#I love you fanfic writers so much

[redjukebox]

Please god can more Cesare fanfics be posted please I have read almost all of the 71 works under his tag please I need more pretty pretty please

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

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

WC: ~10k (grab your snacks)

Summary: 

Nanami runs into a problem that every man dreads.

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

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

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

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

Dividers: @cafekitsune | Header: made by myself

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©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is far from alright.

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

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

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

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

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

Limp dick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Male Sexual Health

Nutrition and Libido

Stress Management for Peak Performance

What the—?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How far you’ve fallen.

And how little you care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of this, because of one night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes complete sense in your head, but lately—

You yank open the lid and gape.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rough day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Humor me.”

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

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

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

Thanks for reading!

[ihathbenobiwankenobied]

great day for the reminder that fandoms are ruined by those who comment hateful things on fanfic

writers don’t owe you anything

writers make fics for free

there is a back button for a reason

[i-suc-at-art]

DpxDc prompt #2

Full prompt from this idea

Tim and Danny are apart of an online RPG which is basically DND but anonymous and online. (it’s mainly for secret nerds who don’t have anyone irl to play with)

Danny plays as a changeling rogue who will often swipe things from players they don’t like

Tim plays a Variant Human, monk who wields a pole staff (my guy is not subtle) and will often give back the things danny (who’s known as wraith) (Tim goes by Scarlet Redpoll (mainly just Scarlet though)) stole

Rules of the RPG:

Everyone remains under their game handle (so there’s no doxing) NO REAL NAMES

You can interact with other parties who are using the same campaign as you, however when interacting with main story plot your party will go into its own private server

You can have a party of any size however it’s recommended to have a party over 4.. However you can make it with two or three or solo (but that’s just kinda sad..)

There is a chat feature and call feature in the game, however no hate speech, or bigotry

You can’t join a call unless your apart of the party

ofc this doesn’t stop it from happening but that’s not really relevant to the story

There are Dms (dungeon masters) but your team can also just use the computer for your Dm

Your character can be completely customized, and you’ll move around on a map

Ok now to the fun stuff

Danny and Tim (Wraith and Scarlet) have been playing together for about 3 months, and have made a commitment to play every 2 weeks on sunday (ghosts tend to take a break every 2 weeks on sundays (and B forced Tim to take a break from everything including cases every 2 weeks on sunday) Although sometimes each will get pulled away from the game and they’ll have to end early.

Anyways their campaign doesn’t super matter, only that they are online friends. Ok so one day Tim texts Wraith (they use online name bc y'know tim’s like uber famous) that he can’t make it to their session today bc his dad is forcing him to “bond” Aka he’s going to a gala with Bruce and Dick to stop a heist team that has been rampant across socialite and high society events. Wraith tells him it’s alright, and that coincidentally he’s busy too and was just about to cancel.

As Tim surveils everyone he curses Bruce for making him come. Tim had gotten into the habit of getting a night off from everything. He’d also not gotten a chance to do ample research on the guests beforehand because he’d been working on researching the thieves. He’d heard some chatter about the group looking into a possible haunted vahz, that was on display for the night. Tim had been surveying the party staying near the vahz making sure everyone checked out. Dick had texted saying that he’d cornered a possible thieving candidate and that he needed Tim to run an face ID check, on the picture he’d taken. The photo was of a young woman, her red hair caused Tim to think of Babs, but the woman’s simple teal evening dress couldn’t be further from her style. He’d done a quick search of the woman, she seemed to be some sort of rich young socialite, definitely Dicks type.. Her name was Kelly Jankins, no criminal history, or past arrests, she had a couple of parking tickets that were waved from her late teens. But nothing out of the ordinary. Tim texted Dick the information (save for the part about her being Dicks type) before stuffing his phone back into his pocket and moving from his post to go and get a drink. About 20 feet from his post he bumped into a nicely dressed guy, his hair black and suit tailored.. He also wore a Vladco pin on his left breast pocket.

He’d apologized and Tim told him it was no big deal, his eyes were blue.. But he could have sworn they were green when he first looked up. And his voice.. It sounded so familiar. Why did it sound familiar..?

As Tim walked away it hit him like a truck.. Wraith.

—————

Danny, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had been stealing for some time now, after Danny had been outed as Phantom to the whole town by his parents. Him, Sam, and Tucker had decided to all leave Amity since all of their parents were unaccepting.. Sam’s parents had gone so far as to write her out of their will.. Danny had told her and Tuck to stay in Amity and fix their relationships with their family, but they’d both said ‘that if Danny wasn’t in Amity Park then they didn’t have their family.’ So they left. The three stayed with Jazz for a bit but she was a broke college student that barely had enough money for food and rent. So the three started stealing food.. It was out of necessity at first, and only from big companies, but when Sam got an online invitation to a big gala that was showing off some old artifacts from a rich guy’s private collection, Danny felt a pull toward a particular item from his core. The item belonged to someone in the ghost zone.. and he needed to have it. He needed to return it.

So they stole it. Danny was to be Sam’s plus one as he’s basically a haunted item metal detector. Sam would steal the item and Tuck would turn out the lights and secretly system. Then Danny would get him and Sam out of there. Most of their plans would be similar to this format. Sam would also grift from the other patrons, only stealing from the ones who seemed to have a shit ton of money. Eventually even teaching Danny how to do it too, she’d told him that ‘using his ghost powers were a cop out’ when he brought that up.. and that ‘anyone would be able to feel the chill of it.’ Which Danny was sure that that was untrue.. But he learned how to steal a wallet, or a phone Sam’s way.

