#please pause to read the text as you need... it is... fast

[cobaltfluff]

suuuuper late pocky day akeshus ;w;

[gojover]

the courtship affairs of a common man

summary: nanami kento prides himself on his discipline, efficiency, and ironclad work ethic. you, on the other hand, are a paragon of spontaneity and relentless optimism. as ceo, you’re used to getting what you want—and your next business venture? winning him over.

⇢ pairing: secretary!nanami kento x ceo!fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, mild angst, smut (oral sex, desk sex, protected sex, angry sex, slight dirty talk), office romance au, grumpy x sunshine, profanity, alcohol consumption, parental pressure to get married, corrupt corporate companies, implied misogyny—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 17.9k ⇢ art credit: pinterest | read on ao3 here.

Nanami Kento is a man of routine. At precisely 7:26 A.M, he heads out of his apartment with his tie knotted perfectly and his shoes shined. At 7:43 A.M, he reaches the coffee shop he always frequents, and by 7:54 A.M, he walks out with an iced coffee with three shots of espresso (for himself) and a Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino (for you). 

If he drives fast enough, he can clock in at his workplace by 8:28 A.M, and by the time he reaches his desk, it’s 8:31 A.M. He waits patiently for you to arrive sometime between 8:36 and 8:49. Usually, you arrive exactly at 8:45 A.M, and until then, Nanami works on making a list of all the tasks scheduled for today, in order of greatest priority.

It’s when the clock starts inching towards 9:25 A.M and you still haven’t arrived, that Nanami Kento starts to get a little bit worried.

At 9:26 A.M, Nanami finally sets down his pen. He isn’t the type to fidget, nor is he the type to worry unnecessarily, but there’s an undeniable itch in his chest—a quiet, nagging thought that something is off. He checks his watch. Then his phone. No missed calls, no unread messages. Highly unusual.

The drink he bought for you sits untouched on your desk, the condensation already forming a damp ring on the pristine surface. You always take the first sip as soon as you walk in, mumbling some variation of how you need caffeine to tolerate capitalism.

He waits exactly three more minutes before standing.

If anyone notices the way he strides towards the elevator with more urgency than usual, they don’t comment. The building’s lobby is its usual mess of suits and hurried footsteps, but your usual entrance—heels clicking against polished tile, a cheerful “Morning, Nanami!”—is absent.

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he debates his next move. Calling you outright would be overstepping. You are his boss. He is your secretary. If you were simply running late, you would text.

That means something must have happened.

Nanami adjusts his tie and makes the call anyway. The phone rings. Once, twice, three times—and then, finally, your voice; groggy and unmistakably hoarse.

“...Nanami?”

He clenches his jaw. “Where are you?”

You pause, followed by a rustling sound, as if you’re shifting under blankets. “Oh, shit.”

“You overslept,” Nanami states.

“Uh,” you say intelligently. “Maybe?”

Nananmi doesn’t sigh, though he wants to. You’re an excellent CEO—brilliant, quick-witted, sharper than most people twice your age. But responsible when it comes to your own well-being? Absolutely not.

There’s more shifting on your end, followed by a muffled groan. “I might be a little hungover.”

“Of course you are.” His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, so he adjusts the frame.

“Listen, it was my friend’s birthday—”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“Okay, mother.”

Nanami does sigh this time. He glances at his watch. If he leaves now, he can get to your apartment in twelve minutes, fifteen if traffic is bad. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Wait, what?”

“You’ll waste another thirty minutes trying to function. I’ll be there in twelve.”

There’s a long pause. Then, in a voice that’s entirely too suspicious for someone who just admitted to being hungover, you say, “...How do you know where I live?”

“I fill out your paperwork,” the secretary says.

Another pause. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”

“You list it under the company address.”

“Well, I could be lying.”

“Are you?”

Silence. Then, begrudgingly, you admit, “No.”

Nanami does not have the time for this. He’s already halfway to the parking garage, briefcase in hand, and his patience—though formidable—is starting to wear thin. “Stay put. Drink some water. Don’t make it worse.”

You hum. “Define worse.”

“Don’t make me regret my employment here.” 

There’s a chuckle on your end before the call clicks off. Nanami shoves his phone into his pocket and fishes for his car keys. The headlights of his white Toyota Corolla blink back at him. He slides into the driver’s seat as quickly as possible and starts the engine.

Nanami Kento does not speed. He is a very responsible driver. Yet, here he is, at 9:41 A.M, speeding towards your apartment because you overslept, are likely still half-drunk, and have a board meeting in less than an hour. Objectively speaking, this should not be his problem. But Nanami has long-since accepted that you are his problem.

There is a margin of error in his schedule now, and he does not like it. His mind is already running through the necessary steps to minimise the damage.

Best Case Scenario (Highly Unlikely): You’re already awake, dressed and hydrated. You recognise the consequences of your actions. You get in the car immediately. The meeting proceeds as planned. (The probability of this happening is about the same as Gojo Satoru from HR filing his paperwork on time.)

Most Likely Scenario (Unfortunate but Expected): You answer the door in your pyjamas. You have not consumed a single drop of water. You groan at him, complain about work, and stall for at least ten minutes. He has to herd you into productivity like a kindergarten teacher. He gets you to the office just in time—barely.

Worst-Case Scenario (God Forbid): You’re still in bed. You refuse to move. You throw up on his shoes (he will quit). You open the board meeting by saying something absurd like, “Gentlemen, what if we invested in a company that just makes really big spoons?” and Nanami Kento gets fired.

He adjusts his tie at a red light. No, he refuses to let it reach that point.

By the time he pulls up to your apartment, he is ready. He checks his watch once more. 9:53 A.M. Nanami forgoes the elevator in favour of climbing up the staircase two steps at a time. Your apartment is on the fifth floor, and he knocks twice. Firm and precise.

The door swings open, and you are—well. Exactly what Nanami had expected.

You’re standing in the doorway wearing an oversized hoodie and what are definitely not your pants. Your hair is a tangled mess, mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes. Nanami is not a man easily shaken, but this is certainly not how he expected to start his morning.

“You look awful,” he says.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Nanami steps into your apartment uninvited. The place is surprisingly not a disaster, though for a luxury apartment, it does seem a tad bit shabby. An empty wine glass balances precariously on your coffee table, next to a half-eaten slice of cheesecake and—God help him—what appears to be a sequined tiara. 

He chooses not to ask. Instead, he sets his briefcase down, rolls up his sleeves, and heads straight for your kitchen.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing this.” He pulls open your fridge, scanning the contents with a critical eye. It is, to his horror, mostly condiments. “When was the last time you ate a proper meal?”

You scratch your cheek. “Um. Last night?”

He shuts the fridge a little harder than necessary. “Cheesecake doesn’t count.”

“Rude. That cake was expensive.”

Nanami ignores you, opting instead to fill a glass of water. He hands it over, watching as you take a slow, reluctant sip. “Drink all of it,” he instructs.

“You sound like my mom,” you say, squinting at him.

“Yes, well, if your mother were here, I assume she wouldn’t have let you drink half your body weight in alcohol the night before a board meeting.”

“Wait.” Your eyes widen. “The board meeting.”

Nanami resists the urge to point out that this should have been your first concern, not the last. “Yes,” he says, “the one that starts in thirty-five minutes.”

You suck in a breath sharply. “I need to shower.”

“Obviously.”

“I don’t have time to do my hair.”

“You’re wearing it up.”

“I don’t have time for makeup.”

“You keep a bag in your office.”

You scowl. “You’re very annoying, you know that?”

Nanami gives you a pointed look, taking your empty glass of water from your hands. “Yes.”

You grumble something under your breath before disappearing into your room, the door clicking shut behind you. Nanami sighs. He takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, before rolling his shoulders. He deserves a pay raise.

By the time Nanami drags you into the office, you’re at least functioning. He’s made sure of it. He forced you to drink two full bottles of water and a homemade electrolyte mix (which you gagged on); stopped you from wearing a sweatshirt that said Eat the Rich (your argument was that it was thematically appropriate); shoved a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich into your hands (which you sullenly ate in the elevator, glaring at him the entire time); and silently questioned all of his life choices.

And now, he stands beside you in the conference room, arms crossed, expression stoic, while you sit at the head of the long, polished table, addressing a room full of corporate executives.

To your credit, you’re holding your own. Your voice is even. Your sentences are concise. Your data is accurate. If Nanami didn’t know that you had been half-dead in bed forty minutes ago, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

The board members—a collection of old money, new money, and at least one guy who definitely inherited his position from his father—watch you with varying degrees of interest. Some, like Flower Bandana and Secret Tattoo from Marketing, nod along. Others, most notably, Wire-Rimmed Glasses and Charcoal Pants, pretend to skim the reports in front of them. Nepotism Baby, however, is very obviously checking golf scores under the table.

Nanami clocks all of it. Still, you power through.

“—and as you can see, our projected quarterly growth remains steady despite recent market shifts. However, to maintain momentum, we need to prioritise long-term investments in—” You pause. Nanami notices it immediately—a brief hesitation, a flicker of your fingers against the table.

You’ve forgotten what you were saying.

To the untrained eye, it is imperceptible. To Nanami, who has spent an ungodly amount of time observing you, it’s as obvious as a flashing neon sign. 

Before you can recover, Salt-and-Pepper Board Member—the one who always speaks in a tone that suggests he hasn’t been happy since the Reagan administration—leans forward. “Miss CEO,” he says, adjusting his gold watch, “before we move forward, I’d like to address something.”

“Of course,” you reply smoothly, though Nanami catches the way your hands tense against the table.

Salt-and-Pepper clasps his hands together. “While we appreciate your insights, I have to ask—” a pause, carefully calculated for dramatic effect— “what exactly is your long-term vision for the company?”

The room stills. It’s a trap. A carefully laid, passive-aggressive, MBA-scented trap. Nanami watches you closely. He knows this type of boardroom maneuver—an underhanded way to question your competence without outrightly saying it. Testing the waters to see if you’ll crack, so to speak.

You, as always, rise to the occasion.

“My vision?” you repeat, tilting your head slightly, voice measured. “That’s an interesting question.”

Nanami presses his lips together. He can see the gears turning in your head.

You lean back in your chair, lacing your fingers together. “If I had to sum it up, I’d say my long-term vision is simple: Growth, innovation, and ensuring that this company doesn’t crumble under the weight of its own outdated bureaucracy.”

Salt-and-Pepper’s eyes narrow just slightly. You continue.

“Because let’s be honest, gentlemen—” (Nanami notes how you conveniently exclude the few women in the room; they could do no wrong in your eyes) “—we could sit here, shuffle numbers, and pat ourselves on the back for maintaining the status quo, or we could actually build something for the future. Something sustainable, something adaptive. Something that doesn’t leave us scrambling every time the market shifts.”

Impressive. Nanami hides his amusement behind a neutral expression. You’ve managed to say absolutely nothing while making it sound like you’ve said everything. A skill only a true genius could master. Salt-and-Pepper’s eyebrows pinch. He opens his mouth—likely to challenge you—but before he can, Nanami steps in.

“Further details on our strategic initiatives can be found on page five,” he says, flipping to the appropriate section in the report. “You’ll find that the CEO’s approach aligns with our projected financial goals and ensures continued shareholder confidence.”

Translation: Shut up and read the damn report. Salt-and-Pepper huffs in irritation.

The meeting continues. Charts are analysed. Projections are debated. Wire-Rimmed Glasses tries to poke holes in your marketing budget, only for Secret Tattoo to shut him down with three lines of data and an unimpressed eyebrow raise. Nepotism Baby suddenly develops an interest in the conversation only when someone brings up potential tax incentives.

Throughout it all, Nanami stands beside you like a quiet, immovable force of nature, ready to step in whenever necessary—though, to his silent chagrin, you seem to be having fun.

“You know,” you say, after redirecting a particularly obtuse question from Charcoal Pants, “I was going to bring this up later, but since we’re already on the subject of outdated models—”

Nanami immediately dislikes where this is going.

“—I’d love to discuss our executive compensation structure.”

The temperature in the room drops several degrees. There’s a long, pointed silence. Salt-and-Pepper visibly tenses. Wire-Rimmed Glasses stops pretending to read his report. Charcoal Pants blinks very fast. Nanami sighs. You are testing his patience. He’s not sure what you’re trying to achieve by discussing potential salary cuts to the Board of Directors, but it is too late now, and he is in too deep.

“Compensation structure?” Salt-and-Pepper repeats, as if you’ve just suggested setting fire to the stock portfolio.

“Yes,” you agree. “As you all know, our yearly executive bonuses amount to a significant percentage of our net profits. While rewarding performance is important, I believe we should also explore options that align with our long-term company health.”

One of Salt-and-Pepper’s eyes twitches. “I see. And what exactly do you propose?”

“A more balanced structure. Something performance-driven, sure, but also weighted in a way that ensures we’re reinvesting into the company and our employees. After all, a company is only as strong as its people.”

“That’s a… bold suggestion.” Salt-and-Pepper smiles, but it is a smile in the way a wolf bares its teeth.

“Oh, I know.” You flash him a blindingly fake grin. “But that’s what visionaries do, right? Think boldly?”

The discussion moves forward. The board members clearly have no interest in discussing executive pay cuts, and after five minutes of unproductive back-and-forth, Nanami steps in to smooth things over.

“We can table this discussion for another time,” he offers. “Let’s return to our key agenda items.”

Translation: You are all embarrassing yourselves. Move on. Thus, the meeting drags to an exhausting close. As the last board member exits, the conference room falls into silence. Nanami breathes out slowly. He turns his attention back to you—where you sit, still slumped in your chair, spinning a pen between your fingers. 

You look pleased with yourself. Of course, you do.

“You’re mean,” he says plainly.

You grin, unapologetic. “But you’re still here.”

Nanami presses his lips together, but he doesn’t deny it. You’re right; he is still here. Still standing beside you, still following you through your commitments and obligations, still making sure you don’t self-destruct before lunch, let alone the fiscal year. Still watching.

Nanami Kento isn’t blind to his own habits. He is not a man given to sentiment, nor is he someone who allows himself to be distracted. He has spent years cultivating a certain discipline, a carefully maintained distance between himself and his work. 

Yet, here he is.

Here he is, noticing things. Like the way your fingers tap absently against the table when you’re thinking. The way you tilt your head ever-so slightly when someone challenges you, as if already preparing a rebuttal. The way you wield charm and sharp wit like a weapon, disarming a room full of men who think they can rattle you.

Here he is, memorising things. Like the exact cadence of your voice when you’re amused versus when you’re irritated. The way you argue, not just for the sake of arguing, but because you genuinely believe things should be better.

Here he is, wondering things. Like why the sight of you so thoroughly holding your own in that room makes something in his chest feel curiously, infuriatingly warm. 

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t worry about you, shouldn’t be so aware of the way your presence has begun to take up space in his thoughts.

Nanami isn’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the first time you dragged him into a fight you had no business winning, arguing down a board member twice your age with nothing but facts and deduction. Maybe it was the morning you shoved a coffee into his hands without preamble, grumbling something about corporate capitalism slowly draining the life out of him. Maybe it was when he realised that despite your recklessness, despite your exhausting tendency to push every limit—

You were trying. 

Maybe that’s why he stays. Not because you’re impossible. Not because you test his patience on a daily basis, but because, despite it all, Nanami believes in you. Maybe—just maybe—that belief is starting to feel like something else entirely.

He clears his throat, shaking off whatever momentary lapse has settled over him. “Your next meeting is in fifteen minutes,” he says, already turning towards the door. “Try not to fall asleep before lunch.”

“No promises,” you call after him, and Nanami forces himself not to look back.

The next morning, you arrive at 8:45 A.M on the dot, and though you don’t greet Nanami with a chipper good morning wish, you do shove a neatly-wrapped roll of melonpan into his arms. 

“For yesterday,” you explain. “Thanks for picking me up even though it’s not a part of your job.”

Nanami stares at the melon bread in his hands. It’s soft, and still warm, wrapped in crinkly butter paper. For a moment, he simply blinks at it, as if it’s some kind of foreign object, something misplaced in the orderly structure of his morning routine. (It is.) 

Then, he looks at you. You’re already at your desk, halfway through flipping through a manila folder, scanning through documents with your brows furrowed in concentration. But Nanami catches it—the way your fingers loosely hold the paper, the way your shoulders aren’t as stiff as they were yesterday. It’s an offering—but more than that, it’s you remembering, because the name of the bakery printed on the butter paper is his favourite one.

He sets the melonpan carefully on the desk beside his coffee. “It was never not part of my job.”

“Huh?” Your head snaps up.

“Looking after you.”

Your brows knit together in something Nanami recognises as your default setting: Suspicion. “That’s not in your job description.”

“It should be,” he says, shrugging.

Your expression flickers—just for a second—before you roll your eyes. “Great. So I’ve officially become a liability. Good to know.”

“You’ve been a liability since day one.”

“Wow. You’ve been holding onto that one, huh?”

“I’m simply stating facts.” Nanami picks up the bread, breaking off a piece, and takes a bite. The outer layer of cookie dough is crisp, and it melts on his tongue with just the right amount of sweetness.

Your lips press together, like you’re trying to fight off a smile. “So?”

Nanami chews, swallows, and nods once. “Acceptable.”

“Oh, shut up. You love it.”

He says nothing, merely covers up the bread with the butter paper once more and places it next to his coffee once more. You look pretty today, he thinks. You’ve recovered from yesterday’s series of meetings. You’re smiling more. It might turn out to be a good day after all. Nanami doesn’t allow himself to linger on the thought. He reaches for his coffee, taking a sip, while you return to your documents, flipping a page with a little too much force.

“You have a meeting at ten,” he reminds you.

“I know.”

“And a working lunch with Legal.”

You make a noise of protest. “Not the suits. Again.”

“They have concerns about the expansion,” Nanami says mildly.

“They always have concerns.” You sigh, tilting your head back against your chair. “I swear, they enjoy making my life difficult.”

Nanami hums noncommittally. It’s not an argument he’s inclined to entertain—mostly because he knows you’ll win, and you’ll be smug about it. Instead, he glances at his watch. “You have exactly ten minutes before the executive team starts pestering me about your whereabouts.”

You make a face, dropping your folder onto your desk with a soft thud. “Can’t I just—skip?”

Nanami gives you a look. You groan and stretch your arms above your head, letting out a soft sigh before reaching for your pen. He watches as you jot something down in the margins of your notes. You’re still tired, he realises. Maybe not visibly, not in the way you were yesterday, but he sees it. The way you rub your temple when you think he isn’t looking, or the way your posture shifts just slightly when you exhale. It’s ridiculous, really, how attuned he is to you.

He clears his throat. “I rescheduled your two-thirty to tomorrow.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

“Because you’ll need the break.”

You purse your lips, considering this, and for a second, he thinks you’ll argue. But then, to his quiet surprise, you nod. “...Okay.”

The ten o’clock meeting is exactly as tedious as Nanami expects it to be. The executive team drones on about projections and budget allocations, with at least three separate tangents about “synergy” and “maximising operational efficiency.” Nanami watches as you nod along at all the right moments, feigning interest while you fiddle with your pen. He knows you’re not actually absorbing any of it—your attention is already elsewhere, likely preoccupied with the looming meeting with Legal. 

(He knows this because, at one point, you doodle a tiny stick figure on the margins of your notes. When the CFO asks for your thoughts, you barely miss a beat before delivering a perfectly rehearsed response.)

When the meeting ends, he follows behind you. You stretch discreetly, rolling out your shoulders, and when you glance at him, your expression is a silent plea for mercy.

Nanami sighs. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you expect me to spare you from your next obligation.”

“But you could,” you say, all mock innocence.

“I won’t,” he answers.

You heave a sigh. “You’re heartless.”

“I’m efficient.”

“Same thing.”

“You have twenty minutes before your next meeting,” Nanami says instead. “Eat something.”

“Okay, boss.”

Your secretary rolls his eyes. “You’ll thank me later.”

You do, albeit reluctantly. The legal team’s working lunch is predictably dull, full of jargon and contingency plans and hypothetical risks that you pretend to take notes on. At some point, you throw Nanami a look so filled with unspoken suffering that, if he were a softer man, he might have pitied you. 

See? your expression seems to say over the rim of your coffee cup, eyes flat with boredom. This is my suffering.

Nanami lets his mouth twitch upwards. You’ll survive.

You don’t know that. You narrow your eyes at him.

You do survive—just barely—through an hour of suffocating legalese, sitting through discussions on compliance policies and liability frameworks with a blank notepad and polite nods. You haven’t written anything down except Help me in the margins, which Nanami had caught a glimpse of when you’d shifted the notepad slightly. When the meeting finally, mercifully, ends, you slump back in your chair, stretching your legs out beneath the conference table with an exaggerated groan.

“I deserve a reward for making it through that,” you mutter.

Nanami flips through his schedule. “Your reward is not getting sued.”

“That’s a terrible reward,” you retort, scrunching your nose.

“It’s an important one.”

“You’re no fun, you know that?” you say, but there’s no real bite to it. Just annoyance, not directed at him.

“I do,” Nanami says, without missing a beat.

You huff a soft laugh, shaking your head before pushing yourself to stand. He follows suit, gathering his notes. It’s only when you step out of the conference room that he notices it again—the way your fingers tap absently against your arm, the slight crease in your forehead.

You’re preoccupied. Not just with work—no, he’d recognise that kind of stress easily. This is something else.

Nanami doesn’t pry. He never does. If you wanted to talk about it, you would. But when you step into the elevator and don’t immediately pull out your phone or launch into complaints about Legal, he speaks before he can stop himself. “What’s on your mind?”

You turn to him, mildly surprised. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been distracted all morning,” he says evenly.

“It’s nothing serious,” you say, a little softer than usual. “Just… something personal.”

That’s more than he expected you to admit. Nanami nods. He doesn’t push further or demand an explanation, but he asks, “Do you need anything?”

“I—” Your fingers still against your arm. “No. I’m fine.”

Nanami Kento doesn’t believe in prying. He’s spent years making sure the lines between professional and personal stay intact, clean and neat. You, however, have spent just as long ignoring those lines completely. He could leave it at that. Should, probably. It’s not his place to push, not when you so rarely let people in. But the problem is, he knows you too well—or, at least, better than most. He knows you well enough to recognise when you’re on the verge of running yourself into the ground, or to see through the half-hearted distractions you use to keep yourself from thinking too much.

The elevator doors slide open, and you step out first, wringing your hands like you’re physically squeezing out whatever was on your mind. He doesn’t comment when you pick up your pace, diving headfirst back into work as though you were never distracted in the first place.

It’s strange, he thinks, this feeling that lingers in his chest as he watches you settle back behind your desk. He’s always known his role in your life. He’s your secretary, your buffer against boardroom politics, the person who keeps your world running just a little more smoothly. He arranges your meetings, reorganises your schedule, and reminds you to eat when you’re too caught up in your work to remember.

Still. 

There are moments like these—moments where the boundary blurs, where the concern twists into something deeper. Moments where he finds himself wanting to do more than just keep you organised. 

It’s a dangerous thought, one he has no business entertaining, so he doesn’t.

Nanami Kento is not a morning person. He is, however, a responsible person, which means he is usually awake at a reasonable hour, even on weekends. Today is no exception.

His apartment is quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall—the minute hand inches towards 7:42 A.M—and the occasional rustle of a turning page as he reads. A fresh cup of coffee sits within reach, steam curling lazily into the air. It’s black, strong, and exactly the way he likes it—no unnecessary sweetness, no frills. This is how he prefers to spend his time off: A slow morning, a good book, and silence.

Then his phone buzzes. Nanami glances at the screen, frowning slightly at the name that appears. You. He sighs, already feeling a headache coming on. Nothing good ever comes from you calling him on a weekend. Or at all, really. 

Still, he picks up. “What?”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence on the other end. Then he hears you take in a breath, like you’re working up the nerve to speak. “Hey, um— Are you busy?”

“It’s my day off.” Nanami closes his book and leans back in his chair, his fingers pressing against his temple.

“I know,” you say quickly. Your voice sounds a little different—softer, almost unsure. That alone puts him on edge. He isn’t used to you hesitating. “That’s… actually why I called.”

His frown deepens. He recognises this setup. This is how people sound right before they ask him for something. Nanami shifts the phone to his other ear, already resigned. “What do you want?”

“Okay, first of all,” you say, defensive already, “I resent the implication that I only call you when I need something.”

“That is the only time you call me.”

“...Okay, fine. That’s fair.”

Nanami sighs again. He swears he isn’t the sighing sort of person, but you seem to bring out sides of him he never knew existed. “What is it?”

There’s another pause, longer this time. He hears the faint sound of movement—maybe you shifting your weight, maybe you fidgeting. He almost rolls his eyes. 

“There’s a flea market today,” you say, but there’s something different about the way you say it. Your voice is notably quieter, almost hesitant. “I, um… I wanted to go, but I don’t really have anyone to go with.”

Nanami stills. You? Hesitant? You, who has no problem bossing him around at work, who never hesitates to demand his time and attention, shy about asking him for a favour? Something about the way you say it makes his chest unfurl with warmth.

“So,” you continue, voice uncertain in a way he isn’t used to, “I was wondering if maybe you’d wanna come with me?”

Nanami doesn’t answer right away. He could say no. In fact, he probably should say no. It’s his day off, and he has no interest in spending his weekend surrounded by noisy crowds, looking at secondhand trinkets he doesn’t need. 

He exhales, already regretting this. “What time?”

“Be ready in an hour?” you ask hopefully. “Dress casual. But, like, not too casual.”

“I’m hanging up now,” he says.

“Wait—”

Nanami places his phone down on the table and stares at his coffee like it has personally betrayed him. How did this happen? One moment, he’s enjoying his peaceful morning. The next, he’s been roped into spending his day off at a flea market. It’s fine. He can handle this. He just needs a plan.

Best Case Scenario (Highly Unlikely): You’re already waiting outside when he arrives. You haven’t made any impulse purchases within the first ten minutes. You respect his personal space. You finish browsing in a reasonable amount of time, and Nanami returns home with his sanity intact. (This is about as likely as Gojo Satoru from HR suddenly developing the ability to stay awake for longer than five minutes during important meetings.)

Most Likely Scenario (Unfortunate but Expected): You’re ready, but you’re too excited. You get distracted by every shiny object at the market. You see a vintage typewriter and suddenly develop an unrealistic dream of becoming a novelist. You haggle dramatically over an item that costs the same as a cup of coffee. He ends up carrying all your bags.

Worst-Case Scenario (God Forbid): You’re waiting outside, but you’ve already made three online purchases while waiting. You spot a tarot card reader and decide he needs his fortune told. You find a vintage sword and somehow convince him to buy it. He loses you in the crowd and considers leaving you there. He doesn’t. (Unfortunately.)

