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rkivedpages · 8 months ago

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❝ KISSES DOWN LOW ❞ ୨୧ SEVIKA

‎ﻬ˚౨ৎ BUT NOTHING CAN COMPARE TO WHEN YOU KISS ME THERE

‎ ﻬ˚౨ৎ AND I CAN’T LIE WHEN I LIE IN YOUR ARMS, BABY I FEEL SO SEXY

‎

PAIRINGS: TOP!SEVIKA ✘ BROTHELWORKER!R

SUMMARY: sevika is tired from a long week of work and she just needs to see the person that helps her blow off steam.

WARNINGS: 4.9k, [contains nsfw wlw content, m+mdni 18+], brothelworker!reader, black coded, smut, vulgar language, dirty talk, oral sex [both receiving], fingering [both receiving], sevika loves your boobs, clit slapping [𝑟!receiving], tribbing, creaming, neck biting and kissing, heavy eye contact, messy kissing, spit, nipple sucking, cuddling afterwards

J4Y SPEAKS — we needed this brothel scene in arcane..it was my treat.

wanna be tagged? welcome to j4y’s taglist!

‎ﻬ˚౨ৎ sevika rolled her neck around, hearing the cracks of her bones popping amongst the many people passing by while she stayed still. boot-covered feet splashed in the murky water puddles that took home in the uneven streets, you could hear the many food vendors cooking up whatever they were selling to the customers. sounds of the chewing of the food, slurping of the soups and liquids echoed through sevika’s ears.

the many sounds were tuned out of her head as her cape flowed in the cool air as the people passed her by, wondering why such a woman would be in this part of town. though it is what she knows. it’s her home, the place she grew up in. her darkened silver eyes hooded by her deeply furrowed eyebrows, she peered at the building that stood in front of her, across the busy street. it was something familiar to her, a place she’s seen ever so often if you’d ask her, but if you asked the people that walked the building’s floors—they’d tell you they’ve seen sevika so many times in a week.

she continued across the street, not paying attention to the many things happening around her, not even the people trying to sell her things.

sevika made her way to the building, watching it get larger in size the closer she stepped towards it. she cleared her throat and sniffed a bit before noticing the few women littering the corners of where she knew the people knew her very well. they began to puff y

on their cigarettes, blowing the toxic air into the already hazardous air supply that plagued the tough city. not only did the women watch her saunter in and notice her hips twisting with a purpose, they noticed the look on her face, one they’ve seen many times before.

“ugh, she’s so lucky.”

“nobody in zaun could get me to explain what i’d do to that woman.”

“ 𝜗𝜚 doesn’t deserve such a woman like that.”

the women scanned her body, getting worked up from just looking at her thighs and the visible muscle tone on her right arm, crossing their legs and continued to smoke down their cigarettes.

her ears perked up with the things the women were spewing about her, saying that they could do the things her heart desired. she could only chuckle as her large hands peeled back the large detailed door that opened up to the place she would kill to be in over and over again. the feathers and beads strung from the ceiling, the dark red curtains hanging from the curtains in the corners of the rooms she prance into, her eyes set on the desk in the waiting room. her hands balled and unballed, looking at her surroundings before perring down at the person standing behind the edge of the metal desk who was too busy staring down at a nudy magazine in his hands to notice sevika’s large frame.

half of her body covered by her darkened red cape, a peek of her toned stomach showing from the cropped shirt she sported. sevika cleared her throat, moving her flesh arm to retrieve a sack of money from her back pocket, plopping it down on the surface of the desk to grab the attention of the attendant. dark eyebrows furrowed even more when he moved his eyes only to see who was in front of him. he perked up really quickly, his eyes widening at sevika towering over his small physique.

“s-she said you don’t have to pay anymore.” he stuttered, pushing the sack of coins back towards sevika. her eyebrows finally softened since she’s walked into the place as she reached for the money, taking it in her soft hand again, grunting.

her boots clicked against the floor, the coins in the bag scraped up against each other while she twisted her arm to place it back in her pocket. still, her cape flowed in the air filling the building as sevika made her way to the room she’s seen a thousand times. one more look around at her surroundings, sevika slipped through the soft curtains that hung in front of the doorway, sniffing the burning incense that produced slow smoke. the deep umber smell covered her, sevika’s body relaxed a bit as the incense crammed her nose.

for the first time of the week, sevika’s eyebrows relaxed, finally unfurrowing until they straightened out on her forehead. her hand fell from the ball at her side, the mechanical sounds from her tech arm hiding underneath the cape ticked and the gears moved around.

sevika walked around the table covered in fruit, foods and other assortments that made her stomach rumble a bit. she quickly tore the cape from around her neck, flinging the piece of fabric onto the arm of the couch just before her ass hit the plush couch cushions. resting her arms over the top of the couch.

the mechanical fingers on her left arm tapped the material with impatience.

only a couple of minutes had passed since she walked into the building and sat down in the all too familiar room. peering around the decorated space, the things covering the walls and the touch of your presence was made known. sevika felt a little more at ease just seeing the things that you’ve touched littering the room you own in the building. she fell deeper into the couch cushions, adjusting her hips numerous times, her fleshy fingers digging further into the soft item.

her patience was very low when it came to you.

when she came, she expected you to be in the room already waiting for her. maybe even waiting on your knees, looking so pretty as always as soon as she walks through the curtains.

but, this has been the first time since she started seeing you that she was the first one in the room, and she needs you to be in here.

now.

when sevika first began to see you, it would be a week maybe even a couple of days before she saw you again. then, you did such a big number on her that sevika realized that she couldn’t go more than two days without coming to visit you. it started off as a week, then it went to three days, then fell into every night. if she was feeling a bit alone, she’d come to see you twice a day. but ever since silco had her under his hold, the visits became even more sparse, last week had been the longest it’s been since she’s seen your face.

sevika threw her head back against the couch, her fingers balling up the cushions and releasing it, over and over again. her eyes closed with anticipation, growing more and more impatient by the second. she mindlessly reached in front of her, grabbing one of the many fruits that sat on top of the table and pushing it past her dark lips. the flavors danced on her tongue, swirling over them inside of her cheeks, she moaned just a little bit. overly missing the flavors from a week ago.

“you look tired.”

you voice spilled into her ears, like chocolate spreading on a fresh strawberry. sevika lifted her head up, slowly opening her eyes to see you wrapped in a finely made robe, a small bit of fur lining the ends of each opening. finishing up the food that was in her mouth and quickly swallowing it. her chest heaved some, repositioning her hips in her seat.

sevika cleared her throat, mentally rolling her eyes at the fact that it should be obvious. “i am tired. why do you think i’m here?”

you pushed away from the closed curtains, making your way towards the couch with an irritated look on your face. sitting down on a cushion away from her, you grabbed a piece of fruit to pop in your mouth and leaned back to cross your leg over the other. you shook your head a bit, chewing the fruit and clutching at the opening of your robe. rolling your eyes and moving your leg side to side. sevika sighed, realizing that whatever goes on at work shouldn’t be taken out on you.

“i…i’m sorry. i’m just really, really tired.” she reached over to rub at the exposed skin on your thigh with her metal hand as you looked at her again. huffing and puffing you gave her a little smile knowing that she is really exhausted when she arrives to see you. so you have to let it go sometimes, if she doesn’t get too rude. she rubbed her mechanical pinky against your thigh, brushing away your robe a bit to touch more of your skin, though she couldn’t feel it.

sevika snaked her arms around your waist, pulling you into her lap and resting your thighs on either side of her hips. she couldn’t take her eyes off of the fact you had nothing covering your chest. no bra, no shirt, no nothing. the robe peeled open a bit, revealing the soft cleavage you wanted her to see.

her mouth watered at the sight of your boobs, nipples becoming hard under the silky material from the rushing wind coming from outside the room. she gulped down the lingering taste of the fruit that was in her mouth. both hands, mechanical and flesh, rubbed the skin on your thighs, digging her fingers into your own flesh. remembering how soft you were from a week ago that she saw you again.

a shudder ran down your spine from the mere two seconds you made eye contact with sevika, her silver eyes burning into yours, never once looking away until she saw fit.

you’ve looked into her eyes many times before, but every time you did, it still felt like the first time she walked into your room. just wanting to relax.

her stare made you wet in the little piece of clothing you had on, pooling through your painties and probably painting the pants she wore. sevika moved you higher up on her lap, her hands now resting on your ass just to move the robe some, watching as the silk opened up more to brush over your chest. sevika took her bottom lip in between her teeth, adjusting her hips underneath you, feeling like she could explode. she pushed on your back, pushing your chest closer to her mouth. her lips parted, ready to have your nipple resting in her mouth. you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt her tongue touch your nipple first, swirling it around the tip just to watch your face contort. her eyes couldn’t tear away from your face, watching your eyebrows knit together. sevika pulled away, with a sound off pop. you rubbed your hands over her clothed chest and up her neck to push her attention to your face. “did you miss me?”

you started grinding over her pants, heavily breathing at the feeling. she groaned at your little sounds, nodding her head at your question, but hating that you started to move backwards on her lap. as you could see the disappointment written all over her face and the little whine in her throat. “be patient, sev. you haven’t seen me in a week.”

sevika then sighed, her eyebrows rested when she felt your hands starting to work at the sturdy belt twisting through the loops in her pants. unbuckling the buckle and pulling the belt from the loops, you dropped it on the floor. you then reached for the button on her pants, not knowing she spotted the wet patch that you’ve made a little bit ago. “by the looks of it, you missed me too.”

you looked down at her and then down at the spot over her lap, a little embarrassed that she saw and hoping that she wouldn’t see the one you made on her thigh. brushing it off, you reached for the extravagant buttons on her cropped shirt she wore as sevika rubbed higher up your back. “how much did you miss me?”

there was a lump in your throat when she looked up at you, a mixture of neediness and want filled her eyes when she first got you on her lap. now, that look is filled with more want than ever. you hands still popping the buttons on her shirt and busting it open to see the wraps that usually bound her chest were not there tonight. a shudder ran down your spine, with her hands still caressing your skin, but her hands growing heavier and heavier by the second you didn’t give her an answer.

“a lot, sev.”

the right side of her mouth perked up into a smirk. a quick look down and sevika was drooling at your slightly exposed nipple, reaching up to swipe the robe off your shoulder. the sounds of her mechanical arm came into play as it moved in the comfortable silence while she looked you up and down. “so much that you can’t wait to taste me again?”

you whined when sevika whispered to you, the tip of her mechanical finger rubbing over your nipple. “yes, sev.”

throwing your head back, sevika took the opportunity to latch her lips onto the side of your neck, dropping spit over your skin and you threaded your fingers in the hanging hair on her head. she pulled back, bouncing against the couch to let you slip off of her lap and onto the floor on your knees. the zipper being pulled down on your way before you hooked your fingers in her waistband. sevika lifted her hips from the cushions to allow you to do the rest of the work of undressing her. the pants reached her knees just as she moved her upper body forwards to tease her dark lips over yours, finally after mere seconds she rested them against your lips harshly. quickly, going to slip her tongue past the opening of yours.

just as she was attacking you with her thick tongue, sevika was slipping her pants the rest of the way down her calves to the top of her boots. forcing the rest of her clothes off of her body, the thud of her hard shoes hitting the floor rung in your ears. her hands slithered around your jaw, both resting on the back of your head while her mouth bruised yours. sevika pulled herself away from you, she licked her lips to just remember the taste of you. she went back to resting her back against the couch again, spreading her thighs to allow you to see her glistening pussy. “go ahead, doll.”

you rested your arms over her thighs, mouth watering at the sight of a week of her being untouched and mindlessly licking your lips. your hands slid towards her inner thighs, close to where the heat emitted from her aching cunt. sevika moved herself closer to the edge of the couch when she saw the hunger fill your eyes. her hand rested on the back of your neck, bringing you closer as you flattened out your tongue to lick up from her clenching hole to her clit. a breathy sigh left from sevika’s lips, her mechanical fingertips dipping into the couch. you wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking softly to earn a buck from her hips against your face.

sevika huffed, gathering all of your hair in the palm of her hand, her fingers wrapping around like a ponytail holder. her hips began to rut at your mouth, her juices rubbing all over the bottom half of your face and rolling down your chin to reach your chest. she pulled your back just to see how much she covered you and to grow even more horny at the sight of her dripping over your bare boobs. your eyes pleaded with her to let you finish and she smirked again, realizing that you wanted it. “you like when i treat you like a slut, don’t you?”

she pushed your face against her pussy again, your tongue rubbing against her clit and hand creeping up to let your fingers make out how much she leaked from having you on your knees and face mushed in between her legs. your own cunt dripped with her words mixed with the euphoric taste of hers, you could help but to grind over the heel of your foot to relieve some of the pressure on your clit. sevika could feel you bouncing and moving under her, she looked down to see your eyes glued to her face and eyebrows screwed together. “you do. you like it when i treat you like this, you nasty girl.”

your face washed over with relief somehow, sevika getting a little more rougher with her ruts, her teeth gritting together and her breath picked up. it grew ragged, your fingers dipped in her hole, slipping in easily due to the slipperiness. sevika clenched on your middle and ring finger as it pumped slowly in and out with the feeling of your swollen lips wrapped around her clit. “ugh, fuck-you’re so good to me, doll.”

sevika’s breath shaky, her head rolling back to rest on the top of the couch. her mechanical arm grasping at the couch as her thighs were threatening to shut around your head. the openings of her shirt flailed around, her tits bounced a little bit.

she couldn’t do it anymore, she needed to taste you.

sevika popped your head off of her, pulling you away from her to glance at the news she’s made of you. she stood up from the couch, pulling you up with her to stand you up from your knees. before you knew it, her hands were all over you again, her lips covering yours and tasting herself off of your lips and chin. she reached up to slip the rest of the robe off of your shoulders. now slipping her thick fingers under the band of your panties, pushing them down your thighs with her mouth still attached to you. sevika turned the two of you around, you towards the couch before she pushed you over it, watching your body bounce before she dipped her knee into the cushion.

“a week. i’ve been waiting a week to taste you again,” her arms set on either side of your head, you reaching up to grab at the flaps of her open shirt. sevika began to push herself further down your body, placing open mouth kisses over your soft skin and witnessing your thighs pressing together. she then reached the place you needed her mouth most. “i don’t think i’ll stop.”

she rested on her knees, pulling your legs up from the couch and resting on her shoulders while she laid her body flat over the rest of the couch. sevika pulled your body closer to her mouth, hungry at what was to come. then proceeded to push your legs up off of her shoulders, sliding her hands underneath your bended knees, pinching the little bit of skin to distract you from the feeling of her warm tongue rolling over your drenched cunt. a deep, guttural groan emitted from her lips from the small but long lick, the vibration going right through you. you latched onto her arms, hoping to hang on for the ride as her face got deeper, drowning in your leaking juices.

the mechanical sounds of her gripping fingers and the sloshing of her tongue swiping over your wet folds filled the room, hitting and bouncing off every wall of it. sevika’s grip wrapped tighter, her hold pinched your hot skin while her moved side to side. both of her hands released from their tight grip, the slight red marks left as a result as sevika repositioned to different spots on your body. the warming touch of her copper hand wrapped around your boob, twisting your nipple around and squeezing hard enough to where it was enjoyable for you. her lips still brushing your clit when you felt the thick stretch of her two fingers pressing through your hole, already knowing you were on edge. “oh, baby, you taste s’good. clenching my fingers like the slut you are.”

the walls couldn’t stop the throaty moan you let out, already knowing the people outside could hear what was happening in the room. you held onto the metal reaching over your torso and fondling your tit as her fingers sped up, making you bounce as she pressed against your spongy walls. “sev-!”

“what, baby?” her silver eyes peered up at you, her pussy leaking over the couch cushions just at the look of your face mixing with the taste of your own.

her eyes bored into you, her fingers pumped harder and her lips sucked harder. sevika looked down for a bit to witness the white ring forming at the base of her two fingers. “fuck.”

a muffled word came out of her mouth, so infatuated with your sounds, your taste — you. the grip, once again, grew tighter around your bruised tit, her arm holding you down in your place. you hands weaved through her black and short hair, messing it up and reaching the small ponytail on the back of her head, pulling on the rubber band. releasing her pulled back hair into her face.