Jazz had been against the thefts at first saying that all of these items belonged to the original owner. But soon she was persuaded when Danny told her that they were stealing stolen items. Stolen ghost items. Some of the items even had a ghost core attached to it. So Jazz became their planner, she’d make sure they’d have all the info they needed and that no one got caught.

Danny ends up in jail after being caught trying to lift someone’s wallet.. Jazz was there to legally get him out and pay the bail. Tucker got caught in a backroom of a place they were stealing from. ‘Oh yeah that’s her brother who would often get himself trapped in closets looking for the bathroom.. She apologizes profusely..’

So when Tucker had found their newest item, a haunted vase that had a shit ton of death and destruction attached to it, Jazz had thought up the plan. She’d heard whisperings that Vlad had gotten invited to the party but Danny was going to go in his place since Vlad would never go. Then they had a plan. A plan they were meant to stick to, until someone ran her face and Danny started being followed. So they abandoned the vase opting to get out of there instead of getting caught.

[grabby-smitten]

Now this is one of the reasons why there’s so much smut/porn written by women for women with male characters.

[loveforsatoru]

Lots of things remind you of Satoru. The color blue, sweets, the evening just before the sun sets and the skies grow dark. Quite frankly, everything reminds you of him. Wherever you look, he’d always be there. You love him so much it makes you sick.

He deserved it, though. He was a good man, the best you’ve ever known. The least anyone could give him was love– and god did you give him more than enough to satisfy his soul for this lifetime and the ones to come. Because he, for someone who often thought logically and did not put much attention onto what happens after death, always knew that he would be yours and you would be his, everywhere out there in this infinite universe, even if he cannot hold you in all of them.

Just like now as you stand over his grave with an emotionless face and tears running down your cheeks, an umbrella over your head to shield you from the pouring rain which mirrors your tears, reminding you that the world moves on despite your inability to do the same.

Your days have blended together like a never ending loop since his death. You live the same thing over and over and over. Grief, tears, mourning, sadness. You wish you could forget the image of his severed body laying on the ground, covered in blood. It doesn’t feel real. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just a bad dream and you’ll wake up soon, hopefully.

You’ve been standing here in the empty cemetery for hours. You haven’t eaten, haven’t slept, or uttered a single word. What’s the point? He’s not here to listen anymore.

You discard the umbrella, letting the rain soak you entirely, and sit in front of where he’s buried.

Satoru Gojo; loving teacher and husband. 1989-2018.

You gently trace your fingers over the engraved words, the same way you would over his cheeks when he’d come home from missions and fall right into your embrace– the place he always craved to be, where he should be right now.

During the entire fight, the only thing on his mind was you. You, you, you, you. And how badly he wanted to get it over with just so he could hold you and leave everything else behind.

He planned to retire after this final battle, so he could finally live a life of peace. Move away from Tokyo, perhaps to somewhere up in the countryside where the loudest sound in the morning would be that of chirping birds. He would go wherever the wind could take him as long as you were there, too. Without you, he’d feel like nothing.

It’s ironic, really. You’re the one who has to learn to live without him.

Part of you is expecting him to appear from thin air and wipe your tears away, telling you he’s here and he won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

The final conversation with him was one you didn’t want to have. You waited outside the door while he spoke to Yuji, listening to every word before the younger boy left.

“Those kids won’t forget you, you know,” You say as you settle onto his lap and his hands find home on your waist.

“Yeah, but sometimes it feels that way,” He sighs, “Whatever happens, I’ll just have to accept it.”

You hum in response as he holds onto you a little tighter than usual and buries his face in your neck, drowning himself in you.

You let him do as he pleases, knowing you could never push him away even if you tried.

“You’re a little off,” You say softly. “Is everything okay?” You stare into his eyes, hoping to find some sort of warmth and reassurance amidst the clouds that swarm in them.

Of course it’s not. You can sense the little bit of doubt that radiates off of him. He wasn't the type to question his own abilities, but there’s a lot on the line, a lot to lose, a lot of you that he doesn’t want to let go of.

“You think so?” He tries to mask it with his usual tone. You can see right through it. “I’m a-okay. Don’t worry so much, sweetheart. You know me.”

“I do know you and that’s why I know you’re not a-okay. Talk to me, Satoru. Please.”

If this were any other day, he would, but it’s not. He just wants to hold and kiss you for as long as he can. He knows he might not be able to again.

“Let’s just stay here a little while. Forget about everything else for now,” He presses his lips against your temple and they linger for too long.

You huff in defeat and nod, because as much as you want to deny it, the impending feeling of doom won’t allow you.

“Okay.. but promise me you’ll be alright.”

It’s too much to ask for. He can’t make you a promise he can’t keep. You’re his wife, the love of his life. It would kill him even more to die knowing he broke the last promise he ever made you.

Instead, he pulls away to admire every detail of your face without a word.

“Promise me,” You repeat, “Promise me you’ll be okay, Satoru. I need to hear you say it.”

Your desperation is like a knife to his heart, but he can’t do that for you. This is the one thing he has to deny you no matter how badly he wants to bring you closer and say it’ll all be fine.

He hides his forming tears away with a chuckle, but there’s no humor behind it and kisses you like it’s the last time he will. It was. He remembers the way your lips taste even in death.

Sometimes, you can still hear his voice and the sound of his laughter rings in your ears. Nowadays, that’s the only thing that brings joy into your days. You don’t know yourself anymore. A part of you died with him and you’re afraid you’ll never be able to get it back.