Nanami arrives exactly on time, at 8:42 A.M, dressed in a dark olive button-up with the sleeves neatly rolled to his elbows, paired with well-pressed slacks and his usual leather shoes. His watch glints under the afternoon sun as he adjusts his glasses, scanning the crowd until his gaze lands on you.

You’re waiting near the entrance, shifting your weight from foot to foot with barely contained excitement. You’re wearing a breezy sundress, the colour bright against your skin. A canvas tote hangs from your shoulder. You rock onto your toes when you spot him, waving as if he might somehow miss you in the small crowd. Nanami sighs. You look pretty, he thinks, but when has he ever not thought so?

Just like that, Nanami Kento finds himself being led—against all better judgement—towards the market, where the streets are lined with stalls draped in colourful awnings, and the scent of saffron and cherries mingles in the air. Vendors call out their wares, old books are piled up in uneven stacks on wooden crates, and delicate silver necklaces and earrings gleam in glass cases. Somewhere, a musician plays a soft tune on a violin, the notes drifting through the air like the slow unraveling of a ribbon.

You walk slightly ahead, turning back every so often to ensure Nanami is still there, as if he might bolt at the first opportunity. How stupid of you. As if he’d go anywhere else. The man doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are loose, the way you no longer hold tension in your frame like a coiled wire. This is why weekends exist, he supposes.

When you reach a stall selling secondhand books, you stop abruptly. “See? This is nice,” you say, running a finger along the worn spine of a novel. “Better than sitting in a meeting with Legal.”

Nanami hums. His gaze is on you. You pick up a book with a cracked leather cover, flipping through its yellowed pages. Then, suddenly, you turn to him, holding it up.

“Tell me,” you muse, lips curving. “Have you ever been wooed in a flea market before?”

He blinks. “I don’t think so.”

You clear your throat and read aloud: ‘...and he regarded her with a most admiring countenance, struck by the quickness of her wit and the sharpness of her tongue…’

Nanami crosses his arms as you hold the book open like a scholar about to present a groundbreaking thesis. The corners of his lips twitch, but he schools his expression into something neutral. “Is that so?”

You nod solemnly. “A most admiring countenance,” you repeat, tapping the page. “That’s what it says. I think that’s a very poetic way of describing how you look at me all the time.”

He looks at you, ready to say something horrifically stupid, probably, but then you grin, mischief shining in your eyes, and he shakes his head with a quiet sigh. “You do realise that’s from a romance novel.”

“Oh, I’m very aware. I just thought, maybe, if I read enough passages, you might be so swept away by the romance of it all that you’ll fall madly in love with me.”

There it is. That ridiculous, absurd, entirely unserious thing you do—teasing him just enough to see if you can get a reaction. Nanami knows this game well.

“Hm.” He tilts his head slightly, his voice even. “And if I say it’s working?”

You blink. For once, you don’t have a quick-witted reply. Your fingers tighten around the book as you search his expression for something—anything—to indicate that he’s joking. But Nanami is frustratingly unreadable, his gaze steady, the sunlight catching the sharp planes of his face.

You shift, looking back at the book. “Then I’d say I need to find more material,” you mumble. “Something more compelling.”

He chuckles, amused at the way you retreat when met with your own words. “Of course.”

You huff, flipping through the pages again. He watches as your fingers dance over the old paper, as you scan each line with an almost childlike curiosity. There’s a sort of reverence in the way you handle books, as if each one holds a tiny universe inside. Nanami understands. He takes a step closer, just enough to catch the scent of your perfume—light, familiar. You’re so engrossed in your search that you don’t even notice. 

“This one’s nice,” you murmur, tapping another passage with your fingertip before reading it aloud. “‘To be looked at with such devotion… it is a wonder she could bear it at all.’ Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

Nanami doesn’t say anything. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. 

You brighten instantly. “So you are being wooed.”

He hands over a few bills to the vendor without acknowledging your comment. “Just buy the book.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, barely holding back a laugh, before placing the book inside your tote bag. Your fingers brush against his briefly—just the lightest touch, gone too soon. The transaction is done, and the book is safely tucked away, but Nanami doesn’t know why his mouth suddenly feels too dry, or his clothes feel too warm.

“You’re a very easy target,” you say, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Enlighten me.”

“Well, for one, you act all stern and no-nonsense, but you just bought a book because I read one romantic passage out loud. That, Nanami, is the behaviour of a man who is, against his better judgement, deeply susceptible to my charm.”

Nanami doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he turns and starts walking down the narrow aisle between the market stalls, knowing full well that you’ll follow. You fall into step beside him. “Hey, I wasn’t done talking.”

“I know.”

“You’re so rude.”

“You’ll live.”

You roll your eyes and he lets you get distracted by the next few stalls—one selling mismatched ceramic mugs, another displaying old postcards with faded ink scrawled across them. You pause at a stall selling silver jewelry, fingers trailing over delicate rings arranged on a velvet-lined tray.

Nanami watches, hands in his pockets, as you try on a ring, twisting it around your finger before putting it back. “Not getting one?” he asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know. I like the idea of having one, but I don’t think I’d wear it often enough to justify it.”

He glances at the tray, his gaze settling on a simple silver band. He briefly considers buying it for you, but the thought unsettles him for reasons he doesn’t want to examine too closely. He says nothing and waits for you to move. 

You wander through the market together, stopping here and there—laughing when you find a truly heinous painting of a cat, nudging Nanami when you spot a tarot reader just to see his reaction, groaning dramatically when he refuses to let you buy a vintage sword. (He doesn’t trust you with a sharp object. This is a reasonable stance, he thinks.)

By the time the afternoon sun hangs high, painting the streets in gold, Nanami finds himself carrying a small bag of your purchases despite his earlier aversion—not because you asked, but because, without thinking, he took it from you when your hands were full, and somehow, neither of you mentioned it.

Nanami Kento is brushing his teeth, already halfway through his night routine, when his phone buzzes against the bathroom counter. He considers ignoring it—nothing good ever comes out of late-night calls—but then he sees your name flashing on the screen, again. He closes his eyes. He spent half the Saturday with you at the flea market. It’s a Sunday night, and he’s already thinking about the miserable Monday morning waiting for him. He doesn’t need whatever nonsense you’re about to tell him. Still, he picks up the phone.

A sigh leaves him, muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth. He spits, rinses, and presses the call button. “What?”

“Nanami,” you say, pathetically slurred.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“No, listen, listen,” you insist, voice wobbly. “I have—a problem.”

“Of course, you do,” Nanami says. “Where are you?”

“At home.” There’s a rustling sound on the other end, like you’re rolling around on a couch, or maybe tangled up in a blanket that you don’t have the coordination to escape from. “I made it home all by myself. I think that’s really impressive. You should say you’re impressed.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re so mean,” you whine. Then, lower, in a voice so pitiful he almost snorts, “I think I’m dying.”

Nanami checks the time. 10:34 P.M. He should tell you to drink some water and go to sleep. He should just hang up. From the other end of the line, you let out a tiny, miserable noise. It’s barely a sniffle, more like a small whimper of distress—pathetic, and fleeting, but it sits wrong with him. He stands there for a moment, staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, waiting for the irritation to take over. It never does.

Instead, his eyebrows furrow in something that isn't quite a frown, but close enough. Then, he grabs his coat. If he leaves now, he can reach your apartment in twelve minutes, fifteen if traffic is bad.

Your apartment is unlocked when he gets there. Nanami pushes the door open, stepping inside and toeing off his shoes. He barely has the time to take in the mess—your shoes kicked off in two completely different directions, your bag lying lifeless in the middle of the floor, clearly dropped mid-stride—before you come stumbling out of the kitchen, gripping a glass of water like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

“You came,” you breathe, eyes wide. “My saviour.”

He frowns. “Why is your door unlocked?”

You wave a hand, dismissive. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“Why are you mad?” You blink at him, wobbling slightly where you stand, and tilt your head like he’s the one being unreasonable.

Nanami presses his lips into a thin line. Instead of answering, he reaches out to flick you on the forehead. You yelp, nearly dropping your glass. “That’s for being careless.” He folds his arms. “How much did you drink?”

“Mm. Enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Enough to want to die, but not enough to actually die,” you clarify, solemn. “Does that help?”

“No.”

You snicker at his flat tone, but it quickly turns into a hiccup. Eyes wide, you slap a hand over your mouth, until you relent and start giggling uncontrollably. Nanami watches you, expressionless. He has never been more tired in his life.

Without another word, he moves past you and into your kitchen. “Sit down. I’ll make you something to sober up.”

“I don’t wanna sober up,” you whine, trailing after him.

He eyes you critically, pulling open a cabinet in search of honey and ginger. “What’s your excuse for getting drunk this time? Another friend’s birthday party?”

You snort. “Don’t be silly, Nanami. You’re the only friend I have.”

He stills. You blink at him, swaying slightly. He ignores the warmth creeping up his cheeks, and tells you to sit down before you fall over. You huff, but oblige, dragging a chair out and collapsing into it. Your head flops onto the counter, cheek squished against the cool surface. “You’re kinda good at this,” you mumble.

Nanami doesn’t bother looking at you as he fills the kettle. “It’s just tea.”

“No,” you say, voice thick with something close to admiration. “Like. Taking care of people.”

His hands still for a fraction of a second before he returns to slicing ginger. He doesn’t acknowledge your words, but something in his chest twists. It’s not like it’s hard to take care of you—you stumble through life with the kind of reckless abandon that practically demands someone step in before disaster strikes. He glances at you. Your arms are folded under your head, body lax, but your eyes are distant, slightly unfocused.

He asks, “What happened?”

You blink sluggishly, turning your head just enough to look at him. “Huh?”

“You don’t drink like this for no reason,” he says. “What happened?”

Your lips purse. You look like you’re debating whether to brush him off or tell him the truth. Then, with a hiccup and sniffle, you mumble, “My parents want me to get married.”

“What?” 

Your nose wrinkles, like the very thought is giving you a headache. “It’s stupid,” you grumble. “They want me to meet some guy, settle down, be stable or whatever. Like that’s something I can just do.” You lift your head slightly, eyes glassy, lower lip wobbling. “I don’t wanna get married.”

Nanami swallows. There’s something painfully childlike in the way you say it, as if you’re afraid of being forced into something you can’t escape from. Your face is flushed from the alcohol, but your expression is unguarded. He could be rational about this—tell you that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, that it’s your life. But he knows that’s not what you need right now.

Instead, he reaches out, pressing his palm against the top of your head, warm and steady. He hears your sharp intake of breath.

“You don’t have to get married if you don’t want to,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “No one can make you.”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed. The room is still. The only sound is the quiet whistle of the kettle coming to a boil. Then, like a switch has flipped, you sniffle, rubbing at your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. “You’re so nice to me, Nanami.”

“I really am.”

“I should marry you,” you say seriously.

He pulls his hand back immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” you say, lips quirking into a lazy grin. “You afraid you’d fall in love with me?”

Nanami levels you with a flat look. “I’m afraid you’d forget that we ever got married in the first place.”

You cackle, unbothered, and he shakes his head, exasperated. The kettle clicks off. Nanami turns back to the counter, pouring the hot water into a mug. He stirs in the honey and hears you sigh behind him.

“I mean it, though,” you say, softer now. “I don’t wanna get married. Not to someone I don’t love, or ‘cause my parents think I should.”

Nanami glances at you over his shoulder. Your face is half-hidden behind your arms again, but your eyes are clearer now, a little more serious despite the alcohol buzzing through your system. He walks over, setting the tea down in front of you, and says, “Then don’t.”

You blink up at him again. He nudges the mug towards you, and you wrap your hands around it, staring down at the amber liquid. 

Nanami inhales slowly. “Now drink your tea and go to bed.”

You hum, blowing gently on the surface before taking a sip. Then, peeking up at him through your lashes, you say, “Will you stay?”

He hesitates. It’s late. He has work tomorrow. You have work tomorrow. But when he looks at you—tired, drunk, a little lost—he knows he won’t be able to leave until he’s sure you’re okay. “...I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

You smile sleepily, satisfied, and take another sip of your tea.

The board votes. 

Salt-and-Pepper calls it. Wire-Rimmed Glasses raises his hand first, the corporate equivalent of a teacher’s pet. Charcoal Pants follows, though his fingers twitch with uncertainty. Nepotism Baby—who has been thoroughly checked out for the past forty-five minutes—glances up from his phone just long enough to nod vaguely before going back to whatever meaningless app he’s scrolling through. Nanami watches you from the corner of his eye. You don’t move.

Salt-and-Pepper looks pleased. “Well, that’s that. We’ll move forward with drafting the initial—”

“Wait,” Secret Tattoo from Marketing cuts in. “Are we seriously doing this?”

Salt-and-Pepper’s eyebrows rise, as if he hadn’t expected resistance. Foolish of him. “Is there an issue?”

An issue? Oh, where to begin. Your fingers drum once, twice, against the table. “Zen’in Industries.” You say it like you’re testing the words, rolling them around in your mouth to see if they taste any less like poison. “That’s the best we could do?”

Wire-Rimmed Glasses adjusts his frames. “They’re the most viable partner given the timeline.”

“That’s debatable.”

“The most viable approved partner,” Salt-and-Pepper clarifies. “We’ve reviewed the alternatives.”

“You reviewed them wrong,” Flower Bandana mutters under her breath.

Secret Tattoo leans back in her chair, arms crossed. “I don’t like it either.”

“This decision was made with careful consideration,” Salt-and-Pepper says. His left eye twitches, and he turns back to you. “Miss CEO, while I understand your concerns, business decisions must be made pragmatically, not emotionally.”

Translation: Suck it up and sign the damn papers.

You tilt your head. “Right. And pragmatism is why we’re aligning ourselves with a company whose leadership has been, let’s see, sued five separate times in the last decade for fraudulent business practices, labour violations, and—oh, my favourite—potential ties to organised crime?”

Wire-Rimmed Glasses clears his throat. “Those cases were dismissed.”

“They barely avoided a federal indictment,” you say.

Nepotism Baby suddenly chimes in. “Zen’in’s big. They’ve got resources.”

Nanami resists the urge to sigh. Yes, genius, that’s how companies work. You shoot the boy an unimpressed look, and say, “They also have a history of—how do I put this politely—being absolutely terrible.”

Charcoal Pants shifts uncomfortably. “That’s a bit—”

“Am I wrong?”

Secret Tattoo raises a hand. “Would now be a bad time to remind everyone that they also had an entire warehouse shut down for safety violations?”

“That was an isolated incident,” Wire-Rimmed Glasses says.

“Was it?” you ask. “Because my notes say it happened twice.”

Nepotism Baby leans towards Wire-Rimmed Glasses. “Wait. Twice?”

Salt-and-Pepper clears his throat. “Miss CEO, I assure you—”

“No, really, help me understand.” You lean forward, elbows on the table. “Because last I checked, we weren’t in the business of giving ethics violations a seat at our table.”

“This partnership will allow us to expand at a rate we can’t achieve alone.”

“Uh-huh. And remind me again, what’s the exact rate we’re aiming for? Because if you’re simply going to say something like, faster than usual, I feel like there are other ways to do that. Like, I don’t know, hiring more people. Investing in R&D. Not selling our souls to a family that definitely has bodies buried somewhere.”

Nepotism Baby looks even more alarmed. He leans back towards Wire-Rimmed Glasses. “Wait. Bodies?”

“Metaphorically,” Charcoal Pants says weakly.

You click your tongue. “Probably.”

“The decision has been made.” Translation: Sit down and deal with it. Salt-and-Pepper’s patience has officially run out. Flower Bandana shakes her head. Secret Tattoo mutters under her breath about corporate bootlickers.

Your fingers curl around the pen in front of you. Nanami, ever the observer, sees it immediately—the way you stiffen, the way your expression shutters, before you school it into something blank. “Fine,” you say coolly. “If that’s what the board wants.”

Salt-and-Pepper nods, pleased. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

The meeting adjourns. The board members leave. Salt-and-Pepper sniffs condescendingly in your direction before stepping out. Nepotism Baby stretches, lets out an obnoxiously loud yawn, and wanders off. Charcoal Pants moves quickly, as if afraid you might call him back, and Wire-Rimmed Glasses follows him. One by one, they filter out, until the conference room is empty, save for you and Nanami.

Your fingers uncurl from the pen you’ve been gripping so tightly that there are deep grooves in your skin. You set it down. Tilting your head back, you stare at the ceiling for precisely three seconds before letting out a single, humourless laugh.

“Well.” Your voice is calm, but only barely. “That was fucking awful.”

“You handled it well,” Nanami says.

You let out a breath, somewhere in between a scoff and a sigh. “I shouldn’t have had to handle it in the first place.”

That’s fair, he thinks. You drag a hand down your face as if trying to smother the frustration bubbling just beneath your skin. It doesn’t work. “I knew they’d pull something,” you mutter, “but Zen’in? Of all the goddamn companies in the world, they want them?”

“It’s a strategic decision.” He knows it’s not what you want to hear, but he says it anyway. 

You drop your hand and turn to him. “Say that again, and I’ll replace you.”

“I’m only pointing out the obvious.”

You sigh, but don’t argue. You both know the board sees nothing but numbers, nothing but projections and timelines and carefully-worded justifications. They don’t care about anything outside the bottom line. 

“I don’t want to work with them, Nanami,” you admit.

He already knew that. But hearing you say it—softer now, tired—settles something heavy in his chest. He doesn’t like it. “You won’t do it alone,” he says simply.

Your lips twitch upwards, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

You study him, searching for something, but whatever you find must be enough, because you sigh and push yourself up from your chair. “Guess we’re stuck with this mess, then.”

“Seems that way.”

“If I’m suffering, then you’re suffering with me.”

“Unfortunate,” Nanami says, but he knows you know he doesn’t mean it.

You guffaw, tension easing—slightly. He can tell it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface. He’s still thinking about it, watching you as you head for the door. He sees the way your jaw is set too tightly, the way your shoulders are stiff. You’re angry. Not just irritated, not just frustrated—angry. It’s not just about the board’s incompetence. It’s Zen’in Industries.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Nanami says.

“God, Nanami. Are you asking me to lunch?”

He stiffens slightly at your teasing, but he doesn’t say anything. He just walks past you, already heading to the elevator. You laugh, falling into step beside him.

At lunch, you pick at a Greek salad with disinterest, stabbing a piece of feta cheese with your fork. The restaurant is a nice place—not overly extravagant, but tasteful in a way that suits Nanami’s particular preferences. He hadn’t put much thought into where to take you. He just needed to get you out of that boardroom. 

Now, though, as he watches you pick apart your salad, he wonders if it even helped.

You roll an olive on your plate with your fork. Across from you, Nanami takes an absent sip of his lime soda, only half paying attention to the taste. The silence is not uncomfortable, but he feels awkward regardless. He should be focused on the partnership, on the logistics, on the long list of ways this shouldn’t be as much of a problem as you’re making it out to be. But instead, his mind drifts.

To you.

To your sharp edges and sharp tongue, to the way your expressions flicker just a little too fast sometimes, as if you’re trying too hard to rein yourself in. To the way you are so painfully aware of everything around you: Every person in a room, every slight shift in tone, every implication buried in corporate jargon.

You are, objectively speaking, a brilliant CEO. Ruthless when you need to be, charming when it suits you, but most of all, uncompromising. Yet, when it comes to this—when it comes to Zen’in Industries—your anger is not just professional. It is personal.

Nanami doesn’t like personal. Personal is messy. Personal gets in the way of logic, of utilitarianism, of clear-cut and efficient decisions.

He tells himself that is why he is still thinking about this. Not because the tightness in your shoulders makes his chest ache. Not because he has never once seen you almost falter the way you did today. Not because he has spent the past half-hour cycling through every possible reason for your reaction and coming up empty.

No, he tells himself, it is because this is a complication he cannot account for, and that is what bothers him.

You press your fork into the olive, just enough to puncture the skin. Then, so casually, you might as well be commenting on the weather, you say, “Did you know that I was in a relationship with Zen’in Naoya?”

Nanami freezes. His brain—normally so methodical, so efficient—comes to a screeching halt. There is no quick calculation, no immediate strategy to deal with this information. There is only the sound of your voice, so stunningly normal in its delivery, juxtaposed against the implication of the words themselves. His grip tightens around his glass of lime side. He doesn’t set it down or react outwardly—but he shifts in his seat.

Zen’in Naoya.

He knows the name well. Anyone even remotely involved in business does. He is a member of the Zen’in family—one of those Zen’ins. A man with power, influence, and a reputation that precedes him. Not for anything good, either. Nanami has never met him in person, but he’s read enough and heard enough to know that he would not want to.

He finally sets down his glass. For once, Nanami Kento does not immediately know what to say.

“Nothing to say?” you ask lightly.

Nanami studies you carefully. You are not looking at him, but he recognises this version of you—the one who pretends you’re fine, who deflects with indifference. The one who would rather fill the silence than allow it to become suffocating. 

“You never mentioned that before,” he says slowly. It is not a question; just an observation.

You attempt to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “It never came up.”

Nanami is many things, but he is not stupid. The warble in your voice, the way your fingers tighten ever-so slightly around your fork—this is why you were so angry in the meeting. This is why you stiffened at the mention of the Zen’ins, why you dug your heels in so hard. He should have realised it sooner.

He breathes out slowly. “And now it has.”

“Yes,” you say simply. “Would you like me to tell you about our first date?”

Nanami does not react. He makes sure he sounds neutral when he answers, “No.”

You hum, feigning disappointment. “It was terribly boring, anyway. He took me to some overpriced restaurant with a six-course meal, and every single dish had foam in it.”

Nanami ignores the way his stomach twists at the thought of you on a date with someone like Naoya. It is illogical. Unnecessary. 

“I was nineteen,” you continue. “Very stupid. I thought I knew everything. He was older, and it seemed impressive at the time. He said all the right things. I was easily impressed back then.”

Nanami’s fingers curl against the table. Back then. As if there is a before and after to who you are. He doesn’t like the insinuations of that. “You’re not now,” he says.

“No, I guess not.” For the first time in the conversation you look up at him. Nanami does not look away. You lean back in your chair and say, “So, now you know.”

Now he knows. Nanami doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. It sits uncomfortably in his mind, wedged there like a stubborn wooden splinter. For now, he does the only thing he can do. He nods, takes another sip of his lime soda, and says, “Eat your salad.”

You laugh. It’s a short huff, but it almost makes Nanami smile.

 “Miss CEO,” one of the Zen’in representatives—a wiry, balding man who sweats too much—says, visibly struggling to remain polite, “surely you understand that our current offer is more than fair.”

“Fair,” you echo, as if testing the word on your tongue. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

Nanami—who has spent the last three weeks enduring these negotiations—already knows where this is going. He resists the urge to sigh.

“Would you care to elaborate?” Balding Man asks. He keeps his tone professional, but there is an undeniable sense of annoyance in his eyes. Nanami takes a deep breath. You, however, smile.

“Well,” you say. “I just think it’s funny—”

Oh, no. Nanami shuts his eyes for a brief moment, pressing his fingers to his temple. He has heard you say this exact phrase at least five times this week, and every time, what follows is never actually funny. It is, usually, a goddamn nightmare.

Balding Man shifts in his seat. “Funny,” he repeats cautiously.

“Mhm,” you hum. “I just think it’s funny that, in your latest revision, you’ve somehow—” you tilt your head— “conveniently removed the profit-sharing clause we originally discussed. The one your team proposed, by the way.”

“That was an adjustment made to account for—”

“—what, exactly?” you interrupt, leaning forward slightly. “Because as far as I can tell, it was an attempt to quietly slip in a clause that benefits your side while offering absolutely nothing in return. Now, I’m sure that’s just a simple oversight, right?”

Balding Man opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, like a fish flopping around outside water. Nanami watches this unfold with an increasing sense of frustration. 

You are doing this on purpose.

This is not a necessary discussion. The contract could have been finalised two meetings ago, but you have spent the last three weeks turning every single interaction into an exercise in endurance. You nitpick everything. You argue over semantics. You demand last-minute revisions on things that don’t even matter. At one point, you outright rejected a clause you had originally asked for—just to make them go through the process of re-drafting it. 

And because Nanami Kento is your secretary, he has spent most of his time smoothing things over before the Zen’ins lose their patience entirely. It is, frankly, exhausting.

“We can revisit that clause,” Balding Man says tightly.

“Oh, we will,” you say, with a delightfully insincere smile. “In fact, let’s go ahead and set up another review meeting.”

Nanami finally steps in. “That won’t be necessary,” he says, voice clipped.

Your head snaps to him so fast that he almost regrets speaking. Almost. 

“Excuse me?” Your voice is deceptively calm.

Nanami meets your gaze, unwavering. “Dragging out negotiations benefits no one.”

Balding Man exhales, muttering something under his breath. You, however, do not look impressed. Your fingers drum once, twice, against the polished surface of the table. “I wasn’t aware I asked for your opinion, Nanami.”

A sharp silence settles over the room. Nanami’s fingers curl into his palm. You do this all the time. You argue, you challenge, you push every meeting to its breaking point. When things spiral, he’s the one left cleaning up the mess. Now, when he finally intervenes, you’re mad at him? Fine.

Nanami sets his jaw. “I’m only saying what needs to be said.”

The corners of your mouth turn down—just a fraction—before you lean back in your chair. Without looking at him, you say, “Let’s wrap this up.”

Nanami doesn’t allow himself to feel relieved just yet, but at least you don’t push back any further. The rest of the meeting crawls towards a conclusion, with the Zen’in representatives clearly eager to be anywhere else. The moment the last pleasantries are exchanged, Balding Man all but scrambles out the door, leaving you and Nanami alone in the conference room. The silence is razor-thin, stretched taut like a wire about to snap.

“That was productive,” you say, standing up.

He closes the folder in front of him with a controlled snap. “It could have been productive three weeks ago.”

You don’t even look at him. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

He levels you with a stare, but you keep your attention on straightening the cuffs of your blazer, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. The dismissal is blatant. His patience thins. “You’re making my job harder than it needs to be,” he says.

At that, you finally glance at him. “Then maybe you should stop getting in my way and embarrassing me in front of our collaborators.”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Are you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks more like you’re doing theirs.”

The words are like ice—controlled, but cold enough to cut. Nanami’s fingernails dig crescents into his palm. “You’re dragging this out for no reason,” he says evenly.

You hum, turning towards the door. “If you think that, then maybe you should stick to taking notes instead of giving opinions.”

That stops him in his tracks. You don’t wait for a response. You step out of the conference room without another glance, the steady click of your heels the only sound in the empty hall. Nanami exhales, fingers flexing at his sides. 

You’re shutting him out. If that’s how you want to play, so be it.

