#I always watch edits like that and I think

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths���but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[heartlessvirgo]

La Camisa Negra

Summary:

Still having no time for Javier's games, you can't help but think about him. But maybe he's thinking about you too?

Paring: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+MDNI, Swearing, Kissing, heavy petting, UNprotected sex, oral, creampie, drinking,

Word Count: 11K

Part 1 Masterlist

A/N: GUYs, I loved writing this and I hope you love reading it! Okay but Javier in this is so Juanes coded (iykyk) hehe... I got inspo for this from a Javi edit on tiktok and it was top tier, literal GOLD (@/ pascaledittzs). Anyways, requests are open.

Slamming your palm against the copier, you watch it shudder and whir as if the machine itself is mocking you. Another page spits out, this one just as black and unreadable as the last. You squint at it, hoping it’ll somehow make sense, but the jagged, ink-smeared lines mock your every attempt. You don’t even know what you’re doing wrong, and that drives you nuts. This should be easy—hell, you know how to fix a million other problems—but this damn machine? It's an unsolvable riddle.

This was the cherry on top of your already chaotic day. Meetings stacked one on top of the other, each more draining than the last, and paperwork—always the paperwork. You’ve got your own pile and Camilla’s to sort out since you volunteered like an idiot while she’s off vacationing somewhere. Now you’re just trying to catch up, pressing random buttons like you're hoping for a miracle, praying that maybe, just maybe, something will click.

It doesn’t. It never does.

“Dios, what a fucking nightmare,” you mutter under your breath, feeling the words bubble up from a place of pure exasperation. The copier grinds to a halt as you yank out the page, trying to straighten the creases. You shove it back into the tray, adjusting the paper once more, hoping—no, praying—that this time it will just work.

It’s stupid. You're smart, and you know this is all trivial, but still, here you are. So why does it feel like you’re failing at something so simple? Like you're watching your competence slip through your fingers, one black-and-white page at a time. And all you want to do is scream.

The click of footsteps approaching cuts through your irritation, and you don’t even need to turn to know it’s him. The unmistakable presence of Javier Peña fills the space behind you—calm, steady like he owns the damn air in the room. You brace yourself, but you don’t turn around. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging he's there yet.

A beat, then his voice, smooth and taunting. “Come here often?”

It’s playful. Cocky, even, but today? You’re just too damn tired for his brand of charm. You don’t even spare him a glance as you slam your hand against the copier again. It hums back to life with a mechanical growl.

“Yes, Peña, this is the copy room,” you reply flatly, not entertaining his game today.

There’s a silence, and you can feel his amusement. You roll your eyes, almost feeling his smirk widening behind you. He doesn’t get it. You’re not in the mood. There was just too much to do, and adding that would crumble everything. 

He strolls in, his steps slow but purposeful, the sound of his polished shoes a steady rhythm against the linoleum floor. You catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye—his shoulders relaxed, hands casually emerging from the pockets of his grey slacks. He always seems to move with that certainty, like everything around him is just part of his own personal stage.

“Have you tried not verbally and physically abusing it?” he asks, his voice low, the teasing edge unmistakable. He leans in over your shoulder, his breath brushing the nape of your neck, sending a light shiver up your spine you’d never admit to. His presence wraps around you like smoke—unavoidable, heavy with that clean, musky scent of his aftershave, a combination of woodsy spice and cigarettes, something undeniably him. You inhale sharply, against your better judgment, and the scent fills your lungs, settling in your chest.

Your brows raise. "Oh, I’m sorry—should I try sweet-talking it instead? Maybe buy it dinner first?" You push the buttons randomly now, feeling the weight of his gaze on the back of your neck like a hot, invisible touch. 

"You’re right; maybe I should start asking it out to dinner. See how far that gets me." He chuckles dryly, not backing down.

You huff in frustration, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. He’s standing too close, too familiar, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

“All you have to do is ask for my help, but if you're offering, I’m sure I could be persuaded to dinner too." his lips curl into that infuriating grin, the kind that always seems to know exactly how to get under your skin. Especially now, since you were dancing around the fact that you had slept with him. You had fallen for whatever lust-driven curse he had put you under. And you felt guilt deep inside you. You were disappointed in yourself for that as if you had lost some battle within yourself. 

You don’t look at him; you focus back on the machine. “I don’t need your help, and I would never ask you to dinner,” you reply, your voice sharp, cutting through the tension between you into tiny pieces and tossing it away. 

You can feel him hovering just a little too close again, his presence almost suffocating, and it makes your jaw clench. He’s doing it again—making this more than it should be, and it made your blood simmer under your skin. You’d been avoiding him, but no matter how hard you tried, it seemed like he was a hall away. 

“Okay, I’ll see you in there for the meeting then?” He takes a step back, but the cockiness in his voice doesn’t falter. Your eyes involuntarily flit toward him as he moves. You catch a glimpse of his lopsided smile, his shoulders relaxed, as if he’s been waiting for this moment all week. Like he's completely unfazed by your cold shoulder.

“Or… maybe not?” he jokes, his voice dropping to a teasing octave like he's still trying to pull you into his little game. 

Infuriating. You turn to face Javier with narrowed eyes, attempting to block out the way his soft eyes send a coursing warmth through you. He was…a knife in your side or something like that. Permanently embedding himself in deeper and deeper. You swallow at the thought, a sheen of sweat forming at the memory of him buried inside you. So deep, nestled in your velvety walls, his tongue, the bite on your shoulder you wear like a hot brand. 

Jesus.

“I’ll figure this out; thank you, agent Peña,” you say, keeping your voice steady, determined to push past it. He laughs softly, the sound low and rich, and you almost wish you didn’t find it so... disarming. Like he could see the flicker of the memory brush past you, like he knew exactly what was going on in your mind. And that made you want to slap the smile from his face. 

With a casual shrug, he steps back fully, his fingers brushing the doorframe as he turns. “Alright, princesa, I’ll let you handle your... business. But, hey—don’t say I didn’t offer.”

You watch him leave, probably on the prowl for his next victim. Your breath catches as he disappears out of sight. His annoying face playing in a loop in the back of your mind, lingering, haunting you. 

Behind you, the copier hums to life, and when you turn, it finally prints correctly. Still, you wonder, how the hell did he manage to turn everything into a challenge? And why did you always want to take him on?

Javier hadn’t stopped working today. After the meeting, he planted himself at his desk, caught in a relentless loop of paperwork and classified reports, the kind where half the damn page was blacked out. The office hummed around him—phones ringing, agents bullshitting, the scrape of chairs against the floor—but it all faded into background noise, except for one thing.

The stare.

He could feel it. Unwavering. Pressing. 

Javier releases a long exhale, flicking ash from his cigarette into the tray, barely sparing a glance up. “Y’know, when I let you move your desk closer, I didn’t expect you to fall in love with me so quickly.” His voice is low, tired, laced with smoke.

Silence. Nothing but the faint scratch of a pen against paper.

That gets his attention. He lifts his gaze to find Murphy still watching him, head cocked slightly, brow raised in that infuriating way that meant he was enjoying whatever the hell this was. Like he knew something Javier didn’t, and that agitated him. 

“Funny,” Murphy finally says, the corners of his mouth twitching like maybe he doesn’t actually think it’s funny. 

Javier huffs, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. The smoke curls around him as he leans back in his chair, feigning indifference. But the silence stretches too long. Long enough for him to notice that Murphy isn’t just watching him—he’s studying him.

Javier exhales, slow. "Que?"

Murphy shrugs, looking around the office, still too damn amused for Javier’s liking. "Nothing. Just—haven’t seen you work this hard in a while."

Javier’s fingers pause on the edge of the file. He doesn’t look up. "Yeah, well. Some of us have jobs to do, criminals to catch."

Murphy snorts. "Right. The job." A pause. "Just funny, though. You haven’t asked who’s going for drinks tonight."

Javier finally glances up, slow, brown eyes shadowing. "Why the fuck would I care who’s going?"

Murphy leans back, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s settling in for the long game. "No reason." His smirk deepens. "Just thought you might like to know—she’ll be there."

A beat. A fraction too long. And Javier’s eyes flicker away, one might say nervously. 

Javier keeps his expression unreadable, flipping another uselessly redacted page. "Good for her."

Murphy grins, shaking his head like he already knows, running his fingers through his blonde hair. "Sure, Peña. Keep the cool guy act; ladies love that. Until you get old.” He murmurs in the last part before standing. 

“Where are you going?” Javier asks, mouth parting for his cigarette. 

“Stretch my legs,” he says over his shoulder, but before he walks too far, he pivots. “Peña, if she ever gives you another chance, don’t be a dick and stand her up again.” With that, Murphy walks in the direction of your office. 

—

A burst of laughter erupts from your painted lips, the sound more carefree than you’ve felt in days. 

The bitter shot of tequila still dances on your lips as you swipe your tongue. A warmth blooms in your stomach, cutting through the haze of the workweek that refuses to entirely leave you.

The reddish hues of the neon lights in the bar flicker softly, casting a pinkish shadow on your skin. Isabel had invited you—nicely, of course—and while you had no intention of staying, the distraction was welcome. 

You take a quick scan of the room, half focused on the chatter around you and half on not giggling to yourself in your drunk haze. The energy of the place buzzes in your veins, making you feel more alive than you have in a while. The tension in your neck seemed to melt and fade away with each drink.  

But for you, it was just temporary. The tension was waiting for you on the other side, but you couldn’t think about that. Not about the promotion you were so close to you could almost taste it. No, tonight was sweet, like the agave in your drink, making your lips sticky. 

“Another round?” Isabel asks, raising an eyebrow as she leans over the bar. You nod absently, your eyes drifting towards the back of the bar. Where it was less lit, and two men played darts. Squinting, you catch a glimpse of the familiar shapes of the two agents. And you knew that ass anywhere, a lean waist as your eyes travel up, and the black light-weight button-up straining over his shoulders. 

“There you go,” the bartender places your drinks on the bar top, snapping your gaze from Javier’s backside. 

With the straw between your teeth, you take a long sip, the alcohol wavering any sense of well…sense you have. The sense that tells you to walk away from his gravitational pull, to not meet his stare, and to not beg him to fuck you again. No, that would never happen again. You would not be another notch in his tight little belt.  

But, the alcohol dulls that little voice in your mind, and you happen to wander over to that side of the bar. Drink still in hand, Isabel is hot on your heels. 

“Ladies,” Murphy says courteously, avoiding the flash of cleavage Isabel flaunts. You couldn’t blame her; she was blessed in all aspects. 

“What’s the score?” you ask, offering a smile to Murphy. 

“Moppin’ the floor,” Javier replies for Steve, pulling his darts from the board with a smirk. The warm, deep hues of his brown eyes drifted along your body, like he was imagining you, how you were once naked against him. Or maybe that was just your drunk mind wandering. 

“¿Ustedes quieren intentar? Mi amor, don’t be shy, shoot for me.” Javier leans down to utter softly in your ear over the music. His eyes flit to Isabel, but they quickly return to you. You watch him, waiting for him to drink her in, to rake down her body. To make her his next target if she hadn’t already been consumed by him. But he doesn’t.

You sink your teeth into your lip, brushing his warm, outstretched palm for the darts. Twisting the metal in your pinched fingertips, you squint one eye. You feel his presence behind you, just there, like one step back, and your ass would grind against him. But with three sets of eyes on you, you fend off the temptation to indulge in the thought.

The first two darts sail wide, both thudding harmlessly into the wall beyond the dartboard. The men laugh, of course—the rumble from Javier just behind you. 

Javier’s voice rings out from behind you, low and gravelly, “Come on, you’re killing me, Cariño.”

You take the third dart, your focus sharpening for a split second. Then, just as you draw your arm back, you feel it—the faintest touch, just below your ribs. Javier's fingers skim over the fabric of your blouse, a deliberate graze that almost feels like it’s meant to get your attention, to rattle you. Or maybe to remind you. Shaking your head, you close one eye; you could play his game just as effortlessly.

Isabel’s voice cuts through your thoughts, her excitement echoing in your ear, “You got this!”

For a moment, time falters. The dart trembles in your swaying hand. You could make it. You could aim and hit the bullseye, make Javier grin that damn smug grin. But instead, you let your hand drop, just for a split second, and the dart veers wide.

“Oops,” you say sweetly, dropping your hand. You pout innocently when you turn to face the two men, shrugging. “I guess Murphy wins,” you add, cocking your head to the side.

“What is that, two times in a row now?” Murphy chuckles with a knowing smile, smacking Javier’s slumped arm. 

“Hope you didn’t have money on that,” You look up at him, savoring the look of loss on his face. It made you feel so good, so powerful. That wretched pout and how he tries to smother it with his whiskey. He deserved the weight he had on his chest, and you were satisfied that it was you who caused it. God, you were sadistic. 

“You just made me a hundred bucks richer,” Murphy smiles, bumping your shoulder with his. 

You smirk, hooded eyes watching Javier wedge the missed darts from the wall. You liked this game, not the darts, but the way you made his life harder without even realizing it. You could do it in your sleep, and that sated something deep within your chest. Something that dripped and sank, hot in the pit of your core, and if you weren’t careful, it would trickle down your bare thighs. 

You finish your drink and, without another thought, walk back to the bar with Isabel. 

You weren’t completely unaware, contrary to what Javier had so confidently assumed that day at the market. No, you noticed things now. You paid more attention to details—like the polished black Chevy Camaro parked across the street from your apartment, which had been there for the last few days, its presence nearly invisible but too consistent to ignore. You noticed the second time you’d seen it when you were drawing your curtains closed. 

It didn’t scream for attention—not the way some flashy, out-of-place car might—but it was the subtle way it would return that caught your eye. At first, you thought it was just another coincidence. People parked on this street all the time. But then there was the haze of smoke drifting out the window—a thin veil of it that curled into the cool night air. 

Someone had been sitting there. Watching.

The car hadn’t been there when you left for your morning run. Or when you came back from the store, arms full of groceries, eyes scanning the street out of habit. By midday, the suspicion had eased, slipping into the background like white noise. You went about your routine and let yourself believe it was nothing.

But now—

Now, as the sun dipped below the skyline, stretching long shadows across the pavement, it was back. Same spot. The same low hum of an idling engine before ultimately being shut off. 

As the sky deepens into a navy dusk, you lean closer to the mirror, smoothing the last touch of lipstick into place. A date. Your first since moving to Colombia. It wasn’t a big deal—not really—but still, there was something almost unfamiliar about the act of getting ready, about the anticipation curling in your stomach.

You’d met him at the bar. He had been polite and charming in a way that felt easy, with no ulterior motives lurking beneath his words. When he’d asked for your number, you gave it to him without thinking much about it. And when he called—actually called, not just some half-hearted approach at the copier—he wanted to take you somewhere nice. Dinner, conversation, drinks, simple enough. 

You reach for your earrings, slipping the small gold hoops into place before running your fingers through your hair. Even though he had called to tell you he would pick you up at your apartment, you still worried. The last time you put this much thought into getting ready, you had been stood up. And you know, that leaves a lingering trace. 

At the base of your stairs, you pause, adjusting the delicate strap of your heel. The street is quiet, void of passing cars like it usually is. But then—movement. A flicker of amber in the dark.

Your pulse kicks up, a slow, creeping awareness settling along your spine. The black car was back, and someone was currently watching. You squint, attempting to focus on the silhouette of what you assume is a man. 

You swallow, trying to make out more— a relaxed slouch, one hand out as he smokes. Familiarity in the way he flicks the ash from his cigarette.

Recognition slams into you. Of fucking course. 

A bitter laugh slips from your lips, the kind you can't hold back, and you tilt your head toward the sky, desperately searching for some shred of patience. But there’s nothing there. Only the sharp, relentless sting of annoyance.

The unease from earlier drains from your body, replaced by a heat that crawls up your neck and settles in your chest. The audacity. The sheer nerve of Javier, showing up at your home—of all places. But what else did you expect? 

You clench your jaw, hands fisting at your sides, and with a steady, deliberate pace, you make your way across the street. Your heels clack sharply against the pavement with each step, the sound like a countdown echoing in your head. Your pulse quickens and you feel the rush of heat flooding your ears, the anger building with every stride.

Leaning down, you slam your hand against the car door. Javier doesn’t flinch; he just twists the cigarette that perches between his fingers, letting it fall to the street. 

“First you stalk me, now you litter on my street?” you fume, searching for any cars passing by for your date. Who was going to be here any minute? You didn’t want him to catch you chewing Javier out, ripping him a new one right here in the street. “What are you doing here?” it comes from your chest. 

Lazily rolling his head to the side, he looks anything but guilty. In fact, he seems pleased, and he is smug as he stretches a bit in his seat. His eyes trail along your body, getting his fill of whatever gratified him. It’s too dark to read his eyes, but you watch as they linger a bit too long on your painted lips. 

“Just out for a drive,” he replies, shoulders lifting slightly. 

“A drive? Your car isn’t even on.” You look inside his car, so close you can smell the leather of the seats. How it smells like him, and it’s clean, just as you expected.  

“Well, you know me... always looking for an excuse to hang around.” He grins, his gaze flickering around your street like he owns the whole damn block. His hand casually drapes over the steering wheel.

“You cannot hang around here, Peña.” You lean in a little closer to the car window, and while you’re trying to focus on his words, you can’t ignore how your dress sits just a little too provocatively for comfort. The realization makes your heart skip a beat, but you shove the thought aside.

“Why? Got plans? And I thought we were done with the whole formal thing.” He frowns, tilting his head, an almost innocent look creeping over his face—but you know better. His voice is laced with something darker, some challenge hidden beneath the surface.

“This isn’t about me right now; why are you out here?” You glance around, heart racing as you hope your date won’t appear like some magic trick just when you need him least. Javier notices your distraction, his lips curling ever so slightly.

"Why, you worried I’ll ruin your date?" His smirk grows, eyes glinting with that trademark cocky charm. "Maybe I just like the view... you sure you want me to leave?"

You ignore him, mouth agape, with all the things, all the anger you could unleash. 

“You’re stalking me; yes, I want you to leave.”

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a look. “Not stalking. I like to think of it as... preemptive protection. You never know who might be watching, right?”

“Yes, you’re the only one watching. Have you been watching me through my window?” A shiver runs through you, the thought of him watching you through your sheer curtains making you burn. With anger, with annoyance, with need. For what? You didn’t want to find out, especially right before your date. 

The visible blush on your skin intrigues Javier, making him shift in his seat, leaning forward to get closer. “Why? You like that?” He licks his lips, nose nearly brushing yours. 

Seeing the headlights of a car rolling up in your peripheral, you shoot up. 

“No, and you better be gone by the time I get back. I mean it, Javier.” You say sternly, fixing your purse on your shoulder. Something flickers across his face, frustration and annoyance as he watches you walk away. Your hips sway, your dress hugging your curves almost too perfectly. 

Javier can feel the sharp blade of agony twist inside him as he watches you smile at your date—who doesn’t even bother to get out and open your door for you. He shakes his head, hoping you don’t fool yourself into thinking that man could actually satisfy you. Not like he could. The thought curls around in his mind like the smoke of his millionth cigarette tonight. 