You remember the way he smelt and the way his eyes would crinkle when he would smile a little too hard– mostly at you and your corny jokes that he found hilarious. The way he’d sing in the shower and hug you from behind before fully drying off while you prepared dinner because he knew it’d annoy you, but your scolds were never serious. He could tell with the way the corner of your lips threatened to curl upwards.

All of these cherished moments and many others have now become memories to remember him by. The day you forget any of it is the day you die, with your last request being to be buried right beside him.

Repeated sobs escape your once sealed shut lips. You cry and dig your hands into the muddy grass below you, clawing and clawing to seemingly reach the core of the earth and bring him back, but it won’t. Nothing will. You can’t do anything to bring him back and it rips you apart at the very center of your heart.

You’ll look for him in the skies, the wind, the trees, the color blue, sweets, the evening just before the sun sets and the skies grow dark, and anything and everything else. Until one day, your time will also come and you’ll be reunited once again.

But for now, all you can do is cry. And you do, everyday without fail because any life would be better than one without him.

[kori-senpai]

Fanart for @honeydots Fire Emblem fanfic. I've been using it as a reason to fluke out of social interactions for the last two weeks and boy oh boy I will continue to do so >:)

[skarkkk]

It was fucking rape. That's my fucking point of view.

What do you mean he liked it? What do you mean it was cheating? What do you mean I like her?

It was rape, there is no other interpretation other than rape.

Robby lived with two addicts and yet he was abandoned in a bar with free access to alcohol, and that's where it started.

He got drunk for the first time, he drank for the first time and he has no resistance to alcohol because he stays away as best he can for the simple fact that his parents were addicts who never cared about him. So he wanted to forget what was happening, to repress all of this and he turned to alcohol because where else would he go when everyone didn't give a damn about him, or his situation with Tory or his emotions? Where else was he supposed to go when his example of dealing with emotions is aggression and addiction? So he drank. He drank to a level where he couldn't formulate a response, a sentence, when Kwon came to talk to him and provoke him, and we know that if he was sober he would have done something. It was obvious on his own face listening to Kwon that he was spaced out, drunk, and then Zara approached him. And took him to her room, from where he came out the next morning. No memory of the night before, a headache, and still looking out of it, as we can see when she kissed him and he didn't even react to it. The level of alcohol this requires is the level of alcohol that prevents someone from giving consent.

— I barely remember last night

— Good thing I do

Can we see the exact connotation that something happened? That she actually took advantage of the boy who couldn't speak to give consent, who couldn't think to say no, who was too drunk for this to be acceptable? The fact that she shows no remorse whatsoever for this happening and yet kisses him again.

Besides the fact that the writers themselves are treating it like it's some kind of cheating with Tory, the characters themselves acting like he's not a vulnerable person being raped by someone who knows better?

I hate her and I hate the writers for making this like it's nothing. I don't want to be that girl, but being that girl, if the roles were reversed, would this be in the show? Would this be treated that way? Or would they actually treat it like the SA situation that it is?

From the beginning, you can see her interest in Robby - starting with that scene in the captains' photo shoot where she talks to Tory. She knows he's in a relationship. All those teasing scenes with Tory. Her taking advantage of Robby. Then the fight scene.

— You chose her over me?

Like, girl, what the fuck did you expect? He doesn't know you, he doesn't like you, you raped him and you're going after his girlfriend - the person he loves? How high is your ego to even consider that he would choose you? Axel's obsession with Sam I can understand more, although I still have my doubts. She was the first person to understand and see his situation with his sensei, she was friendly and he developed a protectiveness towards her. Although his attitude towards Miguel was wrong, he didn't rape Sam or act like a bitch towards her.

Iron Dragons and their obsession with the Miyagi-Do captains.

Zara Malik and the fact that she raped Robby Keene.

[bluishfrog]

Inspired by "complete" by norethor

Fic Art Friday - event tag - event description

[miscellaneousdae]

[ 8:43 pm -> 4:27 am ] — Jeong Yunho ᡣ𐭩

(Just a little blurb because i’m down bad for this man rn)

Jeong Yunho is the kind of person to fall in love at first sight, but it has nothing to do with how you look. I mean, he thinks you’re beautiful, but it’s your aura. Your presence draws him to you, and when he speaks to you, it doesn’t feel like this is a man you just met, no. It feels like you’ve known him for years, unlike anyone you’ve ever come into contact with.

You immediately feel safe with him, comfortable in your skin. His sweet eyes and warm smile melt your heart, and you get so lost in speaking to him that you don’t even realize how much time has passed until he brings it up.

“It’s almost ten,” he says, sighing softly. The sigh seems somewhat sad, as though he may just be disappointed that the nights coming to an end, but also content, like he’s pleased with how he spent his night - you hope he is, as it was spent talking to you. “Can I bother you for your number? Or if that’s too personal, your instagram?” He asks, making you grin at how respectful he is and has been. Trusting him, and truly wanting to get to know him better, you give him your number, and wish him a good night.

While you can no longer see the man, his handsome face doesn’t leave your mind, and as soon as you begin to almost miss him, despite having just met him, your phone buzzes.

‘Hey, this is Yunho, the guy from the restaurant. It’s late but I was too impatient to wait until tomorrow to text you. So i’ll say goodnight and let you be. Enjoy the rest of your night. ❤️’

You smile widely at the message, and against your better judgement - the voice in your head insisting that you be responsible and go to sleep - you text him back. The two of you stay up way too late, as if you were teenagers and not adults. You don’t regret it, and neither does he. If only you could see just how big his smile is on the other end of the phone.

