. he also teaches you all about his hobbies and take you to all the cool pop up's and museums. if you want anything, he always makes sure to get it for you.

yeosang

takes care of you with everything! literally everything. he may be a busy idol but he makes sure you take your vitamins, do your morning and night routines, take a little bit of personal time, and everything else. if you're studying, he'll make sure you take a break. he'll run your a warm bath and make you something to eat after. he gives mother hen vibes but it's not in an annoying, naggy way. he just loves you and want's to make sure you're healthy.

san

picks you up and carries you everywhere. he's so strong and he loves showing off his strength to you. if you're siting on the couch, minding your own business, he'll throw you over his shoulder and take you up to your shared bed room. he also carries everything for you, especially shopping or grocery bags. his princess should never carry anything.

mingi

buys everything for you! mingi needs a gf that is okay with him paying for everything but he will literally lose it if you pay for him. he has the mindset that dudes should pay for everything and take care of their partners, but it's not like in a toxic way where he won't let you work or anything. he would just prefer that your money goes towards spoiling yourself (although you never need to because he spoils you so much).

wooyoung

i have two for him so hang on tight. wooyoung is such a romantic and i cannot express that enough, first of all, he drives you everywhere! he would rather get hit by a train than let you ride the said train all alone. if he can drive you, he is going to drive you. also...he lovesss taking you on 3-4 day trips around the world. he takes you to paris, tokyo, la, Shanghai....everywhere! takes care of everything too. ugh i want my own wooyoung (im so scared of driving please drive me!)

jongho

he lets you sit on his lap. even if you get shy or complain that you're too heavy. he lterally does not care. he will pull you down onto his lap and bear hug you so you can't get up or leave. he thinks you look so cute and just like a princess when you're sitting on his lap.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - II

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur's obsession with you intensifies and reaches a point of no return when you catch him red-handed... ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation (again), Arthur is still a little pervy, stripping, p in v, Arthur's self-esteem's still shitty, sub!Arthur at first then switches into dom, Reader is a BIG tease. Mainly Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 5k (oops) Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II - Part III

 A ruby, squared, soft form.

His eyes are stuck on it as his thoughts unthread and tangle endlessly in his brain. 

Arthur was a damned man. He had been for a while now and this fatality had settled into his head for a few years already. His sins were so numerous and varied that he hadn’t even considered the thought of going to rest in Heaven when the Grim Reaper would finally put an end to his sufferings. 

But even considering all of this, the gunslinger had definitely not planned on adding a new sin to his list by jerking himself off while watching you almost every night for more than half a month. Oh, the same old speech was still playing in his head; his gesture leaking with shame and muscles sweaty from fear of getting caught. The adrenaline and depravation of the act, the sweet, sweet relief of his orgasm, and the momentary satisfaction he was pulling out of it every time was a very dangerous cocktail; he knew it.

He knew, knew, knew everything of that, of course he did. And still, his fingers opening his fly carelessly. Still, his eyes searching for this sublime silhouette of yours. Still, his cock hardening, itching, burning, begging to be grabbed. And still, his hands taking the doomed responsibility of answering the call. Still his muffled groans, his lips bitten, his silent words spoken in his head, your body joining him. Still, your hand, instead of his. His spend, less and less consistent, spurting quickly and spreading on his dirty clothes, the silence following, the emptiness, the shame, the guilt, the coldness amplified by his intimate fantasies. Like those dark loud nights of storms, air charged with electricity, and left in heavy disturbing quietness after the last lightning struck. Still, dreaming, wanting, longing. 

Still you.

He felt insatiable, like an enraged, mad dog, pathetic bastard. And paradoxically, as he finally had found sleep again after allowing his body what it needed, he felt weaker than ever. Weakened by you.

You hadn't left him after the first night he had succumbed to temptation. You had branded his spirit with a red-hot iron. Damned him to a lifetime of ache, a mortal succumbing to a Mermaid's melody and sailing in search of her on an infinite sea.

 A ruby, squared, soft form. 

It’s your shawl lying on a chair. You forgot it a few minutes ago, but he didn’t say anything about it. He’s still looking at it, hands fidgeting, mind pondering. What’s good and what’s bad. The ugliness of his self and soul. The risks, the benefits. 