“please, sev!” sevika pulled from your clit, looking at you through the strands of hair as her fingers continued to pump and slosh your wetness around.

“what? you wanna cum?” she smashed her lips against your inner thigh, sucking and biting in random spots on your skin. “you can take it.”

“i can’t!” you tried squirming, tried to pull your body away from sevika’s mouth and fast fingering. your toes curling in the air and your eyes screwed shut, your hands everywhere.

“yes you can.” her tongue licking the bitten spots on your thigh, smirking at your whining.

you could feel her fingers at the bottom of your stomach, tempting your body to cum all over her fingers. just as you could feel the build up, sevika slipped her fingers out of you, her metal hand still wrapped around your red tit. your eyes popped open, whipping your head down to see what she was doing. sevika slithered her tongue around her own fingers, heavy breathing at the sweet taste of your wanna be cum covering her fingers and making sure each finger was sucked clean. you just watched her get up on her knees again, pushing her hair back from her eyes and shaking the open shirt from her shoulders, letting it drop over the edge of the couch. you saw where the metal met her flesh, her dark nipples hardening under the air, her very toned abdomen tight with muscle and glistening sweat.

the sight filled your mouth with drool, sevika fully naked in front of you — it was a rare sight and you didn’t want it to end.

sevika crawled over your body, dropping down some to ghost her weight over yours, her nipples traced your own, a little whine spilling past your lips. sevika dropped kisses over your face, over your cheeks, over your chin before reaching your swollen lips. her hand slipped under the back of your neck to deepen the kiss she slipped you into, smacking and exchanging groans between the two of you. saliva covered your lips, even some in your chin from how messily sevika kissed you, covering your tongue with the remnants of you on her tongue and lips. you rested your legs over her hips, rubbing one of your hands over her back, drowning in the mesmerizing sensation of her mouth in yours.

feelings sevika spread her legs a bit, she dug her knees into the cushions below, feeling you gasp with her mouth still on yours when she rested her puffy clit against yours. shuddering as she laid her body weight on you, now her hand tangled in your hair and the metal entangled with your free hand.

sevika pulled away, looking your face over as she tutted her hips, grinding your clit together and watching your face. your eyebrows slanted, a look of tenderness filled her eyes as she looked at you but disappeared as soon she rutted again. another rutt and a grip on your hair tightened around her fingers, her hips found a steady speed, grinding in between yours. “shit.”

the dripping wetness flowed down sevika’s cunt, over your folds just indicating how wet she actually was. sevika rested her face in the crook of your neck, opening her mouth to nip her teeth at the skin. your back arched into her, opening your legs more to feel even more of sevika humping away. unbeknownst to you, sevika’s face contorted and twisted up at the pleasure of feeling your clit against hers.

“fuck, sev.” your voice above a whisper, your nails digging into her skin and scratching down towards her bare ass. you could feel the simultaneous bucking of both of yours hips smashing together as sevika grew tired of the slower movements.

her mechanical arm worked overtime, the fingers wrapping tighter around your own just so she could stay grounded of course. in your ear, sevika’s grunts turned into deep moans, almost overshadowing the ones you belted out. you opened your eyes multiple times, but all you could see was stats and little white dots in your vision made you dizzy. you tried desperately to claw at any and everything on sevika’s body that you could reach.

“sev, harder!”

she smirked in neck, grounding her knees into the couch once more and hardened up her grip on both the back of your neck and your hand. your legs rested and dangled on her hips, toes curling at the long awaited sensation. more of sevika dripped down your pussy, mixing with the wetness of yours. “harder, you say?”

“yes please.” it was almost like she took your breath away, you couldn’t talk too loudly but those moans you provided said otherwise.

your eyes popped open when sevika’s grind slipped your clits together even harder, letting you feel the tight ball that formed in your stomach. then, your toes uncurled, needing to feel the couch underneath them, you set one of your legs down. still bent at the knee, your leg cramped just to keep up with hoe sevika was fucking you into the cushions. “ah-shit, i’m gonna cum.”

the hand that held onto sevika perked up, rushing your fingers through her loose hair and to bring her face closer to yours so you could witness the expressions she made. the black hair on her head fell into her face, still able to see your beautiful face through the threads. she dropped her head down, craning her neck to press her lips over yours again, both of you mumbling and moaning incoherents into each other’s mouths.

“cum with me, baby.” you nodded against her, mouth open wide to let the whines slip out.

sevika’s hips wouldn’t stop at nothing to say the least. she wanted to make sure you were right there with her. you couldn’t handle it anymore when she continued to slip her wetness around with you. your hips bucked up, contributing to the pleasure for both of you. your stomach grew tighter with your release and you didn’t want to hold it anymore. “sevika. . .”

“go ahead, i’m right b-behind you.” her eyes, again, bored into yours with so much lust it was crazy. you knotted your eyebrows together just as she did the same thing as she knew you were both about to cum.

there was a flash of white with the last buck of sevika’s hips, going straight to your head. her guttural moan filled the room, intertwining with yours while you released a high pitched pleasure-filled scream. her hips slowed in movement, while yours continued to buck at the sensitivity of your puffy, swollen fucked-out clit. sevika dipped her head back down, covering your lips and face in more hot kisses before dropping her complete weight over you.

your hands threaded through her hair, brushing it out of her face as her eyes fluttered shut, her head rubbing against your chest.

you shared the intense silence. the room is stuffy and sweaty, and sevika nustling away at the warmth of you.

“you don’t want me to pay you anymore?”

your lips tightened, knowing she was going to bring this up, you shook your head side to side while your eyes almost dared to close. “why not?”

shoulders shrugging, “i don’t think you need to.”

sevika’s eyes opened for a moment, looking over the parts of your body that she could see without moving her head. blinking a couple of times, she pursued her lips out, kissing the tender skin on your boob before sneaking her right arm under you to keep you pressed to hers. “okay.”

#♱ 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐨’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ౨ৎ 𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒊.#sevika arcane #sevika smut #black y/n #sevika x fem!reader #sevika x blk!reader #lesbian #wlw smut #౨ৎ˚★ 𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 #⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 𝓂𝓎 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓀𝓈

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mysteria157 · 10 months ago

Text

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Profanity, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Doggystyle, Fingering, Oral (m! receiving)…

WC: ~10k (grab your snacks)

Summary:

Nanami runs into a problem that every man dreads.

Now, you find yourself navigating the treacherous waters of his bruised ego and growing hysteria, armed with nothing but your unwavering love and a seemingly endless supply of patience, as you try to help him overcome this unexpected hurdle.

Notes: Hello! Trying to get back into the swing of writing again after so many weeks on a break and naturally Nanami is who I gravitate towards. I thought this one shot would be a funny idea, and as someone once told me, I wrote this with “my c*it on the keyboard.”

Please do not ask me for more related to this story. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

“Fuck, Kento,” you breathe, fingers digging into the satin of the pillow case beneath your head.

The soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp bathes your intertwined bodies in a honeyed light, casting shadows that dance across your rich brown skin. Nanami’s lips, hot and insistent, trail a path of fire down your neck, pausing to lavish attention on the sensitive hollow of your throat. He drags his teeth along your clavicle, brushes his lips between the skin of your breasts. A breathy moan escapes you as his tongue traces lazy, deliberate circles around an already-sensitive nipple, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins.

His hands, strong and sure, yet infinitely gentle, knead the soft flesh behind your knees, coaxing your legs to open wider, allowing him to sink deeper into the welcoming heat of your body. The blunt head of his cock grazes that sweet spot inside you with each measured thrust, and you can’t help but arch your back, silently begging for more.

Your hair, messy from his fingers, frames your face in a splatter of curls, some clinging to the sheen of sweat on your cheeks. The sight of you like this—open, wanting, completely his—nearly steals the breath from his lungs and makes him double down his efforts.

It’s been weeks since you’ve had this. Weeks of Kento stumbling home late from working overtime, collapsing into bed still fully clothed. Weeks of missed connections, family obligations, and movie nights cut short with you both passing out on the couch. But tonight, finally, you have each other, free from the demands of the world outside.

As Nanami moves within you, his honey-wheat hair, usually so perfectly styled, falls in soft, tousled waves across his forehead, clinging to the perspiration that glistens on his brow. The strong line of his jaw is taut with concentration, a muscle jumping beneath the skin in a way that makes your fingers itch to trace its contours. His eyes, normally a cool, observant umber, now burn with a fierce intensity, a volatile mix of desire and something else, something harder to define.

But even as you lose yourself in the rhythm of your lovemaking, in the exquisite slide of skin against skin, you can’t help but notice the weariness etched into the lines of Nanami’s face, the slight tremor in his hands as they map the contours of your body. He’s been working himself to the bone, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion, and it shows in the tension of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. You had tried to get him to sleep when he sagged through the front door, but he was insistent, clawing at your too-big t-shirt, silent and too stubborn to listen to his body as he licked into your hot mouth.

He’s so tired. Mind still running through quarterly reports and half-completed project plans. But he won’t let that deter him. He’s determined to focus—to savor this moment, to lose himself in the intoxicating scent of your skin, to surrender to the tremors that course through him as your fingers ghost up his back. You marvel at the play of muscles beneath his skin, at the flex and release of his broad shoulders with each movement—a reminder of the strength he usually keeps so carefully controlled.

But as he leans in to capture your lips, that traitorous whisper of doubt in his mind grows in volume. That exhaustion that melted away from your touch has retreated to within him, to course through the blood in his veins and manifest again in its own, evil way at the apex of his thighs. Nanami’s movements falter, his rhythm turning erratic, unsure. You feel a change in him, a hesitation that wasn’t there before, and your heart clenches with concern. His brow furrows, his lips pressing into a thin line as he tries to hold onto the moment, to keep the passion burning between you. The confidence that usually radiates from him when you are both between the sheets seems to waver, leaving in its wake a man grappling with an unfamiliar sense of inadequacy.

He doesn’t want to believe it. He refuses to acknowledge the treacherous thought creeping into his mind. His cock, moments ago hard as a rock and pulsing within you, is betraying him. He digs one hand into the pillow beneath your head, fingers tangling in your curls, savoring the sharp gasp you shake out, desperately willing himself to focus on your heat, on your breath ghosting across his face—anything but the waning firmness of his erection.

With a low grunt, he thrusts deeper so there’s no room for his cock to leave you. The movement is sharper than usual, a force that has no trace of his care behind it and it immediately makes you blink through the fog of pleasure in your mind. You notice the change, concern filling you as you take in the tumultuous emotions on his face. His blonde hair falls in thick tufts over his forehead, brushing against the deepening crease between his eyebrows.

“Ken?” Your voice is soft, a gentle caress. You bring a hand to his cheek, and he leans into your touch as if your soft skin might anchor and keep him focused. “Is everything alright?”

Everything is far from alright.

It’s a nightmare scenario that Nanami can’t bring himself to voice. But he knows you feel it. Instead, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants against your vanilla skin, his fingers digging almost painfully into the flesh of your hips. He drives his hips deeper, angling upwards, trying desperately to lose himself in your pliant body.

But with his next thrust, the cruel truth becomes undeniable. What was once hard steel is now unbearably soft, slipping out of you as his hips collide with yours. Your gasp mirrors his shock as he jerks his head up to meet your gaze. The mortification in his eyes is palpable, a stark contrast to the passion that burned there mere moments ago.

“Ken, it’s okay—” you begin, but he’s already retreating, both physically and emotionally, his walls slamming back into place, shutting you out. You can practically see him retreating into himself, his shoulders hunching, his jaw clenching with a stubbornness of wounded pride.

“Hey, no, we aren’t doing this,” you insist, voice firm and laced with quiet determination.

You reach for him, your fingers wrapping around a thick wrist, anchoring him to you. You’ve spent years chipping away at his defenses, learning every facet of his being, and you refuse to let him shut you out now over something like this. This isn’t just embarrassment—it’s a fundamental shaking of his self-image, a crack in the foundation of who Nanami believes himself to be. An affliction that every man prays to the gods never finds them.

Limp dick.

You gently pull Nanami back to rest between your thighs, his weight a comforting shield against the cool air of your shared bedroom. Your fingers weave through his hair, feeling the tension thrumming through his body as he settles against you.

“Kento,” you murmur, your voice a low, soothing melody in the quiet room. “Look at me.”

He stills for a heartbeat, two, before raising his head, his eyes meeting yours. In their depths, you see a swirling maelstrom of emotions—frustration, embarrassment, shame. He’s tousled hair and flushed cheeks, an overwhelming exhaustion and stress etched beneath his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, cradling his face in your hands. Your thumbs trace the high arch of his cheekbones, feeling the heat of his skin. “This happens. It doesn’t change a thing—not how I feel, not how much I love you, none of it.”

Nanami’s jaw clenches under your palms, the muscle pulsing, a physical manifestation of the turmoil brewing within him. His gaze falls, unable to hold yours, as if the weight of his perceived failure is too much to bear. “I should be able to—”

“To what?” you interject, your voice gentle but firm. “To be some infallible sex god?” A soft laugh escapes you, your lips curving into a tender smile. “To never have limp dick?”

Those warm eyes glare at you, not at all amused by your light-hearted but poignantly accurate joke. “Now is not the time for a joke,” he grits out, his voice tight, strained.

“Now is exactly the time for a joke,” you counter, your thumb tracing the slight cracks of his bottom lip. You can sense his next moves, your body attuned to his very soul, feeling his inclination to withdraw, to roll over and brood, to let this momentary setback fester into something more. You tighten your thighs around his waist, refusing to let him drift away. “How long have we been together, Kento?”

“Three years.” His answer is immediate, automatic, a testament to the depth of your bond.

“And in that time, has this ever happened before?”

Your eyes lock—a silent battle of wills, logic against stubborn pride. He understands your point, recognizes the truth in your words, but his stubbornness matches your own. “No,” he admits, the word a reluctant concession.

“You’re human, Kento. Wonderfully, beautifully human, and the sexiest man I’ve ever known. Performance issues or not.”

He scoffs, but you feel his shoulders slacken, his body melting into yours as he exhales, the tension slowly bleeding from his muscles. His arms tighten around you, calloused hands splaying across the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, as if your touch alone could chase away the demons of self-doubt. Those beautiful golden strands tickle your cheeks as he nuzzles closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“Is that so?” he finally murmurs, and you can hear the small smile in his voice, a welcome change from the earlier tension. For as reserved as he is, Nanami preens under any sort of compliments you give him, a chink in his armor of cool composure.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, your hands sliding down to appreciate the firm planes of his back. “It’s a shame, really. You attract too much attention. I’ve been too generous with how long I let you out of the house.”

You feel more than hear his soft chuckle, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into yours. Nanami pulls back slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. The vulnerability from before hasn’t completely faded, but it’s tempered by a familiar spark of determination kindling in their depths. You don’t know if the subject has completely dropped. But for now, he doesn’t seem to dwell on it, content to focus on you instead.

“Well,” he begins, his voice dropping to that deep, velvety tone that never fails to send shivers cascading down your spine, “I should ensure your satisfaction. Maybe then you’ll extend my hours outside.”

Before you can respond, he’s moving. He sits up on his knees, hot hands wrapping around your waist before yanking your hips closer to him, a delicious show of strength that has your breath catching in your throat. Your giggle of surprise quickly morphs into a gasp as his lips find that sensitive spot just below your ear, tongue sliding against the skin before it trails down the rest of your body, leaving a path of desire that makes you shudder against him.

You expected a period of adjustment, a gradual return to the easy intimacy you and Nanami had always shared. But as time passed, you began to notice a shift, subtle at first, but growing more pronounced with each passing day.

That first sign of something odd presents itself on day three since that night, a quiet Saturday morning that dawns with a gentle golden light filtering through your bedroom curtains. You wake up to find Nanami’s side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch. Puzzled, you pad into the living room, your bare feet silent on the cool hardwood floor, your eyes roaming the space for any sign of him.

Nanami sits at the dining table, surrounded by a veritable fortress of books, their spines forming a colorful barricade around his hunched form. His laptop glows in the morning light, casting his features in a pale blue hue, multiple tabs visible on the screen. He’s hunched over and shirtless, his bare back a canvas of dark moles, constellations you’ve traced countless times with reverent fingers, your lips mapping a path between each celestial point.