[bumblingbabooshka]

The worst trope in the universe is when someone accuses character A, who is part of a real or fantasy or coded minority, of doing something bad and everyone's like "That's just your prejudice against [real or fantasy minority]!" and it turns out character A actually did do that bad thing and everyone else was stupid for not believing they did that bad thing.

[enemiestolovershoe]

Unexpected Firsts

Matt Sturniolo x bsf!reader

Summary: A night of truth or dare leads to a moment that changes everything between two best friends.

Words: 6k

Warnings: SMUT. Loosing virginity. Truth or dare. Use of y/n. Pet names like sweetheart, princess and good girl. Crying

A/N: It‘s not a dare to lose readers virginity. Reader choose Truth and that following question leads to Matt offering Reader to „help out“

The hum of laughter and music filled the cozy living room as the group of friends lounged in various corners of the space. It was one of those laid-back nights where no one was trying too hard, just a close-knit group of friends gathering for a few hours of fun. The fairy lights strung across the ceiling added a warm glow to the room, and the faint scent of popcorn lingered from an earlier snack raid.

You were nestled comfortably on the carpet next to Matt Sturniolo, your best friend since high school. His presence was a constant in your life—someone you could always count on. Tonight was no different. He leaned back on one arm, sipping his soda while grinning at something Nick had just said.

“Okay, okay,” Nick announced loudly, clapping his hands together for attention. “It’s officially truth-or-dare time. Everyone, circle up.”

You groaned, shooting Matt a look. “Do we have to?”

“Don’t fight it,” Matt replied with a smirk. “This is gonna get interesting.”

You rolled your eyes but shifted to join the forming circle, squeezing between Matt and another friend. Matt nudged you playfully with his knee, a silent promise that he’d stick by you if things got out of hand.

The game started innocently enough: a few truths about embarrassing childhood moments, dares to chug soda, or text something stupid to someone’s ex. The mood was lighthearted and fun, and you found yourself relaxing into the atmosphere.

“Your turn, Y/N,” Nick declared, the devilish glint in his eye making you tense. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said quickly, earning a chorus of boos.

“Lame!” Nick teased. “Alright, fine. Let’s see… hmm…” His face lit up as an idea struck him. “Who was your best sex partner?”

The room erupted in oohs and laughter, and you felt your face instantly heat up. Your throat tightened as all eyes turned toward you, waiting for an answer. Even Matt’s gaze was on you now, though he didn’t laugh like the others. Instead, he studied you curiously, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Uh…” You hesitated, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “Well, um…”

“C’mon, Y/N,” Nick urged, leaning forward with exaggerated anticipation. “Don’t leave us hanging!”

Your cheeks burned, and you could barely meet anyone’s eyes. “I, uh…”

Matt noticed your discomfort and spoke up, his tone protective. “Hey, maybe she doesn’t wanna answer that one. Chill.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly, giving Matt a small, grateful smile before looking down at your hands. You took a deep breath. “I don’t really have an answer. I’m, um… still a virgin.”

The room went silent for a beat, the playful atmosphere replaced with stunned quiet. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited for someone to say something, feeling your blush deepen.

“You’re joking,” one of the guys finally said, breaking the tension.

“Nope,” you replied, forcing a small laugh. “That’s the truth.”

Matt’s voice cut through the murmurs, steady and confident. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

You glanced at him, his expression soft and sincere. His reassurance made you feel a little less self-conscious, though the tension in the room lingered. Someone tried to make a joke to lighten the mood, but you could tell the admission had caught everyone off guard.

Matt leaned in close, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You okay?”

You nodded, offering a weak smile. “Yeah, just… wasn’t expecting that question.”

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You handled it like a champ.”

The game continued, but you couldn’t shake the lingering tension—or the way Matt’s gaze seemed to linger on you longer than usual.

“Next round!” Chris shouted, his voice cutting through the tension. He pointed at one of the guys sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Alright, dude, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” the guy said confidently, and the group erupted into laughter as Chris gave him some absurd challenge about singing a love ballad to the nearest object. The game carried on, the awkwardness from earlier dissolving into jokes and teasing. But you weren’t really paying attention.

Your gaze was fixed on the floor, your mind spinning with thoughts you couldn’t quite pin down. The weight of the earlier question still hung heavy in your chest, and no amount of laughter around you seemed to lighten it.

“Y/N?” Matt’s voice cut through the noise. When you didn’t respond, he reached out and lightly grabbed your forearm, his touch warm and grounding. “Hey. You okay?”

You blinked, finally looking at him. His dark eyes were soft with concern, his brows slightly furrowed as he leaned closer to you. The chatter of the group faded into the background for a moment.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, giving a faint smile you hoped would reassure him. “I’m fine.”

Matt didn’t look convinced. “You sure? You seem… off.”

You shook your head and pulled your arm gently from his grip, trying to avoid making a scene. “No, yeah. I’m just tired.” Standing up, you brushed off your jeans and glanced at the rest of the group, who were now mid-laugh about the current dare.

“Where are you going?” Nick called out, his voice carrying over the noise.

You hesitated for a second, feeling the heat of everyone’s attention again. “I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you said, forcing a small smile. “I’ll be in your room, Nick.”

“Boo!” Chris called with a teasing grin. “It’s barely midnight!”