He thinks back to the day you and him just shared. A job in Rhodes, “needing to be taken care of by two people”, Dutch’s words. He had sent him, which was predictable —the gang’s workhorse rarely knows rest. But you? It surprised him a whole lot more. Something about the job requesting some “feminine charm”. He hadn’t complained. Not when he had realized he would be able to spend some time alone with you. 

And his gaze had been wandering way more than what common decency was allowing him to. Staring and dreaming were all he had been doing lately, anyhow.

Looking at the delicious cleavage your fancy dress was offering when you got out of your tent and joined him back at camp, your breasts pressed up and round, almost impossible not to devour with his eyes. All he could do was make a sarcastic comment about it as the only defense against his urges. You moron Morgan, just say something nice for once. Luckily -or not- for him, you had wrapped your appealing shoulders in the sophisticated cherry-colored cape to prevent the coldness of the night.

Looking at your back as you both rode into town, looking at your neck when he helped you off your horse once into Rhodes. Looking at your lips as you two were sat in one of the Parlor’s house boxes, the job long-forgotten when he had noticed this little wrinkle next to your lips, that one you have when you laugh and find something funny. He would have to add it to his endless sketches of you.

Looking at your thin, sneaky hands from afar as they were slipping into that wealthy gentleman’s pocket to steal the papers you were both here for in the first place. It all felt distant and insignificant to him now, as a forgettable theater play set in the background. 

Later, you had been the one looking at him when he had come to your rescue. The “gentleman” was being insistent with you. As you both had crossed eyes from across the reception room, Arthur had read your apprehension and silent call for help in just a split second. And here he was, puffing out his chest, look dark and intense, muscles tensed. The perfect look of a man you don’t want to cross, that look he and Hosea had worked hard on building, scars and broad shoulders gained after all these years of intimidation. He was so used to it by now he wasn’t even sure he knew how to be anything else. His pointer finger tapping threateningly on the shiny Deputy Star he had on his jacket and his deep, menacing tone had acted as the final details. You should leave the lady alone and get some fresh air, pal. The fool had dropped the case and returned with his tail between his legs without any clue what had actually happened.

And then, your sweet voice asking for a drink. “Come on, we got to celebrate! Finally, a job well handled without a drop of blood.” How could he ever say no to that? It was almost too good to be true. Spending the evening with you, laughing, talking, philosophizing.

Arthur didn’t know he could be that talkative. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was your presence. Maybe a bit of both. And he had paid for everything. A good hot dinner for both of you, your drinks, and two rooms the moment you told him you were too tired to ride back to camp. Oh, he could have given you all the Wolrd’s treasure if that meant you would keep looking at him with these pretty playful eyes.

As the evening passed, the gentle flow of your endless conversations had led you from the bar to the stairs, to the second floor, to the hallway, and eventually to his room, naturally and serenely, like a rowboat ride on a summer lake.

And finally, after a few yawns exchanged, some delicate eyelids rubbed by you, you had left him to sleep, completely forgetting about your shawl, hanging on one of his room’s chairs. And you had greeted each other goodnight. As friends. This was all he would ever be to you, he knew it. And it was better that way. Like this, he was preserving you from having a pathetic man and a pathetic life being his. He was like an infertile soil, anyway. Any seed you would plant and try to harvest with him would end up rotten, corrupted. Fruitless.

And now left in the stillness of the room, in this deafening silence without the sound of your voice, his vision fixated on your abandoned piece of clothing, the most sinful of all thoughts is digging its way through the fibers of his brain, fed by need and alcohol, gnawing at his neurons, eating up any rational reasoning. 

A ruby, tempting garment of yours.

He wants to grab it. To smell it. He wants your perfume to completely fill his nose, so much it would be like drowning in your scent. You wouldn’t be coming back for it anyway, considering how tired you looked a few minutes ago. And you’d never know about it. Just like you didn’t know he was watching you all this time through the fabric of your tent. After all, he was already so deep down into this rabbit hole of lust, what would it change?

And just like that, before he can even think about it more, his arm is already extending, his fingers wrapping around the forbidden fruit.

A descent into Hell he is not able to stop nor control. And at the same time, it feels like getting closer to Heaven.