It starts with the coffee. Nanami always brings it to you in the morning when he reaches his desk at 8:31 A.M—black for him, a complicated order with enough sugar to kill a lesser man for you. He knows the exact amount of cream that you like, and the precise temperature it needs to be when you take your first sip. But the morning after the meeting, when he sets his cup down on his desk, there’s no second cup. He hears the slight pause in your typing when you notice. A small shift of paper against paper.

“Nanami,” you say.

He doesn’t look up. “Yes?”

“Did you forget something?”

He smooths his tie down over his chest, eyes still on his tablet. “I assumed you wouldn’t need my help with something so simple.”

There’s a long, brittle pause. He knows you’re looking at him. He can feel your eyes upon him from across the room. But he doesn’t glance up, doesn’t shift. Finally, you close the file in front of you with a muted snap and rise from your chair. Your heels click sharply against the floor as you pass him, pausing just briefly at his side. “Hope your schedule’s clear,” you say, voice like glass. “You’ll need to redraft the acquisition proposal by noon.”

“Fine.” His mouth tightens.

He retaliates with paperwork. Nanami knows exactly how to drown someone in administrative hell without breaking a sweat. The next morning, he leaves a neat stack of contracts, memos, and reports on your desk, all unlabeled. He knows you hate that. The revised budget is buried beneath the expense sheets, and the acquisition report—still missing a key section—has no notes attached. He hears the scrape of a chair, followed by the clipped sound of your heels striking the marble floor as you stalk towards his desk.

“Did you think this was acceptable?” you say, tossing the report onto his desk. Nanami’s hands are still on his keyboard. He doesn’t look up. “The section on profit restructuring is incomplete,” you add.

“I assumed you’d prefer to review it yourself,” he says, “since you were so insistent on final approval.”

“Correct it,” you say, voice low. “And put it on my desk by the end of the day.”

Nanami closes his laptop with deliberate care. “Of course.”

Meetings become a war zone. He starts cutting in before you’ve finished speaking. You return the favour without hesitation. One afternoon, during a strategy meeting, he hears you inhale and knows exactly what you’re about to say. “Actually—” he begins.

“I don’t need clarification,” you say flatly, not even looking at him.

“It’s important to avoid miscommunication,” Nanami says. His eyes flick towards you.

Your smile is thin. “Then stop talking.”

Nanami’s mood darkens. Balding Man, sitting across the table, looks like he’d rather fling himself out of the nearest window. Nanami doesn’t care. You’ve made it clear how little you care about his input. If you want to micromanage everything, he’ll stop bothering to clean up your messes.

He starts adjusting your schedule. Meetings appear on your calendar without explanation—overlapping appointments, double-booked sit visits, late-night briefings. At one point, you get a notification for an 8 A.M call with the accounting department, only to find out Nanami cancelled it an hour earlier. You stride into his office. He doesn’t look up from his tablet.

“I thought you handled scheduling,” you say.

“I must have misunderstood your preferences,” he says without inflection. “Since you’ve made it clear that you prefer to handle things yourself.”

You stare at him. He still doesn’t look up. Finally, you scoff under your breath and leave. Nanami watches the door swing shut, something sharp and pointed pressing into his chest.

Lunch becomes unbearable. You still sit together—out of habit, perhaps—but the silence is cutting. Nanami eats his neatly-packed bento with steady, measured bites; you stab aggressively at your pasta, tearing the penne apart like it’s personally offended you. Once, you push your tray an inch towards him and say, “Taste this.”

“I’m allergic to it,” Nanami says, scrolling through some news article on his phone.

“You’re not allergic to chocolate mousse.”

“I could be.”

You make a noise, sharp and irritated, and push the tray away. Nanami doesn’t look away from his phone. He feels the tightness in his shoulders. He hates this. He hates that you’re angry. He hates that he’s angry. Most of all, he hates that he can’t stop himself from pressing harder.

The final blow comes during a boardroom meeting. One of the department heads starts talking in circles, and Nanami—already at the edge of his patience—starts to cut in. “We already—”

“I think it’s important to clarify the terms,” you say smoothly, before he can finish.

Nanami’s gaze snaps to you. His eyes narrow. “There’s no need to clarify anything.”

“Just making sure,” you say, flashing him a bland smile.

Nanami closes his laptop with unsettling calm. You start gathering your papers. His hands curl into his lap. “If you want to manage everything,” he says quietly, “I’ll stop bothering to give input.”

You look at him; your eyes are ice when you say, “Maybe you should,” and walk out without another word. Nanami watches the door shut behind you. He clenches his jaw so hard, it begins to hurt. This is untenable, he thinks.

Nanami hears the clock ticking.

It’s past midnight, and the city outside the office windows glows faintly beneath the dark sky. The only light in the room comes from the soft, sterile glow of your laptops, casting cold shadows across the polished table. His tie is loose around his neck, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows. Across from him, you sit with your laptop open, eyes fixed on the screen. Your hair is slightly disheveled. There’s an untouched cup of coffee beside you, gone cold hours ago.

It’s quiet, except for the sound of typing and the low hum of the air conditioning. Nanami reviews the document in front of him, trying to concentrate, but it proves to be a difficult task when his gaze keeps drifting towards you. He observes—the tightness in your jaw; the slight furrow of your brow; the way your fingers tap a little too hard against your keyboard. He knows you’re frustrated. You’ve been frustrated for weeks. So has he.

He hears the sound of a key sticking, followed by an annoyed exhale. “Fucking hell,” you mutter under your breath.

“You should take a break,” he tells you.

“I’m fine,” you snap.

Nanami sets his pen down. “You’re not fine. You’ve been working non-stop for—”

“I said I’m fine.”

He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Yes, clearly. That’s why you’ve been rereading the same page of that draft for the past thirty minutes.”

Your head snaps up. “I’m sorry, are you the CEO now?”

“Are you trying to sabotage your own company?”

“Oh, fuck off, Nanami.”

“Gladly,” he bites out, closing the folder in front of him. “Maybe then you can stop wasting my time.”

Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you push back from the table. “I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience,” you say sharply. “God forbid you actually have to work for a change.”

Nanami’s expression darkens. His hands press flat against the table as he stands. “It’s not about the work. It’s about you actively making it harder for yourself—and for me.”

“And here I thought handling me was part of your job description.”

“I don’t mind doing my job,” he says icily. “I mind when you refuse to let anyone help you and then act surprised when things don’t go your way.”

“Then why don’t you quit?” you say, chin lifting. “If you hate working for me so much, why don’t you just leave?”

“Maybe I should.”

You suck in a breath sharply, shoulders tense, mouth tightening. Nanami knows he’s gone too far. He sees the flicker of hurt in your expression before you smooth it away.

“Do it, then,” you say coldly. “Walk out. It’s not like anyone’s forcing you to stay.”

You are, he wants to say. Because you are, whether intentionally or not. Nanami finds himself drawn to you, like a moth circling a very bright flame. If he was a sunflower, he thinks you’d be the sun. Nanami doesn’t say any of that. He steps towards you, walking around the table until he’s right in front of you. “Don’t—”

“Or what?” You smile, sharp-edged and bitter. “You’ll finally stop pretending to care?”

Nanami’s hands curl into fists. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” you demand, turning away from him and bracing your hands on the desk. The papers underneath your hands crumple. “Stop trying to make sure my company doesn’t go fucking bankrupt, or stop—”

“I’m trying to help you—”

“No,” you say, breathless with rage. “You know asking for help means I can’t handle everything myself, and—”

“You’re so stubborn,” he says, finally. His heart hammers against his ribs. “You’re impossible to work with right now.”

“I am under pressure!” you yell, whipping around to face him. “You think I’m being difficult on purpose?”

Nanami stares at you, breathing hard. His hands brace against the table to keep from shaking. “Then what the hell is this?”

Your hands are trembling. Your eyes shine with something dangerously close to tears, but you don’t let them fall. “My parents are pressuring me to get married. And on top of that, I’m trying to close a deal with my ex’s company because of my stupid board of directors—never mind the fact that the Zen’ins engage in borderline illegal practices—and I have to sit across their representative and pretend I don’t know Zeni’in Naoya once tried to steal intellectual property from me. And the only person I trusted to be able to help me out has been treating me like a fucking liability.”

Nanami’s breath catches. “I’m not—”

“Then do something, Nanami,” and you sound pleading when you say it, and Nanami’s chest tightens.

You’re an anomaly in Nanami’s perfectly-structured, perfectly-planned out life. He has known this for a while, only he never acknowledged it until now. The thing is, Nanami thrives on order; on logic; on neat, clean lines and predictable outcomes. He works best when things make sense, when he can anticipate every possible outcome and adjust accordingly. He’s built his life around that certainty—disciplined and unwavering.

But there’s you.

You, who he can’t predict. You, who challenges him in every conversation, who barreled into his life with no premonition. You, whose moods shift so easily—stern one moment, playful the next, always just a little out of reach. You, a hurricane in the body of a woman. You, you, you. 

You are the only thing in his life that doesn’t fit into a box. And yet, somehow, you’re the only thing he doesn’t want to let go of. You barreled straight through his rib cage and settled deep down inside his unsuspecting heart, and he does not think he could pry you away, now.

Nanami breathes hard. His pulse is a frantic, erratic thing beneath his skin. It echoes in his ears as he stares at you—eyes flashing, chest rising and falling.

You’re close—close enough that he can see the tremor of your hands where they’re braced against the desk. Your mouth is parted and your breath is unsteady. There’s a flush creeping up your neck, and your eyes—God, your eyes—burn into him like they’re trying to carve him open from the inside out.

Nanami should step back. He knows this. He should take a deep breath and turn away before one of you says something you can’t take back. But his feet feel rooted to the ground. You look at him—really look at him—and whatever thread of control he’s holding onto snaps clean in two.

His hand moves before he can stop it, fingers brushing along the line of your jaw. Your breath hitches. You don’t pull away. He tilts your chin up, his thumb resting just beneath your lower lip, and your mouth opens slightly beneath his touch. His palm is warm, and then his hand slides to the back of your neck.

And then you’re moving—closing the distance between you without hesitation. Your mouth crashes against his, rough and desperate, and Nanami’s hand tightens at the nape of your neck as he kisses you back, hard.

It’s messy. Too fast, and too much. Your teeth catch against his bottom lip, and he exhales harshly, his other hand sliding down to your waist and yanking you forward until there’s no space left between you. Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt; you tug him down to you. His lips part against yours, and you deepen the kiss, all gasping breaths and frantic movements.

Nanami’s head spins. His hand slides beneath your blouse, finding the bare skin at the small of your back, and you shudder. You press closer, and he feels the quick, uneven flutter of your heart where your chest is pressed against his.

You break away first, just barely. Your breath ghosts against his mouth, shallow and ragged, before you lean in and kiss him again—slower this time, softer, but still aching with urgency. Nanami’s hand slips into your hair, his thumb pressing gently behind your ear as your lips part beneath his. You sigh into him.

Nanami knows he should stop. He knows he should pull back before this spirals out of control. But you breathe his name against his mouth, quiet and pleading, and Nanami’s resolve shatters.

He kisses you deeper.

Nanami doesn’t think—he’s past the point of rational thought. His hands slide down the curve of your waist, settling at your hips as he walks you backward, step by step, until the edge of the table presses against the back of your thighs. You’re breathless, flushed, lips swollen from his mouth. He watches your chest rise and fall, watches the slight tremor in your hands where they curl into his shirt.

His hands are on your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the polished surface. Papers scatter beneath you, forgotten, as his mouth trails down the column of your throat. His lips are soft, his breath hot against your skin, and you gasp when his teeth scrape lightly over the sensitive spot under your jaw. His hands are firm at your hips, sliding beneath the hem of your skirt as he coaxes your legs apart.

Your hands find his shoulders, clinging. He drops to his knees in front of you. His gaze lifts to yours, golden in the low light of the room. His hands slide down your thighs, spreading them wider, and his mouth curves slightly when he sees the way your breath shudders.

“May I?” he asks, a little bit hoarse.

You nod. “Yes,” you breathe out.

That’s all he needs. His mouth presses to the inside of your knee, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of your inner thigh. Your head tips back when his lips brush higher, his breath hot against the lace between your legs. He pulls your underwear aside with a tug.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, thumb brushing along your inner thigh. His breath hitches as he watches your slick shine between your folds, already glistening with arousal. His thumb traces the line of your slit, parting you with a slow, teasing drag. “So wet for me already.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “Did you need this that badly?”

You open your mouth to answer, but you shudder when his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing a slow, lazy circle. A broken sound escapes you, hips twitching towards his hand. Nanami hums in approval, and says, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The first stroke of his tongue is slow, like he’s savouring the taste of you. Your thighs twitch, but his hands find purchase beneath them, anchoring you firmly against the table as his mouth works against you. His tongue flicks over your clit, and your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against you as his lips close around you and suck.

“Oh, my God—Nanami—”

He hums against you, pleased. His tongue slides down, dragging through your folds before pressing back up to your clit. He’s focused, the same way he is with everything else—this time, though, his only goal is to make you feel good. His fingers flex against your thighs. Your hips jerk, but he presses you down with a firm hand. His mouth leaves you for half a second, just enough time for him to say, “Stay still.”

Then, he’s back on you, tongue sliding over you in slow, wet strokes. His lips close around your clit again, sucking softly before flicking his tongue over it until you’re gasping. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but his hands keep you pinned open. 

“Nanami—Nanami, I’m—”

His mouth seals over your folds, tongue curling against you just right. Your back arches, a broken moan slipping from your lips. You sag against the table, breathless. Nanami presses one last kiss to your thigh before standing. His mouth glistens.

“Come here,” he tells you, and this time, he’s the one who sounds pleading.

He kisses you, hard and hungry, and makes sure you taste yourself on his tongue. 

Nanami’s breath is ragged when he pulls back. His hands slide down your sides, steady even as his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. He undoes his belt with one sharp pull, the metallic jingle ringing in the quiet room. The sound makes his cock twitch, already painfully hard from how wrecked you look beneath him—forehead beaded with sweat, lips swollen, legs still trembling from the way he just made you come.

He draws himself out, cock slapping against his abdomen. He wraps a hand around the base, and strokes himself once, slow. His cock is thick and flushed, the head glistening with precome. His jaw tightens. He’s already so close, but he wants to take his time. He wants to savour this—savour you.

“Are you on the pill?” he manages to ask.

You nod, desperate and frantic. “Yes, yes—fuck, please—”

“Bend over,” he says, voice low.

You hesitate for a second, blinking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. But his hands are already on you, guiding you up and turning you until you’re facing the table. His palm slides down the curve of your back, pressing your forward until your chest is flush against the cool wood. His hand lingers at the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he leans over you.

“You’ll let me have you like this, won’t you?” His mouth brushes against the shell of your ear. “Spread your legs for me.”

You do, and Nanami’s breath stutters. His hands slide down to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there as he pulls you open. His gaze drops to where you’re still slick from his mouth, the sight making his cock ache.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

He lines himself up, dragging the flushed tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself with your arousal. He rubs the head against your entrance, teasing—but he’s barely hanging on himself. His cock throbs, and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Nanami—” you gasp out.

He sinks into you in one slow thrust. The stretch makes him moan, the tight heat of you wrapping around him inch by inch. His forehead drops against the back of your shoulder. He bottoms out, his hips pressing flush against you. “God,” he breathes, voice strained. His fingers curl against your skin, hard enough to bruise. “You’re so—”

He pulls back, almost all the way out, and then thrusts back in. You shudder beneath him. Nanami groans low in his throat. The sound vibrates against your skin as he sets a steady pace, hips rolling into you with each thrust. Each drag of his cock against your walls makes him see white behind his eyes.

“So tight,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His hand slides up your spine, spreading his fingers between your shoulder blades to press you down. His other hand grips your hip hard, holding you still. His cock stretches you open so perfectly that he can barely think straight.

He watches the way you take him—how you flutter around him each time he pulls back, how your legs shake when he thrusts deeper, how your eyes close and your lips part with pretty moans just for him to hear. He wants to see more. He slides a hand down to your front, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs quick circles, and the way you clench around him makes him hiss through his teeth.

“Nanami—” Your voice is wrecked, gasping, breaking.

“I know,” he says through gritted teeth. His thrusts quicken. His chest presses to your back as he leans over you. His mouth finds the side of your neck, and he sucks hard. “Let me—”

You come with a sharp cry, and the way you tighten around him makes his rhythm falter. His cock throbs as he fucks you through your orgasm, dragging out every last tremor. Your walls flutter around him, slick and hot and perfect. Nanami groans against your skin. His thrusts grow shallow and uneven, his breath ragged.

He comes with a low, guttural sound, hips pressed deep as he spills inside you. His hand stays on your hip. He presses his mouth to the back of your neck, groaning.

His breath is still ragged as he carefully pulls out, the feeling of his cum slipping out of you making his chest tighten. He slides a hand down your back, smoothing your hair away from your face as he leans over you.

“Stay there,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your shoulder. His voice is soft now, almost tender. “Let me take care of you.”

He tucks himself away, smoothing down his shirt before his hands return to you—lifting you gently from the table and letting you lean into his arms. “Nanami,” you say.

“Yes?”

“We’ve ruined all the contract papers.”

The office feels too quiet the next day.

Nanami sits at his desk, but his mind isn’t on the stack of reports in front of him. His pen hovers over the paper, unmoving. His thoughts drift back to last night. To you.

The way you looked beneath him, flushed with heat and trembling. The way your breath caught in your throat when he touched you. The sound of his name falling from your lips, breathless and perfect. Nanami exhales, trying to clear his mind. He pinches the bridge of his nose, but the memory clings stubbornly to the edges of his mind. His hands curl into fists. He should not be thinking about this—about you.

But it’s impossible not to. Especially when you’re right there.

He hears your voice before he sees you. He hears you let out a quiet laugh from across the room, the sound tugging at his attention like a thread pulled tight. His eyes lift automatically and he finds you standing at your desk, flipping through a folder with that little crease between your brows you always get when you’re focused.

You glance up, your gaze meeting his. Neither of you move, until you give him a small, polite smile and look away.

Nanami grits his teeth. His pen presses hard against the paper as he looks down, trying to will his pulse back to normal. Pathetic, he thinks.

He should be able to handle this. He’s an adult. A professional. He has handled far more serious situations with more composure than this. Every time you walk past his desk, his gaze follows you. Every time you speak, his attention hooks onto your voice like it’s a lifeline. His fingers itch to touch you—to brush a hand along your arm, to tip your chin up and steal a kiss.

It’s getting unbearable.

It’s not just the memories of last night that haunt him—it’s the aftermath. Because you’re acting… normal, and that’s the problem. You greet him the same way you always have. Your smile is the same. Meanwhile, Nanami is fighting for his life every time you walk within ten feet of him.

This morning, you’d handed him a report with your fingers brushing over his. “Morning, Nanami,” you’d said, bright and sweet.

His hand had twitched. “Morning.”

You’d walked off while he sat there, wondering how a simple touch could make him feel like his entire nervous system was short-circuiting. 

But the worst part is that he’s not subtle about it. Not at all. It’s a problem.

Like when you walked into the office this afternoon, holding a cup of coffee, looking pretty in your blouse and trousers. Nanami had glanced up for half a second—and in that half-second, he’d managed to knock his pen holder off his desk.

“Are you okay?” you’d asked, setting down your coffee and crouching to help him.

Nanami had stared at the mess on the floor. “Fine.”

You’d smiled at him, amused. He’d looked away quickly, feeling heat creep up his neck.

Or earlier today, when you had stopped at his desk to ask about a meeting. “Did you get the email from Gojo?” you’d asked, leaning slightly over his desk.

Nanami had blinked at you, his mind immediately spiraling back to last night—the feeling of your body beneath his hands, the way you had gasped when he—

“Nanami?”

“Hm?”

“The email?”

“Yes. Yes, I saw it.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

You’d looked at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Then you’d shrugged and walked away. Nanami had exhaled once you were out of sight, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s being so obvious, and that’s unacceptable.

“Nanami, could you grab those papers from my desk?” you ask that evening, glancing over your shoulder as you pack up your bag.

“Of course,” he replies, already standing. His legs carry him towards your desk before he can think better of it.

Your desk is neat, everything in its place—except for the book. It’s placed on the edge, slightly worn from use. He recognises it instantly. It’s the one he bought you at the flea market weeks ago, when you’d read out a few sentences in an attempt to “woo” him. He hadn’t expected you to actually read it.

Curiosity tugs at him. His hand drifts towards the book. The spine gives under his touch, loose—like it’s been held too many times, thumbed through on quiet nights. It falls open easily. There’s a dog-ear marking a specific page. Nanami reads the passage beneath the crease:

‘It hit him all at once, like the sun breaking through the clouds. That the way his chest ached every time he saw her smile was not fear of confusion—it was love. Had always been love. And how foolish he’d been, not to have known it sooner.’

Nanami Kento freezes. His fingers press lightly against the paper. He thinks of the way you smile at him; of the soft, half-lidded look you give him when you’re tired; of the way you always seem to find him first in a crowded room. He thinks of the warmth in your laugh, and the way you lean towards him when you talk, like you don’t even realise you’re doing it.

How had he not known?

His heartbeat stumbles. His gaze lifts to you, across the room.

You’re still packing up, tucking a notebook into your bag. Your brows crease slightly in concentration, the corners of your mouth tugging down. You push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Nanami swears he forgets how to breathe.

Had you known before he had? Is that why you marked this passage and left it there for him to find? Or had you dog-eared it for yourself—because you had some sort of silly, idiotic hope that it was true?

You look up. Your eyes catch his. You smile—small and soft, easy as breathing. Nanami’s throat tightens. His chest aches in that quiet, unbearable way that’s starting to feel familiar. He sets the book down. You zip up your bag and turn around to the door. His gaze follows you without thinking.

Oh, he thinks, heart pounding. How foolish of me.

It hits him that night, when he’s in bed and thinking about you. You’d said that Zen’in Naoya had stolen your intellectual property once. His eyes widen, and he sits up straight, reaching for his phone that’s charging on his nightstand. He dials in your number.

You pick up after two rings. “...Hello?”

You sound sleepy. When he looks at the time, it’s almost midnight. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but—” he hears you yawn— “it’s fine. I should savour the occasion, actually. It’s rare that you call me first.”

“Yes, well.” Nanami’s cheeks burn. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go on.”

“That night— The night we—” Nanami feels his entire face heat up. “The night we argued,” he settles on. “You mentioned that Zen’in Naoya stole your intellectual property.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. He hears you shift, the rustling of sheets punctuating the silence. “That was a long time ago,” you say quietly.

“What happened?” he asks.

“It’s… complicated.”

“I have time,” he says, settling back against the headboard. His hand presses over his mouth, his thumb resting just below his jaw.

“It was when I was still with Naoya,” you say carefully, like you’re trying not to give away too much. “I was working on a pitch for an international partnership. It was something I’d been preparing for months. And I—I made the mistake of showing it to him.

“He said he just wanted to look it over. But then he brought it to his family as his own work. Word-for-word. Even the phrasing in the executive summary was identical.”

“And no one said anything?” Nanami questions.

“People noticed,” you reply. “But it’s the Zen’in family. No one wanted to stir the pot, you know?”

“What happened with the pitch?”

“It tanked. Naoya didn’t bother to prepare for the follow-up meetings. He couldn’t answer half the questions that came up. It was humiliating—for both of us—but I was the one who took the fall. No one was going to take my side over Naoya’s. His uncle’s practically running the whole board. It was easier to let me look incompetent.”

Nanami feels his teeth press together. His free hand curls into a fist against his knee. “You should’ve told me.”

You huff out a laugh. “I didn’t know you at the time, Nanami. All this happened while I was working for the Zen’ins—before my dad retired and handed me his company.”

The Zen’ins hadn’t been circling your company. No, it had been Salt-and-Pepper who brought them in. The timing had been suspicious. The Zen’ins’ reputation is tainted—financial mismanagement, aggressive acquisition tactics, borderline illegal practices. The last thing you needed was to be tethered to a sinking ship.

But Salt-and-Pepper had managed to convince over half of the board of directors. Wire-Rimmed Glasses had been on his side from the start. So had Charcoal Pants and Nepotism Baby, albeit reluctantly. 

“This isn’t just a business deal. Right?” he asks you. He understands, now, why you’d made negotiations with Balding Man—Zen’in Industries’ representative—so difficult. You’d tried to drag it on for as long as you could, trying to stall the deal from going through.

You stay quiet on the other end. Nanami takes that as confirmation.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Okay. We can figure this out.”

“What are you thinking, Nanami?”

Salt-and-Pepper’s financials. His holdings. Any private deals with Zen’in Industries or overlapping investments. Nanami has access to all of it—board records, meeting minutes, even expense reports. If there is a paper trail, he would find it.

“Do you think,” he says, “you can handle a meeting with Legal tomorrow?”

It happens quickly after that.

Past papers are uncovered. Shady deals surface. It’s almost too easy. Nanami knows how these things work—no paper trail is truly invisible, no backdoor negotiation is as airtight as it seems. People talk, especially when the money starts moving.

Nanami digs through your company’s internal records the next day, tracking down the original licensing agreements for the software framework. The timeline doesn’t add up. Zen’in Industries’ supposed “internal R&D” was completed two months before the initial product proposal had even been drafted. That’s not just suspicious—it’s impossible.

He finds the buried reports: Memos from Salt-and-Pepper’s office, quiet requests to “streamline” the internal approval process. He finds—perhaps most damning of all—a forwarded email chain from Wire-Rimmed Glasses to Balding Man.

Need to close this by Q3. Zen’in Industries’ team will take over full oversight post-merger.

The date on the email reads for two weeks before the first joint meeting had even been scheduled.

He goes to the Accounting department next, via the internal compliance office. Someone from accounting had flagged a discrepancy in the financial statements weeks ago, but it had quickly been buried. There were payments made to an offshore account—small enough to be overlooked at a glance, but steady and consistent. It was linked to a shell corporation in Singapore.

A shell corporation owned by Zen’in Industries.

Nanami doesn’t hesitate. He sends the information to your private office line under encryption. The paper trail is too neat. This wasn’t just about a merger. It was a quiet takeover.

Salt-and-Pepper had gotten sloppy. He had to convince the board to sign over proprietary assets through the collaboration over the new product. Let Zen’in gut the tech. Then quietly dissolve the partnership and walk away with the intellectual property rights. Your company would be left holding the framework—and the financial fallout.

Salt-and-Pepper would walk away with his cut.

You’re surprised to see him when he walks into your office. His tie is askew. His shirt is rumpled. He is not the usual, put-together man he is. How could he be, when your own board of directors was secretly conspiring against you?

“Nanami?” you ask, setting down your bag.

He slides a folder towards you without a word. 

The next day, the partnership with Zen’in Industries is called off, and Salt-and-Pepper is stripped of his position. (Translation: He was fired.)

When Nanami Kento officially decides to ask you out—because he has, officially, let the fact that he’s in love with you sink in—it is supposed to be methodical. He had planned out the worst-case, most likely, and best case scenarios in his head, as he always does.

Best Case Scenario (Highly Unlikely): You say yes immediately, without even pausing. He takes you to that quaint French place he knows you like, and the waiter winks at him approvingly because you’re clearly out of his league. You’re charming (you always are), and he’s witty (for the first time in his life). At the end of the night, when he walks you to your door, you kiss him. It’s perfect. Birds are singing. Angels are weeping. The stock market hits a record high the next day.

Most Likely Scenario (Fortunate and Expected): You blink at him, and then laugh—a little nervous, a little delighted—and agree to go out with him. He takes you to a good restaurant. You order something a little too expensive, but he doesn’t complain. You’re charming (you always are), and he is… passable. He doesn’t embarrass himself. He even manages to make you laugh once or twice. Instead of kissing him at your doorstep, you punch his arm lightly and say goodbye. He fist-punches the air like a teenage boy when you close the door.

Worst-Case Scenario (God Forbid): You reject him. You say you only think of him as a friend and nothing more. He blacks out for approximately five seconds. You stop bringing him melonpan. He stops walking with you to the elevator. He will probably leave the company. Years later, he hears you’re married to someone who’s the complete opposite of him (probably a racecar driver). He dies alone.

(He’s accounting for margin of error, obviously.)

Nanami reviews his options with the same level of focus he usually reserves for quarterly reports and balance sheets. He weighs the pros and cons, considers timing, and factors in your general mood over the past two weeks. You’ve been in good spirits since Salt-and-Pepper’s departure. An excellent sign.

Still, when he finally stands outside your office, his heart is pounding hard enough to disrupt his thought process. Which is utterly ridiculous. He’s a grown man. A professional. He’s closed million-yen deals under pressure, right by your side. There is no reason he should be standing here, debating whether to knock.

The door swings open before he can decide. “Nanami?” you say, blinking at him.

His mouth opens. His mouth closes. He’s completely blank.

You tilt your head. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says, except it sounds completely unconvincing. “I wanted to ask you something.”

You give him a curious look, stepping back to let him in. He follows you inside. His heart rabbits inside his rib cage. This is fine. He’s prepared for this.

“You look serious,” you say, sitting on the edge of your desk. “Is this about work?”

“No.” His hands are in his pockets. He takes a breath. He needs to rip the bandaid off. “Would you—” He stops. Closes his eyes. Starts again. “Would you like to have dinner with me? As a date.”

You don’t say anything—not right away. Instead, you snort.

Nanami’s eyes snap open.

You’re covering your mouth with your hand, but it’s not enough to muffle the sound of your increasingly uncontrollable laughter. Your shoulders are shaking with the full-body kind of laughter.

“Are you…” Nanami feels like his brain is short-circuiting. “Are you laughing?”

“Oh, my God,” you wheeze, tipping your head back. “You— You’re asking me out?”

“That is… generally how this works,” he says stiffly. His cheeks prickle with heat.

You dissolve into another fit of giggles. Nanami’s heart sinks. He’s about five seconds away from accepting defeat and leaving the country after changing his identity. 

But then you slide off the desk and point an accusing finger at him, still laughing. “Nanami Kento,” you say, breathless, “do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying to get you to notice me?”

“...What?”

You groan, wringing your hands together. “I have been trying to get you to notice me for months. You are literally the most oblivious person on the planet.”

Nanami opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His brain is working overtime trying to process the implications of what you’ve just said.

You hold up a finger. “First of all—the book.”

“The book?” Nanami echoes, very intelligently.

“Yes, the book. The one you bought me at the flea market? You didn’t have to, so I figured you might feel the same way ‘cause you do a lot of the stuff I ask you to do, even though you don’t have to, and no one’s forcing you to. And the time you came over because I was drunk and I called you up and you made me tea and stayed until I fell asleep. And here I was, overthinking everything because I like you so much—too much, probably, and—”

Nanami steps forward, closing the distance between you in two long strides. Your eyes widen slightly as he places his hands on your waist, steady and warm. His thumb brushes the hem of your shirt.

“You,” he says, “talk too much.”

Your mouth opens—to protest, probably—but Nanami leans down and kisses you before you can say another word.

Your breath hitches, and then your hands curl into the front of his shirt. You melt into him. His lips are soft and sure, and the way you sigh into the kiss makes his heart stutter. He feels you smile against his mouth. 

When he pulls back, you’re breathless, a little flustered. But your eyes are bright and happy, and that, Nanami thinks, is always good.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Was that the best case scenario?”

“Birds are singing,” he says. “Angels are weeping.”

“Stock market?”

“Remains to be seen.”

You grin and pull him down for another kiss.

Nanami’s apartment is quiet in the way he likes best. His bedroom is dark, save for the small pool of golden light from the lamp on the nightstand. His bed is warm, and so are you—curled beneath the blankets, your hair spilling over his pillow.

The book he bought you is sitting on the nightstand. There’s a new crease in the spine and a bookmark tucked partway through because he’s been reading it. He never used to care for fiction, but you’d smiled so brightly when he picked it up that now he finds himself reading it when he gets the time.

The mug of honey and ginger tea warms his hands. You blink sleepily when you see him, sitting up when he approaches the bed. Your hair is mussed, and you have a mark on your cheek where you’d turned into the pillow. His heart does that foolish, undignified thing where it stumbles in his chest.

“Tea,” he says, handing you the mug. “Drink.”

You smile when you take it. He sits down on the edge of the bed and watches you lift the mug to your lips. His hand finds your hair almost without thinking, fingers threading through it.

“We’re meeting my parents this weekend. You remember, right?” you ask, resting the mug on your knee.

“Are you turning into my secretary now?”

“No,” you say, and tilt your chin up defiantly at him. “Just so you know, I’m marrying you whether my parents approve or not.”

“Noted,” Nanami says.

“Good.”

“Why are you asking me?”

You shrug, a tad playful. “I don’t know. Thought you might’ve come to your senses.”

He makes a quiet sound—something like a laugh, though softer. “That would be difficult.” His thumb brushes the curve of your cheek. “I lost them a long time ago.”

You smile like that means something. Nanami leans back against the headboard, his arm resting across your shoulder as you tuck yourself into his side. The book is still sitting on the nightstand, waiting for him. He’ll pick it up later, after you’ve fallen asleep. For now, he lets himself breathe you in—warmth and honey and ginger.

“We have work tomorrow.” He tilts his head, and his lips brush against your hairline when he says it.

You laugh under your breath, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “I am your work, Kento.”

Nanami smiles. He kisses your head again. His heart feels unbearably full.

Thus, he thinks, the courtship affairs of a common man have come to a very satisfying close.

⇢ a/n: as per usual, thank you to the inimitable @mahowaga for listening to me ramble about this fic & helping me out whenever i got stuck. this fic is pretty much dedicated to her. thank you for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!

[meenaxskz]

it glows in the dark (bf!han jisung x reader)

drabble | bf!han x reader au genre: light smut | crack warnings: mature suggestive content | language Summary: han bought fluorescent green glow-in-the-dark condom and a smiles like he just cured world hunger. you? you’re just trying not to pass out laughing. a/n : i wanted to make all the members but i can only imagine jisung doing this kind of things lol

You’re straddling him on the bed, lips on his jaw, everything moving fast.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes, hands gripping your hips.

“I missed you more...”

And then mid grope, he goes :

“WAIT. WAIT. WAIT.”

You freeze. “What?!”

He wiggles out from under you like a lizard “I HAVE A SURPRISE.”

You blink. “Unless the surprise is your d—”

“TA-DAAAA!”

He holds up a shiny silver packet.

You squint.

“…No.”

“Oh yes.”

It’s fluorescent green. With a label that proudly reads:

GLOW UP: For When You Want Your Dick to Be the Night Light.

You stare. He grins like a kid who just won at a claw machine.

“IT GLOWS. BABE. IT GLOWS IN THE DARK.”

You cover your face, already laughing.

“Why would you BUY that??”

“Because I CARE about SEXUAL INNOVATION.”

“Because you’re an unhinged menace”

“Because imagine this: the lights go out. BOOM. Green saber. Science fiction but sexy.”

You wheeze. “You’re insane.”

He winks. “You ever wanted to say 'Omg, I saw stars' during sex and actually mean it? Because I can give you glowstick dick.”

You fall off the bed.

---

The room is pitch black.

Except for the fluorescent green light glowing from one very specific area.

You’re on your back, trying to compose yourself.

Jisung is above you, dick fully luminated, posing like a Marvel villain.

“Prepare yourself” he whispers dramatically “for the GLOW OF PASSION.”

You choke. “Jisung—please—”

He thrusts once. You scream laughing.

“You’re glowing like a nuclear noodle!”

“Shhhhhh” he whispers, pressing a finger to your lips. “Let me light up your life.”

You slap his chest. “I can’t take you seriously.”

He gasps. “Is that what you’d say to green lantern in bed?!”

“Jisung I’m BEGGING YOU-”

He sits back on his heels, still very much illuminated and way too proud.

“Okay, but like...look at it. This is peak performance.”

“It’s radioactive! You look like your dick went to Chernobyl.”

“Why are you being mean to me in my moment of power?!”

You try to straddle him. You really try.

But you’re shaking from laughter.

Hands on his shoulders. Face buried in his neck.

“I’m trying to ride you, I really am-”

“Then ride the lightning, baby.”

You lose it.

Collapse on top of him, wheezing into the sheets.

He flops dramatically onto the bed with you.

The room now filled with the low green glow of his still very much ready junk.

Silence.

Then softly:

“…This was supposed to be the hottest night of our lives.”

You turn your head. “It is. You just accidentally made it sci-fi.”

He sighs. “Next time I’m buying the color changing one.”

You pause. “THERE’S A COLOR CHANGING ONE?!”

He grins. “We’re gonna need sunglasses for that one.”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[littlelamy]

hi baby!!! can i request a blurb? i was thinking rafe is needy (cause i love him so much) and he wants to try sexting with the reader but she doesn't get it until he points it out and he like drives over to her house? you can end it however you want but needy/frat rafe does something to me!! i love your work so much and everything you write. i am just...amazed by your talent!!🤍

lamy: hi my love!!! oh my godddd needy frat rafe??? PLEASE 🙏🏾 LOVE YOUU

you get the first text at 10:42 p.m.

rafe <3: whatcha doin?

not unusual, not out of the ordinary. just your boyfriend, checking in. you send back a picture of your laptop screen, an open tab with some barely-started assignment glowing in the dim light of your bedroom.

you: pretending to do homework. why?

he doesn’t respond for a full two minutes. you assume he got distracted, maybe by some beer pong rematch at the house.

rafe <3: mmm. bet you look good like that.

you squint at your screen, confused.

you: like what??

another pause.

rafe <3: in bed. all prettty.

you scoff, rolling onto your stomach. okay, weird. not weird weird, just…off. rafe wasn’t usually this cryptic.

you: u good?

it takes him almost no time to reply this time.

rafe <3: not really. need u.

your brow furrows. you sit up a little, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

you: rafe. what are you talking about

a read notification pops up instantly.

so you do. and then it hits you.

oh. your lips part a little as you stare at the words on your screen, at how blatantly obvious it is now that you’re actually paying attention. he’s not just checking in. he’s needy, probably hard, right now. right this second. and instead of saying anything normal, anything that would actually help the situation, you—like an idiot—send back:

you: wait. are you trying to sext me?

you watch the typing bubbles appear, disappear, then reappear again.

rafe <3: took u long enough, you idiot.

rafe <3: sexy idiot^

your face heats. you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly very aware of how easily he was getting worked up, how restless he probably was right now, how his free hand was probably gripping his thigh, or his phone, or—

jesus.

you: sorry baby 💗 i wasn’t getting it

he sends a voice memo. you press play, and his voice comes through low, thick with frustration.

"s’not funny. been thinking about you and that pretty pussy all night."

your stomach flips.

you: yeah? tell me more.

you don’t get a text back. instead, your phone buzzes in your hand with an incoming call.

“rafe—”

“get up,” his voice is so deep, so strained and maybe desperate.

“what?”

“get up. unlock your door.”

your pulse flutters. “are you—”

“already on my way.”

your breath catches. “you’re insane.”

he just lets out this low, rough laugh. “and you’re so lucky i love you.”

the line goes dead while you scramble out of bed.

your front door swings open like rafe had been gripping the handle before you even turned the lock. he steps inside fast, chest rising and falling like he ran the whole way here instead of driving. his hat is on backwards, his frat sweatshirt slightly wrinkled, his jaw set like he’s trying really hard not to just grab you.

“hi,” you breathe, barely getting the word out before he’s kissing you.

it’s not slow. it’s not sweet. it’s needy, just like his texts, just like the way he grips your waist and backs you into the nearest wall, like he’s been starved for this. his hands drag up your sides, warm and impatient, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt, pushing—pulling.

"take this off," he mutters, already helping you out of it before you can say anything. the fabric barely hits the floor before he’s got his hands on you again, palms skimming up your bare skin, fingers spreading over your ribs like he needs to feel all of you at once.

you reach for his hoodie, tugging. “you too.”

he groans, stepping back just enough to yank it over his head. it messes up his hair, makes him look even more wrecked than before, his jaw clenched tight as he tosses it aside. then his hands are back on you, slipping down to the waistband of your panties, hooking his thumbs there.

he glances up, eyes dark. “these too?”

you nod, breath hitching as he tugs, sliding them down your hips, his fingers brushing hot over your thighs. they drop to the floor, leaving you bare and standing in front of him under the weight of his gaze.

his chest rises with a deep inhale. "shit, baby." his voice is hoarse, almost shaky.

you barely get the chance to tease him before he’s undoing his belt—before his jeans are hitting the floor—before he’s right there again, pressed against you; mouth on yours like he doesn’t even care about anything else.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry @lil-sparklqueen

[kxsagi]

Heyyyy precious. Low-key want to request reader with a underground band that is suddenly blowing up but they never told the boys. (Everyone you want but please Hyoma, Yukimiya + Itoshi dudes)

Like they had this band for a while but they never said anything and the band wasn't famous until they started making hit after hit and that's how they find out (thanks even if you don't do it 🙏)

“𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 ‘𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥”

a/n: more rockstar gf! reader? OH I AM LIVING FOR IT

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, chigiri hyoma, yukimiya kenyu, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei

itoshi rin

finds out through your spotify page. 

you left your laptop open and he just wanted to queue music, but then sees you’re logged into a verified artist account with millions of streams. 

stares at the screen like it personally offended him. 

walks into the room like: “hey. wanna explain why you're casually outperforming the entire j-pop industry?” 

he’s not mad. just deeply, emotionally confused. like “when were you doing this? we live together.” 

you say “after you go to bed” and he’s like “i go to bed at 2 AM???" "... when you're at practice."  

starts watching your live shows in secret like it’s surveillance footage. 

sends you a single text after your band hits billboard: “guess i’m dating a rockstar. don’t let it go to your head.” 

plays your songs when he thinks you’re not home. you are. you record him. he never forgives you. 

itoshi sae

finds out during a random interview when the host says “your girlfriend’s band is incredible, by the way.” 

sae: “what.” 

sae: “excuse me.” 

sae: “whose girlfriend?” 

goes home, opens youtube, and finds a video titled “HOT GIRL SHREDS GUITAR WITH HER TEETH (and it’s kinda sexy)” 

pauses at 0:03. it’s you. 

calls you with the calmest voice ever: “is there a reason why you’re leading a cult on stage and no one told me?” 

you go “i thought you’d be chill about it” and he goes “this is beyond chill. this is grammy nomination level. i need a minute.” 

insists on getting free tickets to your shows even though you always offer him VIP. 

ends up becoming the mysterious hot boyfriend in the crowd who dips after the encore. 

lets you have your spotlight but still flexes a little when people connect the dots. 

chigiri hyoma

chigiri was just trying to eat his lunch when he saw your face on a Time Out Tokyo article titled “Meet the Band Taking Over Asia’s Underground Scene.” 

drops the spoon. 

reads the article with the intensity of someone researching for a thesis. 

calls you mid-interview, whispers: “you’re so hot i actually need to sit down. are you kidding me.” 

gets way too excited. 

insists on learning your setlist so he can scream-sing it in the front row. 

becomes the dude holding up a “SHE’S MY GIRLFRIEND” sign at your gigs. 

posts after every one of your performances captioned: “dating the main character. sorry.” 

makes you autograph the back of his thigh once and got it tattooed. zero shame. 

yukimiya kenyu

finds out because a luxury fashion brand asked if he wanted to model with your band. 

goes “oh wow, they’re blowing up fast” and then sees your face on the moodboard. 

audibly gasps. 

takes off his sunglasses in shock, indoors. 

“love. are you a full-time rock goddess and i’m just finding out like this?” 

gets dramatically offended you never asked him to take your promo pics. 

immediately offers to do your PR, plan your brand deals, and get your band a skincare sponsorship. 

subtly matches his outfits to your stage looks. 

becomes that boyfriend who answers interview questions on your behalf: “she’s too humble to say it, but yeah, she did sell out in five minutes. queen behavior.” 

introduces you as “japan’s coolest rockstar girl” at every party. 

isagi yoichi

finds out when he walks in on you casually practicing vocals in the garage. 

he’s like “that’s kinda good…” 

then pauses. 

“wait. why do i know these lyrics.” 

pulls out his phone and realizes the song is already in his playlist. 

you’ve been in his top 5 artists on spotify this whole time and he didn’t know it was YOU. 

stares at you like you’re an alien. 

“you’re my girlfriend AND my favorite artist?! am i living a fanfic?” 

spirals. you’re hot. you’re talented. you’re secretly famous. you’re literally a pop punk goddess. 

“so like… do i get VIP access to your concerts or do i have to cry in general admission?” 

once tackled a guy backstage for breathing too close to you. 

his lock screen? your album cover. his phone case? your lyrics. 

calls your fanbase “his in-laws.” 

kaiser michael

finds out via twitter trending. 

trending topic: “WHO IS THE LEAD SINGER IN THIS BAND AND WHY IS SHE HOT???” 

he’s like “who tf is this chick everyone’s thirsting ov–” 

zooms in. 

it’s. you. 

spits out his wine. 

immediately calls you with a perfectly calm, terrifying voice: “schatz. liebe. meine muse. care to tell me why the entire internet wants to lick your boots?” 

you go “it wasn’t that deep” and he goes: “you were wearing leather pants and singing about dominance. it was absolutely that deep.” 

watches every live show like he’s scouting you for a transfer window. 

50% impressed. 50% aroused. 100% confused why you didn’t tell him first. 

claps like a proud theater mom every time you hit a high note. 

“i’ve decided to become your groupie. my ass looks good in fishnets.” 

threatens your fans for fun. 

lowkey jealous the spotlight’s not on him but deeply in love with how you take it anyway. 

shidou ryusei

finds out because he saw a clip of your concert on tiktok where you licked the mic mid-performance. 

immediately duets it with a thirst trap and the caption: “that’s my girl. hands off unless you’ve got a death wish 💋🔪” 

comments “i taught her that tongue move btw” and gets banned for 24 hours. 

facetimes you screaming: “YOU’RE IN A BAND? A BAND?? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A WHOLE ALTER EGO THAT LOOKS LIKE A VILLAIN I’D WANNA MAKE OUT WITH???” 

starts tagging along to all your gigs like an aggressive golden retriever. 

jumps on stage once and tries to mosh with the crowd mid-ballad. 

fights your bassist in the parking lot over “stage proximity.” 

buys your merch in bulk and cuts them into crop tops. 

refers to himself as your “road boyfriend.” 

once got kicked out of a venue for throwing a fan’s sign because it said “marry me.” 

his reasoning: “that’s MY future, bitch.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dior-luxury]

if it's alright could you please do togame, nirei and natori pining hcs? specifically with a more physically clingy reader! was rlly surprised that no one's requested any windbreaker stuff yet

How'd They Pin After You

( ✧ ) ────── crush stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] togame . nirei . natori

- [𝐩:𝐬] Slow burn . Mutual pining . Emotional vulnerability . Emotional intensity . Light possessiveness (esp. Jo and Shingo) . Touching/Physical clinginess . Jealousy (Shingo, mildly)

Note: My first windbreaker request, yay! (๑>◡<๑) Hopefully I captured all of their personalities right and it's not too crazy.

Jo Togame

He pines like it’s a secret, like it’s something sacred. The way monks guard temples, the way wolves guard dens—silent, fierce, unwavering.

At first, he doesn’t understand what’s happening. He just notices that when you’re around, his chest feels tight. That your laugh cuts through the noise of the world. That he’s watching you too long. That your name feels like a prayer he doesn’t dare say out loud.

Jo is the kind of guy who’s hard to read. He won’t flirt. He won’t joke. But he will notice everything. If you’re cold, he’ll take off his jacket and hand it to you, wordless. If you’re tired, he’ll tilt his head in quiet invitation to rest on his shoulder. If you’re in danger? He’s the first one in front of you.

He starts showing up everywhere. Quietly. Consistently. Like a shadow that wants to be your sun. He’ll wait for you outside school even if you didn’t ask. Will walk behind you, matching your pace, making sure you’re safe.

Jo doesn’t speak much—but when he does, and it’s to you? It’s like gravity shifts.

“You shouldn’t walk home alone.” “You look exhausted. Go home. I’ll cover for you.” “Don’t waste your smile on people who don’t deserve it.”

His version of pining is protection. Devotion. He won’t say “I like you,” but his actions scream it—every second.

And here’s the plot twist: he’s physically clingy too, but he does it in a way that’s incredibly intense and tender at the same time. He doesn’t reach for you unless it’s important. But when he does—your wrist, your waist, your fingers—he holds on like you’re going to disappear.

One day, you trip on a curb. He catches you. Doesn’t let go.

You look up at him and say, “Thanks.”

And he says, “I won’t let you fall.”

He means it metaphorically. He always does.

He pines through silence, through long stares when you’re not looking, through walking you home and pausing outside your door like he wants to say something but never quite does. Until one day, he just says:

“Tell me what you need. I’ll be there.”

Because loving you hurts for him—but not loving you would hurt more.

Akihiko Nirei

This boy falls hard and fast. He’s not subtle about it either—when he likes you, everyone knows it. Not because he blurts it out, but because his entire soul lights up like it’s springtime every time you’re near.

At first, he’s just happy to be around you. It starts with casual hangs—sitting beside you during breaks, offering you bites of his bento (“You’ve got to try this karaage! My mom made it—don’t worry, I didn’t mess it up!”), or pulling you into random group chats with the guys. He wants to include you in every piece of his life.

But soon, it gets deeper. Nirei starts noticing the tiny things: how you laugh with your eyes before your mouth catches up, how you always forget your umbrella, how you zone out when you’re overwhelmed. He starts carrying extras—extra pen, extra snacks, extra umbrella—just in case. But he’ll always act like it’s a coincidence.

“Oh, you forgot your lunch? Haha, I totally brought too much—take some!”

Every time you’re near, his voice is a little louder, his smile a little wider. But when you leave? He stares after you like you’re carrying half his heart with you.

He pines in daydreams. Like, he’ll stare out the window during class imagining what it’d be like to walk you home while the cherry blossoms fall. He replays your texts over and over, trying to find hidden meanings. Sometimes he even types up fake conversations with you just to practice what he’d say.

And oh, he’s the physically clingy one. Very. But it doesn’t feel heavy—it feels warm. Natural. He’s always slinging an arm around your shoulders like it’s no big deal. Pulling you into side hugs when you’re sad. Tugging your wrist when he wants you to come look at something cool. He’s always touching you, and when you’re not around, he kinda... slumps a little.

He pines out loud too. To everyone except you. Like he’ll be walking with Sakura and just sigh, “Man, [Your Name] looked so cool today…” and Sakura’s like, “JUST TELL THEM.” And he’s like, “What if they don’t like me back? What if I make it weird?”

Because here’s the thing about Nirei—he cherishes you so much, he’s afraid of ruining it. So he just keeps giving, hoping you’ll notice. Hoping you’ll choose him, not because he asked, but because you see him the way he sees you.

One day, if you fall asleep beside him on the train? He’ll sit perfectly still the whole ride, afraid to wake you, memorizing the weight of your head on his shoulder like it’s the most important moment of his life.

Shingo Natori

Shingo’s the kind of guy who teases his crush, but in that soft but sneaky way. He’s usually confident with his boys, loud in a chill kind of way, always down for fun, but when you’re around? His rhythm changes.

At first, you wouldn’t even suspect anything. He still jokes, still calls you weird nicknames (“oi, sleepyhead,” “shorty,” even if you're taller), still acts like the clown of the group—but there’s a difference in the pauses. Like the way he watches you laugh from across the courtyard and grins to himself like an idiot, then quickly looks away when someone catches him.

He pines quietly. Like when you’re talking to someone else—especially another guy—he’ll suddenly start appearing at your side with a casual, “Yo, didn’t know you were out here,” even though he definitely spotted you from across the school yard. He’ll never outright admit he’s jealous, but his jokes get more pointed, his smile a little tighter.

He starts “bumping into you” more. Like at the konbini late at night, after cram school. “Didn’t know you liked melonpan too. Must be fate, huh?” Cue him walking you home and low-key memorizing every detail of your route. Every light post. Every place you pause.

But where Shingo really pines is in his bedroom. Late at night, lying in bed with his phone in hand, staring at your Instagram stories. He doesn’t like anything—not yet—but he watches them over and over. Sometimes he types out a DM and deletes it before sending. He doesn’t want to come off too eager.

He doodles your name on the edge of his notebook pages. Acts like it’s a joke if someone sees. But if you ever sit next to him during lunch or in class? He becomes a little too still. Hyper-aware of your elbow barely brushing his. And if you lean in, accidentally touching his shoulder to show him your phone screen?

He goes completely still. Doesn’t even breathe. But his heart’s hammering like he just ran a 100-meter dash.

Eventually, he starts leaving little things in your locker. A can of your favorite drink. A note that says, “Don’t be late to gym again or I’m draggin’ you.” No name. But you know it’s him. And he wants you to know.

He’s the kind of piner who turns friendship into slow-burning obsession, and every moment he spends around you feels like a page in a diary he’d never admit he writes.

[ramp-it-up]

Dessert or Disaster?

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and knocked him on his face. You two are in love, but you two are both stubborn. Will you both put aside your pride to make this work? Can one or both of you be humbled?

Word count: 3.5 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic is connected to the Knock You Down AU, and comes immediately after ...As Hard As I Did but I feel it can be read as a stand alone. It is in answer to this ask. Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run is making me feral. I can write these two ALL DAY!!!! Y'all are gonna have to deal with this for a while, sorry not sorry.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. This is the filthiest these two have gotten. Ms. Independent Syndrome, Mr. Chauvanist condition. Argument, angst, the silent treatment, tipsy girl's night out revenge, jealous Bucky, jealous reader, handsy random Drunk guy, who gets laid out. Sam shows up. Dom/sub elements, mild BDSM exploration. Spanking, orgasm denial, humiliation kink, praise kink, talk of voyeriusm kink, begging, use of Daddy, use of google translate Romanian. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

James Buchanan Barnes didn’t own you.

But he thought he did. 

It was infuriating.

After a month of dating, you’d had your first fight. Bucky always paid whenever you went out, and last Sunday, when you both reached for the check at brunch, there was a slight tussle. 

You laughed as Bucky scowled, thinking he was joking, but he was dead serious about paying. You became indignant, and you may have called him a controlling crime boss.

Bucky definitely called you an entitled brat and you may have stormed away and walked home, refusing to get back in the car with him. Bucky followed you in his sportscar as you pretended he wasn’t there. 

You were shaking with rage by the time you reached your brownstone and Bucky parked illegally.

“Frumoasă, let’s talk–”

“There is nothing to talk about, James. If you can’t respect my boundaries, then I don’t know what to say. I need space. Time to think.”

You glanced at him, but you looked away from the hurt on his face. 

“What does that mean?”

You cringed at the hurt in his voice. 

“I– we. Listen, you were right. We went way fast with this. It’s a lot, Jamie.”

You loved the fuck out of this man, but you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Bucky’s voice cracked and you looked up into his ocean blue, watery eyes.

“No?”

“Are you sure?”

“No. I’m not sure, James.”

“I thought you were mine?”

You paused and took a deep breath. 

“You don’t own me. You can’t do whatever you want…”

Bucky just looked at you as if he were about to debate that fact. Then, he raised his hands and backed away.

“Our dinner date still stands. Maybe Saturday night, we can talk about this like adults…”

Your ire was raised once again.

“I am an adult, Bucky. And you are too. You should listen to me when I-”

Bucky interrupted you and ran his hand through his hair, which he had been growing out. Just for you. He was extremely frustrated.

“This relationship has been predicated on nothing but your boundaries.”

It was a standoff. You two stared at each other, an invisible wall between you. You didn’t like how it felt.

“Like I said, we need a break.”

“We agree on something, at least.”

Bucky turned and walked back to his car, and you both closed your doors at the same time, hearts beating out of tune.

—-

You only cried for a couple of hours that day, but when you woke up to no good morning text from Bucky on Monday morning, you cried again. You were hurt, angry and anxious. Were you two over and done with? You threw yourself into work, trying not to feel your emotions.

By Tuesday, Bucky was being driven mad with images of you, sensations of holding you in his arms, feeling your body around him, your voice telling him that you loved him.

Steve sensed his mood, but did not press him, just complied when Bucky asked him to speed up the timeline to divest themselves of all illegal enterprises.

On Wednesday, you were feeling some kind of way. How dare he just ignore you and pretend you didn’t exist. Was he trying to punish you or something? You didn’t realize how much Bucky’s attention mattered to you. But you bet he knew very well. You decided to have big, big fun that night with your girls.

Of course, Bucky still had eyes on you, so he knew you were safe, but he told Nico and crew to fall back a little. He didn’t want to crowd you. But he was going crazy at the fact that you didn’t reach out to him. He was giving you the space you requested and hoped that you would come back to him of your own accord. He wasn’t going to force you to do anything. It was a matter of principle, not pride.

At least that was what he told himself.

There were some things you needed to understand, however.  Bucky was just trying to take care of you. You loved him, and he loved you. This thing was destiny. And you couldn’t run from that.

Wednesday night, he got a text from you. He sighed as he headed toward your location.

—-

You wore a more revealing outfit than you usually did. You were wearing a backless top that showcased your braless breasts and the cool night had sharpened your nipples into hard peaks, pressing through the thin material. You may have been thinking about Bucky tearing the top off of you roughly, or taking off carefully, or leaving it on you as he fucked you.  He would still pay attention to your nipples no matter what. You were horny for your man, and not thinking about tempting anyone else.

So you decided to break the ice and send him a selfie.

When Bucky didn’t respond, you got angry all over again. How dare he just continue to ignore you? You were a queen, and you were going to act like one. You went to the club, got tipsy, and acted as if you were in college again, taking drinks from anyone who offered. And there were lots of offers. You danced with your girls, and later, with the men who bought you drinks.

It was all harmless fun, right?

Through the crowd and the flashing lights, you saw a familiar profile, a head of hair and those unmistakable shoulders. Bucky was there, and his body language indicated that he was aware and interested in what you were doing.

So you gave him a show.

A woman came up to him and he looked down at her, a small smile on his lips. A jolt of jealousy rocked your body when he moved to a quiet corner with her and of all the colors in the club, all you could see was red. When she smiled up at him and her hand reached for his arm, you began grinding on the body behind you.

The man pulled you closer and practically yelled in your ear.

“You come here often?”

You rolled your eyes as his hands squeezed your hips and moved down. 

“Yeah. Let’s just dance.”

You moved his hands away but then they glided over your stomach and skimmed your back, thumbs brushing dangerously near your top. He pulled you even closer and started grinding as you tried to keep his octopus arms off of you. You glanced toward the corner and saw one person talking on the other locked in on you. And then moving in your direction.

You were relieved and terrified, because what had you gotten yourself into?

And what was Bucky going to do now? He looked like an animal, stalking his prey, dangerous.

The stranger moved his hands again and you recoiled, just as Bucky’s hand landed on your bare shoulder.

“That’s enough. Time to go.”

The random guy chucked his chin up at Bucky. 

“Who the fuck are you? Me and my girl are dancing here.”

You heard a record scratch, even though the music was still blaring.

“What did you say?”

Now you were afraid for this man’s life.

“C’mon James, let’s go. He’s drunk off his ass.”

You tried to pull him away, but he was not moved, staring down the man who would go down if Bucky breathed on him the wrong way. After a second, Bucky turned toward you, fury in his eyes.

You breathed a sigh of relief, even though you knew you were in for it. But Drunk Guy just had to open his mouth.

“Fucking whore. Acting like a slut on the dance floor and then leaving with this—”

And it was lights out for Drunk Guy, because Bucky Barnes laid him out flat with one punch.

Sam appeared out of nowhere to control the crowd as Bucky steered you through the crowd. His tense hand on your back sent a flash of dark excitement through you. He guided you by the elbow through the kitchen of the club. He took off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders before taking you out to the cold alley to his waiting car.  He walked you around the passenger side and opened the door, but before you could get in, a tug on your arm sobered you up.

You turned to see so much ice in Bucky’s glare. It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

“You are in so much trouble,” Bucky’s lowly growled threat made goosebumps rise on your skin.

 “What do you mean?” 

You shaky voice belied your nerves.

“Get this clear, Frumoasă. You are, in fact, mine. That man’s hands were all over your body. All over what was mine.”

Bucky was leaning down, face close to yours, rage barely contained. You knew he would never truly hurt you, but…

“I had things under control,” you urgently whispered back. You wouldn’t back down from him.

“What about you? Who were you huddled up with in the corner?.” 

Bucky’s eyes glinted.

“Jealous?”

He got even closer. 

“No, you are,”

Bucky’s  jaw tensed, and a vein pulsed in his neck. You hit a nerve. 

“I know that woman from… from before you. She means nothing to me.” 

Bucky brought his hand up to your neck and buried his fingers in the hair at the nape of your head. He tangled your curls and tugged, none too gently, bringing your eyes up to meet his.

“I don’t want her. There is no one but you. “

You were trembling in his grip, panties soaked, mouth open for breath. Seeing Bucky this worked up brought out something in you. Something you didn’t realize was there.

“Take me home, James.”

“Y/N.” 

His voice chilled you. He gave you a cold smile. 

“I said you were in trouble, and I meant it. You’re getting punished.” 

Your jaw dropped, and your face flamed as you started to say something. But a wave of need crashed into your cunt. You were intrigued.

“What are you going to do?” 

Your voice wavered despite your efforts to appear calm. Good lord you wanted this.

“What you deserve,” he said calmly, gesturing for you to get into the car. You resisted.

“Tell me now.”

He indicated the car again and you sat down, trembling as he buckled you in and walked around to the driver's seat. You took a deep breath before he got in himself. 

Bucky leaned toward you menacingly.

“You have driven me to the edge these past few days, Y/N. I love you, I don’t know how else to explain this to you, so I’m going to show you tonight with a consequence for your actions. Either you accept that consequence and come to my place, or I drive you home. And we seriously reconsider what we’re doing here.”

You looked into his icy blues and you knew he was serious. You two had talked about some kinks and limits while starting to experiment with his more dominant side and your submissive side. These versions of you first manifested when you called him ‘Daddy.’ Punishment and reward was a heavy theme in your verbal foreplay. A little humiliation and praise was mixed into your physicality, and it thrilled you. 

Bucky made you feel safe, and tonight you had been unsafe.

“I’ll take my punishment, Daddy.”

Bucky’s eyes stuttered half closed, but he quickly recovered, managing to stay cool toward you as he whispered a gruff, “Good."

He started the car and pulled into the street, headed toward Brooklyn.

"Now sit back and make yourself invisible. I’m trying to calm down and I need to concentrate to not be too rough with you when we get home."

You settled back into your seat, thinking hard about that word, ‘home.’

—--

Bucky virtually ignored you until you got into his bedroom, and you surprised yourself with how much you just wanted him to look at you. You were a whore for his attention. And now you knew that he knew that.

That’s when you realized that your punishment had already begun.

You walked ahead of him on shaky legs on the deep pile carpet of his bedroom, legs shaking and heat emanating from your core. You felt his hand tug you to a stop as he turned you around to face him. 

Bucky took his jacket off of your shoulders as he finally looked at you, admiring the pout on your face. 

“You were a good girl. So silent on the ride over and in the elevator.”

You shuddered as he spoke and as his fingers touched your bare shoulders. 

“You like being a good girl for me, don’t you?”

His palm moved from your shoulder up to your cheek.

“Yet you weren’t a good girl earlier tonight, were you?”

He was so close to you, his lips millimeters from yours.

“James, please –”

The space between your lips was driving you crazy. 

“I think you need to be spanked, Frumoasă.” 

His voice was so calm, in contrast to the whirlwind inside you. You were anxious, but you wanted this in your soul.

“We will talk while I spank you. You have got to understand how much I care for you. How much I love you.”

Anger with a rush of excitement coursed through your body.

 “I— This is— Fuck,” you whispered. 

Bucky pecked your lips, allowing just one bright spot of tenderness before he abruptly sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Over my lap, Frumoasă.” 

“Christ, James.” 

“Now.” 

His eyes were iceberg blue. There was no trace of soft Bucky.

 “Or I will put you there myself.” 

“Do it,” you whispered, ever defiant.

In an instant, you were thrown over the bed like you weighed nothing, and flipped onto his lap.

“There we go.” 

His satisfied voice made you shiver. A large hand slipped off your heels and peeled your leggings down your legs. You squirmed, knowing that he could see the wet spot on your your panties. 

“Esti atat de frumoasă iubirea mea.” You are so beautiful my love.

He smoothed your panties against your wet crease before he yanked them down in one swift movement, exposing you to the cool air in his bedroom. 

“I’m going to enjoy this. You, not so much,” 

“Get on with it.” 

“Watch your mouth, and stop rolling your eyes.” 

Bucky squeezed your ass cheek as he read you like a book, and you braced for a blow.

“Don’t hurt me,” you pleaded in a whisper, chastened now.

“This isn’t going to be about pain.” 

You rubbed your nipples against the comforter, searching for some relief to the sexual tension coursing through your body.

“Then what?”

You were breathless as he rubbed circles on your ass. A slap landed, quick and stinging, causing you to  jump.

“It’s about you being a spoiled little princess.” 

His voice was rougher. Oh Lord. That nickname was your undoing. It felt so right. 

“I am not!” 

You gasped when he spanked you again, heat radiating from the spot. 

“Brat. Don’t contradict me.”

Fingers slipped into your folds.

“See? A spoiled, wet princess.” 

You bucked, lifting your ass to his touch, not trying to hide your reaction. 

“Mmm, you like being called that, don’t you? Your body can’t hide the truth.” 

“Daddy…” 

You buried your face in the bed as he rubbed your clit. How could he be so calm?

“That’s it, Prinţesă Open up for me.” 

More spanks made you moan wantonly. 

“I’m going to fuck you you here…” 

Two fingers moved deep into your cunt..

 “…And here.”

He lightly stroked the cleft of your ass. 

“Yes, I want you there. Please!”

Bucky’s intake of breath told you that he hadn’t expected your response. 

“Iti place, Prinţesă aia? You like that?” 

“God, it feels so good.” 

Bucky circled your tight hole and worked a finger inside. 

“Fuck, you feel so tight and untouched,” he crooned as you arched into his hands. 

“Almost innocent. But you are anything but, aren’t you? You were acting like a slut earlier. Letting him touch what’s mine.”

“James—”

You were angry and yet so close to cumming at the same time.

Bucky laughed. 

“You wanted attention, now you have it. Do you want me to have Sam bring him here to watch me do this to you? Or should I just call Sam? Or Steve? Or Nat? All three perhaps? You need an audience, Frumoasă?”

You were so wet at what he was saying despite your embarassment.

“Look at you.”

His voice was so condescending. Why did that get you even wetter? 

“You are so worked up over the idea. They’d be eager. They all say how fine you are, and how they would have you right where I do if I hadn’t made the first move.”

You pussy spasmed as he plunged two fingers inside you again while his thumb pressed down on your clit. He pulled away before you could fall over the edge and you grunted in frustration. 

“It’ll never happen though, because you’re mine. My little slut. My cum whore.”

A smack stung your ass. 

“Fuuuckkkk, Jamie….”

You were shuddering, shaking, creaming all over his hand. 

“My pure and total slut. In every way.”

You kicked, your ass fluttering around the two fingers he had inserted. Your pussy was gushing, but you could find no relief. Another hard smack rained down and you cried out. 

“Do you think I could ever look at anyone else while you are in the world, Frumoasă? A thousand women could be in here — naked, begging — and I wouldn’t look their way. Not once."

“James—” 

“Not when you’re here, so pretty on my lap, with your pussy on fire and your body desperate for what I can give you.” 

You whimpered and tried to close your legs for pressure on your clit, but Bucky spread your thighs with his hands and stared down into your shiny, wet cunt.

“And you're not just desperate.” 

Bucky was relentless. 

“You're greedy. They would have to watch while I fucked you, because you can’t wait.”

“Oh, fuck, Jamesssss!”

“That’s why I give you all my time, my attention, all my money, because I will give you anything you ask for. And more, Frumoasă.”

You hid your face, slung over his lap, and his big fingers began stroking in and out of you again.

Lightning bolted through you.

You gasped and clamped down on his hand. You came so hard. And then he was spanking you again. Your ass was numb now. 

Somehow you wound up on the bed, belly-down, knees on the floor with Bucky kneeling behind you. You arched your back, body begging for him. Another slap landed on your heated ass.

“Look at you, putting on a show. Just like earlier in the middle of the dance floor. But all of this is mine. No one else’s.”

Bucky grasped your breasts through your thin top and you whimpered, face down on his bed, presenting for him, spreading your legs, beckoning him to stop the torture and enter you.

“Need your cock, Daddy. Please. I’m sorry!”

A sudden smack on your clit made you cry out. Pleasure bloomed out from your cunt and your thighs were now soaked.

“Yes, you need me. And it’s okay. It’s okay to be taken care of, to lose control. I’ve got you Frumoasa.” 

For once, you had nothing to say, you just gripped the covers as Bucky lifted your hands and moved them behind your back, holding them together.

“I wish you could see your ass right now, Baby.” 

His voice was husky with lust. 

“It’s so red and so warm. So fucking beautiful. But you deserve my cock, too, don’t you?” 

He sank into you without warning, your wetness enabling him to sink in with one thrust. You were helpless; you just had to take it. You moaned as his thumb entered your ass as he squeezed your hip. And you felt so full, fucked sensless by his relentless nature.

“So fucking wet,” he growled. “And you want me to fuck your ass.” 

“Please, Daddy…”

You were sobbing now, wanting everything he was giving you, everything he was saying, and more.  

“Please cum inside me.”

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Love it when you beg. You should see the creamy goodness you are leaving around my cock..”

Bucky threw his head back and moaned, shutting his eyes tight from the erotic sight. His thrusts became erratic as his cum hit your wet, hot walls. Your mouth opened in a wide O and a silent scream as you came around him.

He growled as he finished, his hand rubbing your back as he softened inside you. You slumped against the bed as he rained kisses down your spine.

“Are you okay, Prinţesă?”

You smiled.

“More than okay.”

Bucky smiled and kissed your forehead before retreating to the bathroom. He came back, cleaned you up, and helped you to fully undress as you climbed into his bed.

He went to the kitchen to get a glass of water for you and made you drink, before he took off his clothes and climbed into bed with you and took you into his arms.

“Do you still love me, Y/N?”

Confident, dominant Bucky Barnes was gone. You looked up into his uncertain blue eyes.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have come with you if I didn’t. I love you, James Barnes. I’m still yours. It’s just— I’ve been taking care of myself for so long that I don’t know how–”

Bucky put his finger over your lips.

“That’s all I wanted to hear right now. Let’s get some rest. We will talk in the morning. I’m not letting you go without a fight. I love you, so much, Frumoasă.”

You kissed him and relaxed into his arms.

“You own me, Frumoasă, body and soul.”

—-

Next part here.

Let me know if you like this one! 😁

[sirensslament]

REVERENCE hamzahthefantastic x reader

summary!: He messed up, drifted too far, too long, but when he comes back, it’s not just to say sorry. It’s to feel you, hold you, worship you. Between whispered apologies and breathless moans, love and lust collide in the softest, dirtiest way

Pairing: boyfriend!Hamzahthefantastic x female girlfriend!reader

Trope: established relationship

Genre: smut, fluff, slight angst, terrible writing (mature/18+)

Note: my first request hello???? i hope i lived up to ur standards anon. also, i think this is lowkey terrible now that im reading back. 🥹🥹🫶🫶 based on this ask

Word count: 2.5k

warnings !: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, praise kink, dom/sub dynamic, light bondage (wrist restraints), mirror play, edging/orgasm control, overstimulation, slight breath-play, possessive language ("mine"), slightswitch!!hamzah, more dom!hamzah

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You haven’t said a word all day.

The sun dipped below the horizon hours ago, but you don’t bother turning the lights on. The only glow in the room is the soft pulse of your phone screen on the nightstand, message after message from him. You don’t read them.

Not because you don’t care. But because you do. Too much.

Hamzah has this way of disappearing without ever leaving. He’s there, physically, but with his headphones in, eyes locked on his screen, nodding absently while your voice dims into the background. And when you finally gathered the courage to say something, to tell him how empty it makes you feel, he looked shocked.

Like he didn’t even realize you were slipping away.

That’s what hurts the most.

So when the front door opens with a soft ding, you don’t move.

You hear his footsteps. The familiar clatter of keys. Then… stillness. Long enough to wonder if he’s walked right back out again.

But then you hear him, low, shaky.

“…I’m here.”

Your eyes remain on the wall.

“I couldn’t keep texting. I needed to see you. To be here. Really be here.”

There’s a pause thick enough to drown in. You feel his presence just beyond the door, like a heartbeat you can’t ignore.

“I messed up,” he says, voice quieter now. “I got lost in all of it--editing, numbers, people who don’t even matter. And in the process, I stopped seeing you. The one person who actually does.”

Your chest tightens.

“I thought you’d be okay with it. That you’d understand. But I stopped checking to see if you really were.”

The door creaks open.

You don’t turn, but in the corner of your vision, you catch him, hesitating in the doorway, eyes dark with regret, with something softer beneath it.

He steps in. Slowly. Like he’s afraid the floor might crack beneath him.

Then he’s kneeling in front of you at the edge of the bed, hands hovering by your waist like he’s waiting for permission he doesn’t think he deserves.

“…Please,” he says, his voice a breath. “Don’t shut me out. I’ll do anything. Just—don’t be done with me.”

You finally look at him. And the moment your eyes meet, something in him unravels. His hands tremble. His jaw clenches like he’s holding back more than just words.

He leans forward, resting his forehead gently against your thigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “So fucking sorry.”

Your fingers twitch where they rest in your lap. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, you reach out and grip the front of his hoodie. Tug him closer. Not as a pardon. Not yet.

Just to say I’m still here.

And that’s all it takes for his breath to catch, sharp, like he's breaking apart.

“I’ll do anything,” he repeats, his voice thick now, full of every emotion he tried to swallow for too long. “Let me make it up to you, baby. Please.”

His hands move, slow, careful, as he starts to slide the hem of your shirt up. His touch is reverent, fingertips ghosting over your skin like he's afraid you’ll disappear if he goes too fast.

He looks up at you, searching your face, waiting for the smallest sign to keep going. Want tangled with guilt, devotion laced with need.

And when you don’t stop him, when you breathe out, soft and shivering, and let him peel the fabric away, he exhales like it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to breathe in days.

“Thank you,” he whispers, like you’ve handed him something sacred. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your shirt falls somewhere behind you, forgotten. Hamzah is still kneeling, still trembling, but his eyes never leave yours. There’s awe in them, the kind that makes you feel like you’re something holy. Something he’s not sure he deserves to touch, but desperately needs to.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, almost in disbelief. His voice cracks at the edges, reverent and raw. “I don’t know how I looked past you for even a second.”

He leans forward again, this time kissing the inside of your thigh, soft, apologetic. Another kiss, higher. Then another. He worships in silence, letting his mouth say what his words can’t. And for a while, you let him.

But then you thread your fingers through his buzzed hair, and he freezes.

“Up,” you whisper, tugging gently. “I need to feel you.”

Hamzah rises slowly, climbing over you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. But you don’t. You stay. You let your hands explore the planes of his chest under that hoodie, feel the rapid beat of his heart as your nails skim his skin.

And when you push the hoodie off his shoulders, when your lips brush his jaw, he exhales like he’s melting under your touch.

“I want to make it right,” he murmurs, breath hitching as your teeth graze his neck. “I want to give you everything.”

You hum, lips at his ear. “Then stop waiting for permission.”

That’s when something changes.

Something deep in his eyes flickers. Submissive no longer, still gentle, still reverent, but now charged with purpose.

His mouth crashes into yours, not rough, but intense. Desperate. Like he’s making up for every missed moment in the language of heat and skin and breath. His hands grip your hips, firmer now, like he’s grounding himself in the weight of you, the reality of you still choosing to be here.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he mutters against your lips, sliding his hand under your thigh and pulling you closer, “how close I’ve been to breaking just thinking about losing you.”

You gasp as he flips you effortlessly beneath him, the sheets cool against your back, his body warm and anchoring above you. That reverent touch is still there, but now it’s laced with command.

“I need to feel all of you,” he says, eyes blazing. “Every sound, every breath. Let me remind you who you belong to.”

He kisses his way down, leaving heat in his wake, until your back arches off the bed and your hands clutch at the sheets. And he doesn’t stop, doesn’t rush. He learns you. Worships you. Makes promises with his tongue, his hands, the way he holds you open like a secret only he knows.

And when you’re breathless, trembling, undone beneath him, he finally rises again, hair tousled, lips swollen, gaze locked to yours with that quiet, dominant fire.

“You’re mine baby, ”he whispers, voice rough now. “all mine.”

Your breathing is ragged, shallow, like your body hasn’t caught up to the storm he’s pulling you into. Hamzah’s hovering over you now, hair messy, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting for control.

But he’s already lost it. For you.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, slower this time, like a vow. His thumb brushes your bottom lip. “Say it.”

And you do, because it’s the truth, because it always has been. “I’m yours.”

Something in him snaps.

His mouth is on yours again, hot, open, claiming, and his hands are already moving, one gripping your thigh, the other fisting the sheets by your head like he needs the anchor.

He grinds against you through his sweats, and even with the layers between you, the heat is blinding.

He pulls back just enough to tear his shirt over his head, his skin flushed, jaw tight. Then he’s tugging at your panties, slow at first, but when you lift your hips and help, he growls, low and possessive, and rips them down your legs.

“I missed this,” he murmurs, spreading your thighs again, mouth already trailing down. “Missed how you taste, how you sound, how you beg.”

You whimper as his mouth returns to you, more intense now, more focused. His tongue is slow and purposeful, circling your clit, teasing until you’re shaking. His fingers press into your thigh to hold you open, firm but never cruel.

And then, one finger, then two, slipping inside you with devastating precision. Curling. Searching. Finding that spot that makes your back arch and your cry catch in your throat.

“God, baby…” he moans against you, his voice wrecked. “You’re clenching so hard. You gonna come for me?”

You nod, breathless, and he doesn’t let up. Tongue flicking, fingers stroking deep, relentless. Worshipful.

And when you come, it’s violent in its softness, your body convulses, thighs squeezing around his head, and he moans like he’s the one unraveling.

But he’s not done.

He kisses his way back up your body, mouth dragging wet heat up your skin, and when he reaches your mouth again, he kisses you like you’re air. Like he’s drowning in you.

“You think I can stop now?” he pants, pressing the head of his length against your entrance, you don't even know when he stripped out of his sweats-- too delirious to pay attention to such a minor detail. “After that?”

You’re still trembling when he pushes in, slow, deliberate, stretching you until you cry out. And he freezes, just for a second.

Eyes locked on yours.

“Look at me,” he whispers. “I want to see your face when I fill you.”

And you do, you watch him watch you as he slides in, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated, his breath catching like it hurts.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel unreal.”

He holds there, buried deep, both hands cradling your face now, soft, intimate, until you shift your hips and beg for more.

Then he moves.

Not slow anymore.

Rhythmic. Deep. Every thrust punching out a sound from your throat, every snap of his hips harder than the last.

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, holding you open, vulnerable, but you’ve never felt safer. Never felt more his.

“You’re mine,” he growls again, breath ragged as he pounds into you. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Hamzah. All yours.”

His rhythm stutters, sharp and frantic now. “That’s right. Nobody gets to have this but me.”

Then he slows, drags it out. Deep rolls of his hips. Pushing you to the edge again, and again, until you’re a mess of gasps and pleading.

“Can’t—can’t take it—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers against your mouth. “You will. One more for me. I know you’ve got it in you.”

And when it crashes over you again, hot, electric, too much, he follows, spilling inside you with a groan that sounds like a man breaking apart.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull out. Just holds you, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling in the space between.

“You wreck me,” he whispers. “Every fucking time.”

Your heart’s still racing when he finally pulls you close, wrapping you up in his arms like you’re something fragile.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing damp hair from your face.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut against his chest. “More than.”

A silence settles, but it’s full. Safe. Warm.

He kisses the top of your head., and the rest of the evening fades to a blur.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Hamzah doesn’t sleep. Not really. Not when your body’s still warm and soft in his arms, and his brain is replaying every sound you made like it’s his new favorite song.

You shift slightly, still half-asleep, and he kisses your shoulder. “Baby,” he murmurs, deep, guttural. “I need you again.”

You laugh, low and breathy, still left in the remnant of your dream. “Already?”

“No,” he says, voice dark. “Still.”

He pulls you to the edge of the bed, body fluid and focused, like he’s been planning this the whole time. “Come with me.”

Your legs are wobbly, still aching from before, but you follow, trailing after him in nothing but his hoodie, down the hallway until he stops you in front of the full-length mirror.

“Look.”

You blink, dazed, as he steps behind you, hands on your hips. “See how fucking good you look like this? All mine.”

His hand slides between your legs from behind, fingers teasing over your clit again. Your breath hitches. “W-we just—”

“Exactly,” he growls. “And you’re still dripping for me.”

He watches your reaction in the mirror, eyes locked on yours, his other hand slipping up to wrap lightly around your throat again, not to hurt, just to hold. To own. “You’re gonna watch. Every second.”

His fingers start slow, sliding between your folds, rubbing that perfect rhythm again, light, maddening. Edging you back up, higher and higher.

“You don’t come until I say,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, tone sweetly cruel. “Think you can do that for me, pretty girl?”

You nod, desperate. “Y-yes—yes, I can—”

But he doesn’t stop. He speeds up. Fingertips circling your clit, other hand tweaking your nipple through the thin fabric of your -his- shirt that you must've absentmindedly put on after he completely wrecked you, whispering filthy praise like poetry.

“So sensitive now. So obedient. Fuck, look at how wet you are.”

Just when your legs start to tremble, he pulls away. Smirking.

You whimper, nearly collapsing. “Please—Hamzah, please—”

“Not yet,” he says, gripping your hips and pushing you gently down onto the ottoman in front of the mirror, your thighs spread, his body bare behind you like a sin you’re begging for.

Then, click. You blink as you feel leather. He’s pulling soft cuffs from a drawer nearby, wrapping them around your wrists, binding them behind your back.

“I told you I’d make this right,” he says, kissing your temple. “That means giving you everything. Including the things I used to be scared to want with you.”

He kneels between your legs again. Starts eating you out like a man starved, slow, then messy, then so precise you start begging through tears.

“Hamzah, I can’t—please, please—let me—”

“Not. Yet.”

His voice is dark velvet now, fingers deep inside you while he makes you watch the whole thing in the mirror, your body shaking, lips parted, eyes glazed.

After what feels like decades of cruel licks, sucks and flicks of his tongue, he finally pulls back, breathless. “You’ve earned it.”

He unbinds your wrists gently, scoops you up like you’re weightless, lays you back on the bed again, this time with your legs spread, hands on the headboard. “Hold yourself open f'me.”

You do it, bare, aching, on the edge of begging.

And when he finally sinks back into you, it’s slow and claiming, like he’s embedding himself into your bones. He's so big, so raw that you feel every vein marking the edge of his cock, every curve that hits you in the right spot.

“Now,” he whispers. “Now you come. Hard. All over me.”

You shatter. No build-up. Just fire. Your whole body arches, spasms, and Hamzah doesn’t stop, he grinds into you through it, saying your name like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing.

He follows fast, pulsing inside you with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours. “I fucking love you,” he breathes. “In every way. Every dark, messy, desperate way.”

He holds you after. Cleans you up again. Kisses your hands. Wraps you in blankets and himself like you’re precious.

“You okay?” he murmurs into your hair, fingers drawing circles on your back.

You nod, too soft and full to speak. And he smiles.

“Good,” he says. “Because next time, I’m tying you to the bed.”

a/n: idk. mixed feelings. also i think i js projected my submissiveness through this 💀💀

[hitomisuzuya]

Scaramouche x fem!reader Smut. Modern College AU Video call sex. Dirty talk. Daddy kink. Sex toy. Degradation. Praise. Dom!Scara

First of all, everyone, thank you so much for your supportive comments yesterday. I am okay 🥺

Scaramouche's eyes watched the clock, waiting for the agreed upon time for the video call. He had to be out of state for a family function, and he was despising every second of it. Especially that you couldn't come with him.

A text that you'd send him earlier had been the only thing occupying his mind all day. It read: "I couldn't sleep last night, so I laid awake fingering myself and thinking about you. I couldn't make myself cum, Daddy."

He really wished you had taken a video to attach to the text message.

Scaramouche couldn't have clicked the call button fast enough, his eyes immediately treated to the sight of you already naked on your bed. Your vibrator was next you. "So eager that you are already naked," He greeted, smirking in approval, "my poor little slut is so needy," His cock twitched seeing you react to the sound of his voice.

"Mhm," Your sigh was shaky as one of your hands started to drifted down between your legs. A visible shiver went through you at his degradation. It never failed to make you wet.

"Don't start touching yourself yet, slut," Scaramouche hissed, making your fingers pause over your clit. You looked at him needily in question. "You need to be punished for that teasing text message."

You huffed, frustrated as your hand dropped onto the sheets. "T-Teasing?" You asked, wanting so badly to rub your swelling clit. His voice always had such an affect on you.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Calling me Daddy and telling me you can't make yourself cum. You really should've taken a video, teasing slut. I guess I can't really be surprised that you need me to instruct you on how to play with your needy pussy," He licked his lips hearing a soft moan escaped your parted lips as you shifted restlessly on your bed.

You shivered as more wet gathered on your cunt. His harsh, domineering tone always made you so weak. It was torture to hear him degrade you that way and not be touching you, or fucking his cock into you.

"Please, Daddy, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise," You pleaded, rubbing your thighs together.

Scaramouche sat back on his bed, and palmed his hardening cock. "Now, spread your legs like the good girl you promised to be. Let Daddy see how wet you are," He could practically see you melting as you spread your legs, giving him a view of your wet and puffy pussy.

He let out a hum of approval. You spread your folds for him hesitantly, looking at him submissively for permission to touch yourself. He nodded. "Slowly stroke and rub your clit," He commanded, his eyes following your fingers as they found your clit.

You let a soft moan, slowly pressing circles on your clit. You felt it throb under your fingers, your hips rocking up into your fingers for more friction. His cock was straining hard in his pants watching your fingers dance on your clit.

"A little bit faster, pinch your clit. Tease your fingers at your pathetically messy hole," He groaned as he freed his cock from his pants. He watched your fingers roll your clit, your hips jerking off the bed as louder moans sounded from you.

Scaramouche's cock pulsed in his hand, squeezing it briefly before pumping his hand. The tips of your fingers prodded at your entrance, scooping your juices onto your fingers before sweeping them back up to your clit.

He was purposely making you use your fingers first, knowing that you couldn't make yourself cum. His cock only pulsed more with anticipation of you repeating your text message to him.

"Good ahead, whore," Scaramouche moaned, pumping his hand faster on his cock, "Fuck one finger into that needy cunt of yours. Tell Daddy how much you want him," He so desperately wanted to see you lose yourself in your desire for him.

You gasped in pleasure as you heeded his command. You slowly pumped it in and out of yourself, your eyes glued to the screen as you watched him jack himself off. It aroused you further, you picked up the pace of your finger.

You writhed on the bed, giving him the utter vision Scaramouche craved to see. Your moans were starting to sound frustrated as you desperately curled and pumped your finger in and out of you. You barely heard his next commands to pinch your nipple and push a second finger inside you.

You scissored your walls apart, your legs shaking as you barely brushed just short of hitting your sweet spot. You pinched your nipple for extra stimulation, but it provided you little relief. "I..I can't make myself cum, Daddy," You whimpered, your hips bucking into your fingers.

Cum almost spurted onto his hand when he hard you call him Daddy. Your cheeks heated hearing his aroused moan. "That's right, slut. Cry for Daddy to help you cum," He groaned, rutting his cock into his hand.

"Help me, please, Daddy," You pinched and rubbed your clit, your hand grasping the sheets tightly. Your fingers squelched lewdly in and out of you, making you sloppier mess in your frenzied desperation.

Scaramouche decided you'd had enough. You were so dazed from his degrading teasing, your body twitching with the need to cum that you couldn't think. "You poor, pathetic slut, you can't even make yourself cum. Turn your vibrator on and rub it on your clit," He instructed behind a moan.

Your fingers shook as your hand groped around for your vibrator. You let out a relieved moan feeling the toy hum on your throbbing clit. Your back arched as you grinded your cunt against the toy. "Only Daddy can help me cum," You babbled, your pussy clenching sensitive around nothing.

Scaramouche had to fight not to roll his eyes into the back of his head as he fisted his cock. He wouldn't dare look away from the screen, not when you looked so fucking beautiful writhing and fucking your cunt onto your vibrator.

He massaged and pinched the head of his cock, one his hands reaching down to squeeze and massage his balls. "Fuck it inside yourself and moan about how much you wish it was Daddy's cock."

Your pussy immediately clenched around the toy when you pushed it inside of you. You were breathless, pleasure bursting white hot behind your eyes as vibrations hummed against your sweet spot. "I wish this was your cock, Daddy. I want it inside of me. I need it inside of me," You gave him exactly what he was asking for.

"Good girl, good girl, good girl," Scaramouche chanted, right on the cusps of his orgasm. Your pathetic pleads and moans, the lewd sounds of the vibrator squelching wetly in and out of you were only ushering it in faster. "Fucking cum for Daddy," He growled.

You finally came undone, your walls squeezing around the vibrator as you squirted. You shook from the intensity of your orgasm. Incoherent cries of Daddy tore from your throat.

Cum ribboned onto Scaramouche's hand hearing your cries, his legs shaking as he fisted his cock through his orgasm.

You were always such a a good girl for him.

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 28

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- Ahhh! Like & Rb if you’re dying to know what happens next.

Billie’s POV

I lie awake, tossing and turning, unable to shut my eyes without the events from yesterday replaying in my head on a loop. My brain directed what I should’ve said or done differently, beating myself up deservingly.

I looked to my left, seeing Ellie fast asleep by my side. Her hair was neatly swept over one shoulder and her even breaths were barely perceptible.

Suddenly, the room lit up from my phone screen displaying a notification.

On the screen, a text from Remy. I squinted my eyes, turning down the brightness and reading the message.

Remy: I’m outside. Can we talk? 2:02am

My pulse stopped as I locked my phone.

Fuck.

I quietly got out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty, and shut the bedroom door behind me on the way out.

I walked down the stairs hesitantly, afraid of another fight. Afraid I’d have to make her hate me even more.

I looked down at my sweats and oversized t-shirt, sighing before opening the front door for her.

I crack the door open a bit, peeking through. There she was. A cold, miserable Remy, in distress.

I opened the door more, shocked at the image before me.

Her eyes were bright red and swollen too. Her face flushed, and her expression drowning in agonizing sorrow. Her long hair a mess, pushed behind her ears loosely. Not one speck of makeup on that damningly perfect complexion of hers.

“Remy, what are you doing here?” I asked, my brows softly furrowed.

“I need to talk to you.” Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been shouting for hours.

“What is it?” I stood, wanting to bring her inside, but my feet stuck on the floor beneath me. I couldn’t.

“Please, can I come in?” Her eyes pleaded, hopelessly anguished.

I closed my eyes, sighing, pinching the bridge of my nose with one hand and holding onto the door with the other. I tried to be firm. “Right now is not a good time, Remy. Ellie’s asleep, and-“

“Please, Billie.” Her little voice broke, causing my heart to crumple up and fall out of place, into my rib cage.

I caved, pulling the door open, allowing her to duck under my arm and walk inside. She walked into the living room and I followed behind, hesitantly.

She sat on the edge of the couch, watching me stand several feet away. I didn’t want to get too close.

“What is this?” I said, my voice low, keeping in mind Ellie was in the room above us.

“Please, just hear me out.” She breathed out. I could see her collecting her thoughts and paving out where to start.

I blinked slowly, my heart beating as fast as Remy’s foot anxiously bounced on the hardwood floor.

“I came to tell you I’m sorry. That it’s all my fault.” Her voice was shaky, almost a whisper.

Hearing her speak felt like knives carving every one of her words into my chest.

“Remy, I don’t want your apologies. I wanted you to hear me and see me back then. How many more times was I supposed to let you fuck me over.” I tried to be as quiet as possible. It was a mistake letting her in.

“Billie—“

I rubbed my arm up and down, trying to self-soothe. “I tried to get you to understand, I tried to wait and see if you’d keep your word, but you just kept on putting everyone else first! You don’t get it. I literally felt like the last thing on your mind, all the time. I felt invisible one too many times, especially when all I did was put you first, Remy. That killed me. I just wanted better for you, and you told me I was just obsessed with you. You painted me out to be some controlling piece of shit. I just wanted to take care of you!” All of it came out in one huge rant.

“I feel awful.” She looked down at her hands fidgeting in front of her. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She looked ashamed. Her soft demeanor about to break any second now.

“No, I didn’t.” I tried to be strong. I can’t cave.

She paused, silence filling the air for a long time.

“Remy, you should go.” I said softly, signaling towards the door.

“Please.” She looked up at me, sincere in all ways.

I sighed, giving her a single nod.

“I fucked up, I thought I could do it all, but it ended up burning me out. I burned myself out, pleasing everyone else. Everyone, but the person that loves me the most.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, bringing tears to my own eyes.

“Remy. Please, just stop-“

“No. I set out a goal to give everyone else what they wanted, and left you out. I didn’t fucking do enough, Billie, I should’ve just stopped to see what I was doing to you.” A tear dripped down her cheek, bringing her hand up, frustratingly, to wipe it almost immediately.

I could tell she was trying not to show weakness in front of me now. It broke my heart she didn’t feel safe enough to freely express her pain anymore.

I walked closer to her, standing by the couch, still a few seats away from her. I wanted to tell her she wasn’t completely at fault. That I took part in destroying us.

“Remy, we can’t just keep-“ I prayed she’d drop it, that she’d stop trying, all out of fear that I’d cave.

“Please, let me talk.” She stopped me. I sighed, listening to her desperate attempts at fixing our mess.

“You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t good for us.” I rubbed my face, feeling like I’d gone pale.

“It’ll be different this time. You’ll never feel alone again.” She pleaded.

“Remy— That’s not—” She cut me off.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I know what you need from me now, but back then I didn’t see it. I was being selfish. I was angry, I was so angry.”

I felt heard, I felt seen. I felt validated. I felt a head-rush and became afraid I’d fall if I didn’t hold onto the couch. A sudden storm of emotions made my stomach turn. I wanted to throw up. Word vomit.

“I need you to leave. Now.” I pointed at the door, holding my stomach with one hand. My anxiety was turning me into a mess.

“I won’t. I’m not leaving you, I won’t let you push me away again.” She said, firmly.

God I wanted this to be a dream. I wanted to wake up and be in bed, next to Ellie. The one who had not hurt me yet.

“It was you who took care of me, made sure I had everything I needed, even when I gave you shit for it. Even when I tried to act like I could handle it myself.”

My eyes began to water.

“I always knew I’d have you, if one day I woke up with nothing. And- And I lost you. I actually have nothing now. I wake up every single day with nothing, because I don’t have you.”

That’s exactly how I felt too.

She began to let her tears stream down, not having enough hands to wipe them away. It was like an inflatable pool with holes in it and not enough pieces of duct tape to patch them up.

“I’m sorry that it took so long for me to realize that.” She sobbed. “I’m sorry that it had to come this far for me to realize that you were the only one who actually cared. You were right. About everything.”

I thought about what every one of her words meant, careful not to let them get to my head. I wake up every day feeling like I have nothing, because I don’t have every aspect of her. Her mind, her soul, her body… Her. I wonder what her version of having nothing meant.

Her sobs grew uncontrollable and they only broke to gasp for air. I ran to her, sitting next to her, afraid to touch her, as if she might shatter into a million glass pieces.

“I— I’m sorry, Billie—“ She cried with deep, convulsive gasps for air in between each word.

Her rugged breathing scared me, I scrambled with my words, nothing would come out.

“I love y-you, s-so much— I ruined e-everything! Please, please don’t hate me.” She put her face down, into her knees, hugging them tight. Ashamed to break down in front of me.

What did her love for me mean? What did she mean by love. I wanted her to love me in the same way I loved her, but I knew better than that.

For years, I toggled back and forth between wondering if it’s worth being loved to her extent. Even when I knew I wanted more. But each and every time, I told myself that whatever amount of love I get from her, is worth every last tear I could ever produce.

My eyes betrayed me. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Overwhelmed with emotion, I cried, audible ragged breaths leaving my mouth.

“Stop. No, no more. Come here.” I wrapped my arms around her shaking body, lifting her face, which was contorted in distress. I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt like I was torturing her.

“I’m s-sorry, please forgive m-me. I’ll do anything to show you how much I love-“

I spoke over her, cutting her off, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Her gut wrenching cries muffled into my chest, vibrating my whole body. She shook in a panicked state, covering me in her tears.

I rocked her back and forth, my voice cracking with every word, my body and mind completely breaking down. “I love you, I’m right here.” I sniffed in, trying to keep snot in my nose.

I breathed in deep, taking in her scent. The same scent I spent nights dreaming about, only to wake up without. It felt like home.

“You’re everything I have. None of this matters if I don’t have you.” She whimpered hysterically.

“You have me. You have me. I’m sorry, Remy, this isn’t only your fault. I’m sorry-“

“No, I’m sorry, I’m the worst fucking-“

“No, you are not. You’re not.” I said firmly, squeezing her tight, emphasizing my words.

“So much has happened these last few months- and all I wanted to do was tell you.”

“I’m sorry,” I cried, “It just wasn’t the same anymore-“

“I know, I fucked everything up.” She tried her best to catch her breath but couldn’t.

“Listen to me. I need you to know something.” I pulled her on my lap, holding her tight. I brushed a hand through her hair, gently cradling her like a new born baby.

I took a deep breath before saying anything.

[noodle-is-unstable]

The Hunt

All of my writing is completely Gender Neutral Reader. There is no reference to gendered body parts (Imaging a Ken Doll if you will). Due to this I use more vague language, and nothing is as specific or specified. Please be advised this writing style isn't for everyone and it is okay to skip.

Ft ~ Ryomen Sukuna x GN!Reader Kink ~ Primal Play Synopsis ~ Sukuna has a wild side, so when you invite him to indulge in it, he really lets loose Content Warning ~ 18+, Smut, rough sex, monster cocks, biting, claiming, possessive behavior, scratching, outdoors, fingering, Idk Adult Content.

4.6K Words, I don't proof read

Based off this SMAU

Where are you?  Why are you not in your room?

You squint at the message on your screen. You weren’t sure you were reading it correctly even.  Why was Sukuna looking for you, and in your room no less.  It was  perplexing but there was an aura about the message you couldn’t quite place.  Aggression?  No, it was more than that.  Desperation?  No, it wasn’t that either.  It lived somewhere in between the two.  Then it hit you.  Lust.  But why you?  Why now?  Sukuna had concubines in spades, if all he had was lust.  Though the motive still puzzled you, the one thing you could guarantee was that this was some form of lust and need.  You weren’t stupid.  You always noticed that Sukuna had a fondness for you.  Always seeking you out for some reason or another.   He'd show up while you were working to have a battle of sass.  The way he would somehow always be looming, at least one cheek eye on you. The way you sassed him and always bit back intrigued him.  Not once did you bow to him, even when he threatened to take your head.  You simply raised your chin to give him a better sight on where to cut.  You refused to call him Lord, King or anything but Sukuna.  He lived for the fight you brought him.  Never submitting to him.  Today, all of that would change. 

Keeping tabs on me now?

Why are you in my room?

Neither questions really needed to be answered, the second you hit send you took off.  Your legs carried you at an almost inhumane pace into the forest behind the estate.  Even with a head start Sukuna was faster than you.  Stall him.  You had to stall him, buy yourself precious seconds.  You felt like a mere rabbit, and Sukuna was an apex predator.  You didn’t stand much of a chance once he found you so it was simply delaying the inevitable.

It’s not your place to ask questions.  I’ll give you one opportunity, come to my chambers and I’ll be gentle

Heat coursed through your body at the message.  Your suspicions were confirmed.  Sukuna was finally taking what he wanted.  All the playful pushing, all that time spent trying to make him break, to make him take you, it was finally here.

And if I don’t?

You sent, legs still moving as fast as you could.  Your lungs burned as you sprinted. Jumping and ducking branches.  Scrapes and scratches began to cover your skin the further into the dense forest you went.

I’ll hunt you down

You paused to read Sukuna’s text.  Was your heart beating so rapidly from running or him?  This was something you’ve been wanting for so long.  A dream.  Yet here you were, in the forest, this message in your hand.  Through labored breaths you began to type.

That’s what I figured

I’ve been running since your first message

Dead.  You were about to be so dead.  Ruined, ravished, ripped apart, but damn it, you couldn’t wait.  Even taking this moment to breath and relish in the anticipation was dangerous. You were wasting precious seconds.

What a sly minx

I’m going to destroy you when I catch you

Heat went straight to your core at his words.  You were sure he would, in fact you were hoping for it.

That was the plan

Let the hunt begin 💖

You sent off a final text before beginning to run again.  It was small, but it was your way of giving Sukuna consent to do as he pleased with you once he found you.  No matter how far your head start was though, he was going to find you.  Like thunder you heard cracking behind you.  That bastard was dismantling the forest, with you in it.  Was he trying to kill you?  No, he knew you were strong.  This was just a part of his game, to see if you were truly worthy.  Winds like a cyclone whipped past you, cuts appearing over your body, shredding your clothing at the same time.  You never stopped running.  Even as the forest fell, even as the thundering cracks grew closer, you kept running.  That was until you felt it, a full force dismantle coming your way.  Diving for the forest floor, you stared up as trees practically disappeared to dust.  He would have shredded you into oblivion if you didn’t dive, but he didn’t, because you’re you.

“Son of a bitch.” You mumbled, breathing heavily.

“You called?” Sukuna's face appeared above you, cocky and devilish smirk.  No, not yet.  You weren’t ready to be caught yet.  You knew you’d pay for it later, but for now, you did the only thing you could think of.  Bending almost in half, your legs wrapped around Sukuna’s neck.  All four eyes went wide as his neck sat between your thighs.  With all the force you  could muster, you brought your legs back down, throwing him over you and slamming him into the ground.  You didn’t have time to apologize, managing to scramble away in his stunned state.  Risking a quick glance back as you ran, you saw him sitting up.  He was smiling.  Watching you run with a hunger he has never felt before.  As much as you both wanted each other, there was one truth you both knew.  The thrill of the hunt was just as alluring as the catch.  

There was no point in running through a forest that was as flat as a prairie now.  You continued sprinting but it was more aimless now.  There was no cover or places to hide.  You were completely exposed and in the open.  You may be strong but in a fight of raw power against Sukuna you’d lose.  Your running came to a halt as you stood before a cliff's edge.  The ocean beating against the rocky wall.  

“Nowhere left to run.” Sukuna’s voice was a low rumble.  You knew when you were bested but this wasn't it.  Not yet. You weren't done yet.

“Guess so.” You shrug, turning to him, but your smile gave it away.  His eyes narrowed as you took a step back, letting yourself fall from the cliff.  Only you didn’t, not fully at least.  You managed to twist your body mid air and grab on just below the ledge.  Holding your breath a shadow eclipsed the sun.  Sukuna had dived off the cliff after you.  A smile fell on your lips as your eyes met, his face contorting as he realized what just happened.  You wasted no time, clamoring back up the cliff and taking off running again.  An echoing splash sound coming from behind you.  There was nowhere left to run.  Your options were going for a swim, back to the estate, or back to the cleared forest.  Sukuna and his four arms had an unfair advantage in the water.  You weren’t willing to put those at the estate in danger of Sukuna’s warpath.  That only left the flattened forest.  He was going to catch up.  There was nowhere left to run, no more tricks to be had.  Even knowing you were done for you kept running.  What was the fun in just giving up?  The hunt was just as alluring as the catch after all.

It was like there was fire in your lungs as you sprinted.  Your heart was pounding in your chest, soon it would all be over.  The chase would be done.  All this running and fighting would be for not.  Still, you’d get your long awaited reward in the end.  Then you felt it.  Rain.  Only there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky.  A wet hand wrapped around the back of your neck.  Tripping over the sudden pressure to your upper body you landed face down into the mossy ground.  A wet knee dug into your back, pressing you further down into the forest floor.

“Got you minx.” Sukuna growled into your ear.  His soaked body had cool water droplets falling onto your searing hot skin.  Sure, you could wiggle, scratch or thrash but you weren’t getting out of this.  You knew when you were  bested.

“Yeah?  So what now?” You asked, doing your best to look back at him.  For only a moment his hungry expression faded to something softer.

“That’s up to you.” He almost sighed, all four eyes searching for any form of confirmation to continue.  You wondered if he was this soft with everyone, even if he had your face pressed into the dirt.

“You caught me, didn’t you?  Take whatever prize you see fitting.” You gave a choked smile.

“Even if that prize is you?” Sukuna leaned down, placing his face on the ground beside you to completely meet your gaze.  The soft shade of green from the moss made his eyes seem all the more red.  His hair was soaked, dripping and being absorbed into the ground.  The weight of his knee and the grip on the back of your neck lessened.  In fact he removed both.  He swallowed hard as he waited for an answer and you realized what was happening.  Sukuna was giving you a chance to escape.  It was more than that though.  All of this was.  This entire thing was more than just hungered lust.  Even his question, ‘even if the prize is you?’, it wasn’t about sex.  This was more than that.

“You can run if you wish.  I won’t chase you anymore.” Sukuna looked away from you, his words sounding broken.  You had taken too long to respond, too engrossed in your own thoughts.  You reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand.  His eyes snapped back to yours.  This scenario was ridiculous.  Both of you face down in the mossy dirt, the smell of forest and plant decay in the air.  The King of Curses face down, ass up just to meet your gaze.

“If I ran, I’d want you to chase me.” You watched as his eyes darted between yours, trying to see if your words were true.  “So if you want your prize, you probably shouldn’t let it go.” You leaned in, giving his nose a kiss before jumping back and running again.  You turned back to see him smiling like a love struck maniac.  He didn’t move, he was just watching you in awe.  Even if you wanted to be caught, to be taken, to be used, you weren’t going to make it easy on him.  Perhaps that’s why he longed for you so badly.  Unlike anyone he had ever known, in his past life and this one.  Your soul was special, you were special.  You and you alone were worthy to be called his, to be claimed by him.

Your body suddenly halted when you were once again tackled to the ground.  You were turned on your back this time though.  A hand caged your neck to the ground, it wasn't squeezing or pressing, it was simply there to prevent your head from moving.  Another hand pinned your wrists above your head, the other two beside your shoulders, not allowing them to move.  Sukuna was straddling you, knees pressed firmly to your hips.  You were in a human cage, immobilized and unable to escape.

You both sat frozen, panting and taking in the moment.  Sukuna was still wet from his swim, cold drops of water leaving goosebumps on your skin.  Sukuna’s breath came out as steam in the cooling air.  Sunset.  Had you really been running from him for this long?  Even in the dimming light you could see the dark hunger in his eyes.  Still he was holding back.  What was he waiting for?  Seconds that felt like minutes past and he hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Take your prize Ryomen.” A guttural growl escaped his lips, his eyes getting impossibly darker.

“Say it again.” His voice was strained, like he was trying to hold back what little sanity he had left.  “Say my name again.” His grip around your neck tightened.  One word, and it would drive him to the edge.  One word to push him to the brink of insanity.  You, saying his name.  That wasn’t good enough though.  You didn’t want him on the edge, you wanted him to snap, to completely lose it.

“Come on.  If you want me, then take me and claim me, Ryo.” The nickname rolled off your tongue like a siren song.  The second the last syllable fell from your lips you felt a sharp pain on your shoulder.  Teeth.  Sukuna sunk his teeth into your  shoulder, hard enough to puncture the skin.  A choked gasp escaped your throat at the sudden sensation.  His tongue was flicking around the indents where his teeth sat, lapping up the blood that was coming from you. 

“Mine.” Sukuna managed to snarl out as he pulled away, admiring his work.  You could feel the warm blood spilling from that spot, a stark contrast to the cold forest floor.  He began to move his hand to hover above the area.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You hissed at him.  He was going to heal it, seal off the beautiful mark he had just given you.  A smile fell on his lips as his eyes met yours once again.

“This is why you are worthy to be my prize.” Sukuna purred, his grip on your neck tightened, pulling you up to meet his lips.  Warm.  That was your first thought when your lips connected.  Even though he was cold from the water his lips were warm.  Tingling like lightning where your lips connected.  Soft, warm, welcoming, comforting.  The kiss wasn’t needy or rushed, but passionate.  His hand moved to cradle the back of your head, freeing your airways and deepening the kiss.  A light nibble to your bottom lip, his tongue finding its way into your mouth.  He tasted like smoked honey, a slight hint of iron lingering from the blood he licked earlier.  Intoxicating.  Being this close to him, being this intimate with him, him.  He was intoxicating.  You felt like you were floating.  More.  You needed more.  Nails dug into the hand that trapped your wrists.  Your back arched, pathetic whimpers swallowed by Sukuna.  The way you squirmed had him going crazy, no, more than crazy.  He was going feral.  Your scent, your taste, knowing his mark was on you, it had him losing his sense of reality.  His lips moved from yours to leave wet kisses along your jaw.  Nipping at the skin as he went.  He made his way down your neck, only pausing to leave a soft kiss on the deep mark he had made.

He laid your head back down, moving his hand to your torn shirt.  He didn’t hesitate for a moment, ripping the fabric off to leave your torso exposed to him.  All four eyes were darting around your body, taking in every detail, committing it to memory.  Sharp nails dragged down from the base of your neck to your sternum, a red trail left in their wake.  A choked gasp escaped your lips as Sukuna latched onto one of your nipples.  His fingers pinched and pulled the other.  Whining mewls rolled off your tongue, desperately arching your back.  You weren’t sure if you were trying to push into him more or escape his grasp, all you knew was your body was reacting to his every move.  His teeth scraped against you, gently tugging and sucking as his tongue flicked.  His fingers made sure to give your other nipple equal attention.  Pulling, rolling and pinching it, sharp nails digging in.  You couldn’t keep focus, eyes rolling back and needy whimpers floating through the air.  You were so engrossed by the feeling you hadn’t noticed the hand that was beside your head moved.  It was only when you felt cold air on your legs you realized.  He had shredded the last remaining bit of clothing you had on.

There you laid, on the forest floor, sticks and rocks poking into you, completely naked.  Sukuna had removed his mouth from you, eyes taking in everything you had to offer.  He was at a loss for words, an image better than he had dreamed.  Every concubine he pretended was you.  Every wasted load of cum in his fist to the thought of you.  Nothing compared to the actual sight.  He couldn’t have dreamed of such perfection.  He was going to ruin you.

His hand freed your wrists, moving to cage your neck in place once again.  You watched as he moved a hand to his mouth.

“What are you-” You were cut off when he squeezed your neck, literally stopping the words in your throat.  

“I don’t need to cut your insides up in an attempt to prepare you.” Sukuna scoffed.  Your brows furrowed as you watched him.  He was biting the nails short on one hand.  

“Just tell me to stop and I will.” Sukuna was dead serious. He always had at least one eye on your face to gauge your reactions.

“Stop treating me like I’m fragile.” You reached over, grabbing the front of his robe to pull his face to yours.  “I don’t break so easily.” Sukuna let out a guttural groan.

“Let’s test that then, shall we?” He held his hand with the shortened fingernails to your mouth.  You happily let them in, coating the middle and ring finger with spit.  Your eyes never left his as you swirled your tongue around and sucked his fingers.  Pure lust and need glossed his crimson eyes, watching you with a hunger that only taking you could satisfy.  He removed his fingers from your mouth, a thick spit trail following.  Sukuna sucked your drool off his fingers, quickly replacing it with his own.

“Sweeter than candy.” He purred, licking his lips.  His words had your heart pounding.  Sukuna repositioned himself between your legs.  Moving the hand that sat around your throat he hooked it under your leg, pressing your knee to your chest.  His drool covered fingers circled your entrance.  He was barely touching you but you were already shivering and whimpering.  Slowly he pushed a finger in.  Just a single finger had you stretching, had you feeling beyond full.  You gasped, back arching, your eyes rolling back.

“Don’t pass out yet Minx, we’re just getting started.” True to Sukuna’s nature, he was sadistic.  A second finger was plunged into you.  For a moment you saw white.  It was so much, so good.  

“You’re right, you don’t break easily.  I’d expect nothing less from my Minx.” Sukuna began to pump his fingers in and out of you.  “My prize.” His fingers slammed into you harder.  “Mine.” His pace picked up.  You were seeing white in your vision.  Your body tensed, a knot forming in your throat as Sukuna ruined you on his fingers.  “Mine, my minx, only mine, all mine.” He growled.  He laid his body into you, pushing your leg down further.  You let out a pleasure filled wail as Sukuna sunk his teeth into your other shoulder.  Fingers laced into his hair, roughly pulling at the roots as you came.  His fingers slowed but his bite sunk in more.  You could feel his mouth vibrating, as the ringing in your ears faded you heard him chanting ‘mine’.  A second, deep puncture mark.  Warm blood trickling out.  As Sukuna’s teeth sat in your shoulder you looked to the sky.  It was dark now.  Stars dancing overhead, twinkling down on you both.  His.  All his.  You wondered if these were the same stars Sukuna saw in the Heian Era.  Your grip on his hair softened as you came down from your climax.  Soothing circles massaged into his scalp instead.  His fingers were still lazily thrusting and curling into you.

A pitiful whimper left your lips when he pulled his fingers from you.  Empty, you felt so empty.  The feeling only grew when he released his bite too.  Matching marks on either shoulders.  Deep, harsh imprints of his teeth.  Watching as Sukuna began to undid his robes, you may have felt empty now, but you’d be full soon.  Your jaw dropped with his robe.  A god in the flesh, a fallen angel, a dream.  Large, toned muscles all over his body, flexing with his every movement.  Your eyes traced down his abs until you saw teeth.  A large smiling mouth on his abdomen.  Following his happy trail down stood two cocks.  Both swollen, trying to stand tall but sagging from the sheer weight of them.  You were going to die, but damn what a way to go.

Sukuna leaned back over you, two hands by your head, the other two digging into your hips.  One of his monstrous tips poked at your entrance, the other dragging along the curve of your ass.  Sukuna moved so his forearm sat in front of your mouth.

“Bite.  This’ll hurt.” Sukuna instructed you.  You simply stared at him like he was crazy.  You weren’t about to bite his forearm.  When you pushed his arm to the side he looked at you confused.

“You marked me, it’s only fair I do the same.” Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you.  Once he was almost flush to your body, you placed your mouth on his shoulder.  Precum leaking from his tip, coating your entrance as he waited.

“Ready?” Sukuna whispered in your ear once he felt your teeth on his skin.

“Mhm.” You mumbled against his flesh.  He slowly began to press in.  As he entered you, your teeth sunk into him more. The further he pushed, the harder you bit.  The stretch from his cock was nearly unbearable, truly a monster of an appendage.  You snarled as your teeth dug deeper into him, the iron taste of blood filling your mouth.  Sukuna was letting out guttural grunts in your ear as he continued to stretch you.  Your nails raked down his back as you tried to contain his cock. You were going to die. This monster of a man was going to be the death of you.  Then you felt it, his hips flush to your ass.  Did you really take him in his entirety or had you blacked out, died or dreamt this.

“No one has taken me fully before.” Sukuna’s breathy voice pulled you back to the present.  He seemed to be just as shocked and dazed as you were.  Coming back to reality you removed your teeth from his shoulder.  You let your head fall just below his.  Sukuna brought a hand to your face and swiped his thumb over your cheek, a cold, wet sensation followed behind it.  You didn’t even realize that tears had spilled over.

“My Minx.” Sukuna whispered, licking the tear off his thumb.  The pained, stretched feeling slowly faded.  You still felt full, absolutely stuffed, but it didn’t hurt as much.

“Ryomen.” Your body trembled around him.  He looked at you with a pleased smile.

“My name sounds so good falling from your lips Minx.” Sukuna purred, kissing your tear stained cheeks with glee.

“Still not broken.  So why don’t you fuck me until your name is the only word I can scream.” You could feel Sukuna’s cock twitch in you.  Such filthy words, such a masochist, his perfect being.  Two arms wrapped around the top of your head, the other two death gripping your hips.  He would make you regret those words.  The second he had you locked in place he began a hellish pace.  Fast, skull rattling, hard, rough.  He'd pull almost completely out before slamming into you again, his firm grip forcing you in place.  Rocks and sticks from the forest floor dug into you as Sukuna pounded you stupid.  The way his cock dragged and hammered into your sweet spot with every thrust had you seeing spots.  Tongue hanging from your mouth, your braincells being forcefully fucked out of you.  You were going dumb, absolutely braided on his brutish cock.  Cumming, cumming, cumming, you had to cum.  It was so much.  Your body began to convulse, your vision going white.

“Say my name.” Sukuna growled into your ringing ears.  “Scream my name when you cum.” He demanded.  Of course, you obliged.

“Ryomen!  Ryo!  F-Fuck!” You cried out,  tears spilling from your eyes, broken cries and overstimulated whimpers. Your ears rang, a floating feeling of pure bliss.  Sukuna then stopped all movement, this was somehow more painful than him stretching you.  Words escaped you as you whimpered and whined, back arching, trying to get some form of friction.

“Not done yet.”  Sukuna grunted.  Even in your dazed state you understood.  He stopped so he wouldn’t cum.  He didn’t want it to end yet.  You couldn’t muster words, but you gently cupped his face and gave him a nod.  More.  You wanted everything and anything Sukuna had to offer.

“You were made for me, Minx.  My precious Minx.” Sukuna cooed.  Your brows furrowed when you felt him pull out.  So beyond empty.  Like your soul was snatched from your body.  The look you gave him almost broke his heart.  A look of pure betrayal, a look like he abandoned you.

“Don’t you think the other cock deserves a feel?” Sukuna chuckled at your outraged expression.  You softened your scowl when you learned of what he was doing.  “So needy.  Don’t worry, I’ll stuff you full again.” He smirked.  The cock that was once in you fell onto your stomach.  It was heavy, damp and warm.  The one that was rubbing against your ass was now pushing its way inside of your stretched hole.  Though the stretch wasn’t as painful this time, it still knocked the breath out of your lungs.  Stretched beyond repair, stretched to the shape of him, fitted perfectly to him.  His hips, flush with your ass once again.  There was no warning this time.  The hands that once caged your hips now pressed your knees to your face.  Sukuna forced you into the deepest mating press of your life.  His hips snapped erratically, there was no rhythm this time, just a carnal need to feel you around him.  A need to chase his climax and feel you cum around him.  You were still sensitive from your last orgasm.  In this position his cock was constantly pressing against and abusing your sweet spot.  You weren’t going to last, You couldn’t last.  Every thrust hit the oxygen out of your lungs, choked out mewls and moans echoing in the air.  He was close.  He just needed to feel you pulsate around him with your own climax.  He needed to hear you say it.  He needed to hear you cry out his name.  Your eyes rolled back, overstimulated tears spilling from your eyes, your breath catching in your throat.

“R-Ryo.  Ryomen.” You choked out, your body completely constricting around him, attempting to milk him dry.  The squeezing sent him over the edge, cum filling you while the cock that was on your stomach came all over your torso and face.  You were painted white, inside and out.  The moment your climax ended, your body went limp.  Drained of everything you possibly had to offer.  So, so full.  Full of his seed and his softening cock.  Sukuna slowly released you from the mating press. Sukuna slowly lifted you to his chest, soft cock keeping warm in your core.  You sat on his lap and he held you to him.

“My precious Minx.” He placed a kiss on your temple, soft and lingering.  Then his robe wrapped around you.  Resting against his chest, listening to his calming heartbeat.  You could barely keep your eyes open but you could see it, the soft yellow glow over the horizon.  Sunrise.  You had been out all night.  You were tired.  So tired, and Sukuna’s embrace was so comforting.  He stood up, keeping you wrapped in his arms and robe.

“Come Minx, I’ll get you cleaned up before we go to my chambers to rest.” His voice was soft and soothing.  Another kiss was placed on the crown of your head before he began to walk.

About the Kink: Primal Play is a form of sexual activity in which partners leave behind the more “rational” or “logical” sides of themselves and tap into their animal instincts. This might involve animal role play, grunting, snarling, or other animal-like noises. Not all primal play is non-verbal, but it often is. How to Practice the Kink Safely:

With any kink it's important to have a safe word, action and sound. The action is in case it's not possible to be verbal. The sound is incase it's not possible to make words or move. Pick something easy to remember and wouldn't come up naturally. Eg. Red, 3 fast taps, 3 repeating grunts

Consent is key in this roleplay. Consent can be taken away at any time and its important to check in to make sure both parties are still eager and willing participants. Boundaries should be discussed beforehand. Things like how hard is it okay to bite, is scratching okay, and how rough is it okay to be. Practicing bite strength on sensitive areas like the inner thigh or wrist will give a general idea. Remember to use safe words or actions if things escalate beyond comfort. With things like biting and scratching if the skin is broken medical attention may be needed. Human bites are extremely germ filled and should be cleaned thoroughly. Medical intervention may be needed if the area begins to show sign of infection.

[ciaradream8]

Where Are You?

A/N: So I wrote this to let off some steam because Zayne didn't come home. I lost the 50/50 badly! I usually write fanfic in private, but I never posted before so this is a first for me. Please keep in mind that I really didn't proof read cuz like I said I was just letting off steam. I WAITED TIL MIDNIGHT OF THE NEW YEAR FOR THIS MAN AND I LOST THE 50/50. The fact that this was the anniversary is what hurt most :') I was so excited too. I apologize for being too dramatic in this haha. Also, sorry for the terrible writing.

Warning: Angst

Words: 1.5K

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A sigh escaped my lips after taking a quick glance at my phone for what might be the millionth time. It was a half hour before the new year came. I glanced at the counter where I had made the homemade macarons specifically for a special doctor I had kept close to my heart.

Zayne. Where are you?

Zayne and I made plans together for the new year. We just wanted it to be the two of us. I had it all in my head; make dinner together, watch him eat the macarons I made, steal one from him after he took a bite as we wait for the countdown for the new year, countdown, gaze into each others eyes with the fireworks in the background, and promise to be together for years to come with a kiss. Nothing could be more perfect than that. Or so I thought.

Surprisingly, the sight of wanderers has been low which meant I mostly did paperwork or took missions outside of Linkon City where I was needed. I was able to get off work on time or Captain Jenna would let us go early as a reward for all the hard work we’ve been doing for our city. I had a bit more free time which was a luxury. Zayne, on the other hand, was more busy than ever. He would always try to respond to my texts as fast as he could, but I knew he was doing what he does best and that was to save lives. Yet it’s been different lately.

Zayne rarely responds to my messages now and every time we go out or we visit each other’s places he takes out his laptop to do work. I call out to him, but he always says “I’m almost done. Just give me a minute.” Then he started to sound a bit annoyed with me. I stopped asking him to hang out for a while, but I found the courage to invite him for new year’s eve a few days ago:

“Are you going to work on new year’s eve?” I asked him over the phone.

“No. I have the day off unless I am called for an emergency. Why?” He asked.

“Um…” I took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you wanted to spend it with me. That’s all. It’s been a while since we had a date after all.”

There was a pause over the phone. I bit my lip out of nerves and was worried he would say no. This would be our first new year’s together and a week after that it would be our first anniversary as a couple. After another moment of silence I heard him speak.

“It has been a while. I hadn’t noticed. I’m sorry if I made you feel sad.” He said. I could hear his tone. He sounded guilty.

“Oh! It’s okay. You’ve been busy after all.” I awkwardly laughed. I didn’t want my true feelings out. A part of me felt sad that I hadn’t seen him, but another part of me was angry because of the tone of annoyance in his tone of the last time we spent together. He told me I was in the way and that he had to focus. Yet I was the one to apologize and made up an excuse to leave.

“No, it’s not. In fact, why don’t we celebrate our anniversary that day as well?” He said.

“Isn’t our anniversary the week after?”

“It is, but I want to make it up to you. I could wear that butler outfit with the cat ears you bought not long after what happened with me being turned into part feline.”

My heart leaped as I smiled. I could feel my body being light as a feather from joy. Since the cat evol incident he always dressed up as a butler with the cat ears to cheer me up whenever I was upset with him. It was a rare yet welcoming occasion.

“Yes! I want to see kitty Zayne again!” I exclaimed.

He chuckled, “Alright now. Settle down. It’s the least I can do for a certain hunter who has been working hard to ensure not only Linkon City’s safety, but other cities as well. Where do you want to celebrate?”

“Just the two of us. My place if that’s okay.”

“Well…”

“I’ll even throw a plate of macarons for a certain doctor who is keeping his patients alive not just in Linkon City, but other cities as well.”

I could hear his smile over the phone, “Well, an offer like that is difficult to turn down. Very well. Your place. I’ll be there at four in the afternoon. We’ll make dinner together and wait for the countdown. Together.”

“Yes. Together. I’ll see you. Take care.” I smiled.

He chuckled, “You as well. I’ll see you then.”

I stared at my phone screen. It was the two of us at the photo booth where we took photos with animals. I remember that day well. I cupped his cheeks, catching him in surprise, while I smirked at the camera. I let out a soft laugh, but this doesn’t make me laugh the way it used to. All I can feel is pain in my heart just by looking at this. I unlocked my phone to see the wallpaper of my homescreen: Zayne kneeling to feed Clopidogrel. I smiled sadly at this until I went back to frowning. Then I looked at the text messages from today.

12:30 - Can’t wait to see you!

5:43 - Was there an emergency at the emergency room? I totally understand if you’re running a bit late. Do what you gotta do doc! You got this!

9:52 - Zayne? Are you okay? Do you need help? Are you hurt? Please tell me you’re okay

11:26 - Zayne? Where are you?

“Where are you, Zayne?” I whispered. I hear the announcer on the television set telling the audience that there was five minutes left on the clock. I used my hands to cradle my head. It took everything in me not to cry. He’ll be here. Even if it’s one minute before midnight. He’ll be here. I thought to myself. Just a small glimmer of hope. I took a deep breath and walked towards the window to look down. His car wasn’t there, but I was waiting for it to show up and for him to come out running to me. Next thing I know, I heard the announcer and the audience behind him counting down.

5…4…3…2…1…Happy New Year!

At that moment I collapsed on the floor and could feel the tears spilling out. No matter how many times I tried to wipe my tears away it wouldn’t stop. It was a never ending stream. “He didn’t come. He didn’t come.” I kept mumbling to myself. Why? Why did this have to happen? Was I no longer good enough? Was he tired of me? Did he only agree to spend New Year's with me so I would stop bothering him? Was this his way of telling me that we were done? So many questions were swirling in my head.

After I was done crying I went to the bathroom to splash water in my face and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were puffy and red from all the crying I did. The worst thing was that I knew I could keep crying. I took a couple of deep breaths without breaking the gaze to myself. I thought of all the memories we made together: going to the amusement park, him kissing my cheek when I got drunk, our first kiss in his car after our third date, him teaching me pool, everything. I clenched my fists and furrowed my brows. No longer did I feel disappointment, but instead I felt anger. I walked to my bedroom to see the two snowmen on my bed. The blue one was him and the red one was me. I picked up the blue one and held it in front of me.

“I devoted myself to you. I couldn’t and still can’t see anyone else for me except you. But if this is how you truly feel then fine. I don’t need you.” I threw the snowman across the room. I went to grab my phone and began typing a message to Zayne:

Next time you want to break up with me at least tell me. Before you lecture me on doing this kind of thing in person let me tell you something. At least I have the decency to let you know SOMEHOW. Unlike some people. Good bye, Dr. Zayne.

My thumb hovered across the sent button. I didn’t want to end it. I was in love with him. But there is no point in being with someone who doesn’t love you back. After a few seconds I finally managed to push send. My emotions were all over the place. I changed my lock screen to a photo of Tara and I after the escape room and changed my home screen to a video game character I liked. I went to my photo album to delete the photos, but I couldn’t do it. That was too far for me. I didn’t have it in me to go that far. I decided to not delete the photos and go to bed with a broken heart. Knowing my love for him would never disappear.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N continuation: So yeah. I'm pretty salty as you can see XD For the time being I'm mad at Dr. Zayne and put him in the doghouse. I might write another part for when I'm no longer upset with him or to continue to be salty. I don't know. Or you could give me a request. Again, sorry for the terrible writing. Didn't proofread it. If you guys give me something I will look back on it carefully I promise. If you have any questions as well ask and I will answer as best as I can. Happy New Year everyone!

[megameatymatt]

Die For Me - Matt Sturniolo

Toxic Fwb Stoner!Matt X Reader

Summary: Matt and Y/N are fwb, But what if Y/N wants more?

slightly proof read

WARNINGS: smut, toxic, soft!dom matt, mentions of alcohol, drugs, and weed, overthinking??? angst??

requested?: nope

word count: 801

A/N: I apologize in advance, Feedback, interaction, and requests are appreciated! stay slutty ok bye💋

Y/n - Pink

Matt- blue

"Pull up, baby, I need you to slide for me You know how I love it when you ride on me"

9:15

You shuffle through your makeup drawer preparing for a date with a guy you met a few weeks ago. The air was filled with the scent of your perfume and the soft hum of your favourite playlist. As you apply your mascara your phone buzzes with a new message from Matt.

It read: 

"Hey Y/N can u come over I miss you"

"Chris and Nick aren't home.."

"pretty please"

You pause, your fingers hovering over the screen. You know the routine with Matt—hang out, get high,  then fuck. It’s always been straightforward, but lately, your feelings have grown more complicated. You love him in a way that goes beyond just fun and games, and it’s starting to hurt.

You text back:

"I’m actually getting ready for a date rn. I’m not sure..."

Matt’s response was fast, almost too fast:

"Please baby, we can make it quick"

"please I fucking need you"

You’ve been here before, caught between wanting to protect yourself and the irresistible urge to be near Matt. You can’t ignore the fact that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak if you go through with this. You want more from him, but he’s always been clear about not wanting anything serious.

A sigh escapes your lips as you consider your choices. The date tonight could turn into something special, But the lure of Matt and the hope that he might feel the same way you do is hard to ignore.

With a heavy heart, you decide to respond:

"be there in 10"

"i love you"

Your stomach fills with butterflies.

You decided to take the long way to his house. The drive was like a distraction, a temporary escape from the gnawing sadness of your situation. You even tried blasting music as loud as you possibly could, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Matt. You knew you'd end up in his bed, and you weren't mad. But you felt stuck

9:45

He greets you with his usual easy smile and a warm hug, and you both slip into his bedroom. "Want a puff?" He says holding the blunt in front of you. "I'm good. I've actually been trying to quit"

He nods and turns his music down. before laying down on his bed beside you. "I missed you so much Y/N". You hated how your stomach flipped and spun every time he was near you. You turn your head and smile "I've missed you more matt." He's already buzzed, He's more giddy than usual. He still has a smile on his face while his eyes shoot from your eyes and your lips over and over again. 

"You're the prettiest girl i've ever met" He says staring into your eyes. "I love you." It's now you realize he's been drinking as well, you smell it in his breath, and there's a bottle of tequila on his nightstand. 

You hated how you loved him but before you knew it, your body flew on top of him as your lips connected. 

He quickly undresses you and pulls down your shorts. Your hands travel every inch of his body as he places hickeys down from your neck to your tits. 

"Y/N" He moans, "I need you, Fuck, you make me crazy".  "Ride me baby" And without a second thought you align his dick with your pussy and start moving.

"Fuck matt!" You squeal as Matt starts thrusting into you. Tears fall from the outer corners of your eyes as you dig your nails deep into his shoulders

"Matt" You whine "i know baby, i know. just take it f'me okay?" He moans as his fingers dig into your hips. It feels like pure ecstasy, But just like ecstasy, it's addictive. It'll be the death of you two one day, But right now it's bliss.

10:40

"I'm close Matt, so close'' You choke out. "Cum f'me baby " That's all he needed to say as you release all over his cock. He came shortly after And you collapse on his chest. 

a familiar mix of pleasure and sadness wash over you. You love these moments, the closeness and the connection, but the underlying feelings you had for him felt like a knife to the heart.

You rest your head on his shoulder as his fingers comb through your hair."You were so good for me baby" He says. His voice is deep and raspy. "i love you"

You knew you shouldn't take it seriously, it only translates to: "I love when you give in and we fuck" But it still made you smile. But instead of saying it back you try and ignore it knowing he probably didn't mean it, and he probably never will

Taglist: @sturnobsessedwh0re

[variberry]

question for the tts famdom:

am i alone in thinking that quirin kinda sucks?

- i mean first and foremost we have the destruction of Old Corona due to the black rocks. given that he’s been a part of the brotherhood since its inception, Quirin is 100% fully aware of what they are. Frederic is an ass but what was Quirin hoping to achieve by lying to him about the rocks? it seemed like he was fine with letting Old Corina be completely destroyed and just moving everyone somewhere else, which he knows WILL NOT WORK because the rocks will continue to chase the sundrop until they reunite!! what was he thinking??

- then we have the withholding information from Varian. i know he’s a kid, but from what the viewers can tell, Quirin is under no orders to keep quiet about what the rocks are. it would not kill him to be like “hey, the rocks are powered by a stone with the power to decay, so maybe don’t mess with them until we collectively come up with a definitive plan of action.” there is so little effort put in to keeping Varian in the loop that it borders on stupidity. of course he’s going to take matters into his own hands if you’re acting like nothing’s wrong

- lastly, and this isn’t necessarily Quirin’s fault (*side-eyes Chris*) but there is no way in HELL that long ass note he wrote to Varian before getting encased in the amber just said “i’m proud of you.” there’s no way. throughout the episode, there are obvious allusions to what Quirin might want to share with varian— 1) the zoom in on the family portrait signifies that it might be something to do with Ulla’s implied death/disappearance and 2) the repeated appearance of the brotherhood symbol on the chest, helmet, and marking on Quirin’s hand, alluding to his role in the current situation. and we see him write a literal scroll of text. there are several close up shots on the letter, so we, as the audience, assume that it’s important and will mean something to Varian later on. fast forward to the season 3 premiere where Quirin is finally freed, and the note disintegrates after Rapunzel uses the decay incantation. well, shit. but now Quirin is alive to explain everything! hooray! but when varian says he needs to know what was in the note, Quirin pauses before simply going: “i’m so proud of you, son.” HUH??!? no. there is simply no way. it’s implied in the finale that Varian is kind of aware of the brotherhood, but there’s no explanation as to how on earth he found out. Eugene even has to remind him that Quirin was a part of it! Varian then gets upset at the idea of his father being affected by the talisman like Adira and Hector, implying that he doesn’t really understand how the brotherhood is connected to the moonstone. he can’t know and not know at the same time. if i’m missing something, please lmk but from what I gathered, Quirin has not explained anything to Varian. it’s implied that he wrote it all down in a letter he assumed Varian would read after his own death, but for some reason, when given the chance to, he doesn’t explain a thing. why? why was Quirin content with Varian finding out in the event of his death but not while he’s still alive? did Chris forget what he wrote???

- extra random gripe, but how old is Quirin? in the present, he looks a little older than Fred tbh but in the ‘25 years ago’ flashbacks to the Dark Kingdom, he looks the same! is the gray streak in his hair just part of his design? idk why this bugs me but it does

in conclusion: Quirin just pisses me off

anyway, lmk what you all think. thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[simping-overload]

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴏʟ' ᴛɪᴍᴍʏ Qᴜɪᴄᴋɪᴇ

a/n: I was possessed by the writing gods and was forced to write this at 3 am. I was so tired, but I literally could not put my phone down.

tags: quickies, public sex, library sex, anal, spit as lube, male/amab reader, no pronouns used.

characters: tim stoker and reader

read on ao3

wanna support me or commison a fic? check out kofi!

You were tired, hungry, and most importantly horny. Being teased all day with very scandalous pictures from Tim during his many coffee breaks while you slave away, sorting the archive.

You had your final straw when he sent you a picture of him holding his half-hard cock. You slammed your phone down so fast and hard(ha) it scared Martin. You apologized profusely to the man leaving the room, not bothering to bring your things.

You're quick to text Tim again, covering your phone so the cameras couldn't see anything. Not as if that would stop a certain someone anyway.

'get your ass to the library.'

';) knew you couldn't resist me'

With your speed walking nearly jogging pace, it took you no longer than 6 minutes to reach the library. Slipping into the area and to your usual corner.

You've done this a few times before, and there's no point in stopping since you've never been caught. The spot is thankfully not a well traveled section. Even the clerks choose to stay out of it unless they have to go in. It was a small area, tucked into the farthest corner of the vast library.

Tim is already there, sitting in one of the chairs. His shirt partially opened, showing off his cleavage. He smirks when he sees you, leaning back and spreading his legs, clearly inviting you to feast.

And feast you do.

You waste no time in diving down. You place a knee on the cushion in between his legs as you steal his lips for a sloppy kiss. You can still taste the faintest bit of coffee on them.

Your hands move up his thighs and under his shirt. His stomach flexes when your cold hands touch his warm skin.

Tim curls his arm around your neck, intangling a hand in your hair. He tugs, you hiss, allowing his bold tongue to slip in and feel the inside of your mouth.

You take your hands from under his shirt and move to unbutton it. You fumbled with the buttons a bit but managed to get it undone soon enough.

He whines when you part from the kiss, and you shush him. Kissing down his neck and to his chest, you latch onto one of his nipples, a tongue swirling around the bud.

Tim bites his lip to muffle his whines. Christ, he keeps forgetting how sensitive they are— and the fact you're so skilled at using your mouth doesn't help.

You pull off the nipple. A long thing of saliva follows you for a moment before you latch onto the other. With a little more bite into it, you managed to squeeze a low moan out of the man.

He already felt like he was getting close, but he couldn't cum not yet. Not until he had you inside of him.

He tugs at your hair, pulling you away to look at him. "Please, I need you." He begs, you comply.

With ease, you unbuckled his belt and undue his pants. He lifts himself up slightly, so you can help pull his pants down, fucker went commando.

His dick was long, slightly thick, and a slight curve to the left. His tip was a pretty pink that matched his nipples.

You began to unbuckle and unzip your pants, ignoring the inpatient grinds of the man before you. Pulling your pants and boxers down your cock springs free, hard against your stomach.

Tim drools at the sight.

You pause for a second, digging through your pants pocket for a condom.

When you pull it out, Tim frowns.

"W-Whats that for? I thought you were going to creampie me." He says, talking in a low volume just above a whisper. He's right. You were planning on that.

"Since you decided to go commando, I won't risk a stain appearing on your pants. Unless you brought a plug."

He sighs, he wouldn't mind it no... but he'd rather keep his poor excuse for a job. He nods, understanding.

You lean forward, mouth close to his ear and whisper, "Wait for me after work, I'll take you home n' give you a real one." Tim shivers.

Tearing the wrapper off, you roll the condom on until it's secure enough to saty still.

"Prep?" You ask, you know he likes having the ability to choose depending on his mood. His mood now is that he needs you, no matter how much it'll hurt.

He shakes his head.

You hold your hand out, "Spit." You ordered.

He complied, watching as you smeared it all over the condom. You straightened up slightly, grabbing a hold of Tim before turning him around. It'd be easier and more comfortable, for the both of you, to fuck him this way.

His hands were holding onto the top of the chair, knees now on the cushion. His ass down and flushed against your pelvis. You spit on his hole, and he clenches at the feeling.

He looks over his shoulder, grin wide on his lips as he wiggles his hips. His mouth opened to taunt before shutting close when he felt you press into him.

Tim lurched forward, his knuckles turning white from how strong his grip was. It hurts, burns, and holy hell, it feels so good.

You lean forward, resting your head against his shoulder and your hands resting over his as you bottom out.

No matter how many times you've fucked the man he will always surprise you with just how tight he is. The way his ass sucks you in like a vacuum, walls clenching around you, not wanting to let go.

You begin to move slowly. Wanting to have Tim adjust to the feeling before going faster. Tim let's himself be rocked to your movements, eyes shut to try and feel more of it.

You press kisses into the back of his neck, sucking in a hickey as you increase your pace. He turns his head to you, resting his temple against your forhead.

His eyes are filled to the brim with lust and yearning. Gods, he looks beautiful like this. Unbuttoned shirt, slightly messy hair, and lovely ass clenching around you.

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his lips as you had before. You brush against his prostate, causing him to moan loudly into your mouth.

You move your hands from his, one goes to his dick and the other to his chest. Twirling a nipple in between your pointer and thumb, you can hear your balls slapping against his rear.

Now, with your hand on his dick Tim was not going to last. You swirl your thumb around the tip, feeling the tip leak more precum.

You start to stroke his cock matching it to the rhythm of your thrusts. Tim whimpers, a shakey hand moving to tangle itself in your hair again. He was going over the edge and needed to feel grounded.

The chair squeaked under you, stressing under the power of your thrusts. Tim feels himself get lost in your mouth, barley leaving your addicting lips. The tight knot of arousal pools into his stomach, as it does yours. Parting from the kiss, you keep your forhead to his, eyes shut and enamored in the pleasure.

Your hips stutter and with a final thrusts you cum. With a few more strokes, Tim lets himself relase into your hand, uncaring if any spills out.

His chest is heavy as he breathes out, "That was...so hot." He mutters, with a knowing smile on his lips.

You grunt in agreement, pulling away with one more kiss before you carefully pull out of his ass. His hole instinctively clenches around the now empty space.

You bring the cum covered hand up to your mouth and lick until it's cleaned. Salty as expected, but not an overbearing kind.

You peel the condom off of your cock and tie it. Leaving it hidden on the ground to dispose of later. You look to Tim, who smiles back at you, giddy.

"How're you feeling?" You ask, rubbing soothing circles into his hip.

"Really good...sleepy now though." Tim did look tired, his eyes drooping ever so slightly as he sways.

"Let's get you dressed first, and I'll take you to the room in the Archives." You wipe any excess cum off of his dick before tugging his pants back up. Buckling and buttoning it. You do the same to yours.

He groans as you turn him back around to button his shirt, leaning the top two unbutton just like he prefers.

You grab the condom, hiding it in Tim's lap, using his hands as a cover for it.

Tim leans into your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as he falls, sleep to the white noise of your breathing, and the Institute.

[bangchansgirlsblog]

Overprotective PT 2

-9th member

Warning: arguing, angst?

Pairing: Skz x 9th member

Thank you so much for the request!! Hope you enjoy the story yeah! :) last part comes out soon.

-🩷

**

I had received a call right after Chan had left the room. He decided he wanted to watch a few YouTube videos and spend time with me because in his words “Your growing up so fast Y/nie!” Then he proceeded to kiss my all over my face and tease me.

Anyways once he had left to go to bed making sure to yell 3000 plus times to everyone to make sure their packed and that their in bed asleep because

“I’m not going to be traveling with cranky and annoying grown ass kids!”

I had received a call from Connor. Connor? Why was Connor calling me at 10 in the night?

“Hey Connor!” I say into the phone surprised to see his name pop up.

“Hey Y/n! How are you?” He asks through the phone.

“Umm I’m alright and you? How are you doing?”

“I’m doing good! I haven’t talked to you in a while,”

“Yeah I’ve been so busy with schedules and shows, I’m sorry.” I genuinely say because I had indeed been lacking when it came to communicating with people back home just because I was terribly busy.

“Oh no need to be sorry! I’m so proud of you love. Anyways you might me wondering why I’m calling right now but���I have a suprise for you!” I hear the excitement in his voice.

“Oh really? A surprise?” I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. “Is everything okay back home?”

“Yes yes yes, no need to worry but…geuss who’s in town!”

I frown not knowing, “Who?”

“Me silly!” A gasp leaves me grasping for air.

“Oh what?! Shut the front door right now!” I sit up in bed almost being knocked over by the shock and surprise that had run through my body.

“Yes, yes I got here in the morning and at first I thought I would surprise you but I read online that you have a show in two days meaning you’re leaving.”

“Yeah I leave tomorrow morning Connor.” I frown, “will I not find you when I get back?”

“No I’m sorry but we can meet up right now?” He suggests.

I sigh and look at the book that was in my lap. “I don’t think I can-“

I remember the lecture Chan and leeknow gave me. I really did not want to get into trouble but I really wanted to see Connor. Was it worth it? I mean…it wasn’t the concert I was sneaking out for so technically I’m not breaking rules…

“Oh come on Y/n! I haven’t seen you in four years! Please!”

“Ugh fine, I’ll meet you in 30” I finally give in.

“Okay great! Should we meet at the ice cream place by my hotel?” I hear some shuffling going on through the phone. He was probably doing something.

“Yeah just text me the details yeah?”

“Yeah sure, oh and Y/n..” he stops and takes a deep breath making me feel a-bit nervous.

“Yes Connor” I pause and wait for him to talk.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too Connor.” A big smile played on my lips. I hear him chuckle before saying a quick

“Okay see ya!” And hanging up the phone.

The butterflies start to form in my stomach. Was it the fact that I was about to sneak out the house or the fact that I was going to see one of my long time bestfriends after 4 years?

I think it was the fact that I was about to jump out my window and could potentially get caught and hanged by Chan or Han or Leeknow or Changbin or Seungmin.

I had to do it though. ‘Do it for the plot’ was my motto and it kept running through my mind as I quietly get out of bed and walk over to my closet. I pick out a cute little baby blue party dress and grab my airforces making sure not to wear them yet.

“God I know this is wrong and I know you’re probably going to punish me for going against Chan’s will but please take me and bring me back home without getting caught!” I whisper a small prayer while pulling up the window and opening it wide.

I throw my shoes out and grab my jacket before slowly jumping out the window and landing on the balcony then quietly climbing down making sure I didn’t make a sound.

“Oh shit!” I duck down when I land outside Hyunjin’s window. He was listening to music on his headphones while painting some type of picture so he didn’t quite see me.

Close one.

I crawl under his window and quickly put on my shoes and jacket when I’m out of his sight.

“Now where can I catch a cab at this hour?” I quietly exclaim and smack my forehead. I was crouched down and thinking of ways to grab a cab without possibly getting kidnapped.

Luckily our dorms weren’t so far away from the actual busy streets. So making sure no one could see me from any point of the house, I quickly run down the dark road begging that I didn’t hear anyone calling my name as I flee.

“Taxi!” I called while panting trying to catch my breathe. The man stops and I get in )tired obviously from all the running) telling him where to go, giving him the address.

It was a 15 minute ride and when we pulled up.

The night was cold it was no doubt and looking forward at the dash board of the car the time read “11:59”

It was late. Very late to be out alone.

“Thank you so much,” I say and pay the guy. I quickly make my way to the tiny shops that were on the road, spotting the ice cream shop straight away.

It was cute and had booths. It was decorated like any other normal ice cream shop but it felt more like a cute hangout spot to chill.

Once I walked in I say a quick hello to the lady sitting by the cash register. Her eyes go wide. She probably had noticed me but she didn’t bother to say anything probably scared that she might freak me out I guess.

I stood in the middle of the shop looking for Connor,

“Hey Y/n!” I hear my name being called. I turn to see a familiar face except it wasn’t so familiar.

“Oh my God Connor?! You’ve changed so much!” I run and give him a big hug literally climbing on him as he laughed and caught me.

“Well what can I say, 4 years can do a lot to a man. Oh and puberty!” He jokes.

“Oh my God I can’t believe you’re here! I’ve missed you so much!” I squeal at his presence.

“I’ve missed you too! How have you been? We have so much to catch up on! Come on!”

He grabs my hand and we walk over to a corner and sit in the booth. He calls the waiter and we order milkshakes and some ice cream.

“So…you’re like an idol now,” he pokes my shoulder from across the table causing me to blush. My hands automatically hiding my face in shame.

“Yeah yeah I geuss I geuss” I shrug it off like it’s not a big deal.

“How’s it like?” He asks curiously. I start to explain to him the many things we do and his intrigued and interested in everything. He keeps asking questions and occasionally I would ask him questions as well making our conversation so interesting going back and forth.

Once we were done with the ice cream and catching up I take a quick glance at my phone and fuck.

3:15 am.

“Oh my, it’s so late. I should start heading to the dorms.” I tell Connor who looked like he was ready to go aswell.

“Here let me pay,” I grab my company card and he pushes it away.

“My treat for coming to see me yeah?” He smiles and I couldn’t help to feel warmth feel my chest. I missed him. I missed home. I missed my parents. I missed my friends.

“Hey, why the frown? We just had the best night ever.” His hand was around me as we walk down the road. His body slowly warming mine.

He had insisted to make sure I got home safe meaning he wanted to make sure I got a cab when he was watching.

“Just a little homesick, that’s all.” I sigh while kicking the rock that was in-front of me.

“Hey, don’t be. It might feel a little depressing but everyone at home is rooting for you. We can’t wait for the show next month! We’ve all got our tickets.”

He nudges my shoulder causing me to giggle a little.

“Thank you for tonight Connor, I can’t wait to see you again.” I tell him once we finally get a cab.

“I can’t wait to see you again yeah? Make sure to call and text whenever you can.” He looks me in my eyes and for a moment the world goes slow. Our bodies were now against eachother.

His body towered over me as he slowly leaned in. I tiptoe to make our lips connect. My body melts into his. I wanted this so bad. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to be here longer.

This was wrong but it felt so right.

My idol senses were tingling. Something was wrong but I didn’t care. I needed this. I needed to feel something. I needed to feel like a normal person again not a robot.

We finally pull away and he clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well…that happened.”

His cheeks were dark red and I knew I wasn’t any better.

“It did.” I softly say and bite my lip.

“Yah! are you coming or not?!” The Cab guy says causing me to jump and laugh.

“Okay bye Connor! Foreal this time.”

“Bye y/n!” We hug one last time before I get into the cab and make my way home.

I watch as he slowly turns and starts to head back to his hotel. I could finally sit down and process the night.

You know that feeling when you get away with something? It feels like you’re on top of the world.

I was on top of the world! I felt nothing could stop me.

I even felt more confident when I crawled past Hyunjin’s room and all the lights were off because he was asleep. I was able to climb up my balcony and get back into the room.

Everything looked exactly like how I had I left it. So I quickly undress and wear whatever I wore when Chan last saw me and unlocked my door just incase anyone wanted to come into my room in the morning.

I was so tired. I needed sleep and what bothered me was the fact that I had to be awake in 4 hours. Getting into bed and closing my eyes only to be waken up by trouble.

*

A loud knock on my door is what woke me up.

It was loud and it wouldn’t stop being loud.

“Ughh what time is it?” I groan and turn on my phone to see it was only 6 am.

Who was at my door at 6 am? We leave at 8! Ugh!

I groggily get out of bed and out on my slipper.

I was trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes when I open the door I find a very furious Han standing outside. He was in his pajamas and he had his phone in his hand.

“Y/n Y/l/n You are in so much trouble young lady!”

I stare at him trying to remember what I could have possibly did to him. Did I eat one of his meals? Did I use on of his skin care stuff? Did he know I snuck out? He couldn’t have cause if Han knew the whole house would know.

I look behind him and gulp when I notice Hyunjin standing behind him aswell, obviously not pleased by whatever it is I had done.

Both of them had messy hair and were in sweatpants and shirts that were a bit wrinkled.

“See you even look guilty!” Hyunjin says while crossing his arms and giving me a death stare.

“What is it Han and Hyunjin it’s 6 in the morning.” I whine. “What could possibly be so important? What did I do?” I play it off. If I got them to tell me what I did first I wouldn’t have to confess to anything but still the guilt was eating me up.

“You snuck out last night didn’t you.” He cuts me out

My heart drops. My body freezes and I feel my brain stop working. My body was cold. I felt like I was about to piss myself but I was not going to allow them to catch me.

“What no I didn’t, I was in bed, sleeping, ask Chan,“ I simply say and they both scoff at this. Now I was starting to really get worried. How did they know? I was so quiet? Even Hyunjin’s room was all dark last night, I saw him sleeping with my two eyes! How is it possible.

“If you were really sleeping in your room what’s this?” Han says. I gulp the saliva that was refusing to go down my throat due to shock.

He pulls out his phone and shows me an article.

An article of me? I squint to read it.

Busted.

Think of a lie Y/n…think of a fucking lie!!

“What? What’s that’s not me!” I exclaim trying to play it cool.

“Stray kids Y/n, caught out last night with a boy kissing. Y/n are you joking right now. Kissing?!” He read from his phone. I gulp once again and stew at both of them.

“Do you know how much trouble you could get into young lady? Your career could be over!” Hyunjin growls and grabs the phone out of Han’s ham to read the article further.

“Hey, I’m trying to sleep in here what’s going on?” Changbin comes out of his room also rubbing his eyes.

Oh no. Not Changbin.

I look at the two boys that are standing infront of me and I give them the best puppy eyes I could think of. Begging them not to say anything without actually telling them.

“Guess what Bin,” Han rolls his eyes at me and furrows his eyebrows in anger.

“Han please don’t tell-“

“Geuss who was with a fucking boy last night kissing and everything?!” Han exclaims and turns to Changbin.

“What? What are you taking about?” He says before Han hands him the phone and he gasps looking at me.

His eyes now wide awake. His body posture up and alert.

“Y/n!” He shouts causing me to jump a little. “Y/n what the fuck is this?!” He yells.

“I can explain, they- I- okay-“ I start to stumble on my words.

He stares at me blankly before turning to Chan’s room and knocking. Really loudly.

“Chan!” He calls for Chan and I swear I wanted to disappear. It felt like I was going to be hanged if I did not run but it would be worse if I did run.

“No no no please don’t tell him Changbin.” I beg running to his side trying to stop him.

My heart was beating really fast and my hands shakes against his as I tried to pull him away.

“Are you serious?” Han asks looking at me trying to beg for my life.

“Bangchan!” Changbin calls again. Ignoring me and my begs.

Hyunjin and Han just both stand over on the other end and glaring at me. Probably wondering the many ways they were going to punish me.

I give up and let of his hand taking the looks they gave me as a warning not to make things worse.

“I’m so disappointed in you Y/n” he shakes his head and scoffs.

I look at my feet and shift uncomfortably.

“What is all of this commotion? We don’t leave in another two hours..” Felix groans getting out of his room.

“I was in my room scrolling through my feed and geuss what I found.” Hyunjin explains to Felix.

“What? It better be important because-“ he looks at the phone then gasps in shock. Great. “Is that actually Y/n?!” He asks looking at all of us.

“Yes it is and she was kissing I’m still stuck at the kissing part!” Han throws his hands in the air and starts walking back and forth.

“Who was kissing?” Seungmin asks joining the conversation walking up the stairs with tea in his hands. I cover my face in embarrassment.

“Yah! Will all of you shut up!” Leeknow walks out of the theatre with a blanket in his hands.

“Oh Hyung you should see what your amazing little princess was doing last night,”

I stand in shame as Felix passes him the phone. I could literally feel the slaps coming my way. (Not literally) but the fact that leeknow was processing the information and squinting his eyes.

He even dropped the blanket out his hand. His jaw left opened.

“Yes Binnie. You called?” The last door opens revealing Chan shirtless with long sweats on and his hair in a mess.

“Are you kidding me?…Are you fucking kidding me? I told you not to do one thing! One fucking thing-“

“Woah woah woah what’s going on? What did Y/n do? Why is everyone outside yelling? And why aren’t people getting ready for the flight?” Chan quickly interrupts Leeknow’s loud voice.

“Look Chan, just look. I can’t even deal with this right now.” Leeknow passes Chan the phone.

He stands there looking like he saw a ghost. He stands there for a long time. He stands there hands shaking trying to probably get words for me.

“Unbelievable behavior,” Changbin says. “Why do you not listen?”

I stand in the middle of everyone quiet. Not daring to speak knowing whatever I said would probably get me in more trouble. I wanted to cry.

I wanted to cry so bad but I couldn’t. It hadn’t yet hit me that I was now probably trending on every site.

“Y/n?” His soft voice stops the ugly thoughts running through my head.

I keep quiet and look at the floor refusing to look at him.

“Every-body into their rooms now and get ready for the flight. I’ll deal with this later.” He sighs while handing Han the phone.

That was bad. That was really Bad. If he wasn’t yelling and screaming at me now. He was mad. Really mad.

Everbody leaves the corridors and it’s just me and Chan.

“You’re dying your hair blonde right now. Go get dressed. I’m calling the stylist.” He says in a disappointing tone and slams his door. Not even letting me speak.

The tears automatically start to pour as soon as I close the door. I walk into my room and close my door. They didn’t stop when I took my shower. They didn’t stop when I slowly got dressed and it didn’t stop when I was doing my makeup which was a horrible mistake because the mascara kept running down my cheeks.

You’re so fucking stupid! So fucking dumb!

A knock on the door stops me from what I’m doing and I hopelessly open it to find the Madelyn our hair stylist standing outside with her equipments in hand. She gives me a sad smile. Almost like a ‘I know what your going through and I’m hear to fix it’

“Rough morning huh?” She asks setting everything down.

“Yeah” I nod and she pulls me into her arms as I start to cry even harder than before. Her little rubs on my back make me melt into her arms.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay we’re going to fix this yeah? We’re going to make it seem like that wasn’t you at all and everything will go back to normal okay?”

“Yeah, except the fact that I’m grounded for life.” I say miserably and she chuckles.

“I was once like you my love, wild, young and free. Things like this happen and I know Chan is going to start understanding soon. His just so used to being around boys he forgets that he also has to raise a teen girl.” She smiles look at the mirror while doing my hair.

“Yeah I geuss but I was also in the wrong, I knew I shouldn’t have done it! I knew I was right. The feeling was in my stomach. Everything was too good to be true!” I huffed in frustration.

“Yeah but people won’t know it’s you if your hair is dyed now. They’ll think it’s fake and the secret will be between us.” She rubs my back.

“Not even management?” I ask her and she nods.

“Not even management. If they ask, you were home last night and I was doing your hair. Duhhh” she chuckles and pinches my cheek.

“Oh I love you so much Madelyn!” I say softly.

“Us girls have to stick together. Always! Now…tell me all about this boy! Don’t leave anything out!” She teases me and I feel my cheeks turn red.

“His just an old friend..” I start, “but I’ll tell you!” We both start squealing and gossiping like we always do whenever she did my makeup or hair.

We spent like an hour on my head before I was fully blonde. She quickly styled it and did my makeup for the airport.

“Alright all done, would you like me to help you carry your bags down?” She puts her brush down and analyzes my face.

Her hands were busy packing up her hair supplies.

“No it’s fine I’ll just take them down myself..“ she trails off as a knock interrupts the conversation and Chan comes in.

“Hey Madelyn, I didn’t see you come in. You good?” He asks and gives her a hug.

“Yeah I’m done with this little trouble maker. I hope you like it. I’m about to head out then head to the airport.”

“Yeah okay it’s fine” he turns and analyzes my big head of now blonde hair, “alright see you at the airport yeah?” She turns back to her and gives her a soft smile.

“Go easy on her Channie.” She chuckles and ruffles Chan’s hair.

“I’ll try,”

She packs up her stuff and leaves me and Chan in the room.

The air was tense. I stood there looking at anything but him. My hands rubbing against eachother.

“I’m not going to scold you or tell you off right now. But when we get to New York, you better pray that I don’t throw you off the skyscraper.” I gulp and look at him in fear, “now come on the cars are almost here and you need to eat.”

Fuck.

**

LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE Y/N!!🤣🤣Lmao see you in the next chapter bye bye.