“Yeah, you’re ditching us already?” someone else added, but their teasing was half-hearted, more amused than critical.

“Sorry,” you said softly, backing toward the door. “I’m just not feeling it anymore. Have fun, though.”

Matt’s eyes lingered on you as you turned and walked away. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze on your back as you slipped out of the room and climbed the stairs, grateful to finally be alone.

The second you stepped into Nick’s room, the weight of the night hit you like a freight train. You barely had the energy to cross the room, so you didn’t. Instead, you closed the door softly behind you and slid down to the floor, resting your back against the cool wood.

You pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your face in them, trying to take slow, deep breaths to steady yourself. But it didn’t work. The lump in your throat grew heavier, and before you even realized it, tears started to spill down your cheeks.

You didn’t even know why. It had never bothered you before that you were still a virgin. You’d never felt embarrassed about it. In fact, you were proud of not rushing into something so important. But tonight, something about having to admit it in front of all your friends, with all those eyes on you, had shaken you. It wasn’t just the question—it was the vulnerability of it all.

You pressed your palms into your eyes, willing yourself to stop, but the tears kept falling. The quiet room amplified every shaky breath, every sniffle. The isolation was both a comfort and a weight, pressing down on you as you sat there, feeling small.

Ten minutes passed like this. The muffled sounds of laughter and music from downstairs reached you faintly, reminding you of the world you’d just walked away from. You started to pull yourself together, wiping at your damp cheeks and sniffling quietly, when a soft knock at the door broke the silence.

Your heart jumped, and you froze, staring at the door like it might disappear.

“Who’s there?” you called, your voice shaky and uneven.

“It’s me,” Matt said from the other side, his voice quiet but firm. “Can I come in?”

For a moment, you hesitated. You glanced down at yourself, realizing you probably looked like a mess—tear-streaked face, red eyes, and all. But this was Matt. If anyone could see you like this, it was him.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely carrying.

You stood up slowly, your knees stiff from sitting on the floor for so long. Wiping at your cheeks one last time, you turned the handle and pulled the door open.

Matt stood there, his expression shifting the moment he saw your face. His easy, teasing demeanor from earlier was gone, replaced by quiet concern. His eyes softened, scanning your tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

“Y/N,” he said gently, stepping closer but stopping just short of touching you. “What’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

His words were so simple, so sincere, that they hit you harder than you expected. You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sweater, trying to find the right words. Your throat felt tight again, but this time it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the overwhelming comfort of having someone who cared enough to notice.

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally, your voice cracking. “I just… I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Matt didn’t say a word at first. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if they could shield you from everything that was weighing you down. You stiffened for a brief moment before melting into his embrace, burying your face in his chest. His hand rested on the back of your head, and you felt him gently rub small circles into your back, his steady breathing calming your racing thoughts.

“Is it because of earlier?” he asked softly, his voice low but steady.

You hesitated, your fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie. “I don’t know,” you said at first, your voice muffled against him. Then, after a pause, you added, “I mean… maybe? It never really bothered me before. I’ve always been fine with waiting.” You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. “But now, if I really think about it, it’s kind of embarrassing to be a virgin at nearly 22.”

Matt broke the hug immediately, his hands resting firmly on your shoulders as he looked at you, his expression serious but gentle. “No. Y/N, no,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “There is nothing wrong with that. Never, ever tell yourself something like that again. Do you hear me?”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting to the floor. His intensity startled you, but it also stirred a flicker of comfort deep in your chest. You nodded slowly, still not able to meet his gaze. “Okay,” you murmured quietly.

Matt released your shoulders and stepped back slightly, but his eyes didn’t leave your face. He was quiet for a moment, clearly debating something in his mind. You could tell by the way his jaw tensed and how he shifted his weight slightly, something he always did when he was overthinking.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost hesitant. “You know…” he began, clearing his throat awkwardly. “If you really want to lose it… I mean, if it’s something you’re ready for and it’s bothering you…” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I could be the one who takes it. I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, wide with surprise. “What?”

Matt’s cheeks flushed instantly, and he cursed under his breath, looking away for a moment. “Forget it. That was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything—”

“No, wait,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You would… do that for me?”

His gaze softened as he looked back at you, still visibly embarrassed but holding your gaze. “Yeah,” he said simply. “If that’s what you want. But only under one condition.”

You tilted your head slightly, your heart racing. “What condition?”

He scratched the back of his neck, his lips quirking into a small, nervous smile. “We don’t make this awkward afterward. Like, we’re still us. No weirdness, no ruining what we have.”

You nodded slowly, your voice shy as you asked, “You’d really do that for me, Matt?”

His gaze held yours, steady and sincere, as he nodded again. “Of course. You mean everything to me, Y/N. I’d never let anyone make you feel like you’re less than amazing. Not even yourself.”

A soft, shy smile spread across your face as you looked at Matt. His words, so genuine and tender, lingered in the air between you. Without thinking, you leaned in, closing the distance between you. Your lips met his, soft and hesitant at first. The kiss was slow, almost uncertain, but the warmth and connection behind it were undeniable.

Matt kissed you back just as gently, his hands carefully resting on your waist. It was like testing the waters, feeling out the newness of something you’d both probably imagined but never dared to explore. Your lips moved in sync, and within moments, the initial hesitancy gave way to something deeper, more urgent. His hand moved to cradle your face, tilting it slightly to deepen the kiss, and your fingers instinctively found the fabric of his hoodie, clutching it tightly.