He lays on the bed, back against the coarse sheets that still felt better than his cot back at camp, and brings your stole to his nose, almost covering his face with it. He closes his eyes.

And he breathes in.

Hell. If God wanted him to stay virtuous, why did he create such a temptatious woman like you? Your scent is without any surprise just as irresistible and bewitching as your whole self.

The fruity notes of it remind him of your skin and lips he wants to taste so badly, a mouth-watering gourmet scent. The floral and fresh ones, of this sparkling mischievousness in your eyes. And in the end, as he exhales, warm and spicy aromas rain on him. They fill his mind with a deep sense of comfort, as if scenting directly your hair. It’s intoxicating, spellbinding. Driving him deeper into his madness. He doesn’t try to resist, not anymore, this delightful fresco of fragrances painted just for him.

Naturally and almost subconsciously, his vicious right hand reaches his crotch. He’s already hard. Just by smelling your shawl.

This time you’ve really hit rock bottom, old bastard.

He doesn’t even bother thinking about it more, he already knows he’s too deep in; already knows he won’t be able to stop himself. 

Ah shit, screw it, jus’ a quick wank.

He quickly unbuckles his holster belt, then unbuttons his pants, and snakes his hand between the folds of his union suit. A silent swift dance he is used to repeating by now. 

He breathes again a long, deep whiff, and wraps his fingers around his cock thinking of you, once more. 

He sees you and your perfect body, and everything blends and blurs in his heated psyche. The form of your breasts and ass through the tent's canvas he knew by heart at this point. Your smirk, your eyes looking back at his, only his during this night spent together. Your heady, addicting scent surrounds him and fuels his fantasies even more, making them more vivid than before, the soft fabric of the stole against his skin a light caress he imagines yours.

He strokes and strokes and strokes, he needs it more than ever, even if, truth be told, every time is more than ever. His pinkish cock’s head is reddened and swollen from having been rubbed so many times lately, sensible and almost pained. But he doesn't care. It makes him feel even more alive. Even more here. Simply better.

He wants his body to feel pleasure. Pleasure, for once, instead of pain. Pain all the time, pain everywhere, bullets through his muscles, knives on his skin, cutting through his flesh, fists against his bones, breaking his jaws, his nose, his cheeks. Broken, used, beaten, ripped, bruised, overworked, abused. Oh, he’s tired of it. Only in those prohibited moments, he can experience pleasure. No matter how wicked and profane.

The room is now filled with those wet, fast-paced sounds, his rustling against the sheets, and the smallest of grunts coming from his unholy lips as he fucks his fist. Your name escapes him from time to time, muffled by your shawl he's still holding all against him with his left hand, and breathing the air from.

As if all the World’s oxygen would never be as good as breathing through it. As if everything else would feel thick and fusty in his lungs. No Mountains, no Oceans, no flowers, not the tastiest food, nothing could ever compete with smelling your scent. 

Stroke, stroke, stroke. Goddamn it, she’s perfect. A big, hard stroke. Oh God, yes, just a bit more…

Too absorbed by his delirious daydream, he doesn't notice right away the creaking of the door as you enter his room again, searching for the very thing he's using to masturbate right now.

“Arthur, I’m sorry to bother you again but I think I forgot my sh—”

You freeze.

SHIT! He instantly curses loudly and jumps from the bed so suddenly that he almost falls to the ground. A stumbling mess, his holster crashes on the wooden floor with a loud percussive sound as he shoves his member back into his clothes as fast as possible, looking like a disjointed chaos of limbs. He is mortified. There is no way in the world you won’t understand what was just happening. He ends up standing next to the bed, after having thrown your cape at the other corner of the room with such force it looked like the damn thing was made of burning iron. And he doesn’t even know why. Maybe to distance himself from his sins. To try and erase this horrible vision from your pretty eyes. His labored breath and fast-beating heartbeat are now ruled by panic instead of lust. For all his life he had never experienced such shame and felt so utterly stupid. 

There is a small moment of silence, heavy and embarrassed. A little time of denying. No, this can’t be happening. But your look turns in circles from the bed, him, and the scarf, circling him like a cornered animal. That’s it, his pride is dead right here in this stupid hotel room. You see right through him, he’s sure of it. Your piercing beautiful gaze lands on his ears a few times, and he knows they’re crimson just by the heat he can feel on them. But the worst thing of all is his bulge, obvious and raised up as a flag right in the middle of his thighs, under his badly buttoned fly. Like a Mausoleum to his Dignity. The damn thing refusing to shrink and obviously screaming loudly his offence to the whole World. All the contrary, your gaze falling on it produces the exact opposite of what he wants, his cock almost twitching in return. 