As he sits in your wake, he ponders the thought of leaving, weighing it like a dangerous game. Yet, he’s drawn to stay. The vexation in your voice veils a deeper meaning. You wanted him to stay. 

So, he’s drawn to stay when every instinct in him tells him to go—to pull away. To find some whore to fuck in the darkness of the night. And it’s not like he didn’t try. Javier had tried to hold on to whatever piece of pride he had left—like taking a random woman home—yet all he could do was imagine your body as she took him in her mouth, right there in his car. It was embarrassing how quick he came with your pretty face flickering behind his eyes. 

This one-sided push and pull was going to be the death of Javier Peña, no matter how much he denied it. And yet, here he was—again—in front of your apartment. Feigning indifference, as if he were simply staking out, making sure no one came to your door. 

Lighting another cigarette, Javier stayed where he was, ignoring every sign that told him to leave.

—

You force a sweet smile as your date rambles on, his voice a dull hum in the background.

“You know,” he starts, clearly pleased with himself, “the stock market’s been all over the place lately. I’ve been telling my clients to diversify, but you really gotta be patient with the long-term investments. They say the next big boom is in tech, but you never know. You just gotta trust the process, you know?” He pauses, clearly expecting a response. You just nod.

He talks about his job—endlessly—utterly oblivious to the piece of cilantro wedged between his teeth. You don’t have the heart to tell him, so instead, you focus on his eyes, pretending to listen intently. Every time you open your mouth to speak, he dives back into the same tired stories, and you fall silent again, interjecting only when absolutely necessary, just enough to keep the illusion intact.

“Honestly, I think women just don’t understand how hard it is to keep up with the market. Like, it’s all about numbers, right?” Oh, the cilantro has moved to his front tooth. “I’ve always heard that a woman’s intuition doesn’t really work when it comes to finances. It's more of a man’s game.” You sigh, finishing your wine. 

Hours later, after an entire night of that, he drops you off in front of your apartment, obviously wanting to be invited in. You accept the kiss to your cheek with a smile that’s more out of habit than anything else. He promises to call—though, honestly, you’re already hoping he doesn’t.

It’s no surprise to see Javier’s car still parked exactly where you last saw it. In fact, after tonight, you almost feel relief. A part of you had hoped your date would go well, that maybe you could finally sleep with someone else. Someone else, so the last person you fucked wouldn’t be Javier. So you could erase the taste of him lingering in your mouth. But another part of you wanted to see Javier’s car, wanted the comfort of knowing that—despite everything—he was still there. That he had stubbornly ignored your request.

And that part was right.

Your date speeds off before you even reach the door, another reason you won’t be picking up his calls. A few glasses of wine down, and just when you thought you were going to sleep with him—before the cilantro—now you’re left with nothing but a wasted buzz.

But Javier? You’re betting he’s still watching. Maybe, just maybe, a fucked-up part of you wanted the date to go sour just so you could turn right around and get a taste of what was familiar. The thought makes you bristle—yet it’s undeniably there, lodged somewhere between the flicker of your annoyance and the heat in your chest.

In fact, you spent the entire date prying Javier from your mind, like some kind of compulsive itch you couldn’t scratch. The more you tried, the more you realized no one else would ever measure up. Not to the way he made you feel, not to the way his presence dug under your skin, pulling you closer even when you were desperate to keep your distance.

It was his touch, his taste, the way he made you want to lose control. 

You take your time, letting your heels click against the pavement as you walk toward your door, making sure to swing your hips with each step. You pull your hair to one side, exposing the soft curve of your neck, and just as you do, your gaze flicks down toward Javier's car. You don’t need to look up to know that his eyes are on you, and the thought of him there—waiting, watching—has your pulse quickening.

You want him to see this. To feel it, to want you like you did in your wine-drunk state. You let your fingers brush against the door handle, pausing just long enough to make sure your movements are deliberate, drawing his attention. You’re baiting him now.

You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Your apartment is quiet, and the lamps offer a soft glow to the room. It wasn’t anything crazy, but you took pride in how everything tied together. Splashes of warm colors and soft fabrics. Tossing your purse onto the couch, you move toward the kitchen, your thoughts racing. 

The sharp, electrifying knot in your chest vibrates as the anticipation lingers. You didn’t know if Javier would bite, but you want him to. You move to the kitchen, uncorking a red wine and pouring a generous glass. You swirl the liquid as you contemplate how long you’ll wait. 

As you take a slow sip, you hear it—soft, barely audible at first. A rap against your door, tentative, almost as if he’s unsure whether to interrupt the stillness of your home. 

Your heart stutters, a brief flutter of uncertainty creeping in. You hesitate, the glass halfway to your lips, wondering if you imagined it. But then it comes again—quicker this time, more insistent. Your fingers tighten around the stem of the glass, and without another thought, you set it down. 

Still in your dress and heels, you swing the door open—Javier leans against the doorframe, chest rising and falling as he’d just sprinted up the stairs like he’d spent too long hesitating before finally giving in. His black cotton shirt clings to him, shifting with every thundering breath, and the way it stretches across his broad frame only adds to the raw, restless energy rolling off him.

He looks pained. Frustrated. But undeniably himself.

His hair is a tangled mess, like he’s been raking his fingers through it in thought, and his brows are pulled tight, casting a shadow over his dark eyes. There’s something in them—something unreadable, something dangerous—but all you can focus on is how damn good he looks standing there, undone in a way you’ve never seen before.

The familiar scent of him—smoke, musk, something distinctly Javier—wraps around you before he even speaks. And just like that, the space between you feels charged, like an invisible thread has tightened, pulling you toward the unknown.

“Bad date?” is all he says as he saunters in without a verbal invitation. What was the point? Your eyes had done all the talking. 

You wanted to agree—to curse the date for even happening, to erase the memory of it, to crawl back to Javier and let him make it better. The words press against your tongue, but you bite them back. Instead, you roll your eyes, shut the door, and twist the lock with a deliberate click.

Behind you, he doesn’t move. Not right away. He lingers in the quiet, soaking in the air between you, before finally stepping further inside. The leather couch groans as he sinks into it, his legs spreading like he owns the place, like he belongs here.

Your fingers twitch at your side.

“Something to drink?” you ask, already walking to the kitchen and reaching into the fridge before he can answer. The cold air rushes over your skin, but it does nothing to cool the heat licking at your neck.

With the glass of wine in your hand, you watch him over the rim, your fingers tracing the edge absently. His beer sits untouched in front of him, but it’s the way he watches you—eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes—that makes the space between you feel smaller. The pulse between your thighs grows stronger, sharper, and undeniable, radiating outward with each sip, each glance. Your skin feels too tight, too aware of the heat rising in your chest.

"So?" he asks, his voice low, almost casual, but there's an edge to it, something you can’t quite place.

"So?" you mimic, a smirk tugging at your lips, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Instead, your gaze locks with Javier's, daring him to say more, to do something, to break the silence that thickens the air around you both.

“So, how’d that amazing date go?” He tilts his head slightly, his smirk deepening. His eyes run over you with a knowing glint, like he’s already figured it all out. “You wouldn’t be back so soon if it went well, right, Cariño?” 

“It was…interesting.” You chew your cheek, eyes flickering to the space between you and him as if searching for something to say. A retort, a jab, anything to cut through the silence and throw him off balance. But the words feel like they're just out of reach, slipping between your fingers like smoke.

As you set the glass down on the coffee table, a quiet resignation settles over you. The game you’ve been playing isn’t as easy as you thought.

Without thinking, without even trying to explain it to yourself, you shift, crawling across the couch with slow, deliberate movements. The moment you settle on Javier's lap, your ass resting against his thighs, the world narrows to just the two of you. His body relaxes beneath you, rough hands crawling up your smooth thighs. 

“Yeah?” Javier asks, voice smug with a rasp like you’d proven him right. And that makes your open thighs quiver with anticipation. That he is here, nestled between them, rough denim grazing your clothed pussy. The fabric of your panties so thin he could practically feel how slick you were, the hotness seeping through his jeans. 

You nod, lashes lowering as you glance down at him. Your voice is quieter now, barely above a murmur. “You already knew, so why ask?”

Javier exhales through his nose, something unreadable flickering in those dark eyes. “Just wanted to hear it out loud, cariño.” His voice is rough, gravel scraping against silk, each word drawn out like he’s savoring them.

“And? Are you satisfied with my answer?” you press, searching his handsome face. The wine in your blood made him look more flushed, cheeks in high color, like overripe plums. 

"Not sure yet," His hands slide upward, heat bleeding through the fabric as he cups your hips, thumbs pressing in just enough to make you notice. The silk of your bunched-up dress is soft under his fingers.  

"Might need to hear it again. Tell me what he did wrong." Then—blunt fingernails dig in, sharp enough to send a shiver up your spine, to make you wonder if he’s holding you there or keeping himself from pulling you closer.

So you do it for him, grinding forward to press your pussy into his growing erection. You look at him innocently, your hands finding the searing skin of his neck, fingers splaying into his hair. 

“You want to know?” You ask, and he tilts his head to one side, fingers guiding you across his erection again. The seam of his jeans drags against your clit, the rough pleasure parting your lips. 

“Tell me, and I’ll make it better, mi amor.” With one hand, he brushes the hair from your shoulder, dark eyes under darker brows, watching you closely. 

It’s unsettling the way you feel so exposed under his gaze as it wraps around you as if he’s savoring every slight twitch, every wet gasp from your lips. Like he’s memorizing, retaining you in his mind, and he takes his time. You can’t shake the feeling that he knows you in a way you’ve never been known, that every shift in your posture is being felt by him before it even happens.

"Made me feel stupid. Talked about stuff like I couldn’t keep up," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as Javier's touch—so constant, so sure—guides you and rocks you against his cock. “Ordered for me without asking, a fuckin’ salad.” A broken laugh escapes you, the sound sharp and brittle, only for it to be quickly swallowed as Javier leans in. His breath brushes against your skin, hot and sudden, before his lips press against your throat. 

The kiss sends a tremor through you. 

"Pobre cabrón, pensó que te conocía." His lips brush your pulse, his words almost a whisper against your skin. “No sabe que te gusta esto, ¿verdad?" He doesn't know you like this, does he?

With a sharp suck, he marks your neck, coaxing an answer from you. “Didn’t listen to me all night, then asked to come inside.” You almost don’t tell him, but the way he exhales, a soft huff of disbelief, is enough to satisfy you—like he can't believe the nerve.

His hands pull you upward with a force that leaves your breath catching in your throat. The heat of his palms sears through the thin fabric of your dress, sending a ripple of electricity through your skin. There’s no hesitation in his touch—just pure, controlled intention. In one motion, he flips you over, sending you sprawling onto the couch beneath him. The cool leather of the cushions meets your back as you replace his seat on the sofa. Javier drops to his knees on the floor between your legs, his eyes flicking to the damp lace. The material sticks to your pussy, clinging to your lips, giving him the perfect view. His hands are still on you, fingers pressing into the softness of your thighs.

“Would you have let him in? Let him fuck you?” he asks, eyes darting up the valley of your body to your face. Your dress bunches at your waist, your white lace panties exposed to the cool air. 

“Fuck no,” you reply quickly and observe as he weighs your answer. He seems content because he tilts his head and kisses the tender skin of your inner thighs. 

"Good," he mumbles against your flesh, his teeth dragging just enough to make you shiver. The black silk is weightless, almost liquid against your skin, but still, it does nothing to conceal the stiff peaks of your nipples. 

“Spread your legs—wider,” He urges, and you comply, spreading yourself further. You shudder when you feel his rough fingers peel your underwear to the side, his arched nose nudging against your lips, inhaling deeply. 

“So good—” Javier interrupts himself by lapping his tongue against your center, dragging the slick up to your clit. He swipes the tip of his tongue, hand splaying across your stomach. “Always thinking ‘bout your pussy,” he tilts his head up, lips glistening with your slick. You gasp, the thrill of being on display to him so fully igniting something deep within you.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, each pulse a steady drumbeat of something dark and electric. He kneels before you, a man who has never known devotion yet looks as if he's offering a prayer. But there is no holiness in the way he stares up at you—only something raw, something that burns your body.

“Want you to come before I fuck you, can you do that for me?” Javier says gruffly. You feel his fingers glide through your folds, spreading you before sinking into his knuckle. You watch as his eyes droop shut, the vulgar sounds of him eating your pussy filling the living room. 

“I-I don’t know if I can,” Your breath hitches as he devours you, each flick of his tongue sending shockwaves through your body. You liked being in control but didn’t like being told what to do. But with him on his knees, ravaging you like his last meal, you lose that fight in you. 

“You can hermosa,” Your soft sighs and breathless gasps only encourage him further. His tongue rolls over your sensitive clit, dragging it into his mouth as he sucks softly. 

A low, primal groan rumbles from Javier’s chest as you grip his fingers, feeling the rhythm of his fingers pushing deeper. The way he loses himself in you, every inch of him savoring the sensation, sends a rush of heat through your body. No man has ever made you feel this alive, this good—and the tight, unbearable tension pooling in your pelvis only builds.

Your heart pounds wildly; its rhythm is the only thing you can grasp as the world blurs around you. Each breath is a struggle, drawn deep into your lungs, as pleasure floods you like sunlight. You arch, drawn toward Javier as if the very act of surrender is as natural as breath. Your back lifts from the couch, delicate and almost weightless, as though you're being drawn into something timeless, something beyond yourself.

"Fuck, I’m gonna—” The words spill from your lips, breaking into a whimper as pleasure coils tight, snapping. Stars flicker behind your eyes, bursting like firecrackers with every curl of his fingers inside you. 

Javier’s mouth remains relentless, lips and tongue a force that pulls you deeper. The sounds are wet, guttural—impossibly obscene, filling the air with a heat that mirrors the feeling inside you.

Your hands fist in his dark hair, pulling hard enough to sting, but it only makes him groan against you—like he wants you to use him, to come apart beneath his mouth. 

Your thighs attempt to snap shut, trembling from the aftershocks, but Javier’s grip is iron. He presses them back down, keeping you spread for him. Your walls flutter around his thick fingers, milking them as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe, drinking you in. 

“Javier,” you whine, pure, intoxicating sultry laced in your tone. You wanted him, needed him inside you. It felt like a line was drawn, and you felt like you were going to die if you didn’t get him. He comes up for air, lips swollen as he runs his tongue along them. His eyes glisten, making them seem lighter, but they are hooded nonetheless as he slips his fingers out.

His fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, and he drags them down your legs, flinging them someplace.

Javier makes you feel like a goddess—like something worshipped, something craved. And maybe that’s why you could never get enough of him. Why he lingered in your dreams, why a small, wicked part of you hoped your date would crumble into disappointment—so you could have this instead.

Him. Here.

Between your thighs, his body pressed against yours, his breath warm, ragged with need. His cock straining painfully against his jeans as his fingers work at his belt, desperate, shaking with restraint. There’s no time to move, no time to think—just urgency, the kind that consumes, that steals breath and reason. The sharp clink of his belt echoes in the quiet, a sound so simple yet electric.

Then, with a groan, he pushes off his knees, rising from the floor, his hands never leaving you. He gathers you effortlessly, pulling you with him, pressing you down onto his lap as he falls onto the couch.

“Condom?” His voice is low, hushed with an almost palpable urgency, eyes dashing up to meet yours as though he’s already losing patience. Before you can answer, he’s closing the space between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that feels like he’s trying to steal the very breath from your lungs.

His lips are heated, a sharp contrast to the cool air between you, and you taste it—the tang of your own arousal mingling with his tongue, so, so sweet.

“I’m on birth control,” you murmur, breathless, your words swallowed by the hunger of another kiss. It’s all you offer, a quiet surrender, hoping it’s enough to make him crave you even more.

The thought of him inside you—all of him—suddenly consumes you. You don’t care about anything else, not the risks or the consequences. You only know the pulse between your legs and the intense craving. You don’t understand what’s happening or why you need him this way, but it feels like an urgent need to let go.

Javier pulls away just enough to give you space, but the trace of concern in his eyes doesn’t escape you. It’s a brief moment, a fleeting hesitation. Still, you see it—his brow furrows, lips tight with something softer than his usual cocky grin.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice rough with uncertainty. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he was playing the part of a gentleman—though you know damn well he’s anything but.

“Yes,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, “I’m clean, it’s okay if you don’t—”

You’re cut off before the last syllable can escape, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that leaves no room for hesitation. His kiss is firm, demanding, swallowing your words.

“Say the word, cariño. You lead, I follow.” Javier says into your mouth.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he shifts beneath you, movements hurried. He pulls his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring free, the heated skin of it brushing against his stomach with a slap between you.

Javier can feel the tremble of his hands—faint but undeniable. At first, he wonders if it’s you or him. He feels something stirring in him, something foreign. It’s not fear, but something—something urgent, primal. Desperation, temptation, a potent mix of longing and restraint. It tugs at him, a force he hasn’t felt before.

He’s never been this reckless. Never this in the moment where he couldn’t think straight. Enough to where he would slip into your warm pussy and take you like that. Javier was always careful, contrary to popular belief. Wrapped it up tight, tested, and tested again. Always keeping a record of women as if they were transactions, just to be safe. He couldn’t remember all of them, but one thing was sure, he never fucked without a condom. 

But you.

You, above him, looking down at him with those daring eyes. Grabbing the hem of your dress and pulling it over your head. His eyes drink you in, the curve of your supple breasts and the arch in your spine. Telling him to take you raw, with nothing left to hold his sanity in check.

It’s a gift you have given him. A dangerous, treacherous gift. He feels it settle deep in his sternum, making his heart race and his pulse throb with a hunger he’s not sure how to satisfy. He’s never wanted anyone like this—needed them, with a rawness that cuts deep.

You feel the fat head of his cock press against your soaked lips, the tight stretch creating a gasp from your chest. His fingers dig into your fleshy hips, guiding you but letting you do as you please.

“Such a tight pussy,” Javier says with a huff and rests back on the couch, your hands resting on his shoulders as you sink further down onto his length. His gaze drifts lower, eyes heavy with desire, flicking between your faces and the space between you. The subtle shift of your body as you sink deeper until you're flush against him, fully seated. 

Javier couldn’t describe the feeling of you, only that he knew it like a second home now. Your walls engulf him, drenching the soft curls at the base of his cock. His brows pinch together as you rock, lifting yourself and sinking back down. You were warmer inside than he remembered, softer. 

“Fuck... feels so damn good, Hermosa. Never... never felt it like this before.” Javier’s head falls back against the couch, his breath ragged, and his words slip out like a confession. His chest rises with every inhale, muscles taut beneath his black shirt that has been pulled to expose his stomach.

“Feels so full, Javi,” You exhale slowly, letting his name slip from your lips—his nickname—like a spark that lights the hunger in his eyes.

Javier’s mouth parts, jaw slack, as you fuck yourself. Using him for your own pleasure. 

“So goddamn sexy, Hermosa.” He leans forward, capturing your perky tit into his mouth, sucking as you bounce. He could feel the friction of your walls on his sensitive cock that was no doubt already weeping with precum. His teeth sink down on your nipple, tugging on the nub before pulling away.