Your breaths grew heavier as the kiss intensified, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world melted away. But then Matt pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours as he caught his breath. His dark eyes searched yours, a mix of excitement and nervousness shining in them.

“Let’s… let’s take this to my room, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and slightly breathless. “I don’t know how long Nick is gonna be downstairs.”

You nodded silently, your heart racing as he took your hand and led you out of Nick’s room. The walk to his room felt like it took both a second and an eternity. The quiet hallway only amplified the anticipation building between you.

Once you were inside, Matt shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment before his gaze found yours again. He stepped toward you, his confidence returning as he reached for you, his hands resting gently on your waist. Without another word, his lips were on yours again, this time with more urgency.

The kiss grew deeper, and you found yourself walking backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed. You gasped softly as you fell onto it, your back meeting the mattress, and Matt quickly followed, his body hovering over yours. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. He just looked at you, his eyes tracing every feature of your face like he was committing it to memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face, and you felt your cheeks flush under his gaze.

You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you whispered, “Matt…”

He leaned down, kissing you again, his weight pressing into you just enough to feel grounded but not overwhelming. His lips moved to your jaw, then down to your neck, leaving soft, lingering kisses that made your skin tingle. As his hands slowly explored, finding the hem of your shirt, he paused and pulled back slightly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

You nodded, your voice steady but quiet. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Matt’s eyes searched yours, needing the reassurance. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

Your heart swelled at his care, and you nodded again, more firmly this time. “I’m sure, Matt. I want this… with you.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned down to kiss you again, his hands carefully lifting your shirt. You let him, your breaths quickening as you slid your hands under his hoodie, helping him pull it off. His toned chest was warm under your fingertips, and you felt his muscles tense slightly under your touch.

Piece by piece, you began to undress each other, every movement slow and deliberate, filled with quiet questions and soft reassurances. Each time he touched you, Matt paused to check your expression, asking, “Still okay?”

And each time, you whispered, “Yes,” your voice full of trust.

When he finally settled over you again, his bare skin against yours, he cupped your face gently in his hands. “If anything feels wrong or uncomfortable, tell me, okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, feeling a wave of warmth and safety wash over you. “I will. I promise.”

His lips found yours again, tender and unhurried

As your clothes fell away, piece by piece, you felt the cool air brush against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Matt hovered above you, his gaze sweeping over your body with an expression you couldn’t quite read—part awe, part tenderness, part something deeper. His fingers trailed along your collarbone and down your arms, making your skin tingle under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered again, his voice low and filled with reverence. He leaned down to kiss you, slow and lingering, as his hands began to explore.

His lips moved down your neck, trailing soft kisses across your collarbone and down to your chest. You gasped when his warm hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. His touch was gentle but purposeful, and the way he was so focused on you made your heart race.

Matt’s lips followed the path of his hands, his kisses growing firmer as he pressed them against the swell of your breasts. His hands massaged softly, his thumbs continuing their slow circles, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your breathing grew heavier, and you arched slightly into his touch, your body responding instinctively.

“Matt…” you whispered his name, barely audible, but he heard it. He glanced up at you, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your stomach flutter.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, his voice warm and steady, though you could see the desire simmering just beneath the surface.

“It’s not,” you reassured him, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled softly before leaning back down, continuing his slow descent. His kisses moved lower, brushing over your stomach, his hands following as they trailed over your hips. You gasped softly when his hand moved between your thighs, his fingers gently parting them.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured against your skin, his lips pressing to your hipbone before his hand slid higher.

You felt a jolt of pleasure as his fingers found your clit, stroking it in slow, deliberate circles. A soft moan escaped your lips, your hips instinctively tilting toward him. The feeling was intense but not overwhelming, his movements careful as he learned what made you gasp and shudder beneath him.

“You’re so wet, Y/N,” Matt whispered, his breath warm against your neck where he rested his head for a moment, his voice filled with wonder and a hint of teasing. His free hand moved to cradle your side, holding you steady as his fingers continued their exploration.

You bit your lip, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as his finger slipped lower, circling your entrance. When he slowly pushed one finger inside, you let out a soft, breathy moan, your body tensing slightly at the new sensation.

“Does that feel okay?” he asked, his voice low and soothing, his head lifting to meet your gaze.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice shaky but certain. “It feels… really good.”

Matt smiled again, his thumb brushing over your clit in time with the slow movements of his finger. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he continued to work you with a gentle but growing rhythm, his focus entirely on your pleasure.

Matt’s finger moved slowly inside you, the new sensation making you gasp and grip his shoulder. He peppered kisses along your neck and whispered softly, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re doing so well, Y/N. Does this feel good?”

You nodded, unable to form words, your body trembling slightly under his careful touch.

“Relax for me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just let me take care of you.”

When he added a second finger, you felt a stretch that was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. A louder moan slipped out before you could stop it, the sound echoing in the quiet of the room. Matt froze for a moment, pulling his head back to look at you, his lips quirking into a gentle, teasing smile.

“Shh,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I know, I know, but we’ve gotta be quiet, baby. They’re still downstairs.”

You nodded quickly, your cheeks heating with embarrassment, but Matt’s voice softened even further. “Hey,” he said, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “Can you do that for me? Can you be my good girl and keep it down?”

His words sent a shiver through you, and you nodded again, this time more eagerly. “I’ll try,” you whispered.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you deeply. Your lips moved against his, and the kiss was an anchor, helping you focus on him as his fingers continued their slow rhythm. He plunged them in and out of you carefully, curling them just right, and the pleasure began to build steadily in your core.