Damn it!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!-

“Where you… Hum…” You start, before clearing your throat slightly.

“ ‘m sorry, Am… I didn’t mean to… ‘m such a goddamn fool.” This is the best he can come up with. What excuses could he have anyway? Nothing could justify what he did.

You had never heard his deep asserted voice so chagrined. Utter fear and shame. You didn’t even know he could feel that way.

His gaze is fixated on his dirty boots, refusing to cross yours. Just as goddamn dirty as me. 

“Were you pleasuring yourself, Mister Morgan?” You ask, your tone slightly playful. He doesn’t see it, but a mischievous grin settles on your face.

He takes your tone as a mocking one. You would have all the right to mock him. That’s all he deserved.

He tries to answer but doesn't even dare to admit it verbally, as if it would aggravate his situation. He just nods slowly, as seriously as if he was at a funeral. 

“With one of my clothes?” You ask again, your grin widening.

Another nod, his eyes shutting as if he had been hit by something, your sentence making the whole thing even worse. Oh, just a few seconds ago, he was feeling more present and alive than ever, and now all he wanted was to disappear or die.

He hears more than he sees your steps on the parquet. Every stomping sound hurt him a bit more. He doesn't even dare to move. As if everything he would do from now would offend you. Even breathing, no, even existing is too much.

She’s going to slap me. A step. She's going to yell in my face. Another step. I’m dead. A final step.

You’re so close to him now he’s holding his breath, eyes closed, ready to face the well-deserved punishment of your choice for his trespass.

But he's only met with stillness until you speak again.

“Arthur, do you really think I was that hot in my tent, every night?”

The words reach his ears but his brain refuses them. His mouth opens in astonishment. He closes it to swallow loudly and opens it again as if trying to speak in utter confusion.

“You… I… Wait, really?”

“I never thought you could be that naive, honestly.” You answer, a little chuckle escaping you. One of your hands slowly reaches the side of his face, but he still shivers slightly when it touches him. You guide his head back up for him to finally look you in the eyes.

Arthur's two blue sapphires are topped with anxious brows. A bright confusion and a soft vulnerability. They don’t settle too long on one point of your face out of nervousness, as if they could burn you.

“M-me neither.” He simply whispers, a bashful, nervous smile settling on his mouth. He still doesn’t move.

“Do you really think I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, mmh?” You continue, your fingers traveling from his face all the way down his neck, gently caressing the base of his hair.

You can’t be serious right now.

“I… I don’ know…” And he really doesn’t. This is all so unbelievable to him that he’s persuaded this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up any moment.

The only thing anchoring him to reality is your fingers exploring him, making him slowly let out the breath he had been holding in his chest.

“Let me help you finish what you've started…” You murmur, voice low and obvious to what you’re implying, sultry, suggestive.

He feels his shaft pulsing again instantly in answer, his body once again taking the lead. He’s about to say something, to ask you if you’re sure you want to do this with an old bitter moron like him, but one of your hands is already reaching straight to his crotch, palming his warm, needy erection.

“Anh…!” The moan turning into a groan he lets out duplicates your own arousal.

His hips rock against your hand involuntarily, the need for contact of any sort getting more powerful than his shame. He still doesn’t dare do much to you though, not wanting to cross any more limits. He lets you handle him just like you want. He lets the flow of life take him instead of fighting against it, for once. The only gesture he allows is settling his big hands on your back, sweaty and almost shaking.

Oh, your sneaky fingers. They touch and grope and palpate, and he sighs louder. It feels so much better, to have your hand touching him.

After a few more teasing caresses, you sway in a smooth motion and playfully push him backward, making him fall on the bed. He sits there, looking up at you with those two adoring cerulean pupils, as if you were the Sun itself. A distant magnificent star, impossible for him to reach, condemned to only contemplate.

“Get your clothes off.” You order, his reactions making you more confident and straightforward than usual. 