As you circle the table, drawing closer to his absorbed form, you’re struck by the intensity of his concentration, the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. His fingers fly over the keyboard with a single-minded purpose, a man on a mission, lost in a world of his own making.

“What are you doing up so early?” you ask, running a hand through the short, silky hair at his nape.

He glances up, and the determined glint in his eye catches you off guard. “Research,” he replies simply, as if that single word explains everything.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you lean in to examine the book titles scattered across the table, your brow rising with each passing second:

Male Sexual Health

Nutrition and Libido

Stress Management for Peak Performance

What the—?

A mix of emotions bubbles up inside you—amusement at his determination, concern for his state of mind, a touch of exasperation at his stubbornness. Part of you wants to tease him mercilessly, to watch that adorable flush creep up his neck, to see him squirm under your playful attention. But you bite your tongue, sensing the fragility of the moment, the rawness of his exposed insecurities.

“Ken,” you begin, your voice a delicate balance of understanding and concern, “is this about what happened the other night? I thought we talked about this, baby.”

“We did,” he nods, not looking up from his screen. “And I appreciate your understanding. But I can’t let it happen again. I’m going to fix this.”

There’s so much you want to say, so many reassurances you want to offer. You want to tell him how normal this is, how surprised you are that it hasn’t happened more often given his grueling work schedule. But you bite your tongue, sensing that this is something Nanami needs to process on his own.

“Don’t you think this might be…a bit much?” you try one last time, your fingers tracing soothing patterns on his bare shoulder, careful not to make him feel defensive and push him further into his own head.

“Nothing is too much when it comes to satisfying you.”

And with those words, spoken with such conviction, such raw honesty, your heart swells, a tidal wave of love and affection crashing over you. He won’t be swayed, and there’s no point in trying to argue with him when he’s set on something. You can’t help but sigh fondly, running your fingers through his hair again, your nails gently scratching his scalp in the way you know he loves. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, a low groan of appreciation rumbling from his chest as he guides your fingers to just the right spot.

As Nanami launches into an explanation of the benefits of Ashwagandha root, his fingers running along a line of text in one of the magazines, you can’t help but shake your head affectionately. You love this man, even (or perhaps especially) when he’s being ridiculously over-the-top, his determination to be the best partner he can be, even if it means diving headfirst into a world of herbal remedies and performance-enhancing techniques.

The days slip by, each one blurring into the next, a haze of normalcy tinged with an undercurrent of unease. It’s not until the morning of day ten that the true extent of Nanami’s newfound obsession becomes impossible to ignore.

The soft schick of his razor fills the bathroom, a rhythmic counterpoint to the rush of running water. He stands before the mirror, shirtless, a towel draped over his broad shoulders to catch stray flecks of shaving cream. You watch, transfixed, as he meticulously glides the razor along the sharp line of his jaw, each stroke precise, measured.

You stand beside him, your own morning ritual underway, massaging a rich, creamy lotion into your melanin-kissed skin. Your favorite scent of vanilla fills the air, mingling with the crisp, clean aroma of Nanami’s shaving cream. It’s a familiar dance, this shared moment of grooming, of preparation for the day ahead.

But as you reach for your leave-in, your eyes catch on something new, something that sends a jolt of surprise through your system. There, amidst the clutter of skincare products and toiletries, sits a new addition to the growing collection of bottles on the counter. The mustard-yellow label boldly proclaims: “Maca Root: For Vitality and Stamina”.

“Ken?” you murmur, plucking the bottle from the counter, your eyebrows dipping in confusion. “What’s this?”

Nanami’s eyes flick to yours in the mirror, his hand pausing mid-stroke, the razor hovering just above his skin. “Just a supplement,” he evades, his voice carefully neutral, a forced casualness he uses to avoid arguments he won’t win that always sets your teeth on edge. “For…overall health.”

You turn the bottle in your hands, eyebrow arching higher in disbelief with each word you read as you take in the bold, almost aggressive labeling. Your gaze darts to the other bottles littering the counter, a growing sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach as you take them in for the first time.

“Uh-huh. And the Zinc? The Ginseng? The…” you squint at another label, your voice dripping with skepticism, “L-arginine? All for ‘overall health’ too?”

He clears his throat, his gaze darting away from yours, focusing intently on his reflection as he studiously avoids your probing stare. “That’s right.”

“Baby—” you begin, but he cuts you off, setting down his razor with a definitive clink and shutting the water off, turning to face you fully.

The sight of him, bare-chested and gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light, sends a bolt of desire through you, a hunger that’s been left unsatiated for far too long. The thick cords of muscle that stretch across his chest and arms, the taut planes of his abdomen, the trail of dark blonde hair that disappears beneath the low-slung waistband of his sweatpants—it’s exquisite torture, a feast for your senses after days of famine.

But there’s a tension in the set of his shoulders, a skittishness in his gaze that sets off warning bells in your head.

“It’s the research I’ve been doing,” he admits, almost apologetic as he pulls the towel from his shoulders, wiping away the last traces of shaving cream from his jaw. “From what I’ve read, these have proven benefits for…various aspects of wellbeing.”

He seems almost afraid, as if he’s bracing himself for your reaction, steeling himself against the inevitability of your displeasure. Fortunately for him, the words are like a match to kindling, a spark that ignites a flame of mischief in your belly. You step closer, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, the supplement bottle forgotten on the counter behind you.

“Various aspects, huh?” you tease, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. This moment—when he smells of fresh soap, shaving cream, and mint toothpaste before cologne masks his natural scent—is one of many favorites. It’s one of the most arousing forms of Nanami Kento before he slides on his work clothes and gives the world a straight face and measured words. “Care to demonstrate some of these benefits?”

Your fingertips trace the muscles of his chest, slide along his skin with more purpose, your nails dragging lightly over his nipples, a teasing hint of pain that you know drives him wild. He inhales sharply, his muscles tensing beneath your hands, his jaw clenched tight, a reaction that’s as familiar to you as your own heartbeat.

For a moment, you think you have him, that he’ll give in to the desire that darkens his eyes, that he’ll roughly bunch your skirt up around your waist, hike your legs up and around him and make the bathroom mirror knock against your back until you’re gasping out his name as you tighten around his cock.

But then he’s stepping back, his hands coming up to gently catch your wrists, pulling your hands away from his skin.

“We’ll be late for work,” voice strained, conveying his own battling desire. He brings your hands to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the delicate skin of your wrists, your forehead, your mouth.“Let me make you breakfast instead.”

And then he’s gone, slipping past you and out of the bathroom, leaving you standing alone, frustration and disappointment warring in your chest. Your gaze falls on the supplement bottles, a physical manifestation of his growing hysteria, and for a moment, you’re seized by the urge to sweep them all into the trash, to rid your home of these unwelcome interlopers.

But you resist, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as you silently repeat the mantra that’s become your lifeline in recent days: I love him. I love him. I love him.

But as you square your shoulders and stalk out of the bathroom to start your day, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s got to give, that this tenuous balance can’t hold forever.

Day seventeen. It feels like an eternity, a cruel and unusual punishment for a crime you didn’t commit. You’re a prisoner in your own home, trapped in a world where the man you love is just out of reach, tantalizingly close but impossibly distant.

Seventeen days too long when you live with a man as loving, kind, and attentive as Nanami Kento. Seventeen excruciating days since the concept of getting dicked down was a given, a pleasure you could indulge in whenever the mood struck. Now, you’re reduced to grasping at sloppy seconds, thirds, fourths—anything for a crumb of cock, a fleeting taste of the intimacy you crave.

You’ve become a connoisseur of stolen moments, of fleeting glances and brushing touches that once held the promise of so much more. A shared look in the bathroom mirror that used to lead to soapy sex in the shower. The brush of his hand against the small of your back as you pass in the hallway, a touch that used to lead to him pulling you flush against his body, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss. Now, you’re like an addict, desperately chasing the ghost of a high, sucking at nicotine-stained fingers for the essence of a hit.

In a last-ditch effort to reignite the spark to show him just how much he’s overreacting, you’ve taken to wearing his shirts around the house. You leave the top buttons undone, a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage on display, the hem riding high on your thighs to reveal the faint marks that he likes to lick against. But each night when you reach for him, Nanami simply presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips trailing a path down your body in a reverent exploration, worshiping you with his mouth and fingers until you’re trembling and spent.

But never with his cock. Never with the part of him you crave most, the part that once made you feel so deliciously full, so utterly claimed.

You feel dramatic when you think about it because it always brings tears to your eyes, hot and stinging with frustration and despair. Like you’re a petulant toddler wanting a cookie that’s been sitting on the counter all morning.

You’ve never been one to let a man dictate your life, to let his whims and insecurities hold sway over your own desires. But Nanami has always been a man to put you above and beyond anything before himself. If the women of the world knew what they were missing, if they could experience even a fraction of the pleasure Nanami Kento can provide, they’d be falling to their knees in supplication, just like you.

How far you’ve fallen.

And how little you care.

Tonight, you vow, will be different. You slip into the silk nightgown he loves, the one that clings to your every curve like a second skin, the baby blue fabric whispering against your heated flesh as you step out of the bathroom. Your heart races with anticipation, your body thrumming with need as you picture his reaction, the way his eyes will darken with desire, the way he’ll pull you into his arms and finally, finally give you what you both so desperately need.

But the bedroom is empty, the sheets still neatly made, mocking you with their pristine perfection. You frown, a sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach as you pad down the hallway, your bare feet whispering against the cool hardwood. As you approach the kitchen, a pungent, almost medicinal smell hits your senses, growing stronger with each step, mingling with the whir of a blender.

You round the corner and freeze, taking in the scene before you. Nanami stands at the kitchen counter, surrounded by an alchemist’s array of strange-looking roots and powders. The blender in front of him churns away, filled with a murky-greenish-brown liquid that looks more like something out of a horror movie than anything fit for human consumption.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice thin and strained, confusion and exasperation warring for dominance in your tone.

He looks up, startled, nearly knocking over a jar of what looks like dried herbs. “It’s…a health shake.”

You want to argue, to shake his shoulders and scream that this has gone too far, that he’s lost sight of what really matters in his quest for some unattainable ideal. But the determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the way he grimaces as he chokes down a sip of the vile concoction—it all speaks to a desperation that breaks your heart even as it fuels your frustration.

As he takes another sip, nose twisted to the side to avoid the foul smell, his eyes catch your frame. They roam over you, taking in the nightgown, giving you the exact reaction you pictured before coming out here.

For a moment, you see that flicker of desire in his eyes that you’ve been craving.

But then it’s gone, replaced by something that looks suspiciously like guilt.

“I’ll come to bed soon,” he promises, grimacing through another sip of his vile brew. “Get some rest. I know today was rough at work.”

His words are like a knife to your gut, a reminder of the distance that’s grown between you, the way his obsession has consumed him so completely that he can’t even see the pain it’s causing you both.

All of this, because of one night.

You press your toes into the hardwood, your fingers twisting in the hem of your nightgown as you fight back the tears that burn the corners of your eyes.

“You…you don’t want to come to bed with me?” you whisper, hating the way your voice breaks, the way the hope that once buoyed your words has been replaced by a hollow, aching despair and annoyance.

“I want to finish this and catch up on a few things for work before I come to bed.” His gaze slides away from yours, unable to meet the hurt and frustration in your eyes. Unable to see just how in his head he has become with all of this. “It’ll be a little while. Sleep for me? Please?”

The rejection, however gentle, leaves you feeling exposed and bereft, a physical blow to your gut. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak anymore, and turn to head back to the bedroom, your vision blurring.

There’s so much more to this than just you wanting to have sex. You want to be supportive, to give him time and space to work through whatever this is. But you hate just how disillusioned he has become. His gaze and his touch are tainted now—held back by shame and fear of disappointing you. And you can’t help but feel like this is getting more out of control instead of getting better.

You love him, more than anything. But right now, listening to the distant sounds of him choking down that awful-smelling shake, you’ve never felt further apart.

It all comes to a head on day twenty-five. The day dawns like any other, the sun’s warm rays filtering through the windows of your shared apartment, casting a soft glow on the well-worn furniture and the mementos of your life together. It’s your day off, a rare respite from the chaos of the work week, and you find yourself moving through the space with a sense of purpose, straightening and cleaning, trying to bring order to the disarray that seems to mirror the state of certain parts of your relationship.

As you work, your mind wanders, replaying the events of the past month like a melancholy film reel. The distance, the tension, the way Nanami has been pulling away from you, retreating into himself in a desperate attempt to fix what he perceives as a fundamental flaw in his being. Insisting that he won’t let this happen again even though he won’t actually fuck you.

It’s a weight that’s been bearing down on you both, a shadow that’s slowly suffocating the light and love that once filled every corner of your lives.

Your feet carry you to the bedroom, to the closet you share. As you reach for Nanami’s side, intent on straightening his crisp dress shirts, your hand brushes against something unfamiliar, tucked away in the shadows. Curiosity piqued, you pull it out, revealing a plain, unmarked brown box.

For a moment, your heart stutters in your chest, a cold fear gripping your insides as you lift the lid, praying that it’s nothing that would point your partner in the direction of infidelity. But no, you shake your head, banishing the thought before it can fully form. Nanami would never betray you, never seek solace in the arms of another because there’s only has and ever been you.

It makes complete sense in your head, but lately—

You yank open the lid and gape.

Inside, nestled among crumpled tissue paper, are items you never expected to find in Nanami’s possession. Your fingers tremble slightly as you examine them—a cylindrical pump, clear save for the rubber base, and an orange prescription bottle, its label stark against the translucent plastic.

You stare at the objects, your mind whirling with a chaotic storm of emotions. Shock, disbelief, a rising tide of frustration and despair. This isn’t just Nanami being health-conscious anymore, not just a passing phase or a well-intentioned attempt at self-improvement. This is something deeper, something more desperate, a manifestation of the fear and inadequacy that’s been eating away at him since that fateful night.

Carefully, you replace the items, your movements mechanical, your thoughts a jumbled mess. A part of you wants to laugh, to find the absurdity in the situation, to release the tension that’s been building in your chest like a pressure cooker. But you can’t bring yourself to even stifle a giggle, the weight of your worry too heavy.

You sink down onto the bed, the cool sheets soothing the heat of your legs, and draw in a deep, shuddering breath. The weeks of distance, avoidance, the way Nanami has been retreating further and further into himself, straying more and more from reason. There’s so much more to your relationship than just sex, but it’s a big part, a well-practiced part that you both can be your rawest selves during.

But all of this is a spiral that’s slowly dragging you both down, a vortex of unspoken fears and mounting frustrations on both ends.

And in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your shared life in your apartment, the photos and trinkets that chronicle your love story, you know that something has to give. And it looks like you’ll have to take matters into your own hands. This ends today.

Tonight, when Nanami gets home, you’ll address this head-on. No more dancing around the issue, no more swallowing your grievances in the name of patience and nonexistent understanding. It’s time to remind him of who he is, of the man you fell in love with, the man who’s always been more than enough for you.

The sound of the front door opening pulls you from your thoughts, the soft shuffle of Nanami’s footsteps echoing down the hallway. “Love, I’m home,” he calls out, his voice weary but warm, a balm to your frayed nerves.

He appears in the doorway, his tie loosened, speckled black on yellow draped over his shoulders, the top buttons of his blue shirt undone. His glasses are gone, discarded in his haste to shed the trappings of the office, to leave the stresses of the day behind. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes softening as they land on you, a reverent smile playing at the corners of his lips. “So beautiful.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words, at the love and adoration that shines in his gaze, even though you’re in a ratty t-shirt and shorts, your curls thrown into a careless and messy bun.

“You always speak as if it’s the first time you’ve ever seen me,” you tease, tilting your head back to accept his kiss, a chaste press of his lips that nonetheless ignites a spark of longing in your core.

“Because it’s true,” he replies simply, his fingers brushing a stray curl behind your ear. “I’m going to shower.” He sounds despondent, unbelievably ragged with the weight of the day clinging to him like a second skin.

“Rough day?”

“A very rough day, my love,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, disrupting the sharp part that he makes every morning. He reaches a hand out to you, an invitation, a plea for your company. “Join me?”

The bathroom is a sanctuary of steam and heat, the air thick with the mingled scents of your body washes—cucumber melon and sandalwood. You perch on the counter, a fluffy towel wrapped around your body, watching as Nanami goes through his post-shower routine, his movements methodical, almost meditative.

Water droplets cling to his skin, tracing tantalizing paths down the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your fingers itching to follow those rivulets, to map the contours of his body with your lips and tongue.

“Let me,” you murmur, your voice husky with repressed longing. Your legs spread, the open lapels of your towel exposing a creamy brown thigh that Nanami’s eyes flicker to before he meets your gaze. You reach for him, pulling closer until he’s standing between your parted thighs, the heat of his waist seeping through the thin barrier of your towel.

With gentle fingers, you work through the rest of his skincare routine—toner, serum, smoothing eye cream over the delicate skin beneath his lashes. The domesticity of the moment, the intimacy of caring for him like this in whatever way you can, it’s a way to show him that you’re here—that you’re not going anywhere, no matter how lost he may feel.

Your fingertips glide over his skin, applying the last of the face cream with gentle circular motions. As you finish, your hands move to his damp hair, brushing the strands away from his forehead. The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes that crease faintly when he smiles.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, a soft smile playing on your lips. Nanami’s hands come to rest on your waist, his thumbs tracing small circles on your towel-covered skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, thickly. His eyes, those warm pools of mahogany, are soft with gratitude and affection.

“Always,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with love for this man.

Nanami leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. It’s meant to be a simple gesture of gratitude, but something shifts in the air around you. Whether it’s the intimacy of you both so close or the heat on your skin—the kiss deepens, slow and exploratory, as if you’re rediscovering each other after a long absence.

Your fingers thread through his damp hair, tangling in the strands as his hands tighten on your waist. Your tongue slides along his bottom lip, tasting the coffee he must have had on the way home, the hint of want that he wants to crumble into. He returns with equal fervor, pressing closer to you, sliding his tongue against yours, shivering from the soft moan that shakes from your wet lips when you both finally break apart. A gossamer thread of saliva connects you before he pecks your lips one last time. Nanami’s chest rises and falls deeply, coiled masculinity oozing from his pores, tangling with the downy hairs on his chest.

“Kento,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, “we…we need to talk about what’s been going on.”

Your hands train down his chest as you speak, mapping the familiar terrain of his body. Beneath your fingertips, his heart thunders like a trapped bird, betraying the melting calm facade he’s trying to maintain. The defined muscles of his abdomen twitch under your touch, a visceral reaction he can’t control.

“The magazines, the supplements, the smoothies,” you continue, gentle but firm. “This has gone too far. One off night, Kento. That’s all it was. Yet here you are, acting like you’re broken, like every moment we’ve shared before was somehow lacking.”

Nanami tenses, his body coiling like a spring beneath your hands. But you’re not letting him retreat—not like that night—and certainly not right now. Your legs wrap around his waist, the gap of your towel widening as you yank him closer, anchoring him to you, skin to skin.

“You think that I would look at you differently?” you murmur, catching his distressed eyes every time they try to evade your gaze, willing him to understand. “Think I would think of you as a failure? You like logic, Kento and I’m telling you the facts. You were tired, case closed.”

“But I—” he starts, his voice rough with emotion, eyes narrowing in frustration as he tries to defend himself. You silence him with a thumb to the plump skin of his bottom lip, tracing the divots of soft, pink flesh.

“You’re the healthiest man I know, Ken.” Your other hand drifts lower, brushing through the trail of dark golden hair that disappears beneath his towel. “You take such good care of us. And you never, ever fail to satisfy me.”

His breath catches as your fingers ghost over his hipbones, alternating between soft cotton and the sharp cut of his skin. “One night doesn’t change that,” you whisper, the hand on his face sliding to card through his hair, you lean in to press your lips to the strong line of his jaw. His fingers dig into your waist from your touch, Adams apple bobbing against your gliding lips as he swallows the burning desire that’s slowly searing him from the inside out. “It doesn’t make you any less amazing, any less desirable.”

You pull back, meeting his eyes. In their warm depths, you see a swirling mix of vulnerability that makes your heartache.

“I just…I don’t want to disappoint you again. While I know that you don’t care, being unable to provide for you fully is something that I never wanted to experience.” The confession is thick in the air, sloshing with what remains of the steam from the shower, coating your skin.

“Oh, Kento,” you sigh, pressing your forehead to his. The scent of his skin—clean soap and something uniquely him—envelops you, offers that blanket of protection that you couldn’t imagine going away. “The only thing disappointing me is how you’ve been pulling away. I’m tired of you feeling inadequate when you’re anything but.”

You pause, weighing the options in your head before you take a bounding leap, throwing care to the wind. Slowly, deliberately, you slide off the counter, your body brushing against his as you descend. The cool tile of the bathroom floor contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from your skin.

Kneeling before him, you look up, your gaze never leaving his. Hands slide up thick thighs, the hair on his legs brushing against your fingertips as you travel further toward the rigid heat of where you need him most. The hitch in his breath is faint, almost nonexistent when your fingers toy with the towel’s edge around his waist. You only wait a moment, three seconds too many as your hand undoes the tight knot and the towel pools at his feet and your knees on the floor.

He’s just as he always is—thick and heavy from your proximity alone, hard and filled with the blood that pumps wildly in his veins. When you wrap your hand around him, the heft of his cock makes your cunt squeeze. You know exactly what it feels like to have the most intimate part of him carving out your insides, and god do you need it right now.

You give only one stroke and the effect is instant; Nanami hisses, fingers flexing at his sides, extending and then curling in a fist as a means to keep his hands to himself, the head of his mushroom tip red and prickles with a thick gathering of precum. Just the sight makes your mouth water.

“I found those things in your closet, you know,” you purr softly, stroking him at an excruciating pace. “You actually think you need something like that, baby?”

A flush creeps up Nanami’s neck, blooming across his cheeks in rushing embarrassment even though his pupils are dilated from the sight of you on your knees. He opens his mouth to speak, fumbling for words that choke around another hitch with your next stroke.

“You don’t feel like you would need something like that.” And you don’t wait a second longer, opening your mouth, dragging the flat of your tongue up the backside of his cock. Each taste bud slides against rigid bumps of veins, gathering with more spit as he groans from your attention. You offer a gentle kiss to his tip, licking the salty taste of his precum from your lips. “You sure don’t taste like you would need something like that.”

The rise and fall of his chest is quickly leaving the pace of steady, his eyes locked on you and jaw flexing with growing desperation. You squeeze his cock on an upward stroke, your own body beginning to heat up just from watching him fall apart.

“Look at you now,” you tease, widening the gap between your knees, the heat between your legs radiating against your ankles. “You don’t look like you need help. Responding so beautifully to me. Not a hint of hesitation.”

The velvety hardness of him in your palm twitches from your words, hard steel that’s blazing hot, and just the sight of him above you is more than enough for a whine to build in your belly, an innate urge to have any part of him inside of you.

Nanami’s eyes flutter, long lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones as you lean in. When you finally take him into your mouth, your name falls from his lips like a prayer, brown eyes rolling halfway to the back of his head, eyebrows furrowing in equal confusion and pleasure.

You’re too eager to give him time to adjust—tongue swirling around the crown of his head and softening underneath him before building a nice, slobbery rhythm. In and out, in and out. Every stroke of your mouth around his cock makes your mouth water even more and your body relax, the dig of the tile on your knees forgotten.

“Fuck,” he pants, the rare curse slipping from his lips as one hand comes to rest gently on the back of your head. You hum in appreciation—in encouragement—building his confidence to squeeze the curly strands. The vibration of your hum of attention causes Nanami’s hips to buck involuntarily and you let your throat relax without thinking, let him hit the back before you swallow around him. “I-” he bites his lip, groaning from deep in his chest.

The heat of the bathroom is suffocating, your neck covered in curls prickling with sweat, sliding down your clavicle and onto the towel around your breasts that’s quickly loosening. Or maybe it’s your own body burning from the inside out, your blood pounding and surging to your core, swelling with arousal that leaks from you without even touching yourself.

And you’re dripping. The hand not at the base of him—stroking what you can’t swallow—reaches between your thighs, rubbing a clit that’s sopping wet with slick that drips between your fingers and onto the tile floor.

It doesn’t take long for that familiar ache to build in your jaw, a growing reminder of the thick cock between your mouth. But his throaty moans keep you going, keep your cunt pulsing and squeezing around the two fingers that quickly slide inside of you.

Nanami’s eyes, dark with desire, take you in—your messy hand twisting at the base of his cock, the hint of saliva on your chin, the prickle of tears at the corners of your eyes from the way he keeps hitting the back of your throat. Only he gets to see you like this. Only he gets to be with someone who will stop at nothing to make him feel supported and loved over something as trivial as a night of bad luck.

“I…you’re…” he gasps, unable to complete his thoughts when you moan around him. “Please just—just keep…don’t stop…don’t—”

As the tension builds, Nanami’s control begins to slip. His thrusts lose their measured control, the hands in your hair tighten, the quick breath from his mouth becomes tight as he bares his teeth and fucks your mouth. His abs are glistening with sweat, tight and flexing as he fights to stay sane.

You’re ready to burst from the seams, pleasure coiling at the base of your spine with each curl of your fingers inside of you, moans tight and sporadic in a familiar sign of your impending orgasm.

It’s when his eyes catch you fingering yourself that his control snaps in half, setting him off. He’s grabbing at you, yanking you from your knees with a strength that shocks you, your towel finally falling off your body and exposing you to the heat of the bathroom. Before you can protest, Nanami moves in a flourish, the last threads of his control dissolving at the shocked but excited gasp that leaves your lips.

In one fluid motion, he spins you around to face the bathroom mirror. Your breath catches at the sight of you both—flushed, desire-drunk, tanned and freckled muscles pressed against your back. His eyes meet yours in the reflection, a primal hunger burning in their depths, black eating away the warm brown.

The press of his cock against your lower back makes you arch your back, leaning over the counter without a second thought, taking him in through the mirror. His hands roam over your body with renewed confidence, cupping the heaviness of your breasts, sliding down tiger-striped brown skin to grip your hips. His eyes trail over the mess of curls on your sweaty back, the curve of your ass, the glistening of your cunt as it catches in the bathroom light.

He looks focused, almost angry—determined to make sure he does exactly what he’s supposed to do. Your body shivers in anticipation. This is the Nanami you’ve been missing—strong, confident, and utterly, deliciously yours.

Without preamble, you part your legs more, opening yourself up to his leering gaze as he watches you slide two fingers through your sopping folds. “I need you,” you whisper, your other hand kneading the flesh of a breast, pinching the nipple to make you arch your back more into him.

He presses forward at the sound of your voice, a beacon for him to bring you whatever you desire. “You have me.”

You feel him, hot and hard against you, and you can’t stifle the moan that escapes you. “All of you Kento,” you whimper, pushing back against him and stroking your clit faster, your slick sliding down your fingers to the center of your palm. “No more holding back, no more doubts. Show me how much you want me.”

In the mirror, the trepidation in his eyes, the worry between his brows. The disappointment from that night is surely playing in his head, teasing him evilly that he will never be able to make love to you again. But you won’t let him feel that way again, you’ll never let him feel inadequate. So you turn slightly to reach behind you, smooth a hand up the side of his face, caressing his jaw, angling your head to the side to kiss him softly. “You’re perfect,” you breathe, the words barely a whisper between you both, the perfect combination to relax the subtle tension in his shoulders. “So perfect for me, Kento.”

He releases a shaky exhale against your lips from your words, the vibration traveling through your body where you’re pressed together. With one hand braced on your waist, the other guiding himself, his eyes not leaving yours, Nanami pushes into you slowly. Finally. Twenty-five days too late and the feeling of completeness, of absolute rightness, is overwhelming. It’s as if a missing piece of you has been slotted back into place.

You whimper, panting into his mouth, sliding your lips messily against his. Your body stretches to accommodate him, a delicious burn that makes your toes curl and your cunt pulse around him.

“Oh fuck, Kento,” you keen, “you’re so fucking big—fill me so well—” His hips snap forward, cutting you off, a sharp cry punching from your lungs.

“I-I shouldn’t have—” he pants against your lips, ready to apologize from the force but you don’t let him finish.

“Yes,” you encourage, your voice breathy from the delicious zing of pleasure that throbs between your legs. “You feel amazing, Ken. So perfect.”

He shivers from your words and starts a slow, almost tentative rhythm. But your continued praise spurs him on. His thrusts become more confident, more forceful, driving you both higher in the stifling heat of your bathroom.

The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slick smack of skin on skin, breathless moans from his full lips, whispered praises from your mouth.

“So good,” you moan softly. “You feel so good inside me.” The hand on your clit resumes its pace, wanting Nanami to be fully immersed in focusing so he can get past this terrible roadblock in his mind.

“More,” he demands, kissing you deeply, the side of your jaw, nibbling your ear, begging you silently for more love and praise. “I-I have to know I’m doing well. That I’m making you feel good—"

“You are,” you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips as he hits that spot deep inside you that makes white spots blot the edges of your vision. “You are—you are, Kento—shit fuck me harder. Give it to me.”

He bends to your will immediately, the pull of your voice—of your demands as easy as breathing, and he’ll give whatever it takes to make sure he can lay everything at your feet. “Fuck,” he groans, digging his fingers into the meat behind your knee, yanking it up onto the counter and you’re opening more, wider for him to slide in further.

It’s messy and animalistic, a building of sweat between your sliding bodies, a gradual intensifying thrum between your legs with each smack of his balls against you. Your body jerks with each thrust, pleasure scratching down your skin with sharp nails as your mind grows hazy, mouth falling open as the tip of his cock kisses that sweet spot inside of you, over and over and over with each inward stroke. The hand on your clit flies up to grab the sweaty porcelain of the sink in front of you, fingernails digging into the rubbery sealant along the sides. The other hand reaches back to tangle your fingers in his hair.

You’ve gone almost a month without him in the most primal way and your body is struggling to keep up. Your lungs struggle to pull in enough air, your slick-coated fingers slip against the sink, your hips burn from the open angle of one leg up on the counter.

But you can’t bring it in yourself to care, too deep in bliss to worry about your wellbeing, the pressure at the base of your spine building and building, molten pleasure bubbling in your gut as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” you gasp as you both climb together, meeting his thrusts as the tension coils tighter in your core. “You’re so strong. Love me so well. Fuck me so well.” Nanami groans harshly, shivering from your praise, reaching down to stroke your neglected clit, and you tense around him, choking at the pleasure that wraps around your throat, your cunt pulsing as it tries to swallow his cock and never let it leave.

You watch in the mirror as Nanami loses himself in the moment, all his doubts and insecurities forgotten. His face is a mask of pleasure and concentration, his body moving with a grace and power that takes your breath away. His hips falter, stuttering briefly to signal his match of mounting pleasure. He leans over you, his face in the crease of your neck, body bowing over to make you press further into the counter, teeth grazing your skin as he groans and pants against you with feral need.

He presses his fingers harder against your clit, rubs with a practiced motion and you’re tensing against the counter, scrambling for purchase on the sink as high-pitched keens shake from your throat. “Fuck right there, Kentooo,” you moan tightly. He moans harshly into the skin of your neck, relishing in the way your hot and wet walls tighten around him, doubling down, the fingers on your waist digging crescent moons into your skin. “Make me cum. Oh fuck, make me cum pleasepleaseplease—”

The hand in his hair tightens around silky strands, your body tenses up, your nose scrunching, pleasure pulsing and building in your cunt as you climb and climb and climb until you shatter.

A cry of his name, loud and primal, rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Ecstasy floods your system in overwhelming waves, each one threatening to pull you under. Tears gather in the corners of your tightly shut eyes, born from the sheer intensity of your release.

And like always, your pulsing walls are the final push Nanami needs. He thrusts into you harshly with deep punctuating strokes until his balls draw tight, fingers digging deeper, a deep, guttural groan shaking from his body as he finally climbs up that wall of shame and follows you over the edge, his release pulsing hot and deep inside you as your body continues to shudder with aftershocks.

Nanami doesn’t have the energy to pull out, collapsing onto you without grace. The cool counter against your cheek is a balm for your burning skin. As you both come down from your high, trembling and panting, you stroke his scalp with the hand still twisted in his sweaty hair, fading spots behind closed eyelids painting your vision.

After a few moments, Nanami stirs, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder before carefully withdrawing from your body. You whimper at the loss, but he soothes you with another soft kiss on your temple. You hear the sound of running water, the tub filling slowly as Nanami retrieves a warm, damp washcloth.

With tender care, he cleans you up, the soft cloth gliding over your sensitive skin. His touch is reverent, worshipful, as if he’s handling something precious beyond measure, and you melt further onto the counter. Once you’re clean, he guides your leg down from the counter, massaging the muscles of your hips and thighs to ease any lingering tension.

You let him lead you to the tub, sighing in bliss as you sink in the hot, soothing water. Nanami climbs in behind you, pulling you back against his chest as he settles you between his legs. The heat seeps into your aching muscles, the steam smelling faintly of lavender, the gentle lapping of the water against your skin a soothing lullaby.

For a long moment, you simply rest together, your head tipped back on his shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around your waist as a thumb strokes the skin. The bathroom is quiet, save for the occasional drip of the faucet and your slow, even breathing.

Your mind drifts to the vulnerability you’ve witnessed in Nanami, the raw, unguarded moments he’s bared his deepest fears and insecurities. And only you will be the one to see that. You’ll be the only one to build him back up when he’s stripped down, to remind him of his worth, to love through every storm. Even storms that are as weak and barely damaging as limp dick.

“Thank you,” he finally speaks, rich voice vibrating against your skin, filling you with warmth from the inside out. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply as if to memorize the smell of your leave-in. “For being patient with me…for being supportive…” You feel the tension drain from his body as he exhales, slowly, as if he’s releasing the last of his worries into the steam-filled air. “I love you. Deeply.”

You smile softly to yourself at the declaration and turn your head to meet his gaze, your eyes sparkling with a mix of adoration and mischief.

“This wasn’t an easy assignment you know,” you tease, your voice lighthearted even as emotion threatens to overwhelm you. “I expect payment for my unwavering devotion.”

Nanami’s eyes, hazy with post-orgasmic bliss, roll playfully, a smile tugging the edges of his lips. “What’s my bill?”

"Moissanite,” you declare matter-of-factly, nestling back against his broad chest with a contented sigh. “The carats are up to you, but—“

“A gold band,” Nanami interjects, warm with affection and certainty. “Emerald cut. I have it memorized, my love.”

He punctuates his words with a tender kiss to your temple, his arms tightening around you as if he never wants to let go. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, a kaleidoscope of butterflies set free by his words.

“The box in the closet? Throw the penis pump and the Viagra in the trash,” you add, playfully jabbing your elbow into his side. “You won’t be needing those anymore.”

Nanami’s laughter rumbles through you, a deep, satisfying sound that fills the room and washes over your skin like a physical caress. “And if I want to be prepared, just in case?” he counters, his tone light and teasing.

“You’re 28, not 50,” you remind him, your own laughter mingling with his.

“Humor me.”

“I guess I could gather up all the magazines, powders, supplements, and various “aids” and present them to you in a nice box for you to use one day. Of course, you’d be single, so I’m not sure what good they’d do you then.”

Nanami’s body shakes with mirth, his breath puffing warm and sweet against your hair. “In the trash they go.”

You hum in agreement, an eyebrow raised before you tilt your chin. And like always, because you never have to ask, Nanami obliges, his lips slanting over yours in a slow, deep caress that steals your breath and fills your heart all at once.

Thanks for reading!

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buckys-goodgirl · 3 months ago

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photos you’d take with bf!schlatt 💗💗

with black gf because WE ARE UNREPRESENTED!!!

#jschlatt #schlatt #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x blk reader #unfortunately that’s a new tag #yeah i’m just gonna have to write my own fanfic aren’t I..

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freelancelobotomy · 2 months ago

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gravity [s.r.]

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

summary: Whilst on a special undercover assignment from the leader of the vigilante organization that you're apart of to kidnap a thief, you get distracted by an old "friend" from the FBI Training Academy.

content warnings: fluff, angst, guns, mentions of sex, reader is mean but its okay bc Spencer was meaner, death, almost kiss

a/n: hiii !! I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins "Undercover Challenge." this is my first fic so pls be nice if its not the best lmfaofao.

When you spot Spencer across the bar, you freeze. The persona you put on for your job—the persona you’ve adopted to compartmentalize—ceases to exist when his eyes lock onto you and widen with recognition.

Ironically, that look of recognition is something you recognize. He’s had that same brightness in his eyes since the day you met him at the academy. It’s glassy and almost iridescent, just like the giant gaudy Chandelier hanging above the dance floor in front of the stage. He had that same look when he noticed the copy of The Valley of Fear by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on your nightstand the first time you played poker together in your dormitory, when you told him about how struggled with making friends in high school just like he did, and when Jason Gideon first walked into the training facility and handpicked him for the BAU—your dream job—instead of you.

You overheard your sergeant talking about getting some heat from the FBI, but you never thought to ask her about it later—doing so would feel like admitting to yourself that you’re not over the whole thing after three years. Not over him after three years.

Immediately, you think you’re being set up by the committee. The BAU has them cornered, and they sent you on this mission, painting you as the lone perpetrator. The team sent Spencer in to throw you off by using emotional manipulation. Then Spencer smiles at you and gets up from his seat at the bar. He’s genuinely surprised to see you.

“Y/N!” he says, his tone lilting and disarming. It must be a coincidence. He immediately just blew your cover. Wonderful.

“Spencer. Hi.” You wave at him, knowing his disdain for handshaking or overall contact with strangers, but then he wraps you in his arms. For a bit too long. He takes a deep breath and—is he… smelling you?

You exhale shakily, patting him on the back before he pulls away.

“You look…beautiful.” He says.

“Yea? Thanks,” You say curtly. He’s not wrong. You’re wearing a tight low cut back out dress that nicely accentuates your figure. You have to look good during every mission. It’s part of the job.

“It’s been too long,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “How have you been?”

You hesitate to meet his gaze, swallowing hard. “I’ve been good. How are you doing?” you manage to say, forcing a polite smile.

He stares at you for a beat before answering. “I’ve missed you.”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the door. Fuck this mission. You need to get out of here. You were planning on bailing anyway. Shoot a bullet into the air and say the guy was crazy and had a gun so you fled the scene. Sergeant can give this lame ass assignment to some rookie. The guy didn’t even really do anything.

“Y/N?” He gently grabs your arm, pulling you back toward him. “Look, I’m sorry. I was just being honest. I’ll lie if you want me to.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask, turning back to him.

“I want you to be honest with me.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve thought about making things right with you ever since I threw away my life the day I accepted that position at the BAU.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I was. I wasn’t ready for you. I’m sorry.”

This is absolutely not the night you expected.

You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

“I was dense, and self-preserving, and ignorant—I… I didn’t know a good thing when I had it. The only good thing to ever happen to me—I—the universe was foolish enough to give me you, and I lost it. I lost you, and I’m sorry.”

Spencer and you had become best friends during your time at the Quantico FBI Academy when you were both twenty–two. You two had hit it off immediately, both being from Las Vegas, geeky introverts, and overly ambitious. Once you got romantically involved two weeks before the program ended and you were sent back to your home state, Spencer, whose previous goal was to stay in Virginia, promised to move back to Las Vegas so he could live close to you and his mom. Then…Jason Gideon approached him with the offer to become a Supervisory Special Agent at the BAU in Quantico. He told Jason that he would think about it, you slept with him for the first time that night—the first time that you’d ever slept with anybody–because you thought it would make him choose you. It didn’t.

“Are you drunk?” you laugh.

“No.” He takes a step closer to you and lets go of your hand. “You don’t have to take me back, but please—Y/N. I miss you so much.”

What does he want from you then? Friendship? Neither of you have the heart for that. He has to be lying. “Give me some time to think about it.” You grin.

“As much as you need. Here—my phone number—” He pulls out a notepad and pen from his pants pocket.

“That won’t be necessary. I'll know by the end of this conversation.” You lightly shove them back toward him before taking a seat at the bar again and patting the stool next to you. He rushes over and sits down.

“Eager beaver, are you?” you ask, your tone amused.

“I see you haven’t changed much.”

“That’s not a no.”

“‘Not a no’ to what?”

“That’s not a no to my question. Are you an eager beaver?” You’re just messing with the poor guy at this point—seeing how far you can push him.

“I’m enthusiastic since I’m thrilled to see you again after three years. I wouldn’t say I’m an ‘eager beaver.’”

“I’ve texted you a few times over the years,” he adds. “Did you block my number? I tried to get into contact with you last year because i wanted to see how you were doing and the team was in vegas for—”

“A case?” You shake your head playfully. “It’s been five minutes, and you’ve already mentioned the BAU three times. Way to rub it in, Agent Reid.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’m kidding. No, I’m not. Are you still sabotaging yourself?”

“I’m trying not to currently,” he says.

You hum in response.

“I don’t know why Jason chose me over you.”

“I mean, you chose Jason over me. I think I know why—other than your IQ. I thought you guys kind of had some daddy-son issues you solved with each other symbiotically.”

“He left the BAU. Cut contact with everyone, including me. Left only a note, addressed to me.”

“Ouch. Just like your dad?”

He laughs humorlessly. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

You reach out and touch his face, running the digits of your fingers against the grain of his stubble. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes momentarily.

“You don’t shave anymore?”

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks. This case I’m working on…”

“Is that why you’re back in Vegas? You’re surely not here to visit your mother, are you?”

A little mean of you, but whatever.

“Uh, no. I’m not.”

“You haven’t been seeing anyone recently. And you’re in the process of getting sober from… something. Not weed—I would’ve smelled it on you. Opioids?” You pretend to be deep in thought. “Maybe coke. I can picture that for you. You, lining up snow with your Mensa card and snorting it with the rolled-up note from Gideon, thinking it makes you distinguished.”

“You were always a better profiler than me.”

“Tell that to Jason. Oh… wait.” You feign an apologetic tone, reaching out to place your hand atop his. He shakes his head, fighting a smile.

“Okay, that was a little mean. I’m sorry.” You pause, pulling your hand back. He just smiles at you, with that shimmer of recognition in his eye.

“What I said the day that I left…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “That if it had been you he picked for the BAU, you would’ve done the same thing—" He shakes his head. "It wasn't true. It was a cruel thing for me to say. To you of all people. You wouldn’t have, and I knew that. You were so kind, and funny, and pretty, and so fucking smart, and you liked my weird hair, and I could make you smile—” He looks at you and realizes he’s rambling. He takes a deep breath and leans toward you, putting his hand atop yours. You don’t pull away.

“I thought running away from you meant running away from you hurting me. I felt like there was no way whatever we had could end without me being utterly destroyed, so I left like a coward.”

“You swear now? Since when?” you ask.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small cylindrical bottle of aspirin.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks.

“A phallic symbol?” you quip.

“No,” he chuckles. “The bottle of aspirin you gave me the first day at the academy. I take it with me everywhere. When I first held a gun, it was so heavy it threw me off balance. Sent me hurling towards the floor. A couple of hours later, in the cafeteria, you saw me shielding my eyes from the fluorescent lights. I had a migraine from hitting my head and you handed me the bottle before sitting across from me.”

“And we ate in complete silence,” you laugh.

“But It wasn’t silence. To me, it was gravity.”

“Gravity?” you ask, raising a brow.

“The same gravity that pulled me toward the ground pulled me toward you. And it’s been pulling me toward you ever since—at a torturous, exponential rate.”

You lean towards him and whisper to him, “You are so corny.”

“How I felt back then hasn't changed. I don't think it ever will," He says.

You shake your head, laughing.

A piano chord plays, and both of your heads snap in that direction.

“Hello, goodnight, and good evening, everybody! I’m Al Zimmerman.” The eccentric jazz singer’s voice crackles through the air of the bar. “Tonight, I have my brother from way back here performing with us. But I’d like you to welcome Raymond Rolton on the horn, Samuel Quincy on the drums, Jerry Parcher on the bass, Craig Wilde on the sax, and a special guest—close friend of mine—on the piano.”

The pianist plays a quick trill, earning cheers from the crowd.

“The spectacular Ethan Jones, all the way from the jazz capital of the world—New Orleans, everybody!” The crowd erupts into applause.

“Ethan,” he says, almost to himself. “That’s why I’m here. My friend Ethan invited me to see him play since he knew I was in town, and we wrapped the case early. The team is still here, handling paperwork. Hotch said it was okay for me to—”

“Ethan?” You interrupt, your eyebrows shooting up. “As in Ethan Jones?”

That’s your target’s name.

“Yeah. I went to CalTech with him. We were… close. He dropped out of the academy on the first day. I had no idea you guys knew each other.”

You stand up slowly. “We don’t.”

Great. You are connected in some way. Now you definitely can’t seduce him into capture without the police making a connection. This is going to get you some heat from the Committee.

The Committee always has a reason for taking someone out. The process is simple: you take the target to a private location, torture them for information on what they’ve done (more often than not—rape, murder, or both), harvest their organs to sell to the highest bidder on the dark web, then dump what’s left of their body at a precinct with a note attached, detailing their crimes—including where the victims are buried and who else they’ve abused.

According to Saesha, the Committee’s Sergeant, Ethan had borrowed a lot of money from her way back when, and it’s about time he paid up. But she’s had trouble tracking him down herself. Your job within the Committee is simple: you’re the bait. Luring the sick puppies into a van, truck, or whatever vehicle Saesha assigns, then transporting them to the secondary location. Saesha even calls you Legs. Says they’re your best asset.

It gets you respect from the Committee. And a lot of cash.

She said they’re not going to kill him. Just— in her words—“put the fear of God into him to get her cheddar back.”

You need to get a closer look at this guy.

You hold out your hand to Spencer.

“You wanna dance?”

He looks over his shoulder. “Me?”

“No, the bartender.” You roll your eyes sarcastically. Jesus, he really is dense. “Yes, you, Spencer.”

“I don’t know how,” he admits, grinning sheepishly.

“It’s easy, c’mon.”

Spencer takes your hand, and you lead him to the dance floor, where the other couples sway to the melody of My Funny Valentine. The singer is really good.

His right arm wraps around your waist, and he holds your hand with his left. The two of you move together, slow and deliberate. His heartbeat is racing against your chest.

“I was not expecting this night to go like this. At all,” he murmurs, his warm breath tickling your ear. He pulls you closer.

“I thought the exact same thing as soon as I saw you.”

You glance at the stage. That’s definitely the guy.

“You’re wearing the perfume I got you for your birthday the week before I left,” he says suddenly. “Empressa, from Penhaligon’s.”

“It’s not the same one,” you reply, your eyes narrowing at Ethan. How did you get yourself into this mess? “I re-bought it.”

He nods.

“Do you still talk to Francesca?” he asks. She was your roommate back at the Academy.

“You mean Frannie?” Your head turns toward him. Your faces are about an inch apart now.

He hums in response, his gaze briefly flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. We, um… we got brunch last weekend, actually,” you rasp. The heightened tension between you two makes your stomach flip. “I like what you did with your hair. It suits you.”

“Thanks. I got tired of buying hair gel,” he chuckles.

“That’s a shame.”

“I can get… untired of buying hair gel if you want me to.”

“That’s quite all right,” you giggle. “I like the man bob.”

“Man bob?” He laughs.

You nod.

“Oh—here.” You let go of Spencer’s hand and push a stray strand of hair from his face.

He smiles at you, that smile—the one that was always reserved just for you.

Both of his arms find your waist. His large hands settle against your lower back.

You missed him. So much.

“What?” he asks, his eyes searching your face. He’s trying to figure you out. He’s profiling you right now.

“Nothing. I just…” You exhale, mustering up the courage to look at him. “I missed you too.”

“Yeah?” His gaze drops to your lips.

You really can’t tell if this is a good idea. You were always better at reading other people than understanding yourself. But your eyes flutter closed as you lean in for a kiss—

BANG.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

Screams. People running.

Spencer grabs your arm, ready to bolt, but his eyes widen when he sees Ethan bleeding out on the stage.

He rushes toward him.

Your head snaps around the room, searching for the shooter.

Your peripheral vision catches Saesha, gun still trained—right at stupid fucking Spencer, who’s kneeling beside his friend, packing the bullet wound with a hankerchief.

Your hand flies to your thigh holster.

Ethan didn’t do anything.

This is personal.

She’s blowing the whole operation.

You could flee. Get the hell out of here. Live with the guilt that you ran off like a coward as your Sergeant swiss cheesed Spencer.

Or—you could stop this.

The bar is nearly empty now. Just you, Spencer, Ethan… and her.

No choice.

Shit.

You cock your gun. “Sergeant.”

She turns around, a grin creeping onto her face. “Legs. You going soft on me?”

“Drop the gun. I’ll shoot you.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I interrupted your heavy petting with Hillary Swank over there,” Saesha says, motioning toward Spencer, her gun still raised, “but I need to take care of this. Of us.”

“You blew our cover. What did he do that was so bad that you’re sacrificing our freedom for? Hm? We had an agreement. No innocents get hurt—"

“And that agreement still stands," Saesha interrupts. "But in order to keep money in all of our pockets, we have to fix the past to secure our present. I trusted you for this job, Y/N. He took two hundred thousand dollars. From the Committee. From us.”

“I don’t understand,” you say.

She smirks. “Do you really think you’re the only failed FBI cadet we poached, Legs?”

Your stomach drops.

“He was your partner?”

“Something like that.”

“Saesha…” Ethan coughs weakly.

Spencer shushes him, telling him not to waste his breath.

“He probably spent it all already,” you say. “Why are you trying to kill him?”

“It’s personal.”

Saesha turns back toward you—

And in that split second, Spencer reaches for his pant leg, pulls a gun, and fires—

BANG.

The chain holding the massive chandelier snaps.

It comes crashing down, crushing Saesha beneath it.

A deafening silence follows.

Then—

BANG.

Somewhere in the bar, a door is kicked open.

“Reid!” A booming voice calls.

Spencer turns to you.

“Go.” he whispers.

You don’t hesitate.

Without another word, you run—out the back door, gun in hand.

The gravity of it all crashing down on you.

#criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #jordan todd #david rossi #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds challenge #friends to lovers #spencer reid x y/n #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x blk!reader

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desertteagles · 3 months ago

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╰───► MORAL CONSCIENCE- e. williams smau.

「cinco」 ⇢ moonlight

Pairing — streamer! ellie x youtuber!black fem!reader x rockstar! dina

Warnings — cussing .. allusions to sex ?? ig uh idk what else

a/n we are so back chat 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ ( opulence part 2 will be out today or tmrw) pls ignore the differing dates on the twt posts….

chapter 4 ⇢ chapter 6

tags </3

@brackishkittie @elliesbitchvenus @vnus-starr @oceanxwaves @libiarantz @p4ison1vy @futuremrscameron @velvetinkbym @masterofthepp @ravyaryn @strawberry07cake @ummmidkanymore-blog1 @inf3ct3dd @naomis-daydream

#ellie williams #the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x poc reader #ellie williams x black!reader #eren x black fem!reader #ellie x black!reader #ellie tlou #ellie x blk!reader #ellie williams x black reader #streamer!ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams au #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x you

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cvnt4him · 11 months ago

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Katsuki has a crush<33

...........................................

Hey babe, quick pow-wow, so I don't really give warnings like I should especially when writing smut i js get lazy 💀, however this is mainly a self insert and will have a black reader n chubby reader so if that isnt you, or if you don't like it leave quietly or loudly idc. Anyways kisses to all, enjoy<3🎗️

...........................................

You had always had a love hate relationship with bakugou katsuki.

He would be mean asf, pinching your thighs, poking fun at your tummy and the way it looked in your school uniforms.

But when he'd seen you for the first time in your pyjamas, pink crop top covering your braless bossom, short shorts riding up your ass in such a delicious way, he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

You were just coming down for a snack as he was in the common area with kirishima, sero, denki, and iida, they all glanced over to you being caught off guard by your yawn.

You walked to the fridge grabbing something random and a soda, before stopping to look at the group of boys who hadn't taken their eyes off of you.

"...what?" You asked with an attitude laced in your honey-like voice.

You walked back up the stairs heading to your dorm, as the boys ended up snickering and saying random things falling into deaf ears.

Bakugou just couldn't take his eyes off of you, he didn't want to admit it, but he hated seeing you go yet loved to watch you leave, your ass looking so appetizing in those fluffy pink shorts, the way you seemed annoyed by their stares only made him want to watch you more.

And boy did he, it's like he couldn't take his eyes off of you that night, during school hours he'd watch you from across the room, you sat far away from him, next to the door as he sat next to the windows, he literally was looking at you from across the whole entire damn room, blocking out the numerous of heads that blocked your pretty little face.

Your pretty glossed lips in such a pouty look, you finally glanced over to him with a raised brow and a slight buck of your head, signaling for 'what the fuck are you looking at bro?'

He knew it, he instantly looked away with a growl and a flushed expression. Shit he got caught staring at you.. you'd never let him live this down. You were just as petty as him.

After catching him stare at you, a smile grew onto your face, how long had he been watching you?

For a long time. Like 'every second of every day' long time.

Some time passed since you caught him staring at you that day, his remarks toward you had become less.. mean? He kept that loser nickname he gave you tho, "chubs" it didn't really hurt your feelings about def made you feel some type of way.

Like mf are you fr? But anyways you hadn't taken it to heart, bakugou wasn't a nice guy, you knew that. So why has he been treating you rather differently?

You two were paired together for a training group, you had tucked your long UA jacket into your bra making it look like a crop top, the stretch marks showed in your belly as you were reading yourself for the training you two were about to do, bakugou trains hard, real hard his punches hurt like shit n he doesn't go easy on anyone. His hands are fr rated E for everyone.

So as you got into your fighting stance he just looked at you. Like w a dumb face fr, you looked around confused seeing as everyone else had started fighting, so why the hell hadn't he hit you, bakugou always hit first he thought it was better. So why wasn't he fighting you?

Hell even he didn't know his damn self, why didn't he move? Lunge at you? Throw explosions your way, anything?

"are you gonna hit me or...??" You say trailing off at the end of your sentence looking around still confused asf.

"what, afraid to throw the first punch, chubs?" He scoffed and barked back at you quickly before, finally, lunging at you at full force.

It had caught you off guard but despite your weight, you were a good fighter, and damn good with your quirk.

After training you grabbed your bag and left instantly not waiting on him or anyone else bc why would you?

Bakugou just watched you leave, his eyes rolling then glancing down to his bag before instantly finding themselves right back in you and your figure, his volcanic red eye slowly trailing down to your ass, he hadn't even noticed it but he bit his lip as a smirk found it's way onto his face.

Damn you really did look good, but just as he was about to admit it to himself, izuku got in his way and it looked like he was looking at his dick, bakugou instantly looked up looking at the freckled boys face with disgust as he scoffed and grabbed his back before walking past the guy.

"hi!- uh-.. KACCHAN?!!!"

Katsuki was just in bed, scrolling through his phone at ab 6:30 pm, getting ready for bedtime (yk this mf got one) when he came across a poll online, his birthday had just passed a few months ago n still his fans are posting him happy birthdays n shit n one specific post caught his eye, it was a popularity poll which he had won, again.

Katsuki plugged his phone up w a smile, genuinely laughing to himself at how he keeps winning these things, he sighs one last time before his thoughts randomly crossed to you.

Damn, you looked good covered in sweat, he thought.

Wait what?!

No, ew.. where did THAT come from??? He does NOT, think of you like that. He thinks you're weird, gross.. ugly.. well. Not ugly persè, just slightly unattractive, well, noo.. just. Barely attractive. Yeah. That works.

But damn did your ass look good when you walked away.

Wait the fuck? Why had he been having such a weird thoughts about.. you?? You weren't all that great?

I mean you looked good kinda, you had nice eyes... He guesses, your hair always managed to look nice even when it looked bad, it still looked somewhat nice.

Bakugou sighed in frustration, just why couldn't he get you out of his head???

Then it dawned on him like a train crash.

...

Fuck.., he liked you.

N not js like 'ah, yeah, your cool.' type shit. no, he like ACTUALLY dead ass liked you.

Fuck. This was gonna make things complicated, someone as emotionally constipated as him liking someone couldn't end well, even he himself knew that. He never truly had enough love in his heart for anyone, he had a dream, a goal, and that was to become the number one hero and that's it.

He didn't have time for useless things like love or relationships. Especially not with the likes of you.

At least that's what he kept telling himself whenever he actually managed to hold a good, non arguing, unjudgemental, genuine conversation.

God, the way you actually spoke to him like he was a human being and not some pest you couldn't get rid of, like before. The way you held great eye contact and stared directly at him with no hatred filling them, the way you smiled and he felt the urge to smile back. And he did, that's what took you both by surprise, he actually smiled warmly at you, it left a warm feeling in you.

His smile was actually quite good looking on him, you never had a problem with admitting bakugou katsuki was an attractive man, it's just his attitude that was ugly. With you being pretty chubby or js blatantly fat in other people's eyes you never had a lot of options due to people judging you by your body and not your personality, believe it or not, katsuki was one of the only people to never actually talk about your body besides calling you chubs, and whenever mineta called you ome of the ugliest girls there, die to your weight, he quickly shut that shit down.

Given how people treat you, that truly is the way you treat others, you try to see people for more than just a pretty face, so whenever anyone talked to you, given everyone in your class is at least a little bit attractive, whether you had a bird head and a sexy body, (tokoyami) or had the cutest little freckles, you'd never let that get into your head, being pretty will only get people so far, so you always tried to look inward with people who considered themselves your friend in any way.

You had admiration for katsuki, sure, but you never liked him, you thought he was annoying, brass, hella obnoxious, and conceited.

So when he came to you, holding a good genuine conversation, not looking away from you, never once glancing down at your boobs or body in general, and actually smiled at you, you were genuinely in utter complete shock.

Had he always been this pretty?

"..so.. do you, I don't know... Maybe wanna come to my dorm..? Or, whatever.."

You assumed he had a hard time saying that given the amounts of pauses in his sentence and the way he looked down, hands finding themself in his pockets so they didn't absentmindedly fiddle with themselves and he ended up looking like a dork, like some green haired freckled face loser he knew.

You scoffed at this thinking he was teasing you or trying to make a joke in some way.

"Yeah, because you want to actually hang out with me, sure, when pigs fly, bakugou katsuki."

You snort, as you argued back to a confused, wide eyed, flushed faced bakugou and put your bag on your shoulder. What? Had you really just rejected him? He wasn't even asking you out on like.. a 'date', date. He just wanted to spend time with you.. and, do face masks and play Roblox and bully people and binge watch your fav show and fall asleep in each other's arms as he kissed your forehead?

Was that really too much to ask?

He was pissed, not because you rejected him, not really, more so because he knows you think he's being a dick right now but he's not, hes being genuine and honest. He wants to hang out with you, willingly with no strings up his sleeves to find a way and poke fun at you.

That couldn't be so hard to believe, could it?

"I'm serious, why would I joke about something like that? You make it sound like I'm gonna push you out the nearest window if we just so happened to walk by one together."

He barked back, quick to defend himself and grill you.

You roll your way trying to walk past him as he pushes you by the shoulder making you bounce back, you scoff and try again as he then pushes you against your desk closing you in so now you were basically sitting atop of it.

"what the hell."

Was that left your mouth before he gently captured your lips taking you completely by surprise, not just by the kiss, but by the fact of how gentle he was with you, the way his hand moves up to your shoulder then finding it's way in the back of your neck, pushing you deeper into the kiss.

He pulled away slowly as he just stared down at you saying nothing with a blank face. You were still in shock, your eyes never closed during the previous kiss, but when he kissed you again you felt the random urge to actually kiss him back, and you did, you kissed him, hard.

Grabbing him by his broad shoulders, causing him to pick you up by your thighs, you squeak in intentionally, the way he held you with no problem got to you, it made you feel some kind of way.

He held you with a firm grip, the grip so tight it might've bruised you thighs as they wrapped around his tiny waist, he smirked in the kiss, swiping his tongue at you bottom lip asking for entry to your mouth, and once you granted him access there was no stopping him, he was like an animal that had been held back the entire time.

He slammed you hard against a wall and shoved his tongue in your mouth, licking and dancing with your own muscle as he groaned into the kiss, he pulled away from the sloppy spit filled kiss to attack your neck and put hickeys all over it, nipping lightly at your skin causing you to bite your lip with a smile.

Damn, he wanted you bad and you could tell. He was acting like a damn animal waiting to be met loose.

One of his hands eventually started wandering up and down your body, grabbing and squeezing every bit of your skin he could, nails digging deeply into the flesh of your thighs causing crescent moons to form from how hard they were gripped into you, you winced lightly as he never let up on what he was doing it's like he was solely focused on doing one thing and that was getting you undressed.

He quickly unbuttoned your top before throwing it off of you, your black lacey bra looking so good on your brown skin, the way it held your boobs up made you look so damn sexy to him, he couldn't stop grinding his hard on right against you, a deep moan leaving your bitten lips, that went straight to his ego.

Your hands scratched and pulled at his hair in the most delicious, mind numbing way, the way you edged him on, telling him to keep going and keep touching you like that really got him going, all he wanted to do was fuck you right then and there, but unfortunately you were interrupted.

By nine other than the freckled dufus himself. oh and that four-eyed dork.

You both instantly shit your eyes in the direction of the door opening, neither you tried hiding the both of you just simply looking annoyed, bakugou more than you.

"and I- whUAH!! K- KACCHAN?!"

" huh-! WHAT ARE YOU TWO REPROBATES DOING?!"

The room was now unfortunately filled with iida yelling at the two of you on how you should respect school property, and shouldn't be fondling each other and attempting to do sexual things outside of your bedrooms, and deku was shoving out a ramble if 'im sorry's and shit. It was all annoying you so you simply buttoned your shirt back and walked away

Bakugou groaned at watching you leave, iida yelling at you questioning where you were going, you rolled your eyes and offered bakugou a slight smile, winking and telling him to text you before walking out.

Everything that was still being said by the two boys that had crashed you party had again falken on deaf ears, he was too focused on you and the way you winked at him, the fact you'd actually let him do whatever he wanted to you while you were against the wall.

He scoffed before grabbing his bag, you'd better believe you were getting that text tonight.

" ---, at least tell me you two degenerates are being safe, we cannot have a baby popping out, it'll be bad for your reputation, the schools, and everyone's around you both!"

Was the last thing bakugou heard before groaning and walking out, still being followed by an overly obsessed iida and a still profusely apologizing deku.

God the things you get him roped into.

..............................................

AN: I love him sm

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha #mha x reader #chubby reader #self insert #black reader #blk!reader #cvnts-post

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melo-yello · 2 years ago

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@darqchilddaydreamz ‘PRECIATE THE LOVE SO MUCH🥰 I GOTTA POST SOME WRITE

Sunkissed (Florian X Plus-sized Black Reader)

Pairing(s): Florian Munteanu X Black!reader, Plus-Size!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k+

Warning(s): body dysmorphia, cursing, gaslighting, and self worth struggles

A/n: This been sitting in my docs for who knows how long. But he’s so fine and I know he’d be soooooooo sweet if you were having a bad body day. Just angst and fluff. I really wanted to write for the hotties wit all the body tell me if I did y’all justice.

The sun pours down on you as you take a seat at a table outside the cafe. You adjust your hat and sunglasses to shade your face silently hoping your Aunt would hurry up before you got recognized. Kinky h/c coils subdued in a low puff and edges swooped to utter perfection peek just pass the hat's brim. It's so odd for people to know who you are now. Things have really taken off in the last year.

You had just finished filming a couple segments for Vanity Fair's YouTube channel earlier this morning and you're still a little in awe of everything. You never expected to be here at this stage of your life. A up incoming plus-size model with her career on the rise. Big publications wanted you on their covers.

Ebony.

Essence.

Allure.

Even a Vogue feature.

Thinking back to middle school it’s funny how you never dared to dream you’d be here. You are so far from that insecure little girl swallowed up in self-hate.

Your hot pink dress blows gently in the cool breeze. The gold body glitter shines on your exposed

shoulders and plush thighs.

You scroll down your Insta feed tuning out the bustling brunch crowd. A notification flashes across the top of screen. A new comment on the stunning fit you're wearing this morning.

@bignasty

Damn You're Gorgeous🥵...Where's your man?😘

You smile to yourself tracing the smooth baby hairs at your temple as type your reply.

@bignasty Still finding time in between his busy filming his fine ass off to annoy me😚

Your boyfriend just couldn't help himself sometime.

"Hey Honey!"

Your aunt's voice pulls your eyes away from your phone and up to her with arms open wide.

"Auntie Roxie! It's been too long!" You chime popping up to embrace the beautiful middle aged woman before you.

Her deep brown hair finger waved to perfection only with a lone gray swoop at her temple to hint her age. A classic diva if you've ever seen one.

Her lean waist giving way to bodacious hips and topped off with her perfect D cup breasts. She was all you wanted to grow up to be as a child.

Confident.

Poised.

And Beautiful.

You have since out grown the 'only one kind of body is beautiful' mindset. You’d be lying if you didn't admit that Roxie's stunning.

"It sure has! And don't you look scandalous!" Roxie hums as you spin yourself around to give the full effect of your outfit.

"Thanks, TT." You cheese taking your seat across from her.

"Just drop dead gorgeous! So catch me up, Chic! I want to know Ev-re-y-thing!" She stresses each syllable squeezing your hands firmly.

"Okay. Okay, but let's order first. I'm starved." You say scrunching up your face at her as you wave down a waiter.

"Can't say I'm surprised, HoneyBun." She smirks reviving your childhood nickname as she nudges your side. A frown flutters across your full lips before the waiter interrupts.

She didn't mean it like that.

"I'm Anthony and I'll be your server today. What can I get you gorgeous ladies to start with this afternoon?" He smiles unapologetically checking out you.

Roxie stifles a chuckle as she rolls her eyes. Chalking up the slight sting in your chest to you being overly sensitive.

She's not laughing at me.

The appetizers give way to entries as she claws at every juicy detail she can possibly get.

How quickly your career's climbing. How you were adjusting to living in such a big city. How you're adjusting to the limelight. What celebrities are really like. Your love life. Which lead to how you wound up dating Florian Munteanu in the first place.

The pleased expression on your face somehow broadens. You don't know if you loved talking about your man or your dreams more.

You couldn't decide.

This being the most successful time of your life, and the healthiest relationship of your adult life. Florian legitimately cared about you and encouraged your ambitions. You often caught yourself feeling it was all too good to be true.

"Florian is such a great guy! You know, he really cares-" You gush before she cuts you off shrugging.

"How long do you think this'll last?" Roxie stares directly into your e/c eyes. You shift a little in your seat.

"Well, I mean no one ever really knows in the beginning, but what we have is-"

"No HoneyBun. Not that Miracle. Your moment in the sun. I know being 'curvy' is popular now but, how long do you think it'll last?" Roxie cuts you off again taking both of your hands in hers.

"Are you serious, right now?"

"Well yea, it's just trendy. Just like jerry curls and parachute pants somethings just phase out." She nods solemnly as if she's letting you in on one of the best kept secrets in the country.

You swallow hard. Your eyes fall to the half eaten cheesecake on the plate in front of you. You tug your hands from hers to pull the hanging fabric of your dress over your exposed thighs.

"TT, just stop. Curvy Women aren't a trend. People are just learning to embrace natural beauty all kinds of natural beauty." You correct her without looking up.

"Oh come on. At least you've got all the right curves in all the right places," she smiles standing to kiss your forehead before placing a manicured hand on your stomach,"...well maybe not if you keep eating like that."

Fiddling aimlessly with the embroidered table cloth you swallow the swelling lump in your throat.

"Next time you wear something like this, wear spanx. you look pregnant." She leans in lowering her voice to a whisper while scoping the restaurant.

"Aunt Roxanne, you didn't have to say that." You snap pushing her hand away from your middle trying your best to swallow the creeping feeling of disgust as you meet her eyes. Roxie just rolls her eyes snatching up her Louis Vuitton purse.

"Honey Bun, at least I'm being honest with you." She says placing a hand on her hip.

"You're being hurtful. And I DON’T LIKE BEING CALLED HONEYBUN!" You spit scarcely below a shout while blinking back the hot tears brimming your eyes. Roxanne pokes out her bottom lip as she pulls you into her arms.

"Oh Bunny, It's only hurtful because it's true." She speaks softly letting you go as she turns to leave waving over her shoulder.

…

Silky thongs, bralettes, and lingerie sets start to form a small heap on the soft, white carpet of the condo bedroom as you stare blankly at yourself in the mirror. For the last hour you've been changing from outfit to outfit. Your favorite fiery scarlet set hangs perfectly on your round hips, and gives you just the right amount of shape to your breasts.

Little to no spillage.

The perfect amount of perk.

Not to mention how stunning the deep hue looks against your brown skin.

This is supposed to make me feel pretty.

Why don't I feel pretty?

Your fingertips ghost over the pudge surrounding your waist.

'I'm just being honest.'

Roxanne's words still bouncing around your head like a pinball.

You attempt to press your curves smooth hoping with just enough pressure they'd all melt away.

Would that make me beautiful?

Nothing changed. As soon you move your hands every curve springs back into place.

How could anyone be happy with me...if I'm not happy with me? How could Fl-

Overwhelming shame settles in your chest.

Heavy and Hard.

As you pull the red fabric off your skin all of the day's events replay themselves.

Every compliment.

Every flirt washes itself in doubt and insecurity.

You squeeze your stomach so tight it hurts. Acrylics digging into you. Every fear and insecurity cackle in unison as you stare yourself down in that vanity mirror.

No one really thinks you're pretty.

You're just a diversity hire.

You're not special.

You're such a silly girl for even believing it all.

You're just a fat girl.

Hot tears well up in your e/c eyes. You shake your head in hopes that all the self hate would vanish like lines on an etch a sketch.

Years of hard practice ignoring all the hate and refusing to seek others for validation seems to be crumbling. Your self-worth seemed to be slipping through your fingers like sand. The inferiority that you buried so long ago resurrected itself again.

I never earned a place in this industry.

I'm not a real model.

I'm just a joke.

At this point your e/c eyes start to burn from all the tears. Your head was beginning to really throb too.

It hurt almost as much as what she said.

But even worse than that the fact that she got to you in the first place stings the most.

You wanted...needed someone to contradict it all. Someone to confirm despite all the sly shit Roxanne shot at you that you're still beautiful. That her assertions weren't reality.

She couldn't define you.

You wander to Florian's side of the room. Rifling through his drawers and pulling out the shirt closest to the bottom of the drawer. A simple white tee.

You lift collar to your nose. The gentle scent of him still clings the fabric mixed with his signature cologne. Stealing his t-shirts just kinda became a thing after you two unofficially moved in together. After several not so sly comments about how great he smells all the time Flo started leaving lightly worn undershirts at the bottom of his drawer. You pull one from its hiding place.

You tug it on over your loose curls. It stopped just low enough to nearly cover your ass. Loosely meeting your hips but gave no hint to your shape otherwise. Almost always reverting back to you tomboy swag when you aren’t really in love with your shape.

You shuffle into red Nike gym shorts with ease, thankful that your baby daddy is thicc too. You don't check the mirror. It wouldn't make you feel better anyways.

Enough crying.

Woman Up, and ignore it until it goes away.

A couple bright flashes from your phone draws your attention.

💕😚😜😂Flo-Rida😂😜😚💕:

Filming ran a little over. Gimme a few to get cleaned up.

💕😚😜😂Flo-Rida😂😜😚💕:

Got a few things to pick up. Then I'm all yours😜!

Be home soon, Babygirl😘!

You send a silent prayer up to heaven so thankful he wouldn't be seeing you like this as you type out your reply.

Y/n:

Can't Wait, Big Poppa😜💞!

He couldn't know that you're this fragile.

Flo always said how strong you were and how much he loved that about you. How people never seemed to be able to get under your skin.

No reason to change that.

…

The warm spicy scent of chai sweeps through the downstairs air, mixing with microwave kettle corn. Quincy and Monica are in the middle of their break-up after his parents’ divorce when the door clicks to reveal Florian with his arms full of groceries.

You pop up from the blanket cocoon on the sofa.

"Your definition of ‘a few’ is way different from mine." You smile pecking him on the cheek as you attempt in vain to wrestle multiple bags away from him. Per usual he surrenders the lightest bag to you.

"Says the woman who steals half.” Florian smiles, raising an eyebrow at you as he places the bags on the counter before planting a kiss on your forehead. He pulls you into him sliding a hand down your back to waist then finally resting at your soft fluffy ass. Lustfully squeezing he growls a little bit.

But your mind goes to other dark and insecure places.

Wow he thinks I'm so-No Stop.

He didn't mean it like that.

You frown pushing the doubt out trying to focus on him.

His smell.

His voice.

His body so close to yours.

His desire for me.

He loves me despite…

Why did he suddenly need to love me despite?

Shame bubbles up your chest as you push away before crossing both arms around your waist.

Palms pressed into yourself. Fingers loosely gripping your hips.

You force your lips into your usual cheeky smile.

"Uhh...Lemme help put these up to make up for it." You giggle snatching Lays bags and a couple boxes of snack bars. You pray he wouldn't read into it.

Florian noticed.

His brown-green eyes muddied with confusion then concern.

Something's wrong.

"How was your day, Dragă? How was brunch with your Aunt Roxie?" He breathes slowly crossing the kitchen and resting his head in the nape of your neck. His arms wrapping around you as you close the cabinet.

"Uhh...umm...it was…" You mutter stiffening as your head falls and your shoulders tense and you ball your fist against the granite countertop. The lump starts swelling in your throat.

You weren't expecting him to remember you even mentioned that. Tears edge your e/c eyes.

You didn't want to tell him. You didn't want him to pity you. You feel so inadequate that she got to you in the first place.

Crybaby.

So you stay silent sighing deeply. Focusing on the little golden fleck in granite countertop you try to keep all the hurt inside.

You couldn't.

The more you push it back down the more tear droplets sprinkle the shiny stone finish.

Florian doesn't move. His grip tightens to steady your trembling body.

Stop it!

Stop It Right Now!

Stop Fucking Crying!

Please

You can’t help but wonder how you still had tears left.

Yet the tears keep rolling.

And seconds felt like hours.

Every insecurity weighing down on your shoulders.

Abruptly turning in his embrace to face him and meet his hazel green eyes but deciding on his chest instead.

A smile strains itself onto your lips. Your default facial expression.

A bad habit you'd picked up in middle school.

A small gesture of reassurance.

I’m ok but not ok.

"Today was uh … ok. Don’t worry about me. I'm fine." You croak resting your trembling palms evenly on his chest.

An action intended to put him at ease, and make your words less hollow.

You don't want to worry him or bring down his good mood. You try and beg the tears to stop rolling down your brown cheeks and your boldness to fill your chest. But it doesn't.

"You're such a bad liar, Babygirl." Florian chides gently placing a hand on yours before gently lifting your chin with the other.

A half choked laugh bubbles up your throat. One last attempt to pretend everything was fine.

His eyes were soft and genuinely concerned, much to your surprise there's not an ounce of pity in them.

You wait.

For his judgments.

His disappointments.

His snide remarks.

His attempt to force you into letting him in.

You just needed one reason to shut him out.

One reason to fold into yourself and bottle up the pain.

Just one so you can run up stairs and pretend this crack in your composure never happened.

Go ahead

Let me down already.

Soft brown green eyes slowly examine your features. Slow.

Methodical.

Silently waiting.

But he won't give you one.

No reason to run.

He just patiently sweeps away a few fallen tears off your cheek.

Only to return to rubbing slow circles on the back of your hand, "Y/n, I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here." Florian presses an impossibly soft kiss into your cheek.

And that is all it takes.

You throw your arms around his neck as it all begins to sputter out.

The evening brunch with Roxie and everything she'd said and done to belittle you.

His hands rest on the small of your back as he pulls your frame closer to his.

"She's like a mom to me, Flo. And my day had been so unbelievably great until her. Like, I was on cloud nine. And I just let her snatch it all away. The whole time we were together she just kept throwing these shitty little jabs at me. And I believed it all so easily. I let her make me feel small and I let her hurt me. Because if Roxie..., a woman who practically raised me, could see me for who I really am…then then everyone else had to see that too. It had to be true. How long would it take for you…" You trail off squeezing him tighter to be sure he was real. Every gritty detail flutters from your lips.

"You'd see it too, Flo. And realize that I'm still that scared little girl I used to be. That I’m not good enough. That I’m unlovable."

You only recently opened up to him about the living hell of your middle school years and early high school. It'd been brief and scarce on particulars, but Florian noticed how you pulled into yourself when you talked about those days and how you'd laugh or smile but it wouldn't reach your eyes. He could see how much you still hurt, and that some part of you, still blamed yourself.

He moves his hands from your lower back to either side of your thick thighs and gently hoists up to straddle his waist.

"Fețită, îmi pare atât de rău." Florian hums softly squeezing you into him. Your grip tightens.

Flo had made two things his personal goals since you started dating.

First, Picking you up.

Something you always thought was so romantic, but you weren't sure if someone would ever do that for you. You made the mistake of telling him that, so every chance he gets he's sweeping you off your feet.

And second, teaching you Romanian.

You actually could stutter through a few sentences even though you're hesitant to practice with him. Mainly because your accent’s so bad.

A surprised peep escapes your lips as you nuzzle your damp face into his neck. An involuntary little noise you make every time. Even though you can't see his face you're more than sure he's smirking.

He loved you close to him. And you can't help but wish it was under better circumstances.

He strides slowly across the kitchen and takes a seat on the couch with you in his lap.

By this point you feel like such a whiny little bitch for unpacking all your bullshit on him like this.

"Babygirl, look at me please?" Florian pleas giving you a reassuring squeeze.

Those e/c eyes flicker to his features soft and puppy dog like. You can’t help but melt into him.

“Dragă, you know you’re beautiful, right?” He says matter of factly as he cups the side of your face squishing your cheeks for added emphasis

“Most days...yea.” You nod sheepish.

Today turned out not to be one of those days.

“Dragă, you know I love you with my whole heart?” He smiles a Cheshire sized grin leaning his forehead against yours.

“All the time, Flo.” You sigh giving him the same shiteating grin he gave you.

“Dragă, you know you deserve everything you’ve worked so hard for. You’re not an imposter or a poser. Right?” He states in the same reassuring tone.

“Damn straight, I have worked my ass off.” You mutter with the slightest sass thinking on every mountain you had climbed to get to this far in your career. Florian promptly pecks each side of your face as he sees the fire burning in the back of your eyes. Then he continues his pep talk.

"Prințesa, Roxie is an absolute bitch."

A half choked chuckle flutters up your throat.

Out of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn't it.

Not to say Florian never uses the B-word, but you’ve never heard him say it. Actually this might be the first time you’ve been present to see the syllables have fallen from his lips.

"I'm sorry to say that but it’s true. You're an absolutely stunning woman at the top of your career. You’re fiercely determined and way too stubborn to quit. You’re insanely optimistic and bubbling over with confidence and joy. You are so fun and surprisingly gentle and witty. You're amazing whether I tell you or not, Ibui. You’re a goddess in your own right. Anyone can tell by looking at you. You are more than deserving of love and being loved. Babygirl, I just want you to know that you don’t have to pretend that nothing ever gets to you ...at least not with me. You’re allowed to be hurt and broken and falling to pieces if you feel like it. " He hums, brushing the slowing tears off each cheek before delicately cupping your face again. Florian places small soft kisses on each temple before a long one in the center of your forehead.

"A lot of people call their cruel remarks, honesty or tough love, because most people don’t know how to love. And I want you to know I won’t ever hurt you and call it truth. People close to you don’t have the right to hurt you. Here. With us. That’s never ok. I will always be your soft place.” He. He pulls you securely into a bear hug. Firmly to his chest. In turn you snake your arms around his waist. You find so much peace in his arms.

“Promise?” You sigh letting a man that loves you unconditionally hold you while you try to piece yourself back together.

You feel fragile.

Torn.

Vulnerable.

But not beyond repair.

Not beyond lovable.

“Yes. I promise.” He smiles as you relax in his arms.

Footnotes

Dragă - Darling

Prințesa - Princess

Fețită, îmi pare atât de rău - Babygirl, I’m so sorry (roughly)

#florian munteanu x black reader #plus size reader #florian munteanu x poc #florian munteanu x reader #black!reader #feedback #love the comments #getting back to writing #blk!reader #florian munteanu fanfiction #florian munteanu #plus model #black reader #support writers

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loomiseater · 8 days ago

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🎀Smallville!Clark Kent x blk!fem!reader!🎀

Clark loves to help take down your hair! He finds your hair texture magical.

Clark loves how your melanin glows in the sun, he’s always so quick to take a picture of you in it!

He also loves your cooking. He especially chows down if you’re making soul food, it’s become his favorite meal now.

Kicks anybody’s ass if they have a problem with him dating a Black girl.

Clark’s parents were very supportive of y’all’s relationship but also warned you both of backlash you may receive for being an interracial couple in Smallville.

Clark loves that you always smell like cocoa butter and vanilla!!

Clark is always very interested when you teach him more about your culture.

Clark loves to brag about you to any and everyone about how amazing of a girlfriend you are🥹.

A/N: I’m most definitely gonna start making more blk!fem!reader! X Clark Kent!! I made this in literally 5 mins lol.

Lmk if there’s anymore hc you’d like to see!🥰

#clark kent x black reader #clark kent x black!reader #clark kent x reader #clark kent #smallville x reader #smallville #smallville x black reader #smallville clark kent #blk reader #dc x black reader #x black reader #my hcs #clark kent headcanons #tom welling #pink aesthetic #bimbo aesthetic #submisive brat

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stcrmade-illusions · 5 months ago

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uhhh…is love and deepspace bringing me out of my inactive era / writers block?? This is probably ooc since I just started playing the game and I haven’t written anything in a while soooo…yeah. Just bare with me :)

boyfriend!sylus x blk fem!reader

minors, ageless, haters/harassers dni!!

boyfriend!sylus who absolutely loves every hairstyle you wear but he makes it very clear that he loves your natural hair the most. he loves the entire process of helping you with your hair, from taking it down, to detangling washing and blowdrying. He’ll just sit next to you to hand you whatever you need. Ponytail holders, pins, gel, brushes etc. When you’re finished styling it, he always has a small grin on his face. He pulls you to his chest, biting softly at your cheek and mumbling a low “beautiful” in your ear.

boyfriend!sylus who currently has you bouncing on his thick cock right after you just got a silk press! the car windows are foggy and you’re already sweating. “sy - sylus, i just got my fucking hair done!” you whine, partly because you really wanted your hair pressed for the weekend activities you had planned and partly because your deranged boyfriend is drilling inside your pussy like there’s no tomorrow. he grabs your chin and mutters a “sorry, kitten. It couldn’t be helped.” before slipping his tongue inside your mouth, effectively making you forget how pissed off you are.

boyfriend!sylus who starts making his chefs incorporate some of your favorite meals into their meals. he notices how there’s certain things you don’t particularly like and remembers you babbling about some of the meals your grandmother used to make you before her unfortunate passing.

boyfriend!sylus who sees you wearing a bonnet for the first time since you’ve started dating. he tilts his head in confusion and you can’t help but think he looks like a really cute puppy. you explain what it is and why you wear it, when you’re done he just nods his head and places a kiss on your forehead. the following weekend, there’s a box delivered with bonnets of all sizes and colors.

boyfriend!sylus who sees you taking pictures during golden hour and he just lays on the bed admiring how good you look.

boyfriend!sylus who wastes no time in beating the shit out of a man who made a very disgusting and cruel comment about you and ‘your kind’. Sometimes his violent behavior startles you and other times it makes you want to ride him from dusk to dawn.

boyfriend!sylus who’s helping you pick out a dress to wear for your dinner date. “which one? black or burgundy?” you hold up both dresses so he can take a closer look, after a few moments of silence he hums. ruby eyes flick over to the bed to look at all other dresses you pulled out, he clicks his tongue “what about the gold one?”

you scrunch your nose. “but your tie?” he huffs. “don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll change it.” he’s already reaching to towards his neck when you speak again. “you sure?” he takes a step closer and leans down so you’re eye to eye. “yes, love. I love this color on you, wear this one.” He picks up the dress and hands it to you, gently pushing you towards the bathroom.

boyfriend!sylus who will never admit it out loud but he hates being away from you too long. he needs you around him and in his space at all times or he starts getting grumpier than usual. whenever he’s stressed or pissed off, he seeks you out and plops you in his lap so he can kiss you and play with your hair. He might even use your boobs at stress balls but you tease him about it sometimes but he just huffs and ignores you.

boyfriend!sylus who has your legs thrown over his shoulders while he takes his time teasing you with his hot velvety tongue and long, thick fingers. he’s had you wound up so long that you can’t even remember how much time has passed. “sy…please. I need it.” a low hum comes from his chest, it vibrates through your whole body. his eyes flutter open and lock onto yours immediately. “do you honestly think you deserve it? after being a brat the whole day?”

when you don’t respond, three thick fingers sink back into your cunt, making your body arch. “answer me, kitten.” except you can’t answer him and he knows you can’t because he’s curling his fingers inside you, pressing against that spot and god you’re so close. So fucking close! Just a few more thrusts and — “no!” your voice comes out weak and betrayed, you can feel the tears start to well. His fingers slow then come to a complete stop.

a soft kiss is placed on your thigh, followed by a sharp bite. “you know I don’t reward bad behavior, be a good girl and I’ll give you want you really want.”

— 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑫 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑩𝒀𝑯𝑨𝒀𝑫𝑬𝑵! 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀, 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑶𝑹 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝒀 𝑰𝑭 𝑴𝒀 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑺!! dividers from @cafekitsune

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads sylus #blk reader #black reader #sylus x black reader #black writers #support black creatives #lnds sylus #lnds #𝒉𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈…🖊️

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foamingatthemeowth · 3 months ago

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I love you Black tumblr writers cause where else am I gonna find wash day smut

#y’all are so creative #ily🖤🖤🖤#black!reader #x black reader #black y/n #blk tumblr

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kandi-the-divine · 10 months ago

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Brb I'm about to script a reality where these two fine ass sum bitches fight over me

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mysteria157 · 23 days ago

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Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: Just a fluffy drabble of Nanami Kento loving you.

Summary: Early morning musings.

a/n: I've really been suffering from writer's block these past few months. The words come and go at a pace that's maddening, but thankfully, they stayed long enough for me to write this little piece.

JJK Masterlist | Divider: @saradika-graphics

"How did I get so lucky?"

It's the question that surfaces in Nanami's mind as he watches you sleep beside him, early morning light casting gentle shadows across your features. Your breathing is steady, peaceful, a barely there rumble with every inhale that he’s memorized over countless mornings like this one. Just as he’s done many times before, he traces the outline of your form, fingertips ghosting over your skin without disturbing you.

In those first few mornings of your relationship, your eyes would flutter open just from the proximity of his touch, catching him in his admiration. He wouldn’t bother to hide the blush, you would throw him a sleepy smile, then succumb to sleep again. Now, many mornings later, you’ve grown accustomed to his gentle exploration, allowing him to follow the curve of your shoulder, reconnecting the constellations that pepper your brown skin without stirring from your dreams.

In this position, while you sleep on your stomach, he can admire the subtle roll of skin on your neck where it meets your shoulder—a gentle landscape formed by the angle of your head against the silk pillow. It may be his own imaginings, but he can already smell the Shea butter from your neck, warming from the rising sun and wafting to tickle his nose in a half-remembered dream that lingers many hours into his work day.

Your diamond earrings glint in the morning light—beautiful studs you refuse to remove despite his concerns. He’s learned to love this small token of rebellion, unafraid to admit that the way the jewelry complements your skin makes you look particularly ethereal in the waking hours. The sunlight hits these diamonds at the right angle, splintering light in a mix of purple and green that plays across the curve of your cheek, as if nature is adorning you herself.

Even while unconscious, you are beautiful.

He traces up, fingertips brushing your lobe before smoothing through edges that have smeared on your skin like delicate wisps of morning fog. They’re perfect, tiny coils and curls that defy rule and frizz along your hairline, peeking from the cream satin bonnet. That bonnet, somehow still attached to you despite how wildly you sleep, showcases to him all the care you take with yourself, all the traditions passed sacred to you that he’s been allowed to learn, to witness, to cherish.

And god, how he cherishes the uninhibited abandon in which you sleep—the complete trust spoken in the way you sprawl across a mattress that was once solely his. Your cheek is creased from your pillowcase and hands, the corners of your lashes crystallized with evidence of your dreams, and your lips—slightly parted, pillowed with relaxation—glisten at one corner with moisture you have long stopped being embarrassed about in his presence.

It’s you in your purest form—unguarded, unfiltered, displaying a beauty more profound than anything the waking world gets to see. It’s you without makeup, you without measured words, underneath social performances, practiced smiles, and expectations—the raw truth of you, morning breath and all.

Just his. It’s a privilege so deep that it makes his chest ache, the gratitude overwhelming.

"How did I get so lucky?"

Nanami remembers the strict parameters he once set around relationships—the necessary boundaries, the premeditated time commitments, the emotional distance he maintained without thinking. Work—for as firm as he is about clocking out on time—came first, then necessities, then, if time allowed and he had the mental stamina, connection. For him, it was efficient. But terribly lonely.

Naturally, you shifted it all without trying.

The memory of seeing you for the first time still replays in his mind—fresh as the day it happened, enhanced by his own untempered affection that grows over time. He’s carried an unspoken envy for his parents’ love-at-first-sight story his entire life, a curmudgeon of his own making that could also speak of self-sabotage in relationships that never lasted. Surely they were exaggerating? Love at first sight? As if the cosmos aligned at the right moment to bring Mr. and Mrs. Nanami together? Nanami refused to believe it.

And yet he’ll tell anyone who will listen that every grievance he held about the concept evaporated the moment he saw you. Surrounded by greenery and the stifling heat of a plant nursery, perfect textured hair framing your face that pursed with contemplation, neck curved over a large Monstera Deliciosa. A sage sundress that fluttered over your form like gossamer wings catching the sunlight, the shimmer of your sunscreen across the expanse of your shoulders like dewdrops, a cock in your hip as you studied the plant only made you stand out as sublime elegance amongst the foliage.

Admittedly, he remembers feeling only embarrassment when he reached for the plant before his mind could truly register your presence—his original quest into the nursery solely to find a gift for his secretary, who was becoming a new mother.

He remembers the embarrassment flaring liquid hot in his chest when your eyes flashed with surprise and indignation that he would take something you had mentally staked claim to. He remembers how disorienting it all was—the sudden awareness of you as if the rest of the nursery had faded to shadows. Your brow had lifted in disbelief as you rolled your eyes and brushed past him, the subtle scent of what he now knows as Shea butter lingering in the humid air. Nanami found himself frozen, the Monstera forgotten in his hands, his perfectly ordered thoughts scattering like leaves in a sudden breeze.

He remembers how that white hot embarrassment quickly morphed into something unfamiliar, fleeting in previous relationships but never as prominent as in that moment—a flutter in his stomach, a tightness in his chest, and a desperation that he’s thankful to have embraced.

“I’m buying a gift for a new mother, but maybe I can find something that would not require so much care,” he’d said, the words tumbling from his mouth like a wobbling newborn calf as he watched you stop, turn to face him, guarded eyes taking him in. “Do you have any suggestions?”

He remembers how his heart hammered against his ribcage as he waited for your response, how the simple act of breathing seemed almost impossible. How utterly mortifying it was to realize that in thirty seconds, you had changed everything for him. How unbelievably confused he felt when the cosmos he mocked aligned for him when he ran into you at a bookstore days later, giving him the courage to ask you for coffee, for your number, for a date, and the many that followed to create the perfect cacophony of love.

"How did I get so lucky?"

It’s almost ridiculous how fortunate he is. How he gets to hear you laugh—genuine and unrestrained, choked around a snort when he’s said something particularly dry. How he gets to hear your musings in the comfort of your home—the melodic cadence of your humming when you bake, the unprecedented sailor mouth that would make his mother faint, the conversations you have with your dog as he follows you to the backyard. Every day, despite being subject to it many times, it feels like the very first time.

The novelty of it will never fade, because Nanami still calculates how to make you laugh so hard your lashes bubble with tears. He still asks what song you’re humming, knowing you’ll always reply “I made it up”. He still pretends to be shocked that the way a curse word flies from your mouth doesn’t make him unnaturally turned on. He still raises both brows when he hears you conversing with the dog, even though he has embraced the same habit.

"How did I get so lucky?"

The variation of thought comes naturally as his fingers fall back to his side, careful not to disturb you. There was a time when luck meant nothing to him—when grief was the only emotion he allowed himself to fully embrace, a painful reminder of his humanity when everything else felt hollow.

There was only one person who had truly seen him—experienced and witnessed the raw parts of the awkward growth through puberty, commiserated over failed crushes, shared late nights playing video games, and made him laugh until his stomach hurt. When that person was ripped away before their life could truly begin, it left Nanami in denial for so long that isolation became his sanctuary.

Each subsequent attempt at connection through romantic means only reinforced what experience had taught him—that opening a sliver of himself inevitably led to another goodbye, another confirmation that vulnerability was simply an invitation for devastation.

So it’s odd how that worry sprouted in the youth of your relationship with him but was never strong enough to take root. He was healthier, stronger even, and intelligent enough to know that you would not settle for someone who only loved in half-truths. For the first time, the fear of losing someone by not trying, outweighed the fear of the pain that might come with trying and failing.

When Nanami had the choice between protecting himself and never knowing you completely, or risking that devastation for the chance to build something real, he found himself making a choice that his deceased friend would have encouraged with a smile that could make the sun rise.

His efforts have paid off.

As the world wakes up and the noise of cars increases from the cracked window, Nanami counts his lucky stars that he tried. As he watches you sleep, he feels something swell in his chest—a fullness that once scared him but now feels like coming home after a long day.

Soon, he’ll slip out of bed like he does every morning, each day a ritual of thankfulness for the life he almost denied himself. Soon he’ll walk into the kitchen and measure coffee grounds with the same precision he applies to everything, his eyes drifting to the mug you always use—chipped on the handle, crafted from an impromptu class you dragged him to as a second date. He’d been so focused on not embarrassing himself with clumsy hands that he’d missed the exact moment you decided he was worth keeping.

Soon he will slide a fresh cup to you across the counter, taking in your ruffled form—bonnet still secure, eyes heavy with sleep, a blanket wrapped around you because you’re always cold, even in summer. The sight will catch in his throat like it always does, you trusting and vulnerable, showing a version of yourself that transforms his once sterile apartment into a home where love blooms in every corner.

But for now, he watches as you grumble and smack your lips, rolling over until your head is resting on his chest. He blooms with heat, an iridescent sensation that radiates outward from that exact spot, like your memory lives beneath his skin and thrums to life when you’re close. You wrap an arm around him, whether it’s to test the firmness of a pillow or to make sure it’s still him, he’s not quite sure. But it means nothing when you fall back into slumber, snoring softly against him, your breath a metronome that’s synched with his over time.

The rush of it all settles into his bones like it does every morning as he relaxes, his hand tracing the column of your spine absentmindedly.

You chose him. From the moment you rolled your eyes in that nursery, some invisible thread connected you both, and despite it all, that thread held tight. Out of all possibilities, out of all potential paths, you chose this one—with him. Not out of necessity or convenience, but with deliberate, purposeful love that continues to choose him, minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day.

"How did I get so lucky?"

“Kento,” you slur against his chest, voice gravelly with sleep, “stop thinking so loud so I can sleep. It’s too early.”

It’s almost eleven in the morning. But Nanami can do nothing but chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, marveling as your curls tickle his nose before his fingers return to their pilgrimage across your body. Each brush of him against you comes with an unspoken promise—that he will never take this for granted, that he will chose you every morning just as purposefully as you chose him.

"How did I get so lucky?"

Who knows. But Nanami will spend every day making sure he deserves it.

Thanks for reading!

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