You gripped the back of his neck, your kisses growing more urgent as you tried to stay quiet, but it was almost impossible. Each movement of his fingers sent sparks shooting through you, the tension in your stomach tightening with every pass of his thumb over your clit.

“Matt…” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling as the heat inside you began to peak.

“I know,” he said softly, his forehead pressing against yours. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, your breathing uneven as your body tensed beneath him.

But just as you felt the edge of your orgasm within reach, Matt suddenly stopped, pulling his fingers away. Your eyes snapped open, a mix of confusion and desperation written across your face.

“What—why did you stop?” you asked breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Matt’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “Because,” he said softly, his voice low and full of intent, “I want to be inside you when you cum, pretty girl.”

His words sent a wave of heat through your entire body, and you could only stare at him, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. “You do?” you asked shyly, your voice trembling with both excitement and nervousness.

Matt nodded, leaning down to kiss you again, his lips slow and reassuring. “Yeah,” he murmured against your mouth. “But only if you’re ready. I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

“I’m ready,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. “I want this… I want you.”

The tenderness in his eyes deepened as he kissed you again, his hands gently cradling your face as he whispered, “I’ll take care of you, Y/N. Always.”

Matt leaned over, opening the drawer of his nightstand with a quiet slide. His hand searched for a moment before pulling out a small, foil packet. He looked at you, holding it up for a moment as if giving you one last chance to stop. When you didn’t say anything, just watching him with wide, trusting eyes, he tore it open and rolled the condom on with practiced ease.

You couldn’t look away from him. The way he moved, the care in every action—it only reassured you that you’d made the right decision. He settled back over you, bracing himself with one hand on the bed while the other cupped your face gently. He leaned down to kiss you again, slow and tender, as though he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his dark eyes searched your face with a mixture of seriousness and concern. “You’re sure?” he asked softly. “There’s no going back after this, pretty girl.”

You nodded firmly, your heart racing but your resolve unwavering. “I’m 100% sure, Matt. I want this. I want you.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, and he kissed you again, murmuring against your lips, “I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

Matt shifted slightly, positioning himself between your legs. His hand moved to guide himself, and you felt the tip of him press against your entrance. Your breath hitched, anticipation and nerves twisting together in your chest.

“Just relax,” he said gently, his free hand brushing soothing circles over your hip. “If it’s too much, tell me, okay?”

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “Okay.”

Slowly, he pushed in, just the tip at first, giving you a moment to adjust. The stretch was unlike anything you’d ever felt—foreign and intense, but not unbearable. You whimpered softly, your hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders.

“Shhh,” Matt whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “I know, I know. You’re doing so well, Y/N. Just breathe for me.”

He pushed in a little further, and the sensation grew sharper. Your body tensed, a mix of discomfort and pleasure coursing through you. A small tear slipped down your cheek, and Matt immediately noticed, freezing in place.

“Y/N,” he said softly, concern lacing his voice. He wiped the tear away with his thumb, his brows knitting together. “We can stop if it hurts too much. Just say the word.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. I promise. It’s just… a lot.”

Matt hesitated, his eyes searching yours for any sign of uncertainty. “How much are you in?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled slowly, his voice low and steady. “A little more than half, princess.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to relax. “Okay. Keep going,” you said softly, your voice trembling but determined.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, his thumb brushing over your cheek reassuringly.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, giving him a small smile despite the tension in your body.

Matt leaned down to kiss you, his lips warm and soft against yours. The kiss was meant to distract you, and it worked. Your focus shifted to the way his lips moved with yours, how his hand cradled your face so tenderly.

As the kiss deepened, he slowly pushed in the rest of the way, and before you knew it, he was fully inside you. You gasped softly, your body adjusting to the feeling of fullness. Matt stilled immediately, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “Take your time, Y/N. Tell me when you’re ready.”

You took a few deep breaths, letting yourself adjust to the sensation. The initial discomfort was fading, replaced by a growing warmth that spread through you.

After a moment, you nodded, your voice steady as you said, “You can move now, Matt.”

He kissed you again, murmuring, “Okay, baby. I’ll go slow.”

Matt began to move slowly, pulling out just a little before easing back in. The sensation was intense but steady, giving you time to adjust with each gentle thrust. He kissed you tenderly, his lips brushing against yours in a way that sent warmth through your entire body.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice breathless but still full of concern as his eyes locked on yours.

“Yes,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “It’s… good.”

He smiled softly, leaning down to kiss you again. “Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

“I will,” you assured him, your voice trembling slightly but filled with trust.

He continued his slow rhythm, his hips moving against yours with precision. The sensation began to shift, the initial discomfort melting into something deeper, something that sent sparks of pleasure through you. Your breathing grew heavier, and you let out a soft whimper as your body started to relax into his movements.

“Faster,” you whispered, barely audible at first. When he didn’t respond immediately, you repeated it, louder this time. “Faster, please.”

Matt froze for just a second, searching your face for confirmation. When he saw the need in your eyes, he nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “Okay, baby,” he said, his voice low and full of warmth.

He shifted slightly, his pace increasing as he thrust into you more firmly. The new rhythm sent waves of pleasure through your body, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, your hands clinging to him as if he were your anchor.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours as his breath came in short pants. “So perfect.”

You whimpered in response, the pleasure building with every thrust. Your bodies moved in sync, his movements growing quicker and more confident as the tension in the air thickened. The room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, a steady rhythm that echoed around you.