He tried to think of anything—anything—to keep himself from coming too soon. But the way you’re wrapped around him, so tight, it almost feels like a vice—swallowing him whole. His breath hitches, and he fights it, fighting the urge to lose control as the pressure builds, unbearable, delicious. Every inch of you clenching around him is a sweet, aching burn he’s not sure he can withstand. 

“Can you hear yourself, cariño? How wet you are?” You whine when you feel the pad of his thumb swiping small circles, coaxing you further into the pressure that was building. “Wish you could see this, it's fucking beautiful.” You wish you could, how his perfect cock was splitting you in two. 

“I’m so close, Javi,” you whisper, your voice low, strained. 

“Already?” He tilts his head, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, his breath shallow. “I make you come this fast? Don’t think he could. I know he couldn’t.”

You lean in, your lips brushing his, tasting the sharp, familiar salt of his mouth. His mustache scratches your tongue, rough against the softness of your mouth—intimate, gritty, a reminder of how close you are, how much you’ve already given in.

“So beautiful on me, cariño,” The hand clamped tight on your hip refuses to loosen, a bruising grip that keeps you exactly where he wants you. The other weaves into your hair, fingers curling at your scalp as he tilts your head up—commanding, insistent. “Wanna see your face when you come. Mírame.” —Look at me. His voice is rough and thick with something that makes your stomach coil tight.

Your gaze locks onto his—warm honey drowning in dark, decadent chocolate. Intense. Unrelenting. Beautiful in a way that almost hurts. His fingers flex in your hair, holding you there, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every damn second of this.

You take what you want, grinding down until your thighs ache, until the burn spreads through your limbs like fire licking at dry earth. There’s something almost cruel in it—the way you use him, the way you make him suffer beneath you. It’s punishment wrapped in pleasure, a slow torment you draw out just to watch him come undone. His release lingers just out of reach, and you like it that way. You want him teetering on the edge, aching, needing—wanting. 

Your mouth falls open, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as the pleasure builds, curling around your spine, pooling low in your belly. It’s too much, too good, the air between you feverish. Damp with breath and heat, and when your eyes meet Javier's, something shifts. There—in the way his fingers tighten at your hips, the way his gaze clings to yours, yearning. Something is there, though it must be the light. Your movements slow, forcing you to feel the way his body trembles beneath you. Attachment. That’s what it looks like. 

But before you can make sense of it, before you can decide what it means, it vanishes. Snuffed out the second Javi's lips collide with yours, swallowing your breath, his moan vibrating through the heat of your mouth. Like he’d seen you see him for who he was, and that was someone vulnerable. 

Your brows pinch together, a sharp inhale swallowed by his lips as he bites into yours, drawing out something wrecked, something involuntary. The orgasm takes you by surprise—sweeps through you like a fever, rippling from the inside out as your walls clench tight around his thick, uncut cock. It knocks the rhythm from your body and leaves you shuddering, unraveling in waves that roll through you, consuming you.

“Goddamn,” Javier breathes against your mouth, the heat of it searing, feeling the way you choke his length. He grits his teeth, hips jerking up, fucking you through it, refusing to let you drift from him even for a second. His fingers—blunt, desperate—dig into the flesh of your ass, dragging you down onto him like he’s determined to make sure you feel every pulse of him buried inside.

Breathless, panting against your ear, Javier’s voice is wrecked when he finally speaks. “Where do you want me to—” His words catch, thick with desperation, like he’s teetering on the edge of something that could ruin him.

“Inside,” you moan—cry—whimper—you’re not sure which, only that you need it, need him. Your voice is hoarse, drenched in the remnants of your pleasure, your walls still fluttering around him, pulling him deeper, as if your body already knows the answer he was too afraid to assume.

Javier had never come inside a woman before—but fuck, he didn’t care if you lied about the birth control. Didn’t care if this was reckless, if it was madness. All he knew was that you were something he wanted—not just in the chase, not just in conquest.

You burned with something untamed, a wildfire he had no intention of snuffing out. No, he wanted to feed it, to bend it to him, to shape it around his hands. He wanted to control you, break you open in ways only he could. And in this feverish, lust-drunk moment, he didn’t care if that was dangerous territory. If that made him want something…domestic. He was desperate—so fucking desperate.

Javier chokes on his breath, his hands gripping your hips with enough force to carve. The scrape of his nails against your skin sends a sharp thrill through you, and for a moment, the pain feels like possession. Another mark from him, another claim—like a fucking trophy in this twisted game you both play.

“Fuck… fuck...” His grumbled curses fall from his lips, his breath ragged, and his head drops forward, his sweat-slicked forehead pressing against your breasts like a desperate weight. 

Inside you, he pulses so deep it’s almost painful. He gives you all he has, each desperate thrust pulling something from you. And for some reason, it’s that very surrender that makes it feel almost pathetic—like he’s losing himself in this more than you have. 

"Can you feel it? Can you feel me come inside you?" His voice is murmured, breath brushing over the curve of your breast as his mouth devours your tender nipple. His lips are hot, sucking in soft laps, and there's no shame in his words. No restraint. He’s drunk on you, on the feel of you, on the way your body swallows him whole.

He doesn't care that it makes him sound weak, not with the way he can already feel his come seeping out of you, coating the base of him. You can feel it too, the wetness, the slickness, the proof of him spilling into you.

“Yes, I can,” you whisper back, your voice rasping. Javi's forehead lifts from your skin, his gaze tilting heavenward as his chest heaves. His nostrils flare, his eyes fluttering shut as if the act of breathing is too much. You lean in, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss, his mouth the delicate hue of ripe peaches.

The corners of his mouth twitch into a half-smile, something so boyish, so unlike the man you’ve come to know. A flicker of something you can’t quite place stirs in your chest—a feeling like a weight plummeting through your ribs. No, you remind yourself, eyes narrowing. You were never supposed to want him to feel anything more than the rush of adrenaline and raw chemistry that burned between you both. But now? The burn was turning cold, or maybe it was a flame that had turned blue. 

You must be out of your damn mind thinking you could tame someone like him. Who the hell do you think you are? That’s precisely what you’ve been avoiding all along—attachment. The kind of thing that turns into a chain weighs you down and leaves you tethered to a man who never meant to stay.

You swipe your fingers through his damp hair, the sweat slicking against your skin. The words slip out before you can stop them, their clumsiness cutting through the tension in the air. 

“We have to fuck other people, Javier.”

A joke, a lie, or maybe a desperate plea to sever the invisible thread already wrapping too tight around your chest. You know it’s reckless, a stupid overstep to assume—but if you’re feeling like this already, you can’t keep going. No. Not like this. Not with him.

Javier’s hands settle at your hips, gripping tight, pulling you in, his soft cock still buried inside you.

“Why would I want to share you?” His voice is low, almost a growl, as he murmurs. The question hangs in the air, but the soft tension in his words makes it impossible to tell if he’s teasing or serious.

You can feel the slickness between you, dripping down onto his thighs.

“Funny,” you say, your breath hitching as you squirm against him, trying to free yourself though his strength is overwhelming. Your thighs are slick now, his skin hot beneath you. “You’re gonna get bored of this,” you say, but even you can hear the playful doubt in your voice, your mouth tasting like lies.

He chuckles softly, a dark sound that vibrates through you. “I’m literally still inside you, Cariño,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the possessiveness in his tone. The words sink into you, making your pulse race even faster.

You can’t stop the blush that blooms across your skin, a rush of heat that creeps up your neck and paints your face. “Well…” you breathe, words faltering. 

Javier’s gaze lingers, feeling more intimate than the sex, like his eyes are peeling away the layers you’ve carefully constructed, exposing the parts of you that you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden. He sees you, which is unfortunate for you, and the sharpness of his attention makes your pulse stutter. You’ve always been good at hiding your truths, but with him, you’re not sure you can.

“Is this fun for you?” His voice is rough around the edges as if he's searching for something from you. His brown eyes stay fixed with yours, but there’s a flicker of something beneath the surface. Hesitation? Fear? Or maybe it's just the steady flow of the after-sex—the chemical rush that always makes you say things. 

You pull back slightly, shifting, and his soft cock slips out of you, resting on his stomach. But you don’t move from his lap. Not yet.

He watches you tentatively, the faintest curve of his lips pulling up at the corners. “Then that’s all that matters to me.” The words come so quickly, but they hit you like a sharp breath. You want to believe him. God, you want to. But something about this—about the way he says it so casually—feels like a game he plays with everyone else. How many times has he used that line before? You cock your head slightly, torn between wanting to trust him and feeling that bitter, familiar pull of doubt.

“Right,” you say skeptically.

You watch him closely, waiting, and the seconds stretch between you. And then, like he's reading your thoughts, he says, "I won’t get bored." His voice is so casual, but there's an edge to it now, an implication behind the words you can’t ignore. What was he getting at?

“I was joking, Javier,” you play it off, though his words bounce around in your head. He didn’t mean it, did he?

"I know." He huffs, almost annoyed by your amusement. "You can relax, though, if you're worried about me and other women, don't. Never been unprotected…" Javier didn’t know why he kept speaking; he only knew that every word felt wrong. 

“I think you made that pretty clear,” you reply.

"Yeah, well, I don’t usually have to explain myself." His voice is rough, a little more tense now. There's a pause, clearly frustrated with his own words. 

Javier knew he couldn’t be with another woman if he tried, and God knows he’s tried. He despises that he sounds like a broken record, the same song playing nonstop. Javier doesn't even understand it himself—this thing he’s offering you, this tangled, messy piece of him. 

Your breath hitches as his gaze sharpens, and it feels like he's weighing you, searching for something beneath your hard exterior. And then, his voice is softer—hesitant, vulnerable, as if he's scrambling to offer more, to entice you. 

“But if you wanted to do this more, we could be... singular… together?” He says it with dark brows furrowed, but his eyes soften, his tone catching somewhere between playful and... desperate?

“Singular? Like just us?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow and leaning back slightly. He looks confused, more than you, and you’re not sure what to think of it. 

“I could, just to be safe, if that’s something?” You feel a tremor pass through him, the subtle twitch of his fingers on your bare thighs. He was lying through his teeth, and he knew it; there were no other women.

"Oh?" you say, lips curling into a teasing smirk despite the pit in your stomach. 

But then, you hear yourself challenging him: “And what about me? What if I wanted to sleep with other men?” You’re testing him, pushing him to see how far he’ll bend before he snaps. Before he takes back everything he just said. You didn’t want other men; you wanted Javier.

Javier swallows hard, his gaze flicking to the side, momentarily losing its focus. For a beat, he seems genuinely torn—his brows furrowing, lips pressed together in a thin line like he's struggling to hold it together. He couldn’t read you, not entirely, but he sensed it—the quiet understanding that he’d somehow ruined it. His mind races as if fevered because this wasn’t him. He was never this undone, this lost in a moment.

“If that’s what you wanted.” The words come out quietly, almost too faint. You catch the hint of a pout forming like it physically pains him to say it. 

A strange, gnawing feeling settles in your chest. What are you doing? Why are you pushing him away when all he’s offering is… everything?

He watches you closely, his lips curling into a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “And for the record, if you’re into dinners,” he adds, his voice low like he’s tasting every word, “I wouldn’t stand you up again. Not this time.”

You bite your lip and look away, trying to hold onto your control. 

"I don’t know if you could handle being that loyal, Peña.” The words slip out, but underneath them, you know the truth. You want to give in. Every part of you is telling you to take what he’s offering. But all you could give was an elusive answer, too afraid to say yes, too enamored with him to say no. “But sure, if that’s your offer, I’ll think about it."

Your eyes narrow, and without warning, you climb off his lap, the cool air hitting your skin as you search for your dress. You slide it on, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you watch him tug his jeans back on, the silence between you thick with unspoken things.

You shake your head, unable to suppress a dry laugh. Exclusive? The thought of you two being anything more than this, than this constant game, is almost laughable. He really did have a way of making you question everything, even the parts of you you thought were untouchable.

“So, are you going back to watching my house again?” you ask, voice light, trying to bury whatever it was that had just been said between you two.

He looks up, eyes locking with yours, and the cocky grin is back, but there's something deeper, something heavier. “Think I’d have a better view from inside…” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as his gaze trails over you with more intent now. “Your house, that is.”

You pause, and for a brief moment, you're not sure whether to laugh or turn away. But you don’t do either. Instead, you raise an eyebrow, almost daring Javier to keep pushing.

"Don’t hold your breath, Peña." You turn away, knowing this game is far from over. But for Javier, it had already ended—there was no more chase, no more play. He wasn’t hunting anymore; he was caught. And worse, he didn’t care. Javier would take whatever piece of you you were willing to give, whole or shattered.

Because after everything—the cartel, the blood, the ghosts that never left—Javier Peña could no longer face danger. Not when you were the most dangerous thing of all.

[sombrashe]

Hey

Can I request a Jun-ho with a chubby reader(with toe curling smut 🧑‍🦽🧑‍🦽) I can't stop thinking about that man !!!!!!

perfectly crafted angel ∿ junho x reader

smut

content soft!dom junho, reader has a vagina, age gap (reader is early 20s and junho is early 30s), unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation, not edited

notes this is 2k words, i'm sorry

your ears perk up as your front door is slammed shut. the loud bang makes your skin jump, but you simply turn towards your angry boyfriend. watching closely, he goes about his routine; shoes are shoved into their respective cubby, jacket is haphazardly flung onto the counter, the fridge is ripped open, and a bottle of water is chugged before being thrown into the sink. you let him do what he needs to do. long grueling days searching for his brother, always forcing him into a tizzy. peering over the side of the couch, you lazily blink at him. when he finally notices you, his face relaxes, and he gives you a lazy smile. all dimples and teeth. you smile back and rest your chin on the edge.

"No luck?"

"None. Fuck."

you purse your lips before chewing on the bottom one.

"Do you want me to start dinner?"

"No, I just need to let off steam."

you nod and shift. sitting up, you stretch your back out. the gym at this hour wasn't uncommon for him. you mentally think about whether you want to wear sweats or elastic shorts.

"You can stay there, just take off your pants."

oh! you slip out of your sleep shorts, your underwear going next. folding your clothes, you place them on the coffee table. sitting back down, you feel a little awkward as you wait.

"Have you eaten today?"

"Yes."

"What time?"

"Um, like... 1 pm.

"It's nearly 5."

"Jun-ho, I'm sitting here half naked. Food is not important to me right now."

he shakes his head and roots around the kitchen. he spends a few minutes collecting, cutting, and plating fruits and little snacks. he brings two bottles of water in his other hand and sits snugly beside you. smiling, he plants a kiss on your forehead. you press yourself against his lips before taking the plate from him. huffing, you start eating. here he was teasing you. he turns the tv on and flips through the channels as you chew. you try not to eat fast, but honestly, you are starving. finishing the plate, you place it next to your clothes.

"Can I have a napkin?"

"Here."

he takes your hand in his and gently licks your fingers clean. heat washes over you as you watch. when he feels satisfied, he places your hand on his thigh. you press your fingertips into the muscle. turning you to face him, he licks at your lips, cleaning you off. balling your fists, he finishes with a gentle smile.

"All clean."

you nod and blink up at him. your pupils dilate, and you patiently wait for his next move.

"Open your mouth."

you follow his instructions, and he places two fingers on the back of your tongue. trying to relax, he presses down and watches as your throat constricts. sliding his fingers further back, his ears twitch as you gag harshly. pulling out, he dips his fingers in the saliva that pools in your mouth. tapping your thighs, he watches as the fat there jiggles with each gentle tap. hooking your legs over his, he stares at the wetness staining your inner thighs.

spreading you open, he takes a wet finger and starts circling your clit. chowing down on your bottom lip, you stay quiet. he dips his finger lower and rubs at your dripping hole. pushing past the initial resistance as you get used to the feeling, he slowly adds two more fingers. eyes watch his every movement, and you blink rapidly as he toys with your clit. both hands are on you, but it's not enough. he gives you a few more moments of pleasure before pulling away entirely. you fight the urge to groan and whine. taking a deep breath, you play with the hem of your shirt. he gives you a soft kiss, lips moving in sync as he moves. kneeling in front of you, he breaks the kiss.

"Take off your shirt for me."

you frown but do as he says. your stomach folds over itself as you sit there for him. he smiles at your willingness and rewards you with a long swipe of his tongue from your clit to your hole. your mind soon becomes foggy, and all you can focus on is his hot breath fanning over you. his tongue lapping at you from the inside. how his fingers, wet with your essence, glide smoothly against your clit. your moans are soft as you test the waters. sometimes he likes to listen to you struggle, staying quiet as the sounds of your wet cunt fill the air. right now, he was to hear you moan, cry out for him as you rise and crash.

"Let me hear you."

you nod a few times as your dam is broken. whining, you pant and throw your head back. moaning loudly, you cry out his name as he groans into you. holding your breath, you can feel the knot in your stomach unravel as you cum against his tongue. your orgasm is amazing as you're left with closed eyes and heavy pants. he straightens and silences your breathing with a strong kiss. you tuck your hands against his neck and move your lips in sync with his. when he pulls away, you're left with nothing but the taste of yourself. staring at him, you know that if possible, you'd have hearts swimming around your head. giving you another quick peck, he stands and offers you his hand. you take it and float behind him. he settles you on the edge of the bed and makes sure you're nice and comfortable.

"Gonna be good for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes, sir, I promise."

he smiles and pinches your cheek. his hand sliding over your jawline and down your neck, where he tightens his hold. the skin on your arms stands up, but all you can do is squeeze your thighs together in anticipation. he notices your reaction and gives you a knowing smile. pulling away. he spreads your legs just enough for him to settle in between them. taking your hands in his, he doesn't need to direct you before you’re undoing his belt. while your focus is on his jeans, he spends the next few seconds removing his button-up. only when you have his cock in your hand does he start to pay you attention again. looking up, you release him with a sad look brewing in your eyes. he spares you a quick kiss before slowly pushing you to a lying position. settling back, you feel your thighs squish against his hipbones. you peek over yourself to watch him lining himself up. sighing, he slowly slips in. while you were lying there, toes curled, and stomach clenched waiting, for him to hurry up, he maintained his slow and steady approach.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good. I can take it, promise.”

his resolve crumbles, and the last few inches are shoved into you with a quick snap of his hips. reaching down, you let out a whine. you hand meets his abdomen as he stays flush against you. raking your nails up, you have to lift yourself slightly to maintain your actions. your stomach folds in on itself, and he watches every little movement. the way your thighs squish as you tighten your hold on his waist. how your stomach folds and jiggles with his thrusts. he especially loves the way your chest falls, each one falling in the opposite direction as he yanks your bra down your body.

“Touch yourself. Let me see it.”

you follow instructions perfectly. reaching down, you spread your lips and find your clit with the opposite hand. starting slow, you rub small circles around it. something he would do, and he seems to approve. grunting out a good job as he slams his hips against you, plush thighs keeping him from grinding bone against bone. watching your face contort as your hand picks up pace. rubbing your clit directly, you lose yourself in the feeling. his eyes never leave you. sharp thrusts turn to slow grinding just to watch your face change. your soft noises turn to loud moans.

“Oh my god, yes, yes, oh~”

who needed porn when all he has to do is lay down some good dick. and, god, you sound downright delicious. gliding his fingertips up and down your sides, he tickles you slightly. giving him a soft laugh, you then frown and smack his hands away.

“Don't tickle me!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You better be.”

he smiles softly and pinches your hip. he leans down and whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Next time, watch your tone.”

you feel your cheeks heat up, but give him a soft yes, sir. he presses soft lips to your temple before pulling back again. he must be getting close because his nose crinkles up. reaching low, he grabs at the accumulation of fat within your lower abdomen.

“Ah!?”

your surprise is loud. he simply ignores your sudden noise and uses your abdomen as an anchor to keep himself snug inside of you. pulling out nearly fully, he slams his hips forward and starts to really fuck you. there is nothing soft about his movements, and you forget any upset you may have had a few moments ago. whining out, you listen closely to his hard breaths and quiet moans. arching your back, you start to feel the coil inside your abdomen get tighter. his thrusts soon become sloppy as his own coil finally snaps. you shout out his name with loud moans as you feel him shoot ropes of warm cum into your pulsating core. he grinds his hips against yours with lazy abandon.

leaning down, he covers your face in soft kisses as he takes over rubbing at your clit. with both hands-free, you dig nails into his shoulder blades. it doesn't take much longer for you to orgasm. completely going limp, you gush around his soft cock and smear wetness against his abdomen. leaning down you, pull his lips against yours. moving in sync, you whine and rut against him. he lets out a shaky breath against your eager lips before starting to grind his hips forward. smiling to yourself, he pinches and rubs at your clit while he works you towards another orgasm.

his face is pinched as he works through the feeling of his soft cock being squeezed by your perfect cunt. your face contorts, and your toes curl tight. this orgasm is much smaller but much stronger, and you’re left whimpering. immediately after overstimulation, takes over, and you’re whining out a please, stop. pulling out, your ears flush with heat as a slick sound fills the quiet room. he spends a moment keeping your legs open. your labia is spread open so he can watch your clenching cunt grab at nothing. his cum spills out of you in a steady stream, and he has to hold himself back from fucking it back into you. your swollen lips and puffy clit deters him from overstimulating you into another orgasm.

that doesn't stop him from fantasizing about it as he leans down and gives that puffy little bundle of nerves a nice, soft kiss. he darts his tongue out and gently pushes against it, leaving you gripping the sheets. a few more soft kisses, and he’s pulling away with a satisfied smile. kissing you softly, he helps you into a sitting position. kissing along your jaw, he whispers about running you a bath and letting you soak if you promise to keep his cum in you. you scoff that he would even ask you for such a thing. you frown and look up at him with a pout. he sighs, presses a single kiss to your pout, and pulls away with a hum. the idea of his cum resting deep in you has your cunt clenching around nothing again.

“Hurry up and run that bath before I lose anymore.”

He gives you a flash of a grin before mellowing his face to a laid-back smile. Pulling away from you, he picks up a few belongings on the way before you hear the water start. Hopping off the bed, you waddle your way over to the dresser and collect a few clothing items. Soft shirt? Check. Comphy underwear? Check. Fluffy socks for after the bath? Check. Holding the clothing to your bare chest, you walk into the bathroom. Watching from the doorway, he puts an oatmeal buttermilk bath bomb into the water, and your eyes light up. He has lotion and skincare products waiting for you after the bath. Laying your clothes neatly on the counter, you allow him to help you into the bath. Resting your arms on the side of the bath, he shuts off the water and intends to leave you alone for a while.

“Will you join me?”

“I was going to ask.”

You smile and scoot forward enough to allow him space behind you. He slides into the water behind you and a little splashes onto the floor with the sudden movement. Leaning into his chest, you smile and relax into his gentle hold. The quiet oasis doesn't last long before your leg is thrown over the edge of the tub, and more water splashes onto the tiles.

[sgiandubh]

IFTA musical chairs game

Look no further, The Numero Uno Fan was not there. And may I ask you, ladies, one more time - why?

It was in Ireland - a place where she used to parade him on the regular, contrived paparazzi pics on top. The IFTA awards were, by now, a very familiar (and dreaded, by us) Narrative Playground, so an easy assignment of sorts. IFTA 2023, those looks that made Mordor weep with joy. IFTA 2024 and those elusive pics that appeared a bit later, to BIF's delight (their in-house vigilantes were at the ready, of course).

IFTA 2025? Radio Ga-Ga, Radio Goo Goo. Radio Silence. She wants, perhaps, to break free?

She was presenting - not a small feat: where is the devoted, supportive and understanding husband?

It was on Valentine's Day, for crying out loud. Riddle me this, as honestly as you can, please. I can't see why. I am stupid, for sure.

But my faithful eagle-eyed friend had a closer look and we can now substantiate. We agreed to post only after I vetted it myself, same old, same tedious process (download -> slow down the reels -> catch the second on a screenshot as clearly as possible). So here is what we have and it is loud and clear, my friends.

First on our list was Saoirse Ronan's Best Supporting Actress award acceptance speech. You can watch it on Youtube:

Saoirse was seated on C's right side, at the same table and on her own left was a lady wearing glasses, lest some would be foolish enough to think it was McGill. We can see that lady here (blue arrow) and on the right (red arrow) C's extravagant silver sleeve:

The lucky nominee raises and hey, hello:

At the end of her speech, we see the chair empty:

It did not stay like this all night. By the time Cillian Murphy went onstage to pick up his own Lead Actor award, somebody else took the empty spot. An elderly gentleman I am way too plastered with fatigue to identify. Play along if you wish, science will be probably grateful.

Here is Murphy's acceptance speech:

[Source: https://x.com/gofckapineapple/status/1890917862631424306?s=46&t=PwRUwYJkImTt7ctbAQQkKw]

And here is a very clear overview of C's table:

Closer:

Notice the salt-and-pepper haired gentleman who took Saoirse's former position. The lady wearing green on C's left has been there all the time.

I will, as always, invite you to draw your own conclusions. But seriously now, how LOUD was that, this time?

At least as loud as the sound of silence on her Stans' pages. Exactly.

You can cut it with a knife, for sure.

PS: thank you, dear. You know who you are.

[Later edit]: that another man would feel the need to step in and cover her right side at that table is the sure sign McGill was not there, not in Dublin, not in Ireland and I seriously wonder where else. This is exactly what any civilized person would do and again, you are free to draw your own conclusions. Tick, tock...

[neeeooon]

Good afternoon, elle. I'm here with my second request. May I request: The Blue Lock men propose to you on camera. Cue their fangirls' broken hearts. (Characters: Chigiri, Yukimiya, the Itoshi brothers)

of course!! thank you for the request 🫶🤍

when they propose to you on camera ;

aged up bf bllk x gn!reader

chigiri hyoma

-> you met on camera… sort of. chigiri just so happened to look up at the screen during one of his games, where you were randomly displayed and waving with your friends. he fell in love after that

-> it only makes sense for him to propose to in the same manner, right?

-> he planned it perfectly, even got the stadium staff to edit a “will you marry me?” logo onto the screen as you appear on one half and he shows up with your ring on the other

-> chigiri just so happened to score the game-winning goal (he may or may not have had help from his teammates), but when he appears on the big screen, you show up right next to him

-> you aren’t even looking, all of your focus on your boyfriend, but when people start screaming, you look up to see the ‘will you marry me, y/n?’ typed out across the screen and gape

-> there are tears as you nod enthusiastically, one’s of happiness from you, and heartbreak from the fangirls (and guys) throughout the arena watching the proposal

yukimiya kenyu

-> he plans everything to the t. the pathway, the flowers, the candles… the camera

-> it’s silly and cliche and romantic, but that’s the kind of guy your boyfriend is. when he asked you to meet him at the spot where you had your first date, you knew something was up. the “hidden” camera guy only confirmed your suspicions

-> “y/n—“ “what are your fangirls going to think?” you tease lightly, causing yukimiya to smile before taking your hand in his. “whatever they want. i’m a taken man.”

-> “just taken?” you say as you eye the small box he’s trying to hide in his coat pocket. knowing his cover is completely blown, yukimiya to reveal the box and hold it out to you. “will you let me ask?” “hmmmm, i suppose so!”

-> while most fans find your banter adorable, others spam about their broken hearts now that yukimiya kenyu is officially engaged

itoshi sae

-> he wanted to surprise you, which means he had to go all out on the cheesy cliches. you’d never in a million years see that coming from sae

-> you were only expecting a little drive with your boyfriend when he suddenly pulled over to a spot overlooking the city, the sun setting over the horizon

-> when you spotted the blankets, strings of bright fairy lights, rose petals, and mini camera crew, you panicked. “sae, we should go. i think someone’s getting engaged.” “someone is.” “??”

-> but your “??” quickly turns into “?!” as sae leads you to the spot, where your name is spelled out in flowers. “this.. what?!”

-> the whole thing filmed, sae gives you his awkward little speech before you interrupt him with a kiss and a million yes’s. flashes decorate you as he slips the ring on your finger, but all you can do is laugh at how extra itoshi sae was for you

-> the video spreads like wildfire, and you can’t help but cackle are your fiancé’s face every time you read a comment from one of his heartbroken fangirls out-loud

itoshi rin

-> the cameras were not planned. he didn’t want them there, but he wasn’t going to let them ruin your moment, either

-> you were enjoying your date with rin, blissfully ignoring the paparazzi following you, when he suddenly stepped in front of you and collected your hands between his. “y/n, there’s something i want to ask you…”

-> your photo, rin on one knee, one of your hands cupping your mouth as the other holds his, is all over magazines and websites the next morning

-> “look at how pretty we look!” rin just grumbles, “they always have to ruin everything.” “come on, look on the bright side! we’re together, and i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

-> you won’t tell rin, since he’s never on social media, but his fangirls were trending for the next two days where they’d post images of themselves crying and sliding down their walls. it was beautiful <3

[personinthepalace]

Feligami - Give Your Heart A Break

[doumadono]

Synopsis: Dabi hates Valentine’s Day, but that doesn’t stop him from committing petty theft to make you smile. Nothing says romance like stolen chocolates and a little chaos

A/N: this little fic was written in celebration of Valentine’s Day ♥

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Dabi loathed Valentine’s Day.

Overpriced chocolates. Cliché heart decorations. Morons scrambling to impress each other with tacky gifts that meant absolutely nothing. The whole thing was one giant joke.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to buy flowers, plan out sentimental dates, or give a damn about overpriced chocolates wrapped in shiny, heart-covered packaging. The entire concept of Valentine’s Day was a capitalist scam, and he had spent most of his life watching people fall for it like suckers.

But he was, apparently, the kind of guy to commit petty crime just to see you smile. Not that he’d ever admit it.

"Oi, are you done yet?" Dabi drawled, leaning against a shelf while you sifted through the convenience store aisles.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "Almost. I told you, I just need to grab some stuff for Spinner, Twice, and Toga."

Dabi sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Dunno why you bother. They’d survive just fine without all this crap."

"You say that, but Spinner will actually die without his energy drinks, and Twice has been begging for those stupid limited-edition snacks all week."

"And Toga?"

"She asked for ‘anything cute,’ which means she’s getting strawberry-flavored Pocky with edible glitter."

Dabi snorted. "Yeah, that tracks."

You were completely focused on your little shopping mission, scanning the shelves with a look of determination that was almost adorable — which made it the perfect time for Dabi to make his move.

While you debated over which flavor of instant noodles Spinner would tolerate the most, Dabi turned, walked straight past the cash registers, and grabbed the nearest box of chocolates off the holiday display.

Then, because he was feeling particularly obnoxious, he reached for a stupidly soft, red teddy bear — the kind that was so cliché it hurt.

He didn’t even try to be sneaky about it. Just grabbed them like they were already his. With that, he simply left the store, unnoticed by the crew that had too many customers in.

Standing outside a combini in the chilly evening air, hands shoved deep into his pockets, Dabi waited. Waited for you to finish paying for the boring, legally acquired items. He leaned against the wall, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips, watching the city pass by. A box of chocolates rested securely under his arm, so did the teddy bear. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced back through the store’s glass windows. 

You hadn’t noticed. Too busy sorting through energy drinks for Spinner, digging through the snack aisle for Twice, and picking out something for Toga. Always thinking about everyone else.

Tch. You were too soft for the League.

He shifted his weight, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. 

A minute later, you finally emerged from the store, a paper bag in your hand, eyes immediately narrowing when you spotted him. "...Did you actually pay for that?"

Dabi blew out a low chuckle, tapping ash from the end of his cigarette. "What do you think?"

You groaned, rubbing your forehead. "Dabi—"

"Relax. No alarms went off, no cops are chasing me. Everyone wins." He jerked his chin toward the bag in your hand. "Got what you needed?"

You sighed, clearly choosing your battles. "Yeah. Spinner’s energy drinks, Twice’s snacks, and Toga’s stuff."

"Great. Let’s get outta here."

You eyed the chocolates and the bear under his arm. 

He shrugged, like it was the most casual thing in the world. "Figured you deserve somethin’ cute for the Valentine’s Day, doll."

Your brows lifted. "You stole me a box of chocolates and a teddy bear?"

"Better than buying ‘em." He flicked his cigarette away, smirking. "Not like I’m made of money, babe."

You shook your head, but the way your lips quirked upward gave you away. "You’re impossible."

Dabi tossed the chocolates at you.

You caught the box, huffing, and the two of you started walking. 

The streets were quieter than usual, most people tucked away in their warm apartments, probably enjoying their candlelit dinners and normal Valentine’s plans.

Not you two, though.

You were halfway back to the hideout when Dabi’s steps slowed. He was about to make another snarky comment when something caught his eye.

You followed his gaze, and— oh.

Oh.

There it was.

A massive billboard, towering over the city streets, illuminated in bright, glowing lights.

Endeavor’s face.

Suited up. Slicked-back hair. Flames curling over his shoulders, making him look important, powerful.

"IGNITE — A FRAGRANCE FOR MEN."

Dabi stared at it. His jaw ticked. His fingers flexed, the muscles in his neck tensing just a little too much.

And then, very calmly, he handed you the teddy bear he carried all the way. "Hold this," he said.

"...What?"

"Hold. This," Dabi repeated, stepping away from you.

You barely had time to react before flames erupted from his hands. Bright, blue, and merciless.

Flames roared to life around his hands as he aimed them directly at the smug, larger-than-life face of his scumbag father.

The fire hit its mark immediately, scorching the edges of the billboard, burning away the too-perfect image of a man who didn’t deserve to be idolized. The flames spread fast, curling and twisting, devouring every last trace of the advertisement.

People on the street shouted in surprise, some scrambling away, some pulling out their phones to record. The city lights flickered against the inferno, and within moments, the entire stupid ad was nothing but ash.

Dabi clicked his tongue, watching as his father’s name and perfect image melted away into ash. "Much better."

You exhaled, shifting the teddy bear in your arms. "...So I’m guessing you didn’t like the ad?"

Dabi scoffed, turning back to you. "What gave it away?"

You smirked. "The arson."

He rolled his eyes, snatching the teddy bear back from your hands. "Tch. Just shut up and eat your stolen chocolates."

You chuckled, popping open the box and holding out a piece to him. "You want one?"

Dabi glanced at it, then at you. Then, with a huff, he leaned in and bit it straight out of your hand.

You gawked. "What the hell—"

"You offered," the white haired man said around the chocolate, smirking as he chewed.

You groaned. "You’re the worst Valentine ever."

"And yet," he drawled, stuffing his hands back into his pockets, "you still put up with me."

A beat of silence.

Then you stated, “We need to go."

“Why?”

"Because there are at least ten people recording you right now, dumbass."

Dabi whipped around, eyes narrowing as he saw several people very clearly aiming their phones in his direction and then moving their cameras to the burnt billboard.

One of the bystanders even waved enthusiastically, shouting, "I loved your dance, Dabi!!!"

Dabi let out a slow, exaggerated sigh, dragging a hand down his face, yet his lips twitched into that cocky, half-smirk he wore when he was either annoyed or slightly amused.

You couldn’t help yourself — you burst into laughter. “Uuuu, honey, you have some fans!”

Before you could get another word out, Dabi grabbed your wrist with a sudden force, yanking you away from the crowd. "Time to go, smartass," he announced, pulling you along as he bolted into a side alley. 

You barely had time to keep up, stumbling slightly as he pulled you into the shadows. 

Behind you, the distant murmurs of amused pedestrians lingered, but no one was stupid enough to actually follow.

Soon, Dabi came to a stop, chest heaving lightly from the sudden run, his eyes scanning the street. 

You could feel his pulse quickening as he tugged you closer, pressing you against his chest with a quiet growl. 

His expression was a mix of frustration and amusement, clearly annoyed by the public attention. "Damn it," he muttered, brushing a hand through his snow-white hair.

You smirked, shaking your head. "Maybe if you stopped doing dumb shit in public, people wouldn’t recognize you."

“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Happy Valentine’s, firebug,” you whispered, climbing your tippy toes to kiss his lips.

Dabi huffed a quiet laugh after the kiss. "Yeah, yeah. Happy fucking Valentine’s."

For all his bitching and moaning about Valentine’s Day, Dabi didn’t mind it quite as much when it was with you.

@pixelcafe-network

[28harryssunflower]

A mafia Valentine

The Venetian chandelier above you glows softly, casting golden light over the sprawling penthouse. The air is filled with the scent of roses - hundreds of them, maybe even thousands - arranged in every corner of the room. Petals are scattered across the polished marble floor, leading toward the enormous king-sized bed draped in crimson silk sheets. Everywhere you turn, there’s something extravagant - a wall of designer dresses, diamond-studded jewelry boxes, limited-edition handbags, and neatly stacked gift boxes wrapped in fine satin ribbons.

It’s overwhelming. It’s too much.

Your heart races as you take it all in. The weight of it, the sheer excess of it, makes your chest tighten.

“Harry,” you breathe, turning to face him.

He stands a few feet away, dressed in his usual tailored black slacks and an expensive silk shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal the inked patterns of his tattoos. His rings gleam under the warm lighting, his fingers adorned with silver and gold. He watches you with a satisfied smirk, the green of his eyes dark with amusement and something softer - something you still struggle to put a name to.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” he says smoothly, stepping toward you. “D’you like it?”

You swallow hard, looking back at the gifts. “Like it?” you echo, a dry laugh slipping past your lips. “Harry, this is- this is too much. It’s always too much, but today… today it’s way too much.”

His smirk falters slightly, and for a moment, he just watches you, his expression unreadable. “Too much?” he repeats, his voice quieter now. “Think you deserve the world, angel.”

You shake your head, stepping toward him with a deep breath. “Harry, money isn’t something to… to just throw around like this.” Your voice wavers slightly as you motion toward the lavish gifts surrounding you. “It’s precious. You shouldn’t be spending so much on me. I’ve told you before, but today… this is insane. I don’t even want to imagine how much all of this cost.”

He exhales slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You don’t have to imagine it,” he murmurs. “It’s not your concern.”

You frown, your chest tightening. “But it is my concern,” you insist. “I know what it’s like to have nothing, Harry. I know what it’s like to go to bed hungry, to wake up and wonder how you’re going to survive another day. And now… now you’re handing me things people could only dream of.” You run a shaky hand through your hair. “It- it feels wrong. Like I don’t deserve it. Like you’re just wasting all of this on me when you could be doing something better with it.”

Silence settles between you, thick and heavy.

Harry’s jaw clenches, a flicker of something dark passing through his gaze. When he finally moves, it’s slow, deliberate. He steps closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your chin.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You do, though your heart pounds at the intensity of his gaze.

“You had nothing before,” he says, his voice low, steady. “And I swore I’d give you everything.” His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his touch impossibly gentle despite the power that radiates from him. “You think I don’t know what money means? I do. That’s why I use it to make sure you’ll never suffer again. I want you to have everything because you deserve it.” His grip tightens slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Because you’re mine.”

Your lips part, but you have no idea how to respond. His words wrap around you like a promise - one that holds more weight than you can fully comprehend.

“I don’t need all of this,” you whisper, barely able to find your voice. “I just need you.”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes soften. “I know,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “But I need you to have it.”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips, but your mind is still spinning.

You know Harry means well. That he loves you in the only way he knows how - through protection, through possession, through making sure you’ll never have to suffer again. But sometimes, it’s just too much.

Your fingers clutch the fabric of his silk shirt, grounding yourself.

“You don’t have to buy me things to prove that you love me,” you whisper.

Harry exhales sharply, his fingers flexing against your waist. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” you ask, pulling back just enough to search his face. His emerald eyes flicker with something unreadable, something deep. “Because I feel like every time I try to tell you that I don’t need all of this, you just double down.”

His jaw tightens. “Because you don’t know what it does to me,” he mutters, his voice strained.

You blink up at him, confused. “What what does to you?”

Harry releases you, running a hand through his curls as he steps back. He’s silent for a moment, his expression guarded.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“You ever wonder how I found you?” he asks quietly.

You swallow, not expecting the sudden change in conversation. “What?”

“How I found you,” he repeats, tilting his head slightly. “That night. When you were barely getting by.”

You shift uncomfortably, memories creeping in. The cold. The hunger. The exhaustion that had settled so deep in your bones that you had almost given up entirely. You had been at your lowest when Harry had found you, sweeping into your life like a storm - dangerous, intense, and unstoppable.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “You never told me.”

Harry exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “I wasn’t looking for you,” he murmurs. “I was tracking down some lowlife that owed me money. A guy who had been hiding from me for months.” He pauses, his gaze darkening. “And then I saw you.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding.

“You were sitting outside that shitty café, shivering in that thin jacket.” His voice lowers, rough with something raw. “Your hands were shaking. You looked exhausted. And when you thought no one was looking, you stole a piece of bread off a table someone had left behind.”

Your stomach twists with shame. You remember that night. How your pride had shattered the moment you reached for that half-eaten piece of food.

Harry steps closer again, his gaze locking onto yours. “I’ve seen desperate people before,” he continues, his voice softer now. “People who would do anything to survive. But you?” His thumb brushes against your cheek. “You were starving, freezing, and still… when I sat down next to you, you told me to leave you alone.”

Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say.

Harry lets out a quiet chuckle, though there’s no humor in it. “You had nothing. And you still had your pride.” His eyes darken slightly. “But I couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t get you out of my head. So I found out who you were. Where you had come from. And I swore - right then and there - that you would never live like that again.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“That’s why I do this, angel,” he murmurs, cupping your face between his hands. “Why I spoil you. Why I give you more than you think you need. Because I know what it feels like to starve.” His thumb traces along your cheekbone. “And I know that even though you tell me you’re fine, there’s still a part of you that’s afraid of going back to that life.”

Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. You try to look away, but Harry doesn’t let you.

“You’re mine now,” he whispers. “And as long as I’m breathing, you will never have to be that girl again.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips. “Harry-“

He silences you with a kiss, deep and slow, his hands holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. And maybe, to him, you are.

When he finally pulls away, his smirk returns, though it’s softer now.

“Now,” he murmurs, his hands slipping down to your waist, “are you going to let me spoil you today, or are we going to spend the whole night arguing?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

Harry grins. “And you’re everything, angel.”

And despite the diamonds, the designer dresses, and the endless luxuries - you know that, in his eyes, you are the most valuable thing he has ever owned.

The room is quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breath and the faint rustling of silk as Harry’s fingers toy with the hem of your dress. The weight of his words still lingers in the air, settling deep in your chest like an anchor.

You’ve always known that Harry was possessive - that his love was fierce, all-consuming, and unwavering. But hearing the full story, remembering the night he found you, makes everything feel even heavier.

His protection, his obsession with spoiling you, his need to make sure you never go without - it all makes sense now.

And yet…

You place your hands on his chest, gently pushing him back just enough to meet his eyes.

“I hear you,” you say softly. “I do. And I know you just want to take care of me. But, Harry… I don’t want to forget where I came from.”

His jaw tightens slightly, the ghost of a frown flickering across his face. “You don’t have to.”

“But I don’t want to live in fear of it either,” you continue, your voice steady. “And I don’t want you to, either. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, searching his gaze. “You’re afraid. Afraid that if you stop, if you let me go without anything, I’ll somehow slip back into that life.”

Harry’s hands flex against your waist. He doesn’t confirm it, but he doesn’t deny it either.

You take a deep breath, running your fingers lightly over his collarbone. “I love you,” you murmur. “And I love how much you love me. But you don’t have to prove anything to me, Harry. I already know you’d burn the world down for me.” A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “You don’t have to buy me the world too.”

He watches you, his gaze unreadable, and for a long moment, he doesn’t say anything.

Then, slowly, he exhales, his forehead pressing against yours once again.

“Christ,” he mutters. “You make it so damn hard to argue with you.”

You laugh softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Maybe because you know I’m right.”

Harry hums, his hands sliding lower, pulling you flush against him. “Mmm. Maybe.”

There’s something different in his expression now - less tension, more ease. He still wants to spoil you. That much is obvious. But maybe, he understands you a little better now.

His lips brush against your ear. “But I’m still taking you to dinner tonight.”

You roll your eyes, though you’re smiling. “Of course you are.”

“And you’re still wearing the dress I bought you.”

You glance over at the extravagant black gown hanging on the rack, undoubtedly worth more than your entire childhood home.

You sigh. “Fine.”

Harry smirks. “And the diamonds.”

You narrow your eyes. “Harry-“

He silences you with another kiss, slow and deep, his fingers threading through your hair. When he finally pulls away, his smirk has softened, replaced by something quieter, something that makes your heart ache.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “I love you too.”

And as much as he spoils you, as much as he overwhelms you with more than you think you need, you know this - he is the only luxury you’ll ever truly want.

The restaurant Harry takes you to is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before - an exclusive, candlelit terrace overlooking the city, where only the most powerful and untouchable people dine. The soft hum of a violinist fills the air, mixing with the low murmur of conversation, but all you can focus on is the man sitting across from you.

Harry Styles, the most feared mafia boss in the city, watching you with a look so intense it makes your breath catch.

Dinner had been perfect. The finest wine, the most exquisite food, all chosen just for you. Harry never does anything halfway, and tonight is no exception. But still, something feels different. There’s a tension in the air, a kind of anticipation that makes your pulse quicken.

You set your glass down, eyeing him carefully. “Alright,” you say, crossing your arms on the table. “You’ve been staring at me all night like you’re up to something. What is it?”

Harry chuckles, leaning back in his chair, his rings glinting under the warm light. “Can’t a man admire his girl?”

You narrow your eyes. “You admire me every day. This is different.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Always too smart for your own good.”

Your heart skips a beat when he suddenly stands, reaching into his pocket before holding out a hand. “Come with me.”

You blink, glancing around. “Harry, we’re in the middle of dinner-“

“Dinner’s over,” he says simply, his green eyes dark with something unreadable. “Come on, angel.”

Curiosity buzzes inside you as you slip your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet. He leads you through the terrace, past the elegant diners who all seem to shrink in his presence.

And then, just when you think he’s about to guide you back to the car, he takes a sharp turn - leading you toward a private rooftop.

Your breath catches as the sight unfolds before you.

The rooftop is empty except for a sea of white roses, their petals glowing under the soft golden fairy lights strung across the railing. The city sparkles in the distance, the skyline stretching endlessly under the night sky.

It’s beautiful.

You turn to Harry, heart pounding. “Harry… what is this?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist as he looks down at you, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it.

“I’ve given you everything,” he murmurs. “Everything money can buy. But there’s still one thing I haven’t given you yet.”

Your stomach flips, realization dawning.

Harry takes a slow breath, then drops to one knee.

You gasp, your hands flying to your mouth as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black box.

“I told you I’d never let you suffer again,” he says, his voice steady. “That I’d give you the world, that I’d protect you with everything I have.” He flicks the box open, revealing a breathtaking diamond ring - elegant, stunning, perfect.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears.

“But none of it means anything if I don’t have you,” Harry continues. “You are the only thing I’ve ever truly needed.” He exhales, his fingers tightening around the box. “So, marry me. Let me make you mine forever.”

Your chest feels like it might burst.

The man who once ruled through fear, who held the entire city in the palm of his hand, was now on his knees before you, asking you to be his forever.

A tear slips down your cheek as you let out a shaky laugh. “Of course, you idiot,” you whisper. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

Harry’s lips curl into a relieved smirk as he slides the ring onto your finger before pulling you down into his arms, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that steals the breath from your lungs.

And as the city lights glow around you, you realize.

This was all you ever truly needed.

[mybelovedsylus]

Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes

I have no excuse for this one. I don’t know why this is where my brain went- well I know why, because I have a dirty mind and Sylus always tells MC at the claw machine that he will buy her a machine of her own, and then pair that with the line about putting her hands on his waist if they’re free… and well. This was born. 18+ please, minors keep it moving even though it starts as fluff.

My warnings for this are that it’s just smut when you get right down to it, and that there may be misuse of a claw machine, okay he uses the claw machine to fuck her… I probably need help. Anyways enjoy as always. You know the drill it’s not proofread or edited. 2200+ words

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You can be such a softie sometimes,” there’s a soft smile pulling on my lips causing the accusation to come out more playful than anything. I’m being led blind through the base, Sylus’ monster hands covering my eyes and most of my face as he maneuvers me through the halls. He hums in what I can only assume is agreement. Afterall, who would have thought the feared leader of Onychinus would be waiting for me to get back from my mission, waiting to cover my eyes, and waiting to present a surprise he had acquired while I was gone.

“Can I get a hint at least?”

“You don’t need a hint, the base isn’t that big, we’re here,” he leaned down at some point so I feel his warm breath caress my ear with the answer. I smuggle down the shudder that wants to run through my body at the sensation.

“So, are you going to remove your hands, or do I get the pleasure?” I tease, reaching my hands up to softly trace from his fingertips to his wrist. Without further preamble he drops them away from my eyes and I’m rapidly blinking trying to adjust to the sudden change in light. When I can finally focus I let out a gasp whirling around to face him.

“Sylus!”

“What? I told you that I would buy you your own. I mean you look so defeated the other day when we left empty handed,” his reply is soft and his eyes are warm as he looks down at me. This big oaf of a man really spent his free time while I was gone precuring a claw machine of all things. In fact…

“Wait- is this the one we always play?” I ask as I turn back, walking over to get a closer look. I let out a small laugh though when I realize all the plushies inside are the little crows I became so fond of- after all I had grown rather fond of Mephisto and it was nice to have a little reminder of him even when I was back in Linkon. (Although to be fair, he was usually trailing me. Nonetheless.) My first statement to him this evening was in fact correct, this man was softer than these silly plushies.

“Let me tell you, it was highway robbery what he made me pay, but now you can play whenever you want,” he shrugged. Nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t gone to our regular arcade and paid probably at least double what the machine was actually worth – because we played it together, and because it was something I enjoyed. I think I finally had physical proof that it was a fond memory for him too. I look back over at my shoulder at him with a cheesy grin that only spreads wider when I see him holding out a quarter for me.

After a few turns I essentially had my face pressed up against the glass, breath fogging my view, because the stupid crow wouldn’t stay in the claw. It kept getting to the point where it looked like it was going to make it to the chute, and then at the last second it slipped right out. Sylus laughing broke me out of my pseudo trance. I spun on my heel, poking him in the chest with my finger.

“Alright, you think it’s so funny, you get it.”

“While I can say watching you is more fun, I’ll show you how it’s done,” is his cocky response as he steps up to the machine. I stand on my tip toes trying to see over his shoulder as he drops the quarter in. I can’t help myself as he starts to move the joystick, tapping his shoulder just like I would do when we were out at the arcade and I was trying to tell him which one I wanted.

“I don’t think your usual antics are entirely necessary, I filled the machine entirely with the same plushie because I know it’s your favorite. However, if you need somewhere to put your hands, my waist is free.”

I don’t know how or why the idea forms, but once it begins to take shape in my mind it’s all I can think of. So I start with complying. I thread my arms around his waist, resting my cheek on the side of his arm, enjoying the feel of his muscles flexing and bunching with the small movements. When his turn resets and he gears up to aim again, my hands sneak down to his belt, deftly undoing it before moving to the button.

“Kitten,” is the growl I get in warning and I have to bite my lip to hide my smile as I flick the button open and pull his zipper down before shoving my hands straight down his boxers. He jumps and accidently presses the button, getting no where close to any of the plushies. I shake my head dramatically, smiling as he looks at me with a heated gaze.

“I thought you were going to show me how it’s done, but it looks like you can't even get close,” I repeat his words back at him with an overly innocent smile, even going so far as to flutter my lashes at him.

“You don’t know what game you’re starting,” he warns with gritted teeth as he turns back to the game.

“I’m pretty sure we’re playing the claw machine,” I mutter as I push down his boxers just enough to free his dick. It’s already well on the way to fully erect, the tip already leaking a bit of precum. I pull one of my hands back so I could lift it to my mouth and lick the entire length of my palm getting it nice and wet for easier movements. With the new lubrication, I shift my hand back and tug once playfully.

“Well don’t stop, I still want a crow,” I say sweetly, twisting my hand at the end of the pull, twisting on the head and eliciting a grunt from him and another pulse of precum. I loosen my grip on his cock, tracing the vein instead lightly with a fingertip as a challenging tease for him to keep working at the game while I play my own. I continued on with my languid pumps, enjoying listening to the way his breathing picked up in succession but deepened in tone. Soon he looked like me at the start of the game with his head propped up on the glass, his breath fogging the glass to the point that I was pretty positive he couldn’t see anything he was doing. It didn’t deter me, rather it motivated me as I tightened my grip a bit and made a quick jerk upwards.

"Fu-uck kitten just like that," he groaned thrusting up into my hand. I picked up the pace amd tightened my grip to a point that might be punishing. Sylus hit his fist against the glass as he moaned and jerked in my grip. It was around the same time that the familiar winning bells went off while the machine lit up.

“Time to show you how it’s done,” was the only warning I was issued as he took control at the speed of lightning, spinning in my hold as he switched our position, pressing me hard against the machine. The joystick dug in my back and I couldn’t even be bothered to care as he crowded into my space, bending down to take my lips in a punishing kiss. His hands were quick to work, pushing my pants over my hips and I gasped as I felt his hands pulling the fabric of my underwear until they ripped with a harsh snap. I tore my mouth from his, looking up at him in shock.

“Those were my favorite.”

“I will buy you 5 more pairs, I thought that would be obvious,” he muttered, bending to bite down on the skin of my shoulder since I had pulled back from him. I tilted my head to give him more access, tangling my hand in his hair and using the purchase to hold him against me. His fingers also moved deftly up my leg until they hit my center. He grunted curse words, finding the wetness that had flooded my panties as I worked myself up teasing him. He pulls back to stare me down as his hands glide through the wetness. I whimper as his hand leaves as quickly as it came, leaving me worked up and frustrated.

He gives me a devilish smile as he moves me slightly, dragging the hand with my slick down the joystick of the machine.

“Sylus!”

I’m shocked by the action, but more shocked as he lifts me with ease. There’s a wild look in his eyes, and suddenly I feel him moving me, until the round red plastic of the joystick is pushing against my entrance. He hesitates, watching me, giving me a chance to protest but I just stare back, working my bottom lip over with my teeth. He groans then, bending down for another kiss as he pushes me down slightly, letting the ball work it’s way in. He watches intently, and once the red is gone, he drops me and lets gravity take control. I throw my head back, banging it on the glass at the intrusion and the assault on my insides. It’s the oddest sensation and I can’t help but shift my hips. Sylus’ wild eyes flicker behind me, and I can hear the crane moving.

“Think we can catch a plushie like this?” he asks me in a deep sultry tone, his hands drifting up my legs, one stopping at my clit while the other grabs the back of my neck, helping him to angle my head up so he can plunder my mouth. He pulls his fingers away from my center and my hips automatically push forward, trying to follow the sensation. I’m rewarded with his hands returning, tracing tight circles on my clit. I’m writhing in his hold, desperate for more, needing more. You grasp for purchase as you shift your hips, trying to get some friction from the ball buried inside you. Once I find a maneuver that has it hitting that perfect spot inside me, I work my hips over and over again chasing that peak. Sylus has his gaze transfixed on my cunt, from his fingers teasing my clit, to the lewd picture of the claw machine mechanism inside me, to the wanton way I grind against it needing release.

“Oh- fuck – right - shit, almost there,” I mutter mostly incoherently working to use the machine and his hand to get you there. I am struggling to keep your eyes open, Sylus now using his hand more forcefully to work my clit and also assist in my grinding movements.

“That’s it, what a welcome to my gift. I think if this is how we use it every time I could be really into this whole plushie thing,” he says breathlessly, looking at me with the gaze of a wild predator, pupils blown wide. I can feel my wetness dripping down from the part of the joystick not inside me, down onto the machine.

“Look at you making a mess, it’s going to be all sticky, we may even have to buy another one because your slick may stop the mechanisms from functioning,” Sylus halfheartedly reprimands while also pulling my legs farther apart so he can get a better view. His words, partnered with the ministrations, finally push me over the edge. I grasp the edge of the controls and clench my eyes shut, calling out Sylus’ name as I crest over the wave. My chest is heaving, and my vision blacks a little. As I come back to myself, I realize he is smoothing my hair and rubbing his thumb over my cheek, his gaze watching me closely.

“You okay there, kitten?” he asks with a gentle grin. All I can do is nod, leaning back against the glass, enjoying the cooling feeling of it through my top. I can’t believe I just defiled the machine like this with him still wearing half your clothes no less – we were no better than horny teenagers sometimes. How long has he been cooking this idea up? I had a good feeling that was one of the motivators to the machine actually coming home.

“Alright, we’re going to relocate this to the bedroom now,” he warns me gently and I smile up at him, putting my hands around his neck as he helps lift me off the joystick. I moan, clutching him to me tightly at the pull. A desperate groan rips from my throat as it pops free and I suddenly feel empty. Sylus lets out a guttural noise of his own as he looks at the way the plastic glistens.

“I almost don’t want to clean it.”

“Gross, Sy,” I hit his chest halfheartedly. It’s interesting I feel somewhat worn out, but also still worked up, and I've definitely noted that Sylus’ cock is an angry shade of red with precum steadily leaking. “Take me to bed.”

“Oh wait – can’t leave without our prizes,” he mutters, setting you down before he bends to collect the crow from the slot. However, I was only expecting the one he caught and instead he’s holding two proudly.

“This one is staying here forever as my trophy, the first of I hope many caught by your pussy,” he says with what feels like reverence, and despite the fact that I was just an active participant, I can feel my cheeks heating at the memory. This man. Although, I do find myself clenching down at the idea – I wouldn’t be that upset for a repeat performance, or for whatever scenario he’s probably already got cooking up.

[lemondropicedtea]

Rawdogging an un-edited section of my fic. I'm going to start just posting little snippets because some scenes I just love so much this is gonna be like a 300k+ word fic and I only want to post it on ao3 when she's done done. This is a flashback to when Viktor actually first met Jayce at the academy. And he felt something immediately because they're literally connected canonically at every level I'm going to start CRYING TW: Un-edited first pass shit Enjoy...

Viktor looked up and time seemed to stand still for a moment. The boy, maybe a year younger than him with short dark hair, tanned skin and a round baby-face looked at him as he walked past. He had papers and scrolls piled between his arms as he walked past him.

Their eyes made contact and Viktor felt a strange feeling in his gut, like he was forgetting something important. Just as soon as the feeling started, it faded and the boy looked back ahead and kept walking down the hall, his long legs making his pace faster than others. 

Viktor stopped and turned to watch him as the began to turn the corner, only to catch his foot on a small table against the wall and fall forward with a yip. Papers flew all over. Viktor held a snort in his throat and watched as the boy’s ears went red and looked around at a few passing students who watched him, amused. 

“Viktor!”

Viktor jolted as Dmitri appeared at his side, hand on his waist in a way that made Viktor groan internally. Damn this man thinking he had a right to touch him any time he saw them just because they were fucking. 

“I was hoping I’d catch you after your class… oh.” Dmitri looked up to where the boy was shaking his head, regaining his composure after his fall. “Damn, that guy is such an awkward clutz.” he said with a snort. 

“You know him?” Viktor asked, looking over at where the boy was desperately picking up the papers that had fallen from his arms, ears growing redder at a group of three years giggling at him from behind their hands.

“Yeah. That’s Jayce Talis. Lower house, his family runs a tool making business.” he said. “He’s another of Kirammin’s patrons. For how long, who knows. She picked him up because of his surprisingly incredible marks more than anything. He’s pretty smart, but he’s not… how should I put it nicely…” Dmitri rubbed the back of his neck. “...impressive. I think she was hoping he'd be a good investment, but so far he hasn’t really produced anything noteworthy. Funny considering he always looks busy with something.” 

“Something?” Viktor asked. Jayce finally got his bearings and looked over to them. Viktor saw Dmitri raise his hand in greeting in the corner of his eye. Jayce pinched his face, but nodded to him and scurried off. 

“He’s not much of a people person.” Dmitri said with a shrug. “He barely goes to events and when he does he looks like he’s itching to hole himself back up in his workshop. He’s a recluse. But Cassandra must see something in  him.”

“And you say he’s from a tool-making house?” Viktor asked, brow raised. Dmitri huffed at him.

“You seem pretty interested in him. Do I need to feel jealous?” he asked with a teasing grin, moving his arm from Viktor's waist up to his shoulders. Viktor rolled his eyes at him in exasperation. “He’s not worth your time, trust me.” Dmitri said a bit too confidently.

[asterkatt]

MAJOR ISAT ACT 5 SPOILERS

(DO NOT MENTION ANYTHING PAST DORMONT PLEASE!!)

okay so. wowie. just started act 5 of ISAT and my goodness do I have some thoughts. wowie. wowzers. while I was playing I didn't really get the chance to voice my thoughts because if you've played act 5 you know there is no time to do so. you are getting hit with one emotional train after another. no time to think no time to breathe only time to suffer. but the power of doing a let's play gave me time to think while editing so I jotted down some thoughts that you're now getting. you're welcome. (these will not be coherent at all just. as a heads up. sorry in advance) okay so. first friendquest I did was Mira's (which makes sense considering she's the first one that you run into). one of the things that really stuck out to me is that she - not just now, but even pre-game - has only tolerated the teasing from everyone. She has to remind herself that they're not being mean. she has to remind herself that they're not being mean. I just... she shouldn't have to do that. and that's one of the things I love about this game - the characters are so in depth and so well written that yeah, sometimes they unintentionally hurt each other. we see it over and over and over again with Siffrin. their family will tease them, they'll brush it off, but we'll see that he never really lets go of it. I have a feeling it's the same with Mira. she's okay with Siffrin teasing her, because "it's fine, everyone does." then continuing to say that she probably just has the "kind of personality where it's easy to want to tease me"?? MIRA NO- augh. my heart breaks for her. she struggles with her identity and purpose just like. well. just like everyone else in this game actually. that's. okay. (bookmarking that realization for later). something that's really interesting about Mira's friendquest in particular is how much she seems to be projecting onto Siffrin. I feel like out of everyone, she's looking for someone who can validate her struggles the most. It goes further than looking for someone who can relate - she wants someone who can relate and tell her that everything will be okay.

so, when Siffrin says what he does, she lashes out at them. the thing I found most interesting (and heartbreaking) about how she responds is that she isn't just putting Siffrin down - she's putting herself down at the same time. I'd even argue that she's calling herself out with her line of "always talking as if you're better than me! as if you know me!" because I feel like she struggles with not knowing who she is either. after all, who is she if she can't change in the way that her belief as a housemaiden calls her to??

and of course, this is all solidified in what she says next: "you're just as lost and useless as I am!!!"

because yeah. Mirabelle. Mirabelle. feels lost and useless. she doesn't know who she is if she can't follow the change belief in the way that is required of her. she doesn't know why the head housemaiden burdened her blessed her. she doesn't feel like she's capable. she wasn't able to stop the King before, how is she supposed to do it now?? she overthinks and worries about everything and I'm sure that includes all the choices she makes. I'm sure she's had doubts about all of her family members in one way or another - but she's chosen to trust them. to trust them to help her on this impossible, hopeless, last chance quest. and Siffrin just made it clear that she was wrong to do so.

watch me collapse into a inconsolable heap on the floor because of this game

[craziertogether]

stand UP.

i am so sorry to say this like this, but guys please stand up. there is absolutely no way anything in those leaks are true. i’m not even going to share the original bc it isn’t even worth the space in this post. but let’s be so honest, if byler isn’t confirmed or endgame that is something that i will discuss later, regarding the actual plot points revealed. WHY would any information about ST5 be revealed to the public? the duffers and netflix have been so secretive about everything to the point that we have gotten practically NO new content regarding the new season. There have been interviews yes, we’ve gotten very general ideas of mike and will’s relationship and that we know the show is ahead of editing but absolutely NOTHING has been said besides “you guys will be very happy”. they have continued saying since season 3 that “season X is the best season, it’s bigger than the last” and each time we have been proven correct, as bylers and as fans the show has grown into bigger things with bigger relations and bigger villains. so please tell me why ANYONE is believing that “the same season 4 tactics will be employed” and “EVERYONE SURVIVES” has us shaking rn. stand up.

regarding byler leaks. i am actually a byler truther, maybe i’m delusional and maybe we all are. but my goodness, we know the duffers are incredibly talented at writing and creating plot lines and storytelling, why in the ever living hell would they create a universe where they again stated it’s for outcasts, claim that “will takes center stage” in season 5 and that he “comes into his own” AND “he gets a love interest”, all to let him have a huge confession scene to get rejected by the person he’s been set up to be in love with for nearly 8 years IRL and a decade in the show. like i’m sorry but, what do you mean you expect me to believe that you guys believe that will, who so thinly but successfully veiled his love confession, poured his entire heart and soul into mike but not for his own desires but to make mike happy and to continue doing what he has always done. which is giving mike strength (season 1 finding him, season 2 helping him while he was possessed, season 3 helping him come to terms with his sexuality unknowingly and remind him of his actual love, will and his friends, and season 4 remind him he isn’t useless) and then he’s going to what? DO IT AGAIN? “hey mike i actually uhm yeah so i know i lied to you breaking our biggest rule but i had to let you know that actually the painting was from me and el doesn’t think of you at all the way that i said, it was all me bro” followed by a “oh my fault bro, uhm i don’t see you like that but let’s stay friends and i’m gonna marry your sister and uhm yeah ig well see each other around sorry if i confused you or something but thanks for helping me get over my inability to tell my girlfriend that i love her”. i’d this happens i will personally go to the duffers house and kidnap them and make them watch byler edits and read analyses with them AND livestream it bc what a TERRIBLE ending.

like guys.. i acc cannot with you guys who are believing this “leak” i’m sorry 😭🙏. but please don’t tell me you’re going to let an unconfirmed source, AN ANONYMOUS LEAKER, of all things deter you from the incredible analyses and actual CANON information and content from the show??? will and mike are shown to have intimate moments, paralleled to actual couples, and have been SET UP to be in a love triangle, all canonically, and this on leak from a faceless twitter account with no actual connection to any cast/staff working with the show has you guys crumbling at the knees.

STAND UP I SAY. WE HAVE BIGGER ISSUES, LIKE WAITING FOR THE ACTUAL SEASON TO COME OUT.

ps. i’m such a yapper but guys please PLEASE BE SO FR.

[tabsters]

wiege observations - part 1 (because of tumblr's 30 image limit)

part 2 here

first of all:

WHAT ON GOD'S FUCKING EARTH DOES THIS IMPLY???? does it mean that the luka we know killed all the other lukas??? it looks like he hit a switch of some sort, causing all the other lukas to spill out of their pods and presumably die. we've all been saying that the other lukas died because they weren't perfect enough, but what if they were killed accidentally, by our luka's negligence? there's also green shit all over them, someone said that could be alien blood, so what's the implication there? does hepuru have something to do with them all dying as well?

these shots were beautiful. I love hyuna. and it shows her reminiscing about the times she spent in anakt.

edit: someone said that the top image is her with the rebellion members. she's smiling in the first one, because she cares about her fellow escaped humans, but she'll always value the time she spent with luka more.

this is depressing. it's already probably been stated, but this is the only way luka can ever see or touch hyuna after she went rogue.

people have also already said that this means that originally, sua had the black dress and mizi had the white one. does this mean that the aliens originally thought that mizi would look better in white because white = innocence and mizi is the most innocent anakt contestant? and then does that mean mizi gave sua the white dress because white = holiness and sua is her god?

also been said, till is spray painting his shirt because he's a rebel and he always does things his own way.

this is presumably after hyunwoo dies. hyuna is obviously in shock and she's crying about hyunwoo's death. but luka is happy. he's happy that he now gets all of hyuna's attention, that he can be the ruler of her heart the way she rules his heart.

this is a picture presumably drawn by hyuna, given how only she and hyunwoo have eyes, and how she's the only one who has a mouth. however, an interesting thing to think about is that this could be a callback to this:

notice how hyuna is the only one who has her eyes and mouth uncovered. hyunwoo has his mouth scribbled through, while luka doesn't have a face at all. this could imply that luka was actually the one that drew this picture.

what's interesting about these photos is that this shows that human connection wasn't just limited to our main six. there were humans all over, in the slums and anakt, connecting with each other and finding the reasons to live in each other. and I think that's beautiful.

THE FUCKING XYLOPHONE.

as @hoisinblackcat pointed out, that is chu chu from revolutionary girl utena. if you're a mizisua enjoyer, go watch revolutionary girl utena.

as many people have pointed out as well, THEY WERE MARRIED IN ANOTHER LIFE.

what is bro doing. is he doing karaoke. get it till.

this picture is a callback to this one picture at the very beginning, in round one:

this implies that mizi took the fish out of water to keep as a pet, and then it died.

4NAKT. I love 4NAKT. this is my new wallpaper. this is also a callback to the one alien from round 3 and round 6:

now, this interesting to me because what I immediately thought of when I saw this alien was Cerberus, the three headed dog to the underworld in greek mythology. this could imply that this alien serves as a guard for anakt, making sure that no kids escape. however, Cerberus has three heads. this alien could have three heads, but only two are picturesd. however, there is also a two headed dog in greek mythology named orthrus. what did orthrus do? guarded cattle. yet another reference to how humans just animals in the eyes of the segyein.

now, this scene. it has a possibility to be connected to this scene:

where there is AN ENORMOUS FUCKING BEETLE ON LUKA'S HEAD. I think this is the direct reason for why luka killed hyunwoo, hyunwoo hit luka on the head to kill the beetle, luka hit him back because he didn't understand what was going on, hyunwoo's head got smashed into a rock, and luka smiles and goes "oh well, less competition for hyuna's love."

what the fuck is this. is luka looking at even more clones of himself. but these guys look taller. what the fuck.

mizi's still crying over till's death. hyuna's still injured. IVAN, TILL, AND HYUNA ALL DIED ON THE EXACT SAME DAY. WHAT IF I DIED.

anyway post 2 coming soon because I decided this was more important than AP precalculus.

[softgh0stbites]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ Time's Embrace

Rating: NSFW smut, angst, emotional angst, frotting + dry humping + fingering + explicit in detail

Pairing: Vincent Valentine x Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Summary: After the tragic end of your friend Aerith, you wonder what time will allow for you. So when you end up in Icicle village with an opportunity to cherish your beloved, you take it, even though it's a fleeting memory.

Notes: I wish I could keep going, but I think I'll burn myself out if I do. Vincent might be a little ooc or progressive in this one with his comfort, but i felt like it was okie given the extreme circumstance. This one is a long read and a little too all over the place for my own tastes— I did do some proof reading and editing, but the longer it got the more I started to not care if any of my sentences were repetitive so I'm sorry if it's sloppy ♡ enjoy~

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Time has never been a virtue to anyone, it liked to remind people about that in the most malicious ways. You always thought you had moments, hours, days, years to say all that you wanted— to cherish the people you love.

But when you watched a man descend from the sky and skewer your friend like she was nothing but flesh to be discarded, time ceased to exist. Everything unraveled in slow motion, mockingly, as if you had any power to stop it; As if you could reach out and pull her away. If you had been better, if you weren't weak, if you had a single skill to display— that soft laughter that everyone loved, those gentle eyes, teasing smiles, maybe that hand that always helped you up would still be here.

You knew it wasn't just you who felt this way, more than anyone Cloud was facing the brunt of the cruelty, his shoulders weighed with it. He was the one after all who was standing the closest, weapon raised to strike her himself. That had been terrifying.

You were there. You smelled the copper of her blood, the schlick of the sword being removed from her insides. You watched her eyes flutter openly for a moment, wordless, no smiles, light faded before they closed and never opened again. You could see the copious amounts of scarlet— a color you once harbored with love puddle beneath her, spreading out in a web.

You could hear Tifa's wracking sobs, felt the tears on your shoulder as you tried to console her with your arms while you fell apart too. You remembered the way she looked so serene, as if she was sleeping— wondering...will she wake up?

Your hands trembled when you finally reached Aerith, her skin so pale already, she looked cold. You wanted to cover her up, pretend she was just sick, but your hands and knees were covered in her essence. The red of her ending up on your shirt. You cradled her head softly, lips brushing the top of her head before scrambling away. Her skin was ice cole, no life at all.

You couldn't watch Tifa break apart, the way she cradled the cetra's face so gently, rubbing her cheek as if trying to bring a rosiness back to them.

Cloud took her into the water after that and she sank below slowly, everything about her becoming shadowed by the green water. She would be consumed, left to become bones beneath it.

You remember running from that scene, wrenching yourself from Tifa in a gasp, not wanting to see her drift to the murky depths. You didn't want to let go of her smiling face, her teasing nature, those times you connected over feeling so useless sometimes or so ordinary.

You ran and ran and ran until your lungs hurt and your throat felt raw. On shaken legs you made it back to the temporary camp, the others were there, having stood back to let you find Aerith while watching over your supplies since you were being tailed. The devastation on your face was evident, the blood on your shirt and pants, your panicked expression.

It only took one audible cry to leave your lips and he was there.

Vincent had stepped out from the tent, eyes zeroing in on you with blood, but for some reason you found yourself pushing forward, running until you collided with him. You almost knocked yourself down if he didn't grip you tightly by your arms, he was busy checking over you, gauntlet carefully aside as his other hand lifted your shirt hurriedly to check for wounds until you cried louder,

"It's not mine, it's not—" You gripped your head and almost sank to your knees, you felt his arms embrace you then. You couldn't see the others but you could feel their stare, you could hear the anguish.

"She's gone...." You hands would tighten around Vincent's cloak, your head spinning until you felt like you'd pass out.

Vincent would carefully pick you up and take you inside the tent, like a wounded soldier he would sit you down, kneeling in front of you. He handled you with so much gentleness as you stared wide off into space, you didn't want to think. You felt him around you, slowly gathering some of your stuff, packing up your supplies for you.

No one wanted to stay here.

You left as soon as everything was packed, but you couldn't change out of your soaked clothes so you sat in a corner, legs tucked up under you, head leaning into the wall. You don't remember how long you sat like that, dejected, feeling more sorry for yourself than you could ever imagine possible. Even though Vincent tried to be there for you, you shut him out, didn't make any want for him to be near you.

It took you a an entire day to reach Icicle village, a quaint little place with twinkling lights and blankets of snow. Normally you'd be excited for a new destination, but no one was cheerful— how could they be? You remember everyone shuffling out one by one, it was must more quiet except the idle chatter.

Cloud was no longer really hearing anyone, he was lost in his own head and seemingly Tifa was the only stability you had, but you could see her hands trembling when no one was looking. Barett and Cid were the first to speak up for everyone, their banter sometimes causing everyone to smile even if it felt a little hopeless.

It was like you were running on autopilot, you were numb, unwanting for anything. That was until you settled at an Inn, everyone was exhausted, tired, emotional. Surprisingly there was a few rooms with double beds and a quaint little loft room that would be taken by Nanaki since he insisted he wouldn't need much room to sleep. That meant that Cid and Barret could share a room, Cloud and Vincent, you and Tifa; Although you could tell it was going to be hard to pry the two of them apart with how longingly they held onto each other with their glances. You sensed a snap in their distance, like they hovered closer than before.

You felt Vincent's stare as you glanced away from the two, he spoke up insisting he'd room with you. It was the first time he'd been so forward, requesting anything really. Usually he would go with whatever the group wanted, but your hand tangled in the edge of his cloak told him you needed time. You didn't want to separate and he wasn't going to deny you after you had shut down on him all day.

"Is that what you want? Did you think to ask Tifa?" Barrett settled his gaze on you, flickering between the four of you.

Tifa brought her hand up and smiled meekly, "I-I don't really mind its not a big deal to me—"

"Argh, if she wants the walking funeral in her room, let her be. I'm too exhausted for this, we all are, let's just get some sleep and we'll come back to the drawing board tomorrow." Cid cut her off with a curt exaggeration, pinching his brow and digging in his pockets for a cigarette.

"If we're done," he paused to look at everyone, "I'm going to relax the best way I can, up and at'm." He snapped his lighter shut after lighting the cigarette which caused the front desk lady to glare.

You nodded towards Tifa in thanks which she just smiled through, even though her eyes shimmered with unease. Cloud hadn't moved from his seat on one of the benches, one hand carding through his spiky blonde locks.

When the deciding was done you felt Vincent take your hand as he had done all day, and pull you towards the room. He dropped your things down for you, clearly struggling a bit with how to comfort you, how to be there for you.

Pain was something he knew well himself, but he often swallowed it. He didn't want you to do that, to go through it alone until you closed in on yourself. He had figured you out pretty well over the months, he knew when you curled up on yourself you were thinking the worst thought. But this expression— this blank slate with dried tears and blood on your clothes, it pained.

With a sigh he stepped towards you who were sat in a chair. He leaned over you one hand coming up to caress your hair as he spoke softly.

"Do you want out of those clothes?"

You looked up, the warmth of the sun in his eyes that melted you a little, gave you a small purpose to nod. You didn't want to have this blood on you anymore, you had tried picking off the dried pieces on your arms but it did was fruitless.

He hummed in response gathering a bundle of your clothes from your bag, opening the washroom to reveal an old style wooden tub with copper faucets. With a squeak you could hear the knobs turn and water filling in.

Your hands trembled as you tried to peel off the shirt, but the blood was still there and it made you want to be sick. You grimmanced, but Vincent was there again, his gauntlet set aside and his glove off on his human hand. He didn't think twice about helping you, slipping it off as quickly as possible. His gaze didn't trace any part of you, only focusing on your face, stroking your hair and pulling you towards him when your eyes welled with tears again.

"I'm sorry," you would cry into his chest arms snaking around his waist, "I'm so sorry, I can't pull— I can't pull it together." You would choke out.

You would feel his hand stroke the back of your head, his arm wrapping you tighter, as if holding together all your broken pieces.

"You cry because it hurts," He whispered into your hair, his other hand rubbing circled on your back, "You never have to apologize for that."

Your tears were hot, feeling validated in your situation, you rubbed a hand down your face and pulled back a little. Vincent let you go with ease, brushing your hair from your face, his mouth was hidden by his cowl but you could see by his eyes that he was genuinely worried for you.

"Don't leave," you said, "Don't leave tonight,"

"Of course,"

And that's how you'd find yourself bare naked with him. Nothing sexual permiated the air, just a couple of broken people trying to comfort each other in silence. You were sitting in the hot water, your skin tingling as you scrubbed the soap into your skin harshly.

Vincent was there to pull your hand away, tilt his head at you and begin to wash you himself. He would always murmur, "May I?" Before washing something considered intimate. He worked dutifully but softly on your skin, gazing long and hard at the red spots from where you disturbed it. He would pour water gently over your head, helping to sud your hair, his fingers a little clumsy but you appreciated him for trying.

You would grimace when his hands would hoist your foot from the water, bending at your knees which were scraped to oblivion from tripping and sinking to them. He made sure to carefully wash away the dirt, blowing on the cuts as if someone had once done that for him before.

He had unbundled the cloak so it hung on his shoulders, revealing his face to you. He was nothing short of an angel, your gentle angel with talons who touched you like petals of a flower. He would take the time to massage your calf a little, you would gasp at the pain shooting up your limbs.

"It hurts here?" His fingers lessened their pressure instantly, looking down at you, hunkering into the hot water.

"Mm," You would nod as his jaw ticked, you couldn't tell if he was thinking about you or the events of today. He would make sure to scrub your feet as well, normally you'd find it ticklish, but you were just tired.

After washing you up he would help you out of the bath, offering a towel. He would escape into the other room, letting you dry up and put on your clothes. By the time you finished he was taking off his boots and cloak, slipping out of his vest so he was only in his long sleeve shirt and pants. Your fingers inched to be touching him, taking comfort in this gentle beast before you.

Vincent sat on the bed, his back resting on the head board and motioned with his fingers. You padded over, slipping between the sheets and letting your legs straddle his hips. You tucked your face in your favorite spot, the connection of his neck and shoulder, rubbing your nose in his shirt and inhaling deeply. A warm smell, something so grounding. It was a mix of his ages leather clothes, something earthy like mahogany, and the faint smoke of gunpowder. No matter how many showers you believe he took, he always smelled the same.

"Better?" He probed, his hands trailing up and down your sides slowly.

It was completely dark in the room save for the lantern on the side. This place had electricity, but the lantern was softer, its amber light more cozy. You pondered if he thought of that too when lighting it.

"Mhm." You hummed in acknowledgement, nuzzling closer. At one point in time you would've been elated to be held so close, it was scarce that you got moments like these with him. You could only enjoy it as it was, hoping that the images in your mind would settle for the night.

Time ticked by, your body was tired but your mind was still strung up. You wondered if this was even comfortable for him considering he didn't even move or shift beneath you. He was good at being still, like a statue, if you didnt know any better youd assume he was made of marble.

Another flash of her body floating in the water washed into your mind. You were here, safe, comfortable, and she was in the deep and dark waters of a forgotten city. You let out another sigh of contempt, your fingers tangling in your hair. You didn't deserve to be comfortable right now.

In the silence he spoke again, while untangling your fingers from your hair gently, not wanting you to hurt yourself subconsciously.

"It's not your fault," He would raise your chin with his pointer finger to look at him, his face more expressive without that damn cowl.

How was he so good at reading your thoughts aloud?

You would chew your lip,

"I just couldnt— it was so fast..."

"No one could," He declared, something flashing in his eyes, undechipherable.

He was right, you knew it. There was no point in placing the blame on anyone when it would take away from the real villain of the story entirely. It was his fault, that cat eyed bastard who popped up all over the place. Your teeth worried your lip still, now a little bit in anger, you hated Sephiroth. You hated that he was taking so much from everyone constantly.

He was also tragic in his own way, a hero fallen to ruin, a puppet for Shinra. Like every soldier, every employee.

As you shook out the thoughts, looking back into the crimson that was surveying you, you realized how dream like he was. He was such a kind heart, so gentle with you, always giving you his time and working on himself. He wasn't the most steady, but he was there when you needed him. Sure, he pulled away often and got lost in his self deprecation. Often deluding himself into thinking he wasn't meant to have anything good.

But that made you try harder, because you wanted his whole being to feel like he belonged in the waking world. As cliche as it was, you wanted him to stay because you didn't know what he would do after this mission was over and if everyone lived it, would he just disappear like smoke?

You weakly grabbed at his hair, the strands hanging over his shoulders, his eyes already falling to a close with a sigh as you combed through it. You liked him like this, without his cloak, without his gloves. He was vulnerable with you, a part of you gluttonous for that.

You don't know what enticed the words to fall from your tongue, but in the heat of the moment you spoke anyway.

"I want to forget all of it," your eyes still watering, your fingers clenching in his long locks of hair. Pulling his face towards you; wanting the smell of his sweet breath, "Make me forget, please, that's what I want"

You could feel the hesitation in the air, thick, spiraling between you both as he gauged your emotions. He looked torn between wanting to give you the world and wanting to chastise you, to tell you it wasn't okay.

You whimpered, a mantra of his name falling from your lips with begging,"Please, Vincent, please...." Your mouth inched closer, he didn't pull you away, but held firmly.

Vincent's chest heaved beneath you, shifting you on his lap the more you got closer to his face. His eyes were darting everywhere, from your lips, to your cheeks, your eyes. He seemed a little lost for how to reject you— or to welcome it?

You kissed him softly, your bottom lip catching his upper. The tears on your cheeks mingled in the middle ofthe connection. Your hands gripped his hair harder, tugging at him, wanting him to reciprocate. He didn't so much as part his mouth with a sigh and you wanted to dive in. Every part of him intoxicated you, made you so dizzy you couldn't think of anything but his touch.

He whispered your name, slowly hiking you up further on his lap, hands sliding under the back of your shirt, under your thighs, fingers slaying out as he did so. He relinquished control to you for a blissful moment. A swell of gentle victory arose in your heart, your lips eagerly chasing his that seemed to at least brush back with renewed vigor. You felt your kiss deepen slowly. Your body wanted his mouth to be faster, hungrier, to make your heart resound in your ears. To drown out the cries of the day.

Your back arched into his touch as he slipped his hands back onto your lower back, your chest pressing with his which caused a purr to rumble from him.

Your hands continued to thread in his hair, the silken strands flowing like sharp ribbons through those fingers; Knowing he liked it, you tugged, you often took control of your kisses this way. You would be allowed more access to his mouth, maneuvering his face this way and that to your discretion. You could swallow each breathy sigh and gasp alike, greedily taking all he was offering you. Your body began to tingle, his hands slowing their circles on your back, gripping your hips as you tried to grind down into him. He groaned as you barely misses your mark,

"Behave," He grumbled, his lips pressing into a straight line at your intentions.

"Make me," You countered, wondering if it was okay to test his patience at the moment.

You nibbled on his lip, an act of protesting his grip halting your movement. You felt it only become more firm, keeping your hips from colliding with his. You didn't want to settle or behave, you were sure of this of wanting him all to yourself in this cramped bed.

Although before you could think to beg again to plead your case, he was plunging his tongue inside of your mouth, exploring at his own leisure now. It was like a thin string had snapped, his nails digging into your back a little. Thought it was just for a moment, right as you moaned, before he slid his mouth away.

When you broke for air he trailed kisses over your cheek, down the column of your throat, teeth grazing over your pulse point with a warning. The kisses were too tender, too soft, you wanted more open mouthed kisses on your skin. More of his tongue lavishing your neck instead of your mouth. You wanted him to be feverent and hungry. Everything was going according to your idea, you thought, until he unweaved, grabbing one of your arms gently as you panted. You were clearly a little frustrated.

"It may be best that we wait—" He started, his eyes smoldering, glints of amber and yellow in the dark, lips wet from your tongue and tears. He could see your cheeks almost bulging, sulking.

"Why?" You probed, those intense eyes of your settling on his straightforward.

"Because you're grieving, I don't wish to—"

"So you don't want me like that?" Your voice trembled, your shoulders slumping in defeat. You let go of his hair, hands folding into your lap, the tears welling up again to drip down your face. You were being a bit eccentric, your belly was heated and you were sulking for him putting out the embers. For dowsing you back in the cold of reality.

Vincent let out a whine almost animalistic in nature, pressing his forehead to yours, "You know this is untrue,"

You did. You knew you were being stubborn. Throwing a tantrum most likely, you were acting as a greedy child. But it did little to sway your eyes from keeping their gaze locked on your lap where you hands lay, fingers twisting.

"Look at me, please,"

You shut your eyes tighter. Your name left his lips again, calling for your attention.

You opened them, slowly lifting them under your lashes to find his intensly boring into you with flecks of yellow. It wasn't often you saw the yellow, beastly eyes lurking beneath, but sometimes they made an appearance. You felt a little shy like you had an audience between you two. You saw his yearning, but you also saw how worried he was for you. He was entirely cautious for good reason, he didn't want to break you, bend you, tarnish you in any way.

"There you are," he offered one of his rare crooked smiles, lips curling at the ends in that way you love.

"Your tears are very enchanting, but I dislike seeing you cry," he whispered, leaning forward to press his lips under your eyes, a warm wet sensation following as he licked the traces of your tears away.

Maybe it should've repulsed you, but it was a little comforting. Crying had left your eyes sore, the skin below was dry and the soft sweep of his tongue and a bit of cool breath made all the difference. It was also somewhat bold of him, almost uncharacteristically bold.

It made you ache.

"You make it hard not to protest when you do that," you mumbled, already feeling the mood lighten a little from his shennigans. He was trying to comfort you in his own way.

He chuckled, a sound that didn't reach his eyes as he brushed a thumb along your jaw, "I want when we...", he cleared his throat, suddenly seeming a little bashful.

"Fuck?" You offered, announciating it a bit too sharply which he seemed to wince at.

"Mmh," He pushed on your waist until you were laying with your head against his chest, able to hear the rhythm of his heart.

"When we join," he continued while stroking your hair, you felt all the fight leaving you, "I want it to be because you desire to remember, nothing more and nothing less,"

You sniffle, feeling really silly for your earlier antics but still dealing with that deeply rooted sadness. You wondered if this is what Vincent carried all the time. If it felt so hollow, how did he have the strength to burden himself alone?

You're certain there was something that happened to him so twisted that he wouldn't let you touch him in certain places, wouldn't let you see him without clothes. It was the way his eyes darkened when you asked if it was because it had been a long time since he'd been with someone in general.

To you it didn't matter if he was the virgin Saint Mary or if his body count was in the one hundreds, you just wanted him to feel as comfortable as he made you feel.

Unfortunately he refused reciprocation, sometimes allowing you to make him feel good over his clothes with your hands or hips, but nothing beyond this. You knew he didn't climax once with you this way. You were often interrupted, not really allowed to embellish your desires as you please. You also only ever had cramped places to yourselves where it was hard to touch.

There had been nights during watch together that you lounged in his lap, his fingers gliding under your waistband when you were worked up. He painted these occasions as "Helping you relax".

His fingers would make you fall apart under the stars once more, but it was always hushed, too quick to sink into the desire. You wanted more time—more of him.

As the silence droned on, you became aware of your spiraling thoughts once again, trying to think of anything but what happened in the past day. You wanted to sleep it off, wake up and discover it was all a dream.

"Vincent?"

"Mhm?"

"Do these wounds heal?" You pushed closer to him as if it were possible, he was drawing the covers up around your shoulders. The blanket made your nose itchy, but your body was so exhausted you wouldn't bother lifting you fingers to relieve it.

You could feel the heave of his sigh, "With time,"

A lie, dripping bittersweet, but one that would give you hope.

———- a week passes ———-

You hadn't grown used to waking up to Vincent in a long time. What with Aerith dying, the group finally admitting they needed some rest— you were in a period of welcomed warmth. Cloud busied himself in sidework with Barret, Tifa helped the pub downstairs to help pay for your extended stay at the Inn. You helped out as well, scrubbing tables down, serving food, and sometimes it felt like a part of your old life in Midgar had resurfaced. Though, your memory was a bit hazy with certain details. You couldn't remember what brought you to the city in the first place, just that you ended up there and had to survive.

The sound of the wind howling outside brought you out of your memories. You forgot how still it was when Vincent slept next to you, the steady fall of his chest, his hair sprawled across the pillows. His legs were often longer than the mattress so he often slept with them curled up, looped with yours when you would insist to take more room. You liked waking up before he did because you got to see a side of him no one ever did.

Even when he awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, sweat pouring off of him— he would retreat from you. Like clockwork he would put his walls back up for awhile after, assuring you that you did not need to know what lingered in the crevice of his mind. He would then spend the rest of the night cleaning his weaponry, oiling his gauntlet, or reading— Anything to prevent himself from landing back in the bed with you.

So, you liked when he rested dreamlessly— though that was few and far between.

Your fingers fluttered over his sharp cheekbones, reaching the corner of his eyelids. The first tell of Vincent waking up would be the working of his jaw, his tongue moving around in his mouth, lips parted to breathe in a deep mouthful of air. Often he would keep his eyes closed, just letting you hold his face. But today he opened those carmine eyes just for you, sleep heavy.

His eyes always looked more bleary in the morning, languid and lazy as he took in your face as well. He would usually bring a hand up to graze knuckles over your jaw, his other arm around you pulling you in a bit more. He often made you lay back down, his voice so throaty it made your heart stutter.

"A bit more,"

But you had other plans, you would lean up on your elbow propping your head up. You would study his features still, finger smoothing out the furrow of his brow.

"Has anyone ever told you how hot your morning voice is?" you teased, your finger outlining his jaw, going down to his collarbone and back up. You were basking in the afterglow of a good dreamless sleep.

You were greedy for his affection. You had been going to sleep early almost every night after working with Tifa so often you had time to embrace and then you were drooling on your pillow.

His eyes opened once more at that as you began to shift above him, straddling his hips. You had insisted on borrowing a shirt of his yesterday, using everything to your advantage for your villianous idea to make him lose self control. His hands rested on the top of your thighs, fingers playing with the edge of the shirt, a lingering expression of sleep on his face. His blinks were really slow, eyes wandering over you as if considering letting you have what you wanted. His will was too damn strong though, ignoring your curious glances at his shirt and pants.

You leaned down, brushing your lips to the shell of his ear, "Do vampires get hard in the morning?" You nibbled his ear lobe.

Vincent let out a sound of self contempt, his fingers gripping you more roughly as you sat down harshly right over his bulge. He wasn't rock hard but you could feel him twitching and tensing beneath you already.

He gripped your face between two fingers with a long ardent sigh, a smug look as your face heated up from his bodies reaction. He squished your cheeks together, making your lips jut out. You were losing your bravado as you could almost feel the length of it.

He was big.

He knew it too.

"On second thought, breakfast?" You squeaked out, your lips still pinched between his fingers.

"Mm, but I thought you were offering a delectable buffet?" Vincent pondered, voice thick, his hand drawing your face near.

"After all, vampires are quite insatiable." He drawled, "Silly girl."

You forced your eyes away, glancing out at the snowfall from the window.

"All bark but no bite," you muttered, your blush deepening. You doubt he would take it farther than teasing, even though you'd had alone time recently he hadn't shown that much low restraint. You even tried sleeping with your shirt rocked up around your thighs, sleep shorts forgotten— he looked of course, but never slid his hands any further than the tops of your legs.

In a whirl you found yourself flipped over in your moment of distraction. His forearms caging your head, his legs astride your thigh. Was that his teeth at your jugular? You felt your heart pick up speed when his hot breath ghosted over your throat.He didn't bite down, just lets the prick of his canines indent your flesh ever so lightly— a dangerous little reminder. When he felt you gulp, your throat moving beneath him he removed his mouth, satisfied it seemed with your reaction. Vincent settled his weight onto you carefully so as not to crush you, the spaces between your bodies nonexistent now, his belts pressing into your hips. He was so long compared to you that most times it was a bit awkward, the size difference really made you swoon though.

Your hands gripped his narrow waist, teasing your fingers on the hem on his shirt. Normally this is where he would stop, but he seemed a little delighted to play your game. His eager hands grabbed yours away from his waist, collecting them in one hand and pinning them above your head against the smooth wood of the headboard.

"V-vincent wait—"

He looked up from your throat, sitting up slightly to hover his face over you directly, moving his leg so it parted your thighs. He was waiting as you requested, idly tracing your side with his other hand still covered by his glove. He never touched you with it unless you asked nicely, but you often had to spend a long time getting him to take it off.

You weren't in a patient mood.

He cocked his head, playing the fool, "I'm waiting,"

"I hope that good ol' self restraint is doing you wonders." You bit back a grin, he truly was the best for making you feel giddy. These playful banters were scarce.

This side of him you wanted to keep forever before you had to exit this room for the day When you left it would be back to grunts, sighs and the occasional twitch of his eyes. His thigh shifted abruptly, touching your center and shooting sparks down your spine.

He let out a low chuckle, the sleep in his voice making it deeper as he purred, "No undergarments today as well? You're bold,"

"I'm very thorough in my tactics," You let out breathily, wiggling subtly to get that same friction.

"Oh?" He brought his lips to yours softly, giving you more access to his leg as you shamlessly started to grind against it, "Indulge" a gentle kiss, with a hint of his tongue running over your bottom lip, "Me?"

"Seduction," You whispered, biting his bottom lip, "Foreplay.....Orgasm..."

He waited with baited breath as you moaned, the friction was heavenly, not the same as his hands or his mouth, but the leather on his leg was smooth.

"Mm," He encouraged you wordlessly, letting you grind on him as you pleased. His hand continued to graze over your ribs with his fingertips, pushing the shirt up even more.

"Dont tease," you pleaded

"Says the temptress with tactics," He sighed lazily against your mouth, deepening your kisses, your tongue slipped inside his eager mouth, dancing for dominance. His was winning with all the places he could touch you while your hands were still pinned, making you moan for him, letting you slip.

"I want it," You whined, devastated, hungry. "Want you s'bad," Your voice slurred, drunk on his touch.

He pulled away, almost untangling himself in an attempt to let the flames simmer.

"N-No we don't have to....all the way..." You explained, your eyes wide, begging, "I don't mind not....you know.."

He seemed to relax at that, shifting and letting your hands fall to his shoulders, free. You flexed your fingers, the ache between your legs growing, you werent sure exactly what you wanted to do here but he was staring at you expectantly.

"I wanted to touch you," You admitted, "Maybe....each other..." You face was creeping with heat, you lips became the perfect place for your teeth to tug and bite.

Vincent looked lost in thought, his shoulders tensing forward, "I won't remove my clothes," He said slowly, waiting for you to reject the idea. Reject him. Reject his vulnerability.

You nodded, cupping his cheek, brushing a thumb across it, "That's fine with me, we can go at your pace, always." You affirmed with a kiss to his mouth, pulling him back down to you which he surrenders.

You made sure to give him an out though since you felt a bit irrational, "But if you don't want to, don't force yourself...promise?"

He wordlessly grips your hand with his bare one, sliding your fingers together like he did in the fountain. The gesture was a 1,000 words, a promise without needing clarification.

His hand releases yours to explore, to tease around your stomach. There's no fabric beneath your waist but he still takes his time sliding his hand further down, fingers splayed as if in muscle memory. He was drinking in your heated expressions as his hand finally descends your mound. His middle and pointer seeking out your folds.

Before you can lose courage you also begin to fiddle with the zipper on his leather pants, your fingers tremble.

"Inside or outside the underwear?" You asked with a teasing lilt of your hand palming him through the pants. You noticed his body's reaction immediately. His back tensed, arms quivering.

"Start outside," He bit out, he didn't know if he could hold it If you just reached in and grabbed him in one go.

You just nodded, feeling his head descend to your neck, breaths already heavy. He slid his hand lower taking his time to run both fingers down each side of your folds. You whimpered, hips rolling into those digits. You could feel how sticky and slick you were from having rubbed on his leg, the evidence spread all over your inner thighs.

While he coaxed you with his hands, you pulled the waist of his pants down just slightly, it was resting lower on his hips, your hand able to brush over his underwear now. Oh he was definitely hard, absolutely leaking. Your finger that grazed his clothed cock was damp, the thought warming you up even further.

You heard the low groan come from the back of his throat, face burrowing into your shoulder— Almost pained, like he was straining himself.

"It's okay. I've got you," You coo'd.

His fingers were carefully exploring you still, finding your clit and giving it a gentle pinch. It caused you to gasp, pleasure shooting through your body. Your other hand would rest on his slender waist, rubbing soothingly as you prepared him for more firmer grips. You didn't want to make a move too fast, disrupt whatever pleasure he was feeling just because you loved watching him fall apart.

But you almost couldn't help yourself, maneuvering him in his underwear so it was easier to trail your fingers over his long shaft. You mouth suddenly felt too dry, your tongue thick. What would he taste like?

A feral sound escaped him, he reigned himself in with a harsh inhale, "Be patient, not too hard," He guided your hand to rest at the base of his covered cock. He was groaning in the hollow of your throat, his hips freezing at the simple touch. You licked your lips, heart pounding, fingers flexing over him in a slow rhythm.

He didn't give you time to quip back at him, fingers rubbing you thoroughly now, gliding into the center of your slick heat and growling at how much of a mess was between your legs already.

You cried out, biting into his shoulder, you couldn't afford to be too loud afterall. Your hips rolled with his technique, wanting those fingers to go lower, to dip inside. He knew it well enough, slowing his pace to a torturous stroke. You were a bowstring pulled taught, arching into him regardless of the simple touch.

He hummed in amusement, toying with your clit and running those digits back up and down your center, index and middle finger running lightly over your entrance. He could feel you trying to take the tips of his fingers inside, the pulsing of the hole widening to accommodate. To say it turned him on was an understandment, he could probably peak from fingering you alone.

You whined, pushing closer with your hand on his hips. Your nails were digging into his waist, little marks would be left over. It wouldn't hurt what so ever if you dragged your nails deeper, though he wished you would. You would push against his fingers, moaning when you would successfully cause him to rub your core more intensly, finger tips sinking inside to stroke the warmth.

"Needy little thing," He rasped, raised himself up to your ear, licking and sucking just behind it. In response to this teasing your hand engulfed his clothed shaft, squeezing firmly while stroking faster. His fingers took their time slipping inside of you teasingly, going back up to your clit to rub the mess around.

A broken moan escaped him, his arms shaking as he kept himself upright, eyes fluttering close. You grabbed the tips of his hair, his fingers had stilled their torture so you could tug, pulling him to face you and capturing his lips. He drank greedily from your tongue, almost panting. Just a touch like this and he was spiraling too fast.

You bite down harshly, wanting to make these as yours for the time being. When you pulled apart all that was left was a string of saliva connecting your parted lips. The indent of your teeth prominent, little beads of blood forming there. You should feel bad, you think, maybe a little embarrassed by such a carnal desire to mark him in a place so vivid. He seemed to like it enough, those glowing eyes roaming over you in his shirt, tongue darting out to clean the drops of red from his mouth.

"Slowly," He chastised you with a gasp as you continued to grasp him so firmly, his hand going back to your wrist to slow you down, "I cant think..."

You smiled, kissing his cheeks tenderly. You could see that he was battling the pleasure, his brow furrowing, he always wanted to pleasure you first. It was endearing, but you wanted to make him come.

"I have an idea, let me up." You commanded with another tug to his hair. He complied immediately, letting you rise but having to remove his fingers from you as well. You grimmaced at the disappearance, but pushed him back to the end of the bed with the flat of your palm to his chest, climbing across his lap.

"Like this," You demonstrated with a swivel of your hips, your bare core touching his briefs. His belts dug into your legs but the sting was welcome. It sent electric up your spine as you settled fully into the weight. His hips arched into you, his eyes lidded as you rocked forward. He was biting his lip already, eyes rolling practically as you slid yourself over him with practiced glides.

Oh

Vincent was so hot, you could feel how wound up he was, the throbbing very apparent even in this state. You could feel the length against your clit, making you fall forward a little. Your one hand balanced yourself with his chest, the other cupping his cheek which he nuzzled in it. His teeth scrap over your palm as he nibbled gently. You chased the sensation of those sparks over and over. He looked so vulnerable, so open, overwhelmed. His chest was heaving beneath your hand as you continued, his hands settling on your hips to help you along or to slow you down— you couldn't analyze properly.

You were already panting too, feeling the wetness trailing down your legs as you shivered. It felt so good like this, you wanted so badly for that aching emptiness to be filled but you didn't want to push your luck in asking. The barrier of clothing between you was so wet you swear you could almost feel him bare anyway.

You couldn't help the tears that welled in your eyes, not wanting to scare Vincent you tried to hold them in. The pleasure was so much, his gentle but firm grasp on you was so rooting. How had you never had this before? It was electrifying.

"Do you want to stop?" He was asking you so tenderly, as if letting you know you could and he wouldn't blame you for it.

You answered with a feral kiss, rutting faster. You wanted him to crumble, wanted to see when he experienced bliss.

"Vincent...hah...mm—" was the only thing you could manage— hoping, praying the repsonse would be read into it well enough.

He whispered back, thrusting up as well with small pulses of his hips, "Make yourself the priority, I can hold." His voice was measured, each word lingered with a soft sigh each time you connected below.

Your heat soared, looking down into his eyes, fingers clenching in his shirt.

"Please, don't hold, let go...please..." You begged, not caring if you sounded needy. Just the thought of making him come was making your release climb. So you leaned up and away to add more pressure to his cock. You wouldn't accept anything less for him, you wouldn't let him deny himself.

You were babbling, a blush creeping over your cheeks as you looked down on him, "I want to see it...when you come for me," You leaned bafk down to kiss him again.

Those perfect lips colored slightly darker red than your own were too irresistible. You loved kissing him, every kiss was sweet. Was it always this addictive before though? You couldn't remember a time where you yearned for lips against yours so heavily. You could devour them day and night.

Vincent's hands came up to tangle in your hair, holding you there like you were his oxygen. Gripping you in place, ravishing your lips in equal measure as you gave yourself over to every desire you had.

You could feel his hips stuttering, losing rhythm with you.

"You're so good to me, Vincent, so sweet," You praised into his mouth as he hissed, his body seizing after that like it was too much. The mess between you two was splattering against his abdomen, an obscene sloppy sound coming from your grinding hips.

"I cant hold, please," He ground out the words, his jaw clenched as he reached for one of your breasts, hand cupping it. "You first,"

He leaned up on one of his elbows, moving the shirt so it was at your neckline and took the flesh inside of his mouth. He pulled it taut with his teeth, knowing you liked him to be a little rough with this area.

You were losing as quickly as you started this game of tug and war. You keened, slick dripping all over him as you picked up the pace with fervor. He was busy with the nipple in his mouth, teeth clamping down again with a harsh suck.

You cried out as it hit you suddenly, you could equate it to seeing static when you got dizzy. All your sensitivty went straight to the hunger between your legs, growing as you came. Your hips were not longer able to handle being upright, almost slumping forward into him. He growled and pushed you down harder, hands adjusting you to where he needed you— rubbing against you to chase his own release which wasn't far behind. You fell into his arms deeper, his mouth next to your ear.

You could hear every groan, every whimper as he chased pleasure with your soaking core. You were still trembling, the prices of white hot pleasure lingering as he overstimulated you. You cried into his shoulder, lips pressing hot kisses there.

"Just like that," You mouthed into his collar, "Feels so good,"

With a final trail of kisses to his mouth he tensed, hips rocking once, twice, three times in a quick succession of snaps. He called out your name so sweetly even with that raspy voice, dripping with desperation as he came.

Your breaths mingled as you soaked in his pleasure. The hot material underneath you grew even warmer, sticking to your skin.

He was shaking harder than you had, eyes rolling up, he looked so blissed out. It was like all the weight of his troubles disappeared for that moment, his body becoming soft and pilant as you stroked his abdomen over his shirt. Your voice cooing gently as his torso kept spasming along with the muscles in his legs.

You felt him tugging you down, naturally wanting to feel the press of your chest, the undeniable race of your heartbeats that gave him a sense of calm. He couldnt get close enough, burrowing his face in your neck with a cry. You could feel those hot tears streak over your skin. He was downright crumbling.

"Hah— fuck— nnnh." He was still shivering, you could feel the hot dampness of his come sticking to his underwear. You didn't move, not wanting to push him over too far. It seemed like he was overwhelmed with the pleasure of it all, looking a little lost so you just let him hold you close through the throws of it.

"You did so well, just let it happen, its okay," You reassured, kissing his head, taking one of his hands from your waist and lacing your fingers together.

"Hmmm," He hummed, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breaths as you began to coax his hips to move slowly from their stillness, drawing him back down to you in a relaxing way. Letting him ride out the high as he needed too even if it stoked the embers inside you once more. You knew he probably wouldn't be able to handle another right now.

"That's it," You murmured, gently brushing his hair from his face. You waited there, the silence stretching. Nothing but the sound of Vincent's idle gasps, throaty moans. When his hips finally stopped shivering you made sure not to press down on him again, keeping your weight on one of his legs instead.

He was still squeezing his eyes shut so you stroked a thumb over his cheek encouraging him to open. When he did you smiled so brightly, a happiness surging within you, you had finally had an experience together. You were elated.

"Are you okay?" You mused.

"Are you?"

You both asked each other, your lips twitching with the humor of it all. You leaned further onto his chest.

"Never better," You could feel, however, the quickly cooling release on your thighs. It was technically a mixture of your own and his. You didn't mind though, you didn't want anything to pull you apart right now.

You could see his mind spiraling, a look of shame in his eyes that wouldn't disappear. You quickly covered his mouth with your hand as if knowing he was going to ruin it with something incredibly ridiculous about himself.

He reached up to peel the fingers from his mouth but you insisted.

"Don't think about anything, you were perfect, all of it.." Your lopsided smile coming into play, "I came just from seeing your expression..." You admitted, shyly. You let him remove your hand finally, his eyes searching yours for any traces of regret.

Vincent let his fingers brush your hair stuck to your face away, "You'll be the death of me," the corner of his lip twitched but you could see the relief in his eyes. He kissed your palm, a gesture of affection that made your toes curl.

With a groan he started to sit up and you held on tightly, your bodies were slick with sweat and to your embarrassment a lot of your fluids.He looked at his drenched lap with something of pride, your cheeks growing darker. You could easily see the staining white from you all over his black clothing.

"Let's clean you up," He suggested instead, leading you off the bed with a hand but pausing to gain his balance. His legs were a little jelly like, his other arm reaching out to lean on the bed post. That made him feel just as shy as you, with the way his ears went scarlet. You giggled behind a hand, standing up beside him and tugging him towards the bath.

"We'll practice," You promised, eyes alight as he watched you remove the shirt from your body, "You'll get used to it, I'll make sure of it," His gaze was locked on the center of your thighs, the dripping arousal, his eyes glowing.

"Mm, careful."

And then you were whisked into the bath where you were awarded another taste of his fingers and teasing. You wondered how it could get better than that.

But time was still ticking regardless of your little bubble of happiness. You would have to step out of it soon, but in the moment you relished him.

[anomaly-076]

Before you even open the somehow-sparkling envelope, I weird sense of dread takes over you:

'Y/N, Cancel all plans for Valentine's! I'll be doing a special sweetheart stream and will need someone to act like my s/o and you're the only person I don't hate being around for too long besides Sho. We'll go to some café or a mall so bring your own money(I'll pay for you on the stream, but you'll have to pay me back after). - L.

Well, there go your plans of actually spending the day in any enjoyable way. But maybe... you can still enjoy yourself by causing some mischief.

You take an extra time to make yourself look good because if you're going to be on a stream that'll be watched by thousands of people, you might just as well. You try not to think about it that much, but judging from your past appearances, Leo's fans will be paying close attention to you and take screencaps for their edits or screenshots for posts about what it would be like dating him.

Thankfully, today is your lucky day and you look amazing.

The whole way to the Vagastrom garages, you're giddy and trying to come up with the best way to make Leo regret asking you to play his fake partner.

When you get there, it's almost empty. Most students must be somewhere else with their dates or participating in the various activities Darkwick put on.

"So yeah... Thanks guys! Hopefully they'll like it. Dunno where they are now though. Should've been here already." looks like Leo's stream already started a while ago despite you showing up on the agreed time.

That's perfect, actually.

Purposefully, you make your footsteps louder to not startle Leo, who is turned away from you. You make your way over to him and, once close enough, throw your hands over his shoulders while pouting, "Aw, sorry Leo-bear that I'm late."

Sadly you have to hide a gleeful smile as a brief look of disgust washes over Leo's face at that sugary-sweet petname. His eyes immediately flick to the camera and you're sure that if he wasn't live right now, he'd go off on a long rant about it.

"I't-I told you... to not call me that in public..." he plays off his irritation as flusteredness.

"Aw, okay... But I mean, we aren't in public. It's just us and your fans and you always say that you want to be as real as possible with your fans." you answer with another pout and are forced to hide another evil grin, creeping up on your face.

Maybe this Valentine's day is actually gonna be way more fun than you'd expected. Well, at least until Leo doesn't get back at you for that.

[lynnie-s3all]

Yo wsg mootie!! I hope your doing well! Since you still have requests on I hope you wouldn’t mind if I sent another one in ^^ onto my request…!

May I request (romantic) Mafioso, 1x1x1x1, and John Doe with a Reader who’s an artist and is always seen drawing in their notebook whenever they can? and perhaps they even draw the characters I’ve mentioned and shows them?

Thank you! Have a good day or night!!! :-)

Edit: Yes this is Zyran in the morning because i did not do uhhhh stuff today. I'm getting breakfast for myself

You inspire me more than i do... my love.

Forsaken killers x Artist reader.

While he would be busy hanging out with his other folks, you grabbed your notebook and decided to draw him in small doodles.

Not just those, you also drew his bunny <3

Whenever you're finished, you would come up to him and show it to him.

He was impressed by the details you drew on him, especially his coat, hat, almost every prominent feature he has on him. He loved the way you also drew his bunny too.

"that's actually lovely, princess. Keep drawing more. I would be so much proud looking at them each day."

Whenever you had a crashout, and maybe really feel upset to the point that you don't feel like drawing, he'll step in to help and comfort you.

"It's not horrendous, lovely... What makes you think it's bad? You know how i appreciate most of your little doodles on your notebook. Don't give up drawing. Maybe take a break if you need to."

You adore him so much.

I don't really say he's the opposite for everything, but you know how he is when he's around people. Really annoyed.

Well, here's a catch. You doodled him while he was watching TV with you at home, he didn't really payed too much attention for you a lot.

As you draw the small details, he just looked at you, while you're silently drawing.

"Well, what are you doing in that book anyway? Reading...?

"No, I'm not reading, silly. I just wanted to show you something."

Well now he was curious.

Once you finished doodling, you gave him your notebook. He was pretty much astonished when you did draw him with his crown. even with that hair... Just how gorgeous it is.

"The details in this art, you did made me look pretty handsome."

"Not really good though..."

"Who says it doesn't, I'm going to check your other pages in here"

"NO 1X DONT-"

Well you two ended up arguing if he should check it or not, but he just refused to give it back and wants to see your other drawings too. Now you're left filled with embarrassment.

John doe on the other hand...

He really adores your drawing so much.

He usually leaves your drawings on the wall with blood on the paper, I'm not sure why he decided to do that.

Uhm. there's a certain thing he wanted to do actually.

Since he likes to kill people, he told you to draw him with one of the victims... blood.

"What did you do this time John..."

"Please draw me with this person's blood."

You were concerned for him. But you fulfill his request anyway. Also because you don't want to question a lot on why.

"Alright sure..."

Once you finished drawing the art... Since human blood dries up a bit fast due to it evaporating, you had to take it for a bit faster pace, but you managed to make it look pretty.

You showed your drawing to him, you drew him with red roses too.

He was very happy.

TO THE POINT THAT YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY RIGHT AFTER YOU USED SOMEONE'S BLOOD TO DRAW.