He is quick to obey. You could have asked him to jump off a cliff and he would have done it without even thinking. His clothes fall one by one on the floor and you feast on every area of skin he’s offering you. He ends up entirely naked for your eyes. This Titan, cascade of virile hairs everywhere, prominent scarred muscles carved into stone by Ares himself, gorged with raw powerfulness and designed to kill. To survive. And between those open thick thighs, his aroused member. The one he thought of as the triumph of his shame a few minutes ago, is now the Apotheosis of his Glory. Thick, long, hard like him, surrounded by a crown of tawny curls.

“Look at you…” You let out, almost licking your lips. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t see what you do at all. Instead, he let his gaze wander on your chest, and you can almost hear the silent plea in his gaze for you to join his nakedness.

Standing right in front of him, you begin to strip yourself out of your clothes, agonizingly slowly, your face displaying this provocative grin that turns him on so much. It’s purposeful, and you feel your own arousal rising as you notice the red coming back to his cheeks and ears.

First, your boots and socks, discovering your delicate legs. Then your blouse, showing your shoulder and chest, then your skirt. He stays silent all the while, enjoying your little show more than you could imagine. Your hips swaying, your arms gracefully dancing, each piece of clothing falling on the ground, this is all a trance he's getting hypnotized by.

Seeing you undress just for him after all those nights spent on his cot touching himself watching your shadow is like adding all the missing color from a masterpiece, enhancing and fulfilling.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” You purr proudly, now in your undergarments.

“God yes. Yer a real’ angel.” He praises in a fevered-like whisper.

You smirk as all answer. “Come on now, show me those dirty things you’ve been doing.” You speak while nodding at his crotch in an almost challenging way.

His hand instantly reaches for his cock. It was itching him to since you had looked at it earlier. He presses his fingers hard around it and he grunts softly, the sound incredible to your ears. Obeying you and surrendering fully to his depravation, he slowly starts stroking himself again while watching you intensely. What did he do to deserve such a splendid spectacle?

That’s when you decide to slowly bend inward and undo the last pieces of clothing you still have. Just a few gestures and your breasts are bare and hanging for him to look at. Jeee-sus. You see and hear his hand speeding up. 

Lastly, you reveal your own sex to him, a pearl between those gorgeous thighs of yours, and he curses out loud this time.

“You're so goddamn beautiful. I could... Damn, I could finish right now jus' lookin' atchu.” He confesses, his cheeks, ears, and chest getting even redder at his own words.

“Really, uh? You're quite easy to tease, Mister Morgan.” You taunt, before turning around and bending again, wanting him to see your bottom, taking a more than suggestive position with your ass up.

“Oh, for God's sake.” He nearly chokes, his rhythm accelerating again; almost frenetic. This is all he ever wanted during those cold lonely moments. All he ever needed to see. And he can’t help but engrave every little detail in his mind; the little scars you have here and there, the different tone and grain of your skin, your hairs, your body’s hollows and bumps. Every little imperfection. And they make it all even better. Better than any fantasies he had ever pictured in the past few weeks. Because they are making you yourself.

You turn again to face him and straddle his lap, unable to resist your own urges that had been building and building since you had found him touching himself to the thought of you.

That’s when something finally lights up in his mind. The moment he feels your soft, warm thighs around him, and how you’re soaked in between them, it hits him. You’ve been wanting him just as badly as he wanted you. As odd and surprising as it sounds to him. This new reality is right there against his tip as you start rubbing your entrance against it, teasing, playing, pressing just a few inches in, gently praising how big he looks and how good it would be to have him inside of you. 

That thing inside of him explodes.

Suddenly his hands are all over you. Touching everything they can, discovering, molding your curves under his fingertips. Hands on your thighs, hands on your hips, waist, neck. Each part of you touched is breaking every chain that was holding him back, one by one. These perfect sensations blind him to any reasoning, any sense of restrain, and push him to palm your breasts. God, the softness, the warmth. He sighs in appreciation as he kneads both of them and you join his pleasured breathing.

More.

One of his hands leaves your chest to grab your ass, roughly, and he squeezes, hard, while he sucks on the breast that has been abandoned. “Arthur!” You moan out in return, pleasured and surprised voice, mouth left open in delight. Oh, he will satisfy you. Those renewed vows appear as clear as day between the mess of his head as he keeps devouring your nipple endlessly, almost suckling at it. He will push that voice of you to its limit, break it until you won’t be able to scream.

“That’ what you wanted all this time, uh? Drivin’ me insane?”

You search for something clever to throw back at him but the calloused hand on your breast suddenly reaches your cunt and you gasp instead. 

“That’ what you do? Torture poor devils like me until they can’t help but fall for you?” He asks again, his confidence heightened by your sweet sounds, his tone getting darker and darker. Touching your folds pleasures him almost as much as you, his brows furrowing into a needy and intense expression.

“J-just you… ‘Just wanted you to notice me…” You admit, your hips rolling on his lap and against his hand. His fingers part your cunt and trace their own way through this little Heaven, exploring this place he had craved so much; and it makes him more excited than any thoughts he could have had on his own.

“Well, that sure worked, girl.”

He lets go of your pussy and you squeal in protest, almost ashamed of your own sound. He smiles triumphantly at you, feeling satisfied to give you a taste of your own medicine. He wraps both of his arms around your waist, your chest ending up pressed against his face; his nose is shoved in it and he sighs louder this time. 

He can’t wait any longer. Not when he has been dreaming of this for weeks. Not after discovering your unforgettable perfume. Not after having felt this wet, warm promise of your entrance. He looks up at your face, searching for any trace of disgust or apprehension but you're completely free from any. Mouth agape, breaths deep and hips shamelessly searching for his, you're even more gorgeous than before, and he snaps.

He guides you carefully, his hands warm and hard against your bare skin. And he pushes.

His sex entering you slowly is deliciously hard and hot. His cockhead is big, way bigger than what you’re used to, and feels so good already. His arms hold you in place as he pushes again, wanting to be completely stuffed in, a long, low growling sound accompanying his movement. Oh, Christ Almighty. He had never felt so good than buried like this in your warm, silky, divine cunt right now.

Once fully settled, you both sighs and breath loudly for just a few seconds, your gazes meeting and silently agreeing on how fucking delicious this feels. Then you move up, wanting to ride him, feeling his shaft pull out as you do, but his arms grab you tighter and put your hips back in place.

“God!” You whine as you feel his length plunging again and hitting that spot inside of you.

He starts to buck his hips up against yours, unable to resist anything anymore. His rhythm, he wanted slow and meaningful at first, is quickly turning fast and hard, a remnant of how incredibly frustrated and needy he had been all this time.

“I’m gonna -Ohh, shit- I’m gonna show ya what ya get teasin’ me like that.”

Arthur's southern drawl is even more prominent, his voice hoarse and deep from effort. His thrusts up are more and more powerful, making you jump up and down on top of him and for the first time in days he thanks himself for having pleasured himself so many times lately, otherwise he would have come instantly right there in your heat. Your breasts bounce in this erotic, irresistible dance that he’ll remember for every future night he'll spend alone.

“Oh Arthur, don’t stop!” 

His cock pulls out and shoves into your cunt so fastly it's rubbing perfectly how you want it deep inside and you reach for his shoulders, needing to hold onto him, already so close. “Yes, yes, yes, right there!”

He hears your accelerating breathing, your higher-pitched moans turning into screams and he searches for your lips with his. Your tender petals against his dirty mouth. But he doesn’t care, there’s only your pussy right now, and your incredible smell he’s filled with once again, just like you’re filled with his tongue and his dick inside of you.

Both his hands grab your ass and he fucks frantically, his balls slapping against it with each thrust, making your plump flesh jiggle and those hitting and smacking sounds resonating throughout the room. Again, and again, and Damn it again.

It’s too much for you. 

You cry out loudly as your fingers dig into his shoulders and your head tilts backward, and his big, solid arms keep you pressed against his chest, completely wrapped around you; and he finally, finally feels it. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, instead of pain. This irresistible release, your pussy clenching and squeezing all around his cock. “-Ngh, s-shit yes angel, give it t’me!”

You give it all to him without any resistance and in a obscene scream. And it’s too much for him.

“Ah, God…” He hisses as he feels it coming, quickly pulling you up —as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing— and pressing his cock against your clit, well nestled between your lips.

He reaches your lips again, needing to finish while kissing you, both of your bodies almost sewn together, his moans sounding more and more like primal growls and hisses at every rubbing movement against your core, movements getting faster and faster, impossibly faster, So fucking good, Jesus so goddamned perfect, Perfect, perfect!- Until he finally comes, translucent cum leaking all the way down his shaft and spreading on your lower belly, all panting and grunting, a complete mess; a satiated beast.

It’s better than any of the dreams he ever had, waking or sleeping. And it’s not just the release of this one and only time, it’s the pinnacle of all these lonely pleasures shared with no one in regretful secret.

For the second time that night, he thinks he’s dead. 

He falls backward, back against the mattress, and you follow, unable to stand without him. In that silence only disturbed by your exhausted breaths, he turns and grabs the first piece of clothing that he has at hand’s reach, his flannel. He gently uses it to clear your belly from his seed and seeing it, on your smooth and soft skin, makes a wave of culpability crash onto him once again. Shouldn't have done all of this. Should have taken care of her properly.

A dark, glum expression settles on his face and he wraps himself in a deep silence instead of your arms as he finishes to clean the both of you. God, did that man ever know rest for more than a few minutes? At this thought, you bend over to put a small kiss on his forehead, as a thank you for his aftercare.

“Satisfied enough?” You finally break the silence, getting up from the bed –not without stretching your back slightly and swaying your hips before bending to reach for your clothes on the floor.

Arthur cannot help but think of a Nymph as you do all of this still naked. Those irresistible, divine beauties that lure men with a simple move of their finger, as they say in books. He knew it was all stories from another time, but he was more and more convinced they would look exactly like you if they did exist.

“More than in a long time. You?” He replies, voice neutral and features closed as usual. He stays on the bed and put only his pants back, his cock finally softening under the coarse fabric. He never stops looking at you all the while.

“Couldn’t be better”. You assert, your blouse falling back on your upper body. You then roughly fix your hair in this casual, impish way that was yours.

That was driving him insane.

“You’re a little minx, ya know that? Gettin’ naked on purpose every night…”

“Oh, please. You didn’t really complain as far as I know.”

“Nah, but ya did make me insane. Teasin’ littl’ thing y’are.” He says with a fond voice he would have preferred less obvious.

You innocently shrug your shoulders, cheeky grin on your face. The way you're playing with him that easily should have been shaming to him, but he doesn't feel any shame anymore, not after what you have shared.

"Goodnight, Arthur." You throw as all answer, leaving him as you walk through the door of his room. He greets you back, the trimmest trace of longing in his rough voice.

Once again alone, once again cold, Arthur grabs a cigarette from his pocket to smoke before falling asleep; maybe to keep this lingering warmth just a bit longer, the sensations of your body, and especially your sex squeezing around his, still remaining on his skin. Lying completely in the bed, he smiles to himself as he notices you have forgotten your shawl —again. Or maybe you had left it on purpose. Maybe you had both times, now that he is thinking about it. The ruby fabric had landed wrapped all around his old, worn-out leather jacket, like a flame dancing around, enveloping, lapping at a tree.

It looks great that way.

Maybe you were only playing with him. Maybe this was only a one-time thing. But who cared? Tonight, Arthur had been taken care of by a Nymph. And no other mortal pleasure, no other solitaries delights, not even the most lustful and depraved images he could have pulled out of his tormented mind could ever compete with that slice of Olympe you had given to him.

→ Part III

a/n: Yeah, 5K words, I knooow! I'm hopeless. It's quite a lot, but I didn't feel like cutting, nothing felt right. What can I say except thank you, so much, for everyone's interest in the first part, for your notes, comments and reblogs, and for reading all of this! I am in utter PANIC rn because I feel like nothing I could write would be as good or as well received as the first part, but here it is! I really hope it didn't disappoint!

Also, to give Caesar what belongs to Caesar, the holster falling was completely inspired by my dear @zae-heeyyy's Piquancy (II)! I thought it would fit the comical aspect of the scene eheh (go check it out)

And also go check out this amazing piece Moons drew from this fic! Thanks again for this delightful treat! 💙

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams @amyispxnk @babybatss-blog @ardeniaa @sauvignon-velvet @sweeterlilith (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in a part2, really sorry if I missed anyone!)