Matt leaned down to kiss you, his lips capturing yours in a heated, desperate kiss. The intensity of the moment deepened, your tongues tangling as you melted into each other. The kiss was messy, filled with passion, but it grounded you in the intimacy of the moment.

As his pace quickened, one of his hands slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. The moment he touched you there, your entire body tensed, a loud moan slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Matt’s hand quickly moved to cover your mouth, his own breathing ragged as he whispered, “Shhh, baby. I know it’s hard, but you’ve gotta keep quiet.”

You nodded against his hand, your eyes wide as you tried to stifle the sounds spilling from you. The pressure in your core grew unbearable, the pleasure building to a point where it felt like you might burst.

“Come on,” Matt panted, his voice thick with desire as he leaned down to kiss your jaw, your neck, and then your shoulder. “Cum for me, Y/N. Be my good girl.”

His words sent you over the edge. Your body tightened around him as the orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure radiating from your core. You cried out into his hand, your muffled moans filling the room as your body trembled beneath him.

Matt’s pace grew erratic, his movements more desperate as your body clenched around him. He groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver through you. His hands gripped your hips, and with one final thrust, he stilled, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he came.

You never thought you’d hear your best friend moan like that, his breath hot against your skin as his body trembled above you. But here you were, in Matt’s bed, tangled together and completely out of breath as the haze of pleasure began to fade. Your body felt heavy, your limbs relaxed, and the room was silent except for the sound of your shared breathing.

Matt lifted his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was something in his gaze—softness, maybe even vulnerability—that made your chest ache in the best way. He shifted to the side, pulling out slowly and discarding the condom in the trash next to his bed before lying beside you.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, still trying to process what had just happened. It felt surreal, like a fever dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

Finally, you broke the silence, turning your head to look at him. “That was… amazing,” you said softly, your voice still a little breathless. “Thank you so much, Matt.”

A slow, sweet smile spread across his face as he propped himself up on one elbow, leaning closer to you. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “Of course, princess,” he said softly, his voice warm and full of affection.

The nickname sent a flutter through your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment before he let it fall back to his side, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone careful and sincere.

“Yeah,” you replied, nodding as you shifted onto your side to face him fully. “Better than okay.”

“Good,” he said with a small grin, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the sheet between you. “I’m glad. I wanted it to be good for you.”

“It was,” you reassured him, your smile widening. “More than good.”

He chuckled softly, his expression turning a little shy as he looked down briefly before meeting your gaze again. “I, uh… I never thought this would happen,” he admitted. “But I’m glad it did.”

“Me too,” you said quietly, feeling your cheeks heat again. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his on the sheet. He laced them together without hesitation, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

As the silence between you stretched, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking through the quiet of the room.

Matt tilted his head, his brows furrowing in confusion as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “What’s so funny?” he asked, shifting slightly to prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You covered your face with your hands for a moment, trying to stifle the giggles bubbling up. “I don’t know,” you managed between breaths, your laughter spilling out uncontrollably. “This whole situation—it’s just… surreal.”

Matt smiled, watching you fondly as your laughter filled the room. “Surreal how?” he asked, gently pulling your hands away from your face so he could see you fully.

You turned your head to look at him, your cheeks still warm from both laughter and the afterglow of what had just happened. “I mean, I never thought my first time would be with my best friend,” you admitted, your voice tinged with humor. “But here we are, and it was… perfect. Like, weirdly perfect.”

Matt chuckled softly, his fingers brushing over the back of your hand. “Weirdly perfect, huh? I’ll take it.”

You grinned at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling. “It was. Really. But,” you paused, your laughter bubbling up again as you turned onto your side to face him, “I think we should definitely do this again.”

Matt’s eyes widened for a split second, but then he burst into laughter alongside you, his deep, warm laugh filling the space between you. “Oh, we definitely will, princess,” he said, his voice low and full of promise, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a confidence that made your stomach flutter.

The two of you lay there for a while longer, your laughter fading into quiet smiles as the reality of the moment sank in. Matt pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you securely as you rested your head against his chest.

Neither of you needed to say anything else. In that moment, everything felt easy, natural, like this was exactly where you were meant to be. And with Matt’s steady heartbeat beneath your ear and his warm breath ruffling your hair, you couldn’t help but think that this was the start of something completely unexpected

[affixjoy]

[ecstarry]

from having a ghost in my bed by @fromagony

[brigidfromthecelts]

Do you know what makes me super happy as a fanfic author? Regular readers! That! You know why?

Whatever you write, they are there to read it!

Isn't that the most amazing thing ever? I'll give you an example:

I write the most self indulging piece ever! It's angsty, it's hurtful, it's downright sad and I might even kill a character or two just for the whim of it. What happens?

They read it!!

The best part? They comment and still like what you write! Like: oh well, this was not my cup of tea... I prefer fics where the characters I love don't suffer more trauma then what they already have and... You know... LIVE! But I still loved it! Thank you for sharing! ❤️🤗

And I just want to cry!

Because I feel loved! I mean! I wrote that crazy, weird, indulging thing because I have a disturbed mind and just wanted to play around with some horror themes, trauma and angst but hey... You loved it? 😭 I'm crying happy tears now and I want to hug you!

All this just because I wanted to say:

I love you, regular readers! So much! Thank you for all of your unwavering support! It means the world to me! 🙏🏻👏🏻

That was it. Thanks for reading.

🎤 Drop.

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc