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darkmatilda · 6 months ago

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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: basically just two bookworms arguing about books and having a s3x right after

𝐚/𝐧: please read the note! so it's only a very short part of my upcoming fanfiction that has...25k words...i'm aware no one is going to read it all soo i'm publishing one of my favorite parts.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

Maybe it was that one drink you had, but your legs seemed to take you in a certain direction.

You weren’t sure if Spencer was even home. But if you had nothing else to do, why not check? A short walk. You were a little desperate, after all, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. That’s how you justified it. You were going to him because you had no other option.

He opened the door, dressed in a wrinkled shirt, trousers, and a tie loosely hanging around his neck. His hair was in disarray, and you felt an urge to run your fingers through it and style it the way you wanted, but it would’ve been awkward.

"Hey. Am I interrupting?"

Surprised, Spencer shook his head.

"No... Actually, I was asleep."

"In those clothes?"

"I fell asleep while reading..." he explained, trailing off when he noticed your appearance. To put it modestly, you looked incredibly hot. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on your dress, visible beneath the open jacket and ending high on your thigh. "Very... nice dress. Is it... is it your mom's too?"

You chuckled.

"Can you imagine my mom, a school psychologist, in a dress covering half her ass?"

Embarrassed, Spencer raised his hands in apology and also chuckled softly.

"Sorry, I'm still half-asleep. Anyway... is there something wrong that you're here?"

"My mentally unstable ex-boyfriend of my roommate is lurking under our apartment.” You confessed bluntly “I'm a little scared to go back, and... I didn't know where else I could go."

It seemed like he was suddenly waking up quickly. He swung the door wide open, letting you in.

"Of course, come in. Is he dangerous?"

"He shows up every now and then and then disappears. It's like a lottery. Jude doesn't want to ever see him again, so we just pretend we're not here when it happens."

The inside looked just as you remembered. The lights were off everywhere except the bedroom, where he was probably reading. You allowed yourself to take off your uncomfortable shoes and set them by the door.

"Why don't you report it to the police?" His forehead furrowed with concern.

"Jude doesn't want to. And I don't want to do anything against her will. But I swear, if this happens again, I'll convince her. Or I'll do it myself."

"You should," he said, and suddenly a silence fell between you.

You weren't sure how to act. You'd barged in on him in the middle of the night, pulling him from his sleep. Not to mention, you hadn't seen each other since that conversation at the bar.

"Let me take your jacket," he said after a moment, as if remembering how to behave when hosting a guest.

You slowly took it off, revealing the full dress. Spencer momentarily let his gaze linger on it, but then he caught himself and turned away to hang your jacket. The glance didn't embarrass you in the slightest; if anything, you expected to catch him looking.

"Sorry if I woke you," you said, realizing you should probably apologize. It was only then that you began to feel a little awkward about the situation.

"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. And I'm glad I can help," he said, and once again, silence settled between you. Spencer placed his hand on his forehead as he realized you were still standing in the hallway. "Sorry, it's been a long time since anyone's visited, and I don't even know how to act... Do you want something to drink, or need anything?"

"I’m fine," you assured him, walking behind him into the living room. "I don't want you to act like I'm some important guest, Spencer. Or like you need to serve me."

"But you are an important guest," he replied.

A warm, gentle smile appeared on your lips.

"What were you reading?" you asked, leaning your lower back against the kitchen island, the two rooms connected as one. You glanced around the cozy interior, in soft, almost warm hues, where the darkness of the night blended with the orange light of the lamp. "Let me guess, some spine-chilling thriller?"

"I have spine-chilling thrillers every day at work," he snorted. "I was reading... Emma. Jane Austen."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"You fell asleep reading classic literature on a Friday night? Spencer Reid, what kind of man are you?"

"In a good way or a bad way?"

He stood across from you, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Your eyes lingered on the first few undone buttons of his shirt.

"Of course, in a good way. Why would I judge someone for reading?"

"I don’t know," he shrugged. "Some people think it’s boring. And weird, especially on a Friday night. And what about you? What were you doing before your roommate’s ex showed up?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he nodded meaningfully toward your outfit. "Were you reading too?"

You lifted your chin high.

"Exactly. I was reading my favorite Shakespearean drama in my favorite dress. And those incredibly comfortable shoes I left by your door."

"That goes without saying."

"I definitely wasn’t at any club."

"I wouldn’t even suspect you of that."

"I was doing what any God-fearing virgin would do," you said, bursting into laughter at the absurdity. "Alright, alright. I’m getting carried away. Now I actually feel like reading something. But nothing too classic—I don’t have the brainpower for it. Do you happen to have any romance novels?"

I'm afraid not."

"Really? You have more books in your home than the library in my hometown, and not a single romance? I’m not talking about dark erotica or anything—just something subtle. Friends to lovers, polite sex..."

Spencer choked on a laugh.

"Sorry, but are you drunk?"

You were just horny.

"Not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips. I'm just hyperactive. That’s what the night does to me."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"So? Aren't you hiding any sinful books in there?"

He rolled his eyes, clearly amused rather than annoyed by your persistence.

"You're welcome to look," he offered, gesturing toward one of the shelves. "But I’m not promising you’ll find anything like that."

"But if I do, you owe me a drink."

“And if it turns out I’m right, then what?”

You bit your lip, pondering.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“You know, I won’t enter a bet unless I know what I get in return.”

“And what do you want?”

“A dinner together,” he replied without hesitation. “Or breakfast, if you prefer.”

“Deal,” you answered just as quickly. You weren’t worried about regretting it—your blood was buzzing too much for that.

He extended his hand for you to shake on it, sealing the deal. Instead of letting go, you held onto his fingers firmly and tugged him toward the bookshelf. He stood so close as you examined the books one by one, taking some out to inspect their covers to see if they suggested any hint of romance. When they didn’t, he let out a short laugh, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t let it show.

“Spencer…” you started after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “It counts if the book has a romantic subplot, right?”

“No, it doesn’t count! We agreed on a romance. A full-fledged, contemporary one.”

“We didn’t say contemporary.”

“I assumed it was implied since I mentioned owning Jane Austen books. Pride and Prejudice is a romance, among other things…”

“Ha! So you do have one. I won!” You raised your hands high in victory.

“…But it’s also a social and domestic novel. Doesn’t count.”

You poked him in the chest with your finger.

“You don’t know how to lose.”

He glanced at the spot where you touched him, clearly trying not to smile.

“Maybe I just care a lot about that dinner,” he admitted boldly.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to look at him confidently, but it was hard to think and maintain eye contact with him at the same time.

“Or breakfast,” you murmured.

“Or breakfast,” he agreed. Realizing how close he was standing, he instinctively stepped back half a pace. “So, are you ready to admit my victory?”

You shot him a defiant look.

“Not a chance. I haven’t even checked all the books yet. I’m only about three-quarters through. Who knows what kind of BDSM might be lurking in the last quarter?”

“Seriously?” he asked with a sigh. “Okay, just look at me. Do I seem like the kind of guy who reads stuff like that?”

“Honestly, you look like the kind of guy who reads encyclopedias. But the one thing I know about people is that appearances can be deceiving. Still waters run deep.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re as stubborn as they come.”

“Maybe I just really want that drink,” you teased.

“I can make you one,” he offered unexpectedly.

“Seriously?” The suggestion caught you off guard.

Spencer shrugged casually.

“I don’t drink much, but some friends gave me a few bottles for my birthday.”

You hesitated, considering.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you admitted. You felt good, even without alcohol. “But I do have another request… Do you happen to have something I could change into? I won’t lie, this isn’t the most comfortable dress… though it’s absolutely stunning.”

He smiled softly.

"You’re right. And yes, I’ll find something for you to change into. Just… it’ll be something of mine."

Following him into the bedroom, you let out a small chuckle.

"You know, I didn’t expect you to have a closet full of women’s clothes. Plus, in my size. Although, who knows what girls leave behind at your place. It’s a tactic, you know? You leave a sock at a guy’s place to have an excuse to come back. Unless you didn’t like it, then you have to accept losing the sock."

He didn’t say anything, opening the wardrobe to find something appropriate for you. You’d been in his bedroom before and didn’t feel the need to look around; nothing had changed inside.

"Do you do this often?" he asked, inspecting a t-shirt. "Use the sock strategy?"

"No," you replied, shrugging. "I’m too straightforward for that. If I like it, I just go back and say 'Let’s do it again' Or I don’t leave at all. I’m a bit of a parasite too."

He chuckled at the comparison and finally handed you some clothes. You didn’t really look at them; you just needed something looser, something you hadn’t danced in for hours at the club.

"You know where the bathroom is, right?"

You confirmed and were about to head in that direction when you stopped.

"Wait," you said, turning back toward him. But then, you turned again, facing him with your back. "The zipper on the dress," you explained, pulling your hair to the front. "I could manage it myself, but I don’t want to risk breaking it. Could you…?"

"Y-yeah," he agreed after a moment, stepping closer.

He stood just behind you, reaching for the top of your back. Before he pulled the zipper down, there was a moment where he simply paused, unmoving. Your knees suddenly trembled, almost impatiently. Then, he tugged at the zipper, unfastening the dress, and the coolness and freedom teased your skin.

You could have said thank you and headed to the bathroom, but you didn’t. Something kept your body rooted in place, right there next to him, feeling the pads of his fingers on the lower part of your dress.

Even his breath, louder and irregular.

When you began to, slightly disappointed, assume that he wouldn’t do anything more, his lips found a spot on your neck, kissing it slowly. You inhaled deeply, your head instinctively tilting back, giving him more access, as if you had been waiting for just that. He stopped for a longer time in this specific place, pressing on it harder, as you barely hold a groan.

Your breath was given a free rollercoaster ride.

You reached your hand back, wrapping it around his head and pulling him closer to you. You felt him sigh directly into your skin, leaving another two hungry kisses on an exposed skin on your shoulder. God, why were you still wearing that dress?

You abruptly stopped, turning around and almost hitting the top of your head against his jaw. You didn't care about it, and the thought of apologizing never crossed your mind, just simply pushed him, planting a strong kiss right on his lips.

The clothes he gave you slipped from your hand and fell to the floor, but neither of you were concerned about it, as you were both too absorbed to care. You pushed him again, this time onto the bed, on which he sat, surprised by your suddenness. You saw red marks creeping onto the parts of the neck exposed by the undone shirt.

"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," you said, shaking your head in a mock reprimand. He tilted his head to the side, unsure of where you were going with this, his fingers impatiently brushing your waist on both sides. "You lied to me."

Your hands grabbed his face, positioning just under his jaw and lifting it upward so you could find his lips right against yours.

“I lied to you?”

"“That's right. You said you don't read romances. But tell me, how does someone who doesn't do that know such practices?”

“Practices?” he repeated again, surprised."

His gaze was focused solely on your lips to which he tried to get closer, but you hadn't allowed him to yet.

"This whole unbuttoning of the dress. And then, the neck”

With your index finger, you traced along the skin on his neck

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. He removed one hand from your waist and took your hand, the one you had been playing with.

“Did I like it?” you scoffed with a genuine laugh.“I’m like half naked now. Answer that for yourself”

Undressing was the element you hated the most. You became impatient and couldn't understand why your clothes couldn't just disappear from you, instead of threatening to burn your already overheated skin. Spencer didn't help, so slow in his movements. You had a feeling he was doing it on purpose. He probably enjoyed watching you struggle to untangle yourself from the dress. He waited a minute before helping you, effortlessly pulling it over your head.

Maybe slow wasn't the most accurate description.The way he touched his body wasn’t slow. It was like rationing a treat, breaking it into small pieces and savoring them one by one. Meanwhile, it gazed straight into your mouth, shouting, eat me!

It required incredible self-control and composure, but it resulted in something more than just pleasure. When he found himself right between your legs, his lips touching gently every single inch of your thigh and refusing to go further despite your pleas, you compared him to the previous guys you slept with. With them, on the other hand, you had to tell them to slow down, to do everything more carefully, and not to focus solely on their own needs.

“Does it feel right?” He asked, briefly lifting his gaze, his hands gripping your thighs.

Your back arched, probably enough of an answer, but you confirmed it with a soft moan.

"I'd rather you said it out loud. Does it feel right?"

"That's edging on sadism, do you realize that?" you whimpered, trying to release the tension by pulling at his hair.

He stopped again.

"Please, do it again."

It wasn't something he had to beg for.

The rest went similarly. You liked how his confidence and courage grew, but you also went wild when, at certain moments, the same gentle and sometimes awkward Spencer returned. It was a perfectly balanced mix.

"Can you talk to me more?" he asked over time, once he was already inside you. "I want to know how you feel about all of this." After those words, your forehead twitched slightly as you felt the onset of pain. "Does it hurt?"

"No," you whispered, accompanied by a faintly tired exhale.”A little. But it's normal I just didn't have sex for a while”

"No, it shouldn't hurt you. Do you want to stop?"

"Just... give me a moment."

He slowed down, almost stopping. You took a breath,pressing your forehead to his. You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you in a hurry. After all, where to? Outside, the night still reigned, long and patient, winter’s grip holding steady. You liked having his face so close to yours, joining them together and not speaking. For the first time, you could truly say that you enjoyed the silence.

You had always considered silence overwhelming, incapable of calming the chaos that arose in your mind. You preferred moments of wildness, loud sounds, and fast pace, but it was in that silence, which fell then, that you found a peace filled with intimacy.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"It's okay, I'm ready."

After everything, you simply lay facing each other, tangled in one another. Actually, you didn’t like that expression "after everything." After everything—after what exactly? Sex wasn’t just about the physical act; it also included the long moment before and the even more significant one after. It was precisely that moment after which revealed the true you both. How much you cared for each other and how much you meant to each other beyond the bed. That was often missing in one-night stands; the perspective of quickly disappearing from each other's lives and being forgotten somehow intensified selfishness in people.

Lying there, you played with the hair on his forehead.

"You know, they say this is the moment when people are the most honest with each other."

"Do you want to squeeze a few secrets out of me?" he asked.

"Just one," you said mysteriously, turning onto your back. Before that, you noticed his eyebrows furrow.

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you again.

"Which one?"

You pretended to hesitate before answering. You tried with all your might to keep the smile from appearing on your face, betraying you.

"I'm afraid that even now, you won't be honest with me."

"I'm starting to get worried."

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to tell the truth. Give me your pinky."

"What?"

"A pinky promise, you fool."

“O-okay”

Clearly surprised, he did what you asked.

"Now tell me the truth. You got any romance books at your place you're too embarrassed to admit to?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll find them," you teased. "I’ll get up right now and find them."

You pretended to get up, but he pulled you closer, preventing you from moving.

"You're not going anywhere."

i know some of you were curious about this fanfiction, so I'm tagging it.

@nightfullofparadox @bloodredrubyrose @lillaberry @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x oc #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #bau team #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

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remxedmoon · 5 months ago

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(You don’t know how much longer you can do this.)

hi the wip for this was absolutely not supposed to blow up. why does that have 1k notes. horrifying. anyways!!!! it’s update time baby!!!! 64 new assets this time around!

so that’s what the caption was supposed to be. this update was already pretty damn big and took a ton of time to make!!! and i was finally done!! but then my hand slipped and now we’re at 143 new assets. super sorry for the delay! That Was Not Supposed To Happen.

i’ll go more indepth below the cut, but this update encompasses all menu/profile art for both isat and sasasaap, battle portraits for sasasaap, every single pixel icon in isat (to my knowledge anyways), the dialogue skipping animations, and a few miscellaneous additions.

also i spent too much time on these to put them below the cut so Please God Look At My Icon Resprites I Spent 16 Hours On Them. enjoy!

okay first things first. why the hell is this batch 143 assets. so. i HEAVILY underestimated how many times the menu drawings are used in the games. even removing all of the custom art, it’s still ≈30-40 variations! that’s a lot! and once i finally finished everything, i got Posting Anxiety and somehow convinced myself that attempting Animation And Pixel Art (two things i haven’t done in YEARS) would be easier than writing a normal post. so here we are.

the custom art here is pretty much par for the course at this point. extra menu art for bonnie, extra expressions for the party in act 5, we’ve done this enough times that it’s expected. i am aware that bonnie’s custom menu art gets completely covered by the ui. i kept it in because it’s really funny (and also i didn’t feel like extending the sprite (but then the sasasaap version forced me to extend the sprite anyways so Whartever)).

once again, provided a spritesheet for sasasaap’s battle portraits! i do intend to cover both games, it’s just a slightly lower priority atm. unlike isat though, i’ve got Less (read “No”) experience with sasasaap, so there might be more issues with those assets?? apologies if there are, i’ll try to fix any issues that come up!

the Miscellaneous Additions i mentioned above are the sprites used on the teleport map and the loading screen, which is just a tiny version of the skipping animation. they were pretty small, so i figured i might as well get them out of the way!

not actually much to say about the 75 icons surprisingly! i haven’t done pixel art in about 5 years?? and that’s a Travesty actually these were super fun to make. i did make mockups for the overworld sprites earlier, but they aren’t Officially part of the redraws (yet) so they’re getting posted seperately

and also!! some exciting news!! this project might actually become a Proper Published Mod pretty soon!! i’ve been in contact with someone who’s willing to help me get everything set up, and i’ll be getting a Usable Computer around the end of the year!!!! it’ll still be at least a month before it’s up (i’d like to get the enemy art finished beforehand wauaua) but!!! still exciting!

okay, i think that’s everything relevant to the update!! i Definitely can’t fit all of the relevant assets here lol. but i’ll try my best ! please enjoy !!

#marshdoodles #isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat redraw project #<- new tag! which is probably going to change in the future when i settle on an actual name.#apologies if this is hard to follow? writing this update in the middle of the night…#anyways! oh my GOD those gifs were HELL to make #the framerate for the act 2 version is. Nebulous?#procreate will not tell me. i had to fix the framerate with a gif maker site #also for the record. all of the art here was made on procreate #which seems to horrify people when i tell them #for the less recent stuff. did you know that the profile art has a different size than the menu versions?#and that they’re Zoomed In Slightly? because i fucking didn’t! i spent 2 and a half hours cleaning up the profiles.#other than Those. actually had a blast working on these. especially the pixel art wauaa #lets hope i dont have to patch this a week later lmao

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witchywithwhiskey · 8 months ago

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an afternoon of pumpkin picking

pairing: sugar daddy!ransom drysdale x sugar baby!female reader

summary: you've convinced your sugar daddy to take you pumpkin picking—despite his reservations about spending any amount of time on a farm—and the perfectly autumnal date takes a turn when deeper feelings come to light.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, smut, unprotected sex, masturbation (f), guided masturbation, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, filming/recording/taking sexual photos, oral sex (m receiving), light bdsm, free use, pussy spanking, panty sniffing, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, pet names (nixie, baby), love confessions (a bit of idiots in love), aftercare, happy ending, so much fluff

word count: 11.6k

a/n: this fic is inspired by this exchange about various babes as sugar daddies taking their sugar babies on fall dates. i loved the idea of ransom being a little grumpy about going pumpkin picking, and then it morphed into this because i decided i wanted to explore their deeper emotional connection so uh it ended up being a lot longer than i expected. but it's also very cozy and smutty and fluffy and perfect for this time of year!!! anyway, i had fun writing this, so i hope y'all enjoy reading it!!

Can’t believe you talked me into this.

The text from your sugar daddy, Ransom Drysdale, arrived on a brisk September morning as you were getting ready for the perfectly autumnal date you’d convinced him to plan. As you read the message, you could practically hear the affectionate exasperation in his tone, which made you smile to yourself.

It had taken quite a bit of your powers of persuasion to get Ransom Drysdale—the heir to the Blood Like Wine Publishing dynasty and the most blue-blooded Boston man you’d ever met—to agree to take you pumpkin picking out in the “boonies,” as he called anywhere beyond the city limits that wasn’t his “ancestral estate” (also his words).

But since you’d been seeing him for over a year, you knew all of Ransom’s weaknesses. And you’d used them to make a deal with your sugar daddy.

You’re going to have fun, I promise :) Don’t forget our deal.

You certainly hoped Ransom hadn’t forgotten about the arrangement you’d struck that ended up with him taking you pumpkin picking, especially since it was all you could think about that morning as you got ready and did your hair and makeup. Your thoughts kept straying to the deal you’d made, what you’d given him in exchange for the autumnal date of your dreams.

Ransom Drysdale was a dealmaker by trade, overseeing all publication acquisitions for Blood Like Wine. So after all your normal methods of persuasion had failed to convince him to take you pumpkin picking, you’d offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse. It was one that you knew you both would enjoy, but Ransom especially since it appealed to his nature.

A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine as you stood inside the walk-in closet of your Beacon Hill townhouse apartment—the one Ransom paid for, of course.

It had been a gift when you’d accepted his request to be exclusively his sugar baby. He was the only man in your life anymore, and he’d said he wanted to make sure you were taken care of, so he got you the apartment and set up an allowance to make up for the other relationships you’d had to end.

Truthfully, it had been an incredibly easy decision to accept Ransom’s request. He was easily the youngest and handsomest of any man you’d been a sugar baby to—and if you had the tiniest little crush on him, you’d been certain you’d be able to keep it locked down so you didn’t jeopardize your relationship.

After all, Ransom had been clear when you first met: He wasn’t looking to fall in love.

Unfortunately for you, over the year that you’d been seeing him exclusively, your crush had blossomed into full-blown feelings. It was hard not to care for the grumpy, sarcastic publishing executive. He made you laugh, he made you feel safe, and the sex with him was better than any you’d ever had.

More than a year into seeing him and it got harder and harder to hide the fact that you cared deeply for him. You wanted to bundle yourself in one of his sweaters and stay with him forever—but you knew you couldn’t let on about your feelings. You didn’t want to risk him finding out and ending your relationship because he feared you were falling in love with him…

Of course, there were other ways your relationship could end.

Your fingers toyed with the sleeve of a sweater hanging in your closet as you thought about your sugar daddy. A pit in your stomach opened wide as you considered, yet again, it was probably inevitable that one day he would grow tired of you and move on to someone else. Even if you didn’t tell him how you felt, he could still leave you.

It was what happened with these kinds of relationships—the men left when they got bored or tired. Or when they wanted to settle down. Or when they fell in love with someone else.

Add to that, you were keenly aware that you were getting old enough that a man as young as Ransom—who was in his 40s—might want to soon trade you in for a newer, younger model.

The thought broke your heart a little, and you had to push it away. You cut off the entire train of thought, knowing that it would lead nowhere good, especially when your sugar daddy was due to pick you up in just a short time. As you went back to getting ready, in your mind, you repeated your mantra to yourself: You would not love Ransom Drysdale.

It was a lie, of course, but you were hoping that if you said it to yourself enough times it would become true. It hadn’t worked yet, though.

Thankfully, your phone vibrated, distracting you.

Wear that skirt I like. And one of the sweaters you stole from me.

A huff of an affronted laugh escaped you at the brisk tone of Ransom’s message. You hated it when he barked orders at you like you were one of the interns at his office. Sure, technically you were his employee, but he didn’t have to use that tone—especially before a date.

You assumed he was cranky because he still didn’t want to go pumpkin picking, but that didn’t mean you had to put up with it. Or respond at all. Even if you did follow his orders, since that was part of your deal for the day.

Tossing your phone on your bed without replying, you pulled out the skirt he was referring to from your closet. It was a short, flouncy thing that swished dangerously around your thighs, offering tantalizing teases of your ass to anyone who might be looking at your backside.

Ransom loved it because it afforded him a sneak peek of what lingerie you were wearing. One of his favorite things to gift you as his sugar baby was lingerie. He loved seeing you in it, touching you in it, fucking you in it. And what he liked most was sneaking a peek of your lingerie from those glimpses beneath your flouncy skirt.

On that September morning, you selected a black satin matching set to wear beneath the skirt, then pulled a maroon sweater from the pile in your closet.

He may have been a spoiled, rich man, but Ransom was a gentleman, and if you were cold, he’d give you his sweater—which was how you’d amassed a small hoard of your sugar daddy’s sweaters. You never could bring yourself to give them back once they made their way into your closet. Nor could you bear to wash them.

In your loneliest moments, you’d pull on one of Ransom’s sweaters and let the expensive scent of his cologne comfort you. He smelled like whiskey and something spicy—something that matched perfectly with the fall and winter.

You’d never told anyone about wearing Ransom’s sweaters when you were alone in your Beacon Hill apartment, but your sugar daddy knew you’d collected many of them.

Ransom didn’t seem to mind, though. Or, at least, he never asked for them back. But sometimes, like that day, he’d ask that you wear one for him. It always sent a special thrill through you to wear your sugar daddy’s sweaters, like it meant he was staking a claim on you that was deeper and more like a typical romantic relationship.

A giddy, happy smile curled your lips as you got dressed and added jewelry before checking to make sure your hair and makeup were still done to your satisfaction.

You were just pulling on some black mary jane shoes when your phone chimed with another text.

Let me see, nixie.

Your traitorous heart fluttered at the nickname. Most of the sugar daddies you’d had relationships with called you by much more common pet names—sweetheart, honey—if they used them at all. But leave it to Ransom to pull a pet name from obscure European folklore.

You’d had to look it up after the first time he used it, and when you found out it was a kind of river mermaid who lured men to their deaths, you’d laughed to yourself. Ransom had essentially likened you to a siren, and at the time, you’d wondered if he believed you could lure him to his death. It seemed ridiculous, especially when you were the one in danger of getting their heart broken.

Sometimes, when he used that pet name, you wondered if Ransom liked you as much as you liked him. If that was why he’d chosen it, because he worried you’d hurt him somehow. But that was a dangerous thought and you reminded yourself it would only lead to heartbreak.

You tried not to have a reaction to the nickname. You tried to stop your heart from fluttering and your lips from curving into a smile. But it was impossible.

So to distract yourself, you did as Ransom had asked in his message. You snapped a quick photo of your outfit—the short, flouncy skirt paired with his maroon sweater and your black mary janes. You’d chosen to forgo tights because September in Massachusetts could get warm, especially with the sun shining as brightly as it was outside your window.

You sent the photo and began gathering your things to wait for Ransom to arrive for your date, but his response came back quicker than you expected.

Pretty, but I want to see it in person. I’m outside.

Your heart gave another flutter at the compliment, then flipped entirely when he said he was outside. Bounding to your bedroom window that overlooked the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill, you grinned when you saw Ransom’s silver 1972 BMW coupe parked outside your door.

Ransom might not be as excited for your pumpkin picking date as you were, but he was early. That had to mean something, right?

You didn’t let that thought flourish any further, pushing it aside as you grabbed your keys and phone and shoved them in the bag you’d picked to match your outfit. Then you were flouncing down the stairs of your townhouse to the front door and pushing through it, pausing only to lock it behind you.

When you turned to the street, you were struck with the sight of Ransom Drysdale leaning against his BMW, a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. Your heart raced and your belly swooped—it felt like your entire body was having a visceral reaction to seeing Ransom dressed in an autumnal outfit that suited him so well.

A golden brown wool coat hung off Ransom’s broad shoulders, slightly obscuring the worn cream-colored cable knit sweater that covered his expansive chest. A purple and gold scarf with some kind of intricate design hung casually around his neck, adding to the look that was completed by dark slacks, brown loafers and a pair of sunglasses with gold rims that matched the rings he wore on his hands.

Despite his sunglasses, you could feel Ransom’s eyes on you and you bit your lip against a giddy grin, worried that your schoolgirl crush on your sugar daddy would show plain as day on your face if you let it slip free. Instead, you gave him an exaggerated onceover before letting out a low whistle of appreciation as you stepped into the narrow sidewalk lining the cobblestone street.

“Quit gawking and c’mere, nixie,” Ransom growled, using his free hand to grab your waist and pull you into him.

You landed against his broad, muscular chest with a light, “oomph,” and instantly wound your arms around his shoulders, enjoying the way he felt so steady and solid against you.

“You love it when I check you out, don’t you, daddy?” you teased in a soft voice meant only for him.

The street wasn’t busy, but it was so narrow that if any of your neighbors had their windows open to let in the crisp September air, they’d easily be able to overhear you. And you didn’t want anyone else hearing you call Ransom ‘daddy’—that was just for him.

“I do,” Ransom admitted in a rumbling voice, matching your low tone. “And I love looking at you in your pretty little outfit I picked out…” He trailed off, ducking down closer to you and nudging your nose to tilt your head back, ghosting his mouth over your lips teasingly when you canted your face to meet his. “But daddy needs a kiss, baby.”

The words were barely past his lips before you were surging up onto your tiptoes and kissing Ransom. He tasted like black coffee and cinnamon, and you couldn’t get enough of it. When his tongue slid across your lower lip seeking entrance, you were helpless to do anything but open for him, moaning softly as he plunged into your mouth.

The kiss had started out chaste enough for the sidewalk of Beacon Hill, but Ransom seemed to be as ravenous as you felt, hooking his arms around your waist and bending you backward with the intensity of his need to devour you.

It had your head spinning with pleasure, but you still gave him as good as you got, kissing him back with just as much fervor, your leg rising of its own accord to hook around his thigh beneath his open coat.

Gradually, Ransom slowed the kiss until his mouth was decadently nibbling on your lower lip before licking the sting of his teeth away. Then, finally, he pulled away and you were able to drag in a deep breath, trying to get your head on straight as you lowered your leg back to the sidewalk.

“Get in the car, nixie,” Ransom growled, though there was no anger in his tone, only a desirous heat that you recognized, since it was swirling warmly in the depths of your core. “Before I decide I’d rather take you back inside your apartment and fuck you in nothing but my sweater instead of taking you pumpkin picking.”

His free hand slid down your back and he groped the soft curve of your ass shamelessly over your skirt, right there on the street. Still, you couldn’t help but melt at his rough handling, a gasp escaping as his fingers dug ruthlessly into your flesh.

For just a second, you debated whether you wanted Ransom to deliver on his threat, but decided against it. The prospect of seeing your sugar daddy going pumpkin picking was too good to pass up.

“Ok, ok, I’m getting in the car,” you huffed on a laugh, your voice breathy in a way you couldn’t help as you squirmed away from Ransom’s groping hand. Your sugar daddy chuckled, but let you go, then turned to open the door of his BMW for you.

He waited until you were settled on the soft leather seat, your seatbelt buckled across your lap, then leaned into the car and handed you the coffee he’d been holding. You took it with no small amount of surprise, having assumed it was his own coffee.

“For you, your favorite,” he murmured before brushing a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry for being short with you this morning.”

A stunned expression froze on your face, his words spinning around in your mind so loudly, you barely heard the thump of the car door closing. Your eyes flicked up to watch Ransom cross in front of the car, your heart racing like you’d just sprinted an entire marathon.

It was then that you knew, unequivocally, without any doubt, that you loved Ransom Drysdale.

Your sugar daddy slid smoothly into the driver’s seat and pulled his door shut before glancing at you. You gave him a weak smile, trying to hid the fact that you felt like a bomb had just been dropped inside your heart, and his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

“Don’t tell me they fucked up your drink,” he fumed, shoving his keys in the ignition and starting his BMW. He threw an arm around the back of your seat, his chest close enough to your shoulder that you could feel the warmth radiating from him as he carefully backed up, then maneuvered onto the street. All the while, he was muttering, “It’s a fucking pumpkin spice latte, they must make thousands of them a day. How can they fuck it up?”

When he merged into traffic at the end of the street heading in the direction of the local coffee shop, Ransom finally pulled his arm away from the back of your seat. You grabbed his hand before he could put it back on the wheel, squeezing it to get his attention.

“The latte’s fine, Ran—it’s perfect,” you assured him, even though you hadn’t taken a sip yet. Some of the anger drained from his expression and he executed a u-turn to turn in the other direction of the coffee shop, but his jaw was still ticking with annoyance and you searched for an explanation that wasn’t the truth. When you couldn’t think of anything else, you blurted, “I was just surprised you remembered my favorite coffee.”

“Of course I remembered,” he said after a moment of silence. His voice was gruff, like he didn’t know what to do with his sweet gesture being addressed so directly, but his mood seemed to lighten, his annoyance forgotten. Slipping his hand from your fingers, he settled his palm firmly on your thigh, giving you a playful squeeze as he shot you a smirk. “Though I don’t think that sugary nonsense should really be called coffee,” he snarked, giving your leg another squeeze to let you know he was only teasing.

You huffed an exasperated laugh and settled your free hand on top of his, holding onto him while he drove skillfully through the busy streets of Boston, heading toward the city limits.

Ransom’s joke washed away the remnants of whatever tension your revelation, and your need to hide it from him, had caused between the two of you. Of course, you still felt the knowledge that you loved him hovering at the edge of your mind, but it was easy to sink into Ransom’s comforting presence and, if not entirely forget about it, at least more easily pretend you didn’t know you were in love with your sugar daddy.

On the drive, you made conversation with Ransom, asking him about his work and his family. He’d spent time with them the previous weekend and hadn’t seen you as a result. But he skipped quickly over the family party he’d attended and instead focused on telling you about some of the books he’d acquired for Blood Like Wine.

You didn’t like Ransom’s family, based on what little you knew about them. And you didn’t feel even a little bit bad about it because you were certain they’d never like you, especially considering how you’d met Ransom. But it still made you sad to think about him facing them alone. Your heart thumped with sympathy and you curled your fingers more possessively around his hand on your thigh.

Ransom shot you a lopsided smile and turned the conversation around on you, asking about what books you’d been reading, and how the rest of your hobbies were going. He didn’t need to ask about your work because he’d made sure you didn’t need a job other than keeping him company—and especially didn’t need any other sugar daddies.

So you told him about what you were reading and all the other things you did to occupy your time while he listened and asked questions. He especially loved hearing your opinions on the Blood Like Wine books he’d acquired.

A little over an hour outside the city, Ransom’s BMW pulled into a gravel driveway beside a large sign that read Johnson’s Family Farm. There were smaller signs lining the drive advertising the farm’s apple orchards, hayrides, farm stand, and, of course, the pumpkin patch.

Beyond the windows of Ransom’s BMW, you could see the farm sprawling out toward the distant horizon, plenty of picturesque little red buildings and beautiful fields filled with various fruits and vegetables. But there was something off about the farm, and it took you a moment to realize what it was: The whole place was deserted.

It was a little early in the day, just after lunch time, but you were still surprised by how empty the parking lot was. And you didn’t even see any workers, or cars that might belong to them. It was just Ransom’s BMW and the deserted farm.

“Where is everyone?” you asked, turning in your seat to Ransom. “Are you sure they’re open?” It was the weekend, they must’ve been open, but you couldn’t make sense of why no one was there.

Ransom snorted, giving you a devious smirk as he put the car in park and turned it off.

“I bought out the farm for a couple hours, it’s just us and the pumpkins, nixie,” he explained, squeezing your thigh one last time before stepping out of the car and rounding the front to open your door for you.

You stepped out onto the gravel in a bit of a daze, still shocked by his words. You knew Ransom was wealthy—he was a high-level executive at one of the most successful prestige publishers in the country, not to mention the money he inherited from his family—but him buying out an entire farm just for your date was one of the most extravagant things he’d ever done. Your mind reeled as you tried to fathom how much that would even cost.

Ransom curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. He’d taken off his sunglasses, so you were met with the sight of his sparkling blue eyes. Paired with his devastatingly handsome smirk, your knees instantly went weak and your mouth parted in a wordless plea for him to kiss you.

He dropped a quick peck to your lips that was over too soon and swept his thumb across your cheek in a soothing gesture, your surprise melting into happiness as you realized you got to have Ransom all to yourself on your date.

“C’mon, nixie, did you really think I’d agree to go pumpkin picking—to go tromping through the dirt on a farm,” he scoffed, his tone warm even if it was a little derisive. “And deal with hordes of screaming children and their families?”

Ransom raised an eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help but snort a laugh as you rolled your eyes. You didn’t even need to answer, because of course Ransom wouldn’t want to deal with anyone else while he was enduring the absolute torture of going pumpkin picking. But then his next words distracted you from thinking about how spoiled he was.

“Besides, I haven’t forgotten our deal. I have plans for you, and we needed the farm all to ourselves for them,” he teased, his smirk turning impish as he ducked down and captured your lips in another quick kiss.

Your heart was racing with excitement, your mind turning over his words and wondering what he could have planned for you while Ransom grabbed your hand and led you into the farm. You shook your head to clear it of all the naughty thoughts that had popped into your mind, and focused on your sugar daddy, who was following the signs toward the pumpkin patch with a grim acceptance in his expression.

The September sun was warm on your shoulders, but there was a cool breeze, the lingering chill of the morning clinging to the day and you curled around Ransom’s arm while you walked. You tried to distract your sugar daddy from the eventuality of leaving the nice dirt path to wade into the pumpkin patch by chattering about fond memories you had of going apple picking and exploring corn mazes with friends when you were younger.

When you got to the area where you could pick your own pumpkins, Ransom paused at the edge, using your clasped hands to pull you to a stop alongside him. Your chatter cut off mid-sentence and you looked curiously to your sugar daddy, finding his brows lowered over his stormy blue eyes as he considered the haphazard spread of soft soil, scattered hay and orange pumpkins.

“I still don’t really see the point of this,” he muttered, giving the pumpkin patch a dubious look.

You couldn’t help but smile, thinking Ransom looked younger than his years in that moment—like a kid who was being introduced to something new and didn’t trust that they were going to like it.

You curled into Ransom’s chest, your arms twining around his neck while his settled easily around your waist. You looked up at him and waited to speak until he dragged his gaze from the pumpkin patch behind you to meet your eyes.

“Normally, the point would be to take some pumpkins home and carve them,” you explained patiently. Ransom narrowed his eyes on you suspiciously, as if he believed you were going to try to convince him to do such an unfathomably pedestrian thing, and the corners of your mouth flickered as you suppressed an even wider smiler. “But something tells me even my powers of persuasion aren’t strong enough to get you to do that.”

Ransom only snorted, his eyes flicking disdainfully to the pumpkins over your shoulder then back at you. “Definitely not.”

But there was a curiosity buried deep in his gaze, and you wondered if one day—if you were together long enough—he might be willing to try some pumpkin carving.

Surprisingly, you could picture it. Ransom with his worn, threadbare sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows, grimacing as he yanked pumpkin guts from inside a big, orange gourd. It almost made you giggle to think about.

Instead, you shook your head to clear the image from your thoughts, not wanting to get your hopes up that Ransom would be a fixture in your life long enough that you could convince him to carve pumpkins with you.

Although, maybe if you offered to blow him while he did… You shook your head again and met Ransom’s curious gaze, giving him a bright smile that was only a little bit fake.

“Then we can just pick out a couple pumpkins for my front steps,” you said sunnily, bouncing up onto your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Ransom’s cheek. “They’re pretty decorations whether we carve them or not.”

You began to pull away, intent on starting your search for the perfect pumpkins, but Ransom’s arms tightened around your waist, like he didn’t want to let go yet.

“You’d be a much prettier decoration than any of these gourds, nixie,” he murmured, and you turned your face to him in surprise at the gruffness in his tone. There was some emotion laced through his voice that you couldn’t place, and before you could puzzle it out, Ransom’s mouth caught yours, sending your thoughts scattering as he kissed you deeply.

When you finally broke away for a breath, your body was buzzing with awareness of Ransom’s and a warmth that had nothing to do with the bright September sun had bloomed between your thighs. You had half a mind to drag Ransom back to the car and have him do something about what he’d started, but you were determined to go pumpkin picking.

Pushing aside the distracting hum of desire filling your body, you pulled away from Ransom’s warmth and began carefully stepping through the pumpkin patch. The smell of earth and the distinct scent of pumpkins surrounded you, calming some of the buzzy heat Ransom had stirred up, and you were able to focus on your search for the perfect pumpkins.

Once Ransom got over the fact that he would have to walk through the dirt in his nice loafers—which took a few moments of complaining—he began picking his way through the pumpkins. He kept calling out to you when he’d found one that was particularly deformed or ugly in some way, trying to claim they had “character.” But you knew he was just being a pest to make you laugh and smile.

To his credit, he was making you laugh, and the smile on your face was so wide it hurt a little.

Every time he held up a terrible pumpkin like it was a prize catch, you shook your head at him, but your laughter echoed across the fields of the farm. And you couldn’t help but notice that Ransom seemed to be having fun, too, his own smile staying fixed on his handsome face as you both made your way through the pumpkin patch.

“What about this one?” Ransom called, from a little ways away, having wandered off in a different direction. “Now this is a pumpkin.”

You stood up from where you’d been bent over, looking at some moderately sized pumpkins to find Ransom standing beside a massive orange thing. It was almost as high as Ransom’s waist, tipped on its side, but as you looked harder, something about it seemed off.

First, it was clearly meant to be part of a display set up by the farm, since it stood in front of an artfully arranged stack of hay bales that were topped with smaller pumpkins. The rest of the field stretched out behind the setup, and you suspected it had been constructed in an attempt to give visitors to the farm a photo op, where families or groups of friends could pose for the perfect autumnal pictures.

But as you walked closer to Ransom, and smoothed your hands over the large pumpkin, you realized something else was off about the gourd.

“Ran,” you started dryly, cutting your eyes to him, finding him admiring the pumpkin. “This isn’t a real pumpkin—it’s fake, for the photo op,” you said, waving your hand at the whole display.

Ransom seemed confused for a moment, then looked at the bales of hay arranged behind it as if he was seeing them for the first time. Since you were closer, you could see a little sign that had the name of the farm tacked into the hay, and had to give it to Johnson’s Family Farm—they seemed to know what they were doing.

“Figures the first pumpkin I actually like is fake,” Ransom muttered, turning to you and wrapping his arms around your waist as he curled his big body around yours.

You bit your lip against a laugh and stroked your fingers through his soft brown hair. “Don’t worry, Ran, I’m sure we’ll find something you like.”

His thick arms squeezed you tight and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto one another. It was a sweet moment—until Ransom’s hands began to wander down your back, stroking down your spine to the swell of your ass. But he didn’t stop there. His hands slid further down and under your skirt, groping your thighs shamelessly and kneading the soft flesh of your ass.

“Remind me again about the deal we made, nixie,” Ransom rumbled, his tone thick with lust as he used his big hands to pull you closer, his bulge pressing into your stomach.

Your mind was swimming with desire, your body arched into the bigger form of your sugar daddy, but you managed to remember the words of the agreement you’d made—the one that had finally convinced Ransom it would be worth it to take you pumpkin picking.

“I have to do everything you say,” you recited the terms of your deal, your voice breathless with excitement. “And you can do anything you want with me.”

Ransom made a rumbling sound deep in his chest, the vibrations teasing your nipples through your sweater and sheer lingerie. Your breasts felt heavy, aching to be touched, but you kept your arms around Ransom’s broad shoulders, waiting to see what he’d do.

“I think it’s time for you to pay up, baby,” Ransom murmured, walking you backward until your ass collided with the big, fake pumpkin. “I wanna take some pictures of my pretty sugar baby on the biggest pumpkin in the patch.”

The plastic was cold against your bare thighs and you sucked in a gasp, your body tensing in Ransom’s grip.

He seemed to understand your plight, though, because he uncurled himself from around your body—after giving your ass a lingering squeeze.

Straightening, Ransom’s eyes caught yours, his blue gaze sparkling with mischief and a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth as he shrugged out of his wool coat. He swung it around behind you, laying it down on the pumpkin before his hands fell to your hips.

“Need a boost?” he asked, his lips curving into a deviously handsome smirk as his hands settled on your hips.

Truthfully, you didn’t need the help. The pumpkin was only a little higher than your ass, and you could have easily hopped up onto it. But arousal was slinking through your body, making you feel heavy and achy and you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have Ransom’s hands on you for a little longer.

“Yes, please, daddy,” you said sweetly, giving Ransom your most charming smile and enjoying the way his eyes darkened at the honorific.

Ransom pressed close to you, his expensive cologne filling your senses as he pinned you against the pumpkin under the guise of helping you. But you could feel the hard, thick length in his slacks digging into your soft belly and you knew he was enjoying the excuse to hold you just as much as you were.

Slowly, he eased you up onto the pumpkin, the wool of his coat scratchy against the back of your bare thighs, but much warmer and softer than the cold plastic of the decoration.

When he settled you right where he wanted you, it took all your self-control not to spread your legs for Ransom. You bit your lip against a sultry smile and kept your legs closed, trying to look nice for the photos he was going to take.

Still, you couldn’t help but murmur a breathy, “Thank you, daddy,” that had your blood running even hotter through your veins.

Ransom seemed just as affected as you, but he managed to hold himself together, dropping a quick kiss to your lips before rumbling, “Good girl, nixie.”

Then he was stepping away, taking his warmth and delicious scent with him as he retreated a few paces and pulled out his phone. You arranged yourself in a pretty pose on the pumpkin, smiling for Ransom’s camera, and adjusting your legs or arms or the tilt of your head as he asked.

You’d been a little worried that giving Ransom free reign to order you around would lead to him barking commands at you like you were a dog. But he’d taken your words about not liking being talked to like that to heart—no doubt helped by the reminder of his text going unanswered that morning—and he kept his voice warm and light as he guided you through the poses he wanted for the photos he was taking.

It was more fun than you expected. You’d never done any kind of photoshoot, and you found yourself enjoying Ransom’s gentle commands helping you pose for him. He took so many photos of you perched on that fake pumpkin, you began to wonder what he planned to do with them.

But then his directions took a new turn, and you couldn’t help the smirk that curved your lips.

“Now spread your legs,” Ransom urged, bending down so he was crouched in the field, being careful not to let his pants touch the dirt. “Put your feet up—yeah, just like that.” Ransom’s eyes sparkled in the bright September sunshine as he watched you shift into the pose he wanted, his mouth pulled wide in a wolfish grin. “Let daddy see what’s under that pretty skirt of yours.”

Leaning back on your hands, you lifted your knees and spread them wide, balancing precariously on top of the big, fake pumpkin. Your skirt fell around your hips, baring your black silk panties for Ransom’s camera. Even a few paces away, you could hear his inhale of breath when he got his first glimpse of the thin slip of fabric barely covering your glistening slit.

Excited thrills zipped through your body, more wetness gathering between your thighs as you watched Ransom’s blue eyes darken. Your pussy was so close to being on full display in broad daylight, and even though you knew the farm was deserted, the possibility of somehow being caught still made the tension in you crackle deliciously.

But that was the fun of following Ransom’s orders—you’d known from the moment you offered it up for the deal that he would have you doing something naughty. You just hoped, as your core ached to be filled, that your sugar daddy would end the teasing soon and fuck you over the pumpkin he had you sitting on.

“Rub your pussy, baby,” Ransom rumbled, his voice pitching lower. “Let me see you make a mess of your pretty panties—all for me.”

His tone was drenched in a desire that made you even wetter, your body responding to his voice alone. You were so gone for him, you didn’t even care that no other man had ever made you wet just from his voice. You just wanted him to keep talking—keep ordering you to do more filthy things.

Putting all your weight on one hand, you slipped the other between your thighs, using two fingers to rub your clit through your black silk panties. You suspected they were expensive, just like all the lingerie Ransom had gifted you, but you didn’t think about how much they cost. You only stared into Ransom’s camera and let your eyes go heavy-lidded, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan as pleasure pulsed through your body.

“Good girl, nixie,” Ransom purred, shifting closer but staying down on his haunches. Soft clicks of a camera shudder came from his phone as he took photo after photo, capturing the way your fingers dipped down to your slit and pushed your panties ever so slightly into your dripping hole. “Fuck—yeah, just like that, rub that pretty pussy like a good little slut for daddy.”

A whimper slipped from your lips and a shudder wracked your whole body at the pleasure that suffused your entire being. Your fingers teased your wet slit while Ransom watched, his phone camera trained on you while he took photos of your lewd actions. It was headier than you would’ve expected, your thoughts scattering as your hips rocked gently, pressing your cunt against your fingers instinctively.

“Daddy, ‘m so empty,” you wailed softly, pushing your fingers into your pussy through your panties, whining desperately when they couldn’t go deep enough. The black satin was soaked in your juices, feeling good as it slipped against your wet lower lips, but you hated it in that moment because it was the only thing stopping you from being filled. “P-please, daddy!”

One of Ransom’s hands dropped from his phone to palm his dick through his pants, and you whimpered louder with a wordless plea. You opened your eyes wider and pouted your lips, imploring him to put you out of your misery—either by giving you another order, or by sinking his fat cock into your aching pussy.

Ransom’s features darkened with desire, his handsome face twisting into an expression that was almost a scowl as he rose from his crouch to tower over where you were perched. Your own expression lightened and turned hopeful, sure he was going to tuck his phone away and fill you up, but instead, he chuckled darkly.

Skimming his free hand down your inner thigh, he groped you briefly, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. But then he ignored your pussy entirely and instead tugged on the hem of your sweater.

“Pull up your shirt, nixie, show me your slutty body,” Ransom rasped, his voice hoarse with his own need while he palmed his dick again, keeping his phone camera trained on you.

You whined and squirmed pathetically at the quick tease of his touch, but followed his order all the same. You tugged the hem of your sweater up, catching it between your teeth to keep it from falling down again before you went back to rubbing your pussy.

You knew how you must’ve looked—your legs spread wide, your shirt pulled up to show off both parts of your black silk matching set and your hand pressed between your thighs, rubbing your pussy shamelessly. You must’ve looked like a perfect little whore for Ransom, and by the way his eyes sparkled and his mouth curved into a satisfied smirk, he loved it.

“Good girl, nixie,” he murmured, soft clicks of the camera shutter coming from his phone as he took even more photos while he stood over you. “You’re such a good little slut for me, baby, such a perfectly obedient girl.” His eyes flicked from his phone screen to your eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good to do everything daddy tells you?”

With the soft cotton of your sweater in your mouth, you couldn’t speak, so you nodded, holding Ransom’s gaze as you did so. You wanted him to see it was the truth—it did feel good to do what he told you. Because you trusted him. You knew he’d never tell you to do anything that might hurt you.

Something shifted in Ransom’s eyes as he read your expression—something that looked a lot like surprise melting into a profound awareness that seemed to frighten him. As you watched, his eyes hardened just a little bit, the hand holding his phone dropping out of the way as he stared at you intensely.

“Are you sure you can handle it, sugar baby, doing everything I tell you?” he asked, a harshness in his tone that spoke to an underlying animosity you knew wasn’t truly directed at you.

You realized all of a sudden that you’d tipped your hand. You’d shown Ransom you trusted him, and, in the process, shown him that your feelings for him were deeper than they should be between a sugar baby their sugar daddy. His question was a challenge, and an offering of an escape at the same time.

But, for all that you’d avoided showing Ransom how you truly felt about him, you simply couldn’t run away from him. If you’d been able to do that, you would’ve parted ways with your sugar daddy already.

So you held Ransom’s glinting blue gaze and nodded resolutely. His expression hardened further.

“Spank your pussy,” Ransom growled, his voice sounding as rough as the gravel in the farm’s parking lot. “Show me what a dirty little slut you are and slap your cunt as hard as you can.”

Your whole body quivered with anticipation as you drew back your hand from your wet, puffy pussy. Your silk panties were soaking wet, and you knew the flimsy fabric wouldn’t protect your sensitive slit from the sting of the spank, but Ransom gave you an order, and you intended to follow it—to show him how much you trusted him, and cared for him.

Using the flat of your fingers, you slapped your cunt as Ransom instructed, as hard as you could manage. Electrifying pain streaked through your body, making you cry out and arch violently on the pumpkin you were perched on, your other hand gripping tightly to Ransom’s wool coat to keep you balanced. A deep, blazing pleasure nipped at the sensation’s heels and your cry devolved quickly into a debauched moan that was muffled by the sweater in your mouth.

It took you a moment to force your gaze back to Ransom, his eyes swirling with so many emotions, you didn’t have a hope of discerning them. But he held his phone up again, no doubt framing you within the screen and said in a gruff voice, “Again.”

That time, since you were expecting it, it was easier to brace for the sting of pain and the burning pleasure that swept the smarting tingle away. But your body still responded, your spine curving and your legs shaking wildly, your lips falling open in another muted moan as your teeth clung to the sweater so it didn’t slip free from your mouth.

Ransom’s camera captured the whole thing—you knew because he watched the screen instead of you, his mouth twisting into a depraved smirk.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Ransom rumbled, some of the warmth you typically heard in your sugar daddy’s voice seeping back into his words. He must’ve heard it, too, because his next words were harsher. “Does it feel good to spank your pussy like the dirty little slut she is?

“Uh huh,” you mumbled around the sweater in your mouth. You tried to tell him it felt good, but the words came out entirely garbled, though Ransom seemed to understand.

“Are you gonna come from slapping your naughty cunt?” he asked, his eyes darkening with hungry intent as he watched your face, waiting for your response.

Your pussy pulsed at his filthy question, and you thought maybe it was possible to come from spanking your puffy slit, especially if your fingers caught your clit with each slap. But truthfully, you didn’t know—you’d never tried. So you answered Ransom honestly, muttering, “Ionno,” around the sweater in your mouth.

Ransom huffed an impatient sound and reached for you to tug the sweater free from your teeth, his actions gentle even despite his obvious annoyance. “Say that again.”

“I-I don’t know,” you whispered. “I can try.”

The expression on Ransom’s face shifted again, but it became even more unreadable. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he was searching for something, though you didn’t know what.

“You want to try?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative.

You acted instinctively, pushing yourself up so you were no longer balancing on your hand and reaching past Ransom’s phone to grab his sweater to pull him down for a kiss. Your lips moved sweetly against his for a moment, before you pulled back and stared deeply into his eyes.

“I want to do everything you tell me to do,” you said, reciting the words of the deal you’d struck with Ransom, but changing them just a little, to tell him again that you wanted him, you trusted him. “I want you to do anything you want with me.”

A look of something almost like fury flitted across Ransom’s face, and then he was surging forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, as if he meant to brand you with his mouth. You moaned into him, which only seemed to make him kiss you harder, his tongue pushing past your lips to sweep into you as if he owned you.

In that moment, if he’d asked, you would have told him he did.

Just as suddenly as he’d kissed you, Ransom pulled away and he shoved his phone in the pocket of his expensive slacks. Then, before you’d even recovered from his kiss, he grabbed your hips and spun you to the side, guiding your shoulders down so you were laying draped sideways across the big pumpkin.

“Panties off,” he growled, his voice a low rumbling contrast to the sharp clinking of his belt buckle as he undid his pants. “Give ‘em to me.”

You were quick to follow his orders, hooking your fingers in the black silk panties and shoving them down your legs, pulling them off and then handing them to Ransom. You watched your sugar daddy hold them up to his face and take a deep breath, inhaling your scent as his other hand dove into his boxer briefs.

Because your head was hanging over the side of the fake pumpkin beneath your back, you had a front row seat to Ransom’s big hand stroking his hard length, your mouth watering with the desire to taste him on your tongue. A whine slipped from your lips and you squirmed, getting Ransom’s attention.

He chuckled darkly, tucking your panties into the pocket of his slacks that didn’t hold his phone and then shoved them and his boxer briefs down. His thick, fat cock fell on your face, making you flinch in surprise at the slight slap of it against your skin. But in the next breath, you were tilting your face up and kissing him affectionately, murmuring in contentment when his musky taste hit your tongue.

“Such a perfect little slut, baby,” Ransom rasped, his praise drenched in that warm tone that had your heart beating happily in your chest. He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and slapped it gently on your smiling lips. “Open your mouth and spread your legs.”

Immediately, you did as Ransom said, parting your thighs and opening your mouth wide, then waiting for what came next. You weren’t surprised when Ransom didn’t waste any time before pushing the tip of his cock past your lips.

He let out a low, filthy groan as he thrust deep in your mouth, pressing into your throat until you could feel him bulging in the front of your neck. He held there, his balls nestled against your nose while you swallowed around him, trying to get used to the intrusion while he groaned obscenely at how good you felt.

“Fuck yeah, baby, take daddy’s cock in your pretty little throat,” he rumbled, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat and pressing down lightly, grunting when he felt himself twitching inside you. “You’re such a perfect little slut, ’s like you were made for me—all for me.”

You moaned around Ransom’s cock, hoping he took the sound for the agreement it was as you lay beneath him, your hips squirming and your pussy fluttering in the cool September air. Your wiggling seemed to get Ransom’s attention and he leaned over you, his big hand sliding between your thighs to rub your already messy pussy.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice sounding like sunshine with the affection clear in his tone. “You still wanna see if you can come from getting your pussy spanked?” he asked, a smirk in his words.

You nodded as best you could, your hips squirming and bucking, practically begging for him without using a single word—not that you could utter any with his cock buried so deeply in your throat.

His fingers slid teasingly against your clit and you bucked harder, grinding against him as best you could.

Your antics made Ransom laugh quietly as he muttered, “Alright, baby,” in a placating voice.

That was the only warning you got—that and his hand disappearing from your pussy. Ransom’s big hand came down on your pussy sharply, the flat of his fingers spanking your pussy much harder than you. Still, you could feel he was holding back from using all his strength, only giving it to you as hard as he knew you could take.

And take it you did.

A muffled scream clawed its way up your throat and slipped past your lips to be muffled against Ransom’s balls as white-hot pain flooded your body, followed closely by the all-consuming burn of pleasure. A tremor shook your limbs and you choked on Ransom’s cock, your throat squeezing him tight enough to wring a grunt from him.

“Fuck—did that feel good, baby?” he rumbled, his fingers dipping into your hole and rubbing your juices all over your pussy, paying special attention to your clit. “Do you like it when daddy spanks your slutty pussy? Because you’re squeezing my cock like you want me to do it again.”

His voice was drenched in warmth and humor and you whined in response as you planted your feet on the curve of the fake pumpkin and bucked your hips up against his hand, pleasure coiling tight in your core. You knew it was only a matter of a few more smacks from Ransom’s hand before that coil was snapping and you were going to come from him spanking your pussy.

“That sounds like a yes, but I wanna feel you nod, baby,” Ransom murmured, his other hand petting your cheek softly.

You couldn’t see him from the angle you were at, but you could hear the smile in his tone and you melted a little, your legs falling open wider as you nodded for him.

“Good girl,” he praised, his fingers stroking over the bulge in your throat while his others rubbled your clit, making your tight channel squeeze his cock tighter. “And what do you do if it’s too much? Show daddy,” he urged as his fingers trailed lower, until they dipped into your black satin bra and swirled around your nipples until they were stiff peaks.

Meanwhile, you reached back and patted the outside of Ransom’s thigh three times, the sign you’d established with him early on in your relationship for when you needed a break but didn’t have the capacity to use words.

“Good, you’re such a good girl,” he purred. His hand kept sliding lower down your body until he reached your thighs. He grabbed your soft flesh and pushed your legs open even wider. “Now, let’s see if we can make your pretty pussy come just from being spanked while I fuck your slutty mouth.”

You barely had a chance to moan your agreement before Ransom’s hand came down on your cunt again, the sharp, slick sound of his fingers slapping your wet flesh meeting your ears before the stinging pain and scorching pleasure sent your thoughts skittering away.

He rubbed your clit roughly and moved his hips, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, grunting and groaning at the feel of your moans vibrating through him and your throat squeezing him every time he slapped your pussy.

Ransom fell into a rhythm, spanking your pussy as hard as he thought you could handle, his fingers catching your clit every time, and fucking your throat while you lay draped over the big, fake pumpkin in that deserted pumpkin patch.

You were at the mercy of Ransom, and he seemed to know it just as much as you did—and he didn’t take it for granted. His hands were purposeful with every touch, every spank, his hips never pushing too hard against your head as he fucked your mouth. It was filthy and dirty and yet you could feel the depth of his caring in everything he did to you.

It wasn’t long before you were pushed to the precipice of your release, your body trembling uncontrollably, the coil in your core wound so tight, you knew it would snap any second.

Ransom must’ve felt it too, because he started up a constant refrain of, “Good girl, baby, come for me—come for daddy, baby. You’re doing so good, wanna watch your pretty pussy come, baby, c’mon, lemme see.” His words were so sweet and warm and wicked, you were unable to do anything but follow his gentle command.

On the next slap to your cunt, the coil of pleasure in your belly snapped, and your entire body went tight with white-hot tension before it burst free into decimating waves of pleasure. Ransom’s cock muffled your scream as you came, your hips bucking and pussy convulsing beneath his warm palm as you rubbed your soaking wet slit against him.

You were so consumed by your release, you didn’t notice the way Ransom had frozen, and you barely felt him pulling his cock free from your mouth. You only knew that suddenly you were able to pull in deep breaths and smell the crisp scent of the pumpkin patch.

Your head spun when Ransom gently pushed you to sit up and hauled you off the pumpkin, your feet hitting the soft soil of the field and your knees nearly buckling as your body still shivered from the waves of pleasure rolling through you.

Ransom sat heavily on his wool coat still draped haphazardly over the top of the pumpkin, his hands greedily grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap. Your knees bracketed his thighs while his hands grabbed your ass and guided you to sit up. Then you felt the tip of his cock slide against your still fluttering hole and you moaned, your head dropping back like you didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore.

“Can’t fucking believe you came from getting your pussy spanked, baby,” Ransom was mumbling, his big hands changing the angle of your hips until the head of his cock was pressed to your entrance. “Gotta feel it, gotta…” He cut off on a grunt when he pushed into your slick, pulsing pussy, his hands shifting to your hips so he could pull you down onto his hard, throbbing length.

Your hands found Ransom’s biceps and you held onto him, your fingers tangling in the thick weave of his cable knit sweater as you quickly sank down on his cock. He was so thick and long, it stung a little to impale yourself so fast without any kind of preparation, but you didn’t care. You were too greedy for his cock to take your time, a deep, primal instinct driving you to take him as fast as you could while your mind was still reeling from your first release.

“Oh fu-uck,” Ransom groaned brokenly, his head falling against your chest. You could feel his face pressing into your sternum, his heavy exhale ghosting between the swells of your breasts. It was against your bare skin, your heart racing just beneath the surface, that Ransom confessed, “I love you, nixie.”

At his words, you went deathly still. For an unending moment, your mind reeled and you tried to be certain you’d heard Ransom correctly. You were sure you couldn’t have.

It didn’t seem like he realized what he’d said until he felt you stiffen in his lap. Then, Ransom sat up slowly, his gaze sharp as it raked over your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

Licking your lips to bide you time to find your voice, you forced yourself to ask the question your heart needed an answer to.

“Do you mean it?”

Ransom’s expression tightened, his eyes going even more wary, but he nodded—a quick, dip of his chin—and you sucked in a breath.

A tingling warmth started at the top of your head and cascaded through your body, filling you with a bright, fizzling feeling. It took a moment for you to recognize it was happiness. But not just happiness—it was pure, unfiltered joy.

Your sugar daddy loved you. Ransom Drysdale loved you.

His expression was growing more and more distant with every second that passed without you responding and you couldn’t have that.

Squealing in delight, you launched yourself at him—not that it was such a far distance, considering you were in his lap—and he let out a soft, “oof,” when you collided with his chest, your arms winding around his neck and squeezing him tight.

“I love you, too, Ran,” you confessed on an exhale. It felt so good to get the words off your chest, that you repeated them. “I love you.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ransom said on a sigh of relief as he gathered you tighter against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your lower back while the other braced against your spine so his hand could cup the back of your neck. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, nixie.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t love you back?” you asked softly before pressing a kiss to Ransom’s soft cheek because you couldn’t help yourself. The scent of his cologne filled your senses and you smiled against his jaw, kissing him again and again, like you’d never get enough of it.

“Wasn’t sure,” he admitted gruffly.

You giggled at the sheepishness in his tone, pulling back until you could see his face. He was blushing a little, a tiny bit of pink tinging his cheeks and making him look adorable. You couldn’t help yourself from cupping his handsome face in your hands and leaning forward to brush a sweet kiss to his mouth.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmured, in between teasing kisses. “I love you when you’re grumbling about going pumpkin picking, and I love you when you’re spanking my pussy, and I love you when you’re bringing me my favorite coffee because you remembered what I liked.”

You kept kissing him until Ransom was chuckling, his hand squeezing the back of your neck in an affectionate gesture. He reeled you in for a deeper kiss, cutting off your list of all the times you’d loved him. But you and Ransom were smiling too much to kiss properly, your teeth knocking against each other and making you both laugh even more.

Your joyful laughter soon devolved into soft moans and grunts when Ransom rocked his hips, shifting his cock even deeper inside you. Your fingers threaded through his soft brown hair and you clung to him while you rolled your hips, grinding down on his stiff length until you were breathless with renewed desire.

“Fuck, nixie—nixie, ‘m not gonna last much longer,” Ransom groaned, his arms tightening around your back and holding you pinned against his chest while he fucked up into you. “Your pussy’s too perfect—too fucking warm and tight and good for me.”

“Come inside me, Ran,” you whispered heatedly, feeling his cock twitch at your suggestion. You moaned softly in his ear. Your clit was grinding against the base of Ransom’s cock, and it wouldn’t be long before you came for a second time. “Please, daddy, fill me up—wanna feel your come leaking from my pussy while we’re picking pumpkins, daddy, please,” you begged in a pathetic whine.

“I love you—fuck, I love you so fucking much, nixie,” Ransom growled, pressing his face to your cheek and nudging you to the side until his mouth found yours. He kissed you so long and so deeply, it made your head spin, and he fucked you all the while, pounding into your cunt hard enough that the pleasure he gave you was edged with just enough delicious pain that you were falling off the edge and coming in no time.

Ransom swallowed your screams of pleasure as you came, your pussy clenching his cock hard enough that he followed right after, grunting into your mouth so that it was your turn to muffle his sounds with your lips.

Coming at the same time was heady and all-consuming and you were so happy you felt like you could float away if it wasn’t for Ransom’s arms holding you so tightly to his chest. And you were glad for it, because you didn’t want to float away unless he came with you.

The two of you gradually eased down from your highs together, still kissing, still murmuring your love for one another as if you could pass the words between your lips as easily as you exchanged breaths.

Finally, your rocking bodies gently stilled and your racing hearts returned to steady, normal drumbeats. The September sun was bright, keeping you warm from the chill in the air as you snuggled into your sugar daddy—the man that you loved, and who loved you in return.

Your head was still spinning and trying to process everything you’d both admitted while laying against Ransom’s chest, your fingers playing idly with a loose thread in his sweater, when he finally broke the comfortable silence that had fallen.

“If we carve up some of these pumpkins, do I really have to clean out all the guts with my bare hands?”

His question, and the almost whining tone in his voice, had you choking on a surprised laugh. You leaned back, looking into Ransom’s face to see if he was joking, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was giving the pumpkin patch another dubious look, making you laugh again as you shook your head at him.

“No, you could wear gloves, and there’s usually a scoop that comes in the pumpkin carving kits at the store,” you explained to him, your tone filled with humor even as you kept it even and patient. “You don’t have to touch the pumpkin guts if you don’t want to.”

Your fingers stroked through the hair at the nape of his neck and he seemed to relax, though whether it was from your assurance or your touch, you couldn’t tell. You suspected it was both.

After a moment, Ransom seemed to reach some sort of decision because he heaved a deep sigh and met your gaze. His blue eyes were shimmering in the bright afternoon sunlight, and the affection in his gaze warmed you despite the chill in the air.

“Alright, let’s find some pumpkins worth carving,” he said, though his grim tone made it sound like he was suggesting you both walk into battle.

A smile spread across your face and you giggled happily. “You mean it?”

“Of course, nixie,” Ransom rumbled, leaning in and brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do to make you happy—I thought that was clear when I agreed to an afternoon of pumpkin picking.”

You laughed softly, ghosting your lips over his in a teasing gesture as your heart fluttered in your chest, happiness swooping through your belly. But still, his words didn’t exactly match up to your memory of events, especially given everything you’d done to get him to agree to the date—including the deal you’d made.

“Silly me, and here I thought it was because of the deal we made,” you murmured.

“Mm, nope,” Ransom said, popping the ‘p’ in nope. “Woulda taken you pumpkin picking even without the deal—just liked watching you convince me.” He brushed feather-light kisses along your jaw, making you hum happily at the soft press of his lips after you snorted at his comment. “But now that you mention it, our arrangement extends to the pumpkin carving portion of this date, yeah?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, having a hard time following the conversation when he sucked gently on the spot just beneath your ear that had your head falling to the side to give him better access. You shook your head lightly and found the words to form a proper response. “Sure, it lasts as long as the date does.”

You felt Ransom’s mouth curve as he smirked against the side of your neck. “Good,” he purred, kissing down your throat until he got to the line of your sweater. “Gonna make you suck my cock while I clean out our pumpkins.”

Buzzy excitement and warm desie flooded through you at his words and it was your turn to smile. You remembered that you’d considered offering to blow him to get him to carve pumpkins just that morning, so you obviously had nothing against his suggestion. You were eager for it to become a reality.

“Whatever you say, daddy,” you murmured in your sweetest voice.

Ransom huffed an amused laugh before his mouth found yours again.

The two of you kissed for a little while longer, until your knees and hips started to protest sitting in the same position on that big, fake pumpkin for so long. Ransom helped you down from his lap and towed you back toward the farm stand, so you could clean up in the nice employee bathroom—though he refused to give you your panties back.

You spent the rest of the early afternoon picking out pumpkins with Ransom, then he carried them back to his BMW and put them in the trunk. While he drove you both back to the city, he gave you his phone and told you to pick out your favorite of the photos he’d taken of you.

You asked him if he only wanted you to pick from the lewd photos, and he told you to also pick one of the pictures he’d taken of you with your clothes covering you. When you asked him what it was for, he told you he wanted to frame it and put it on his desk in his office. Your heart fluttered when he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, admitting he missed you while he was at work.

If you hadn’t already known you were in love with him, you would’ve known then, your heart squeezing in happiness while your fingers tightened around his. Since you didn’t have to hold back your emotions anymore, you told him how much you loved him, and he responded by repeating the words and kissing your hand again.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at your townhouse apartment in Beacon Hill, cleaning out and carving the pumpkins you’d picked before putting candles in them and setting them on the steps outside your front door. Before the date was over, you even got Ransom Drysdale—your sugar daddy and the man that you loved—to admit he had fun.

Of course, you had to promise you’d never tell anyone. But you assured him you could keep it secret, so long as he loved you. He grinned, and promised you he always would, then he sealed the deal with a kiss.

And that was how an afternoon of pumpkin picking turned into a beautiful life together.

thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡♡

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x you #sugar daddy ransom drysdale #love confessions #sugar daddy au #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskeywork

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pretentious-blonde · 2 months ago

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aftermath

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve is wrecked, haunted by the thought that he’d lost you for good. but when he finally braced himself for the worst, your answer shattered him in a way he never saw coming

warnings: 18+ emotional distress, angst, depression, major self-hatred, crying, smut, but like make up smut, minor bruising/scratches during intimacy (consensual), this is heavy guys

a/n: i hope this makes up for the cliff hanger. you do need to read this to fully understand what is going on. hope i did the make up justice!

series masterlist

You’ve been living in your pajamas since Friday, the same ratty jumper and threadbare bottoms you’ve slept in for days. The curtains in your living room are half-drawn, letting in just enough gray light to remind you it’s daytime—though you’re not quite sure which day it is anymore.

Tuesday, probably.

You’d asked for the whole week off, a near-unheard-of request, but you couldn’t face the world after what transpired. Your hoarse voice must have been enough to convince your boss of your current state, though he most likely believed it was a result of a bug or the flu. You were grateful he didn’t press further.

Everything in your flat reminds you of him. The bookshelf he painstakingly built and shoved into the corner. The stupid T-shirts he left behind, folded on your desk. The toothbrush tucked in next to yours in the bathroom. You’ve cried more than you ever thought possible, especially as day after day passes with no call, no communication. Nothing.

That’s why you’ve barely left, lying low in your own sorrow. You should be out celebrating your first ever published article—yes, that finally got the green light—but even that feels tainted now. Steve had helped you with the idea, reading every paragraph you placed in front of him for inspection. Thinking about it only reopens the wound.

By late afternoon, you’re in a numb haze, scrolling absentmindedly through the same TV channels, when a sudden knock on your door makes you freeze. Your pulse spikes with pure dread. You beg some higher power as you take a few tentative steps toward the entrance, pleading for it to be anyone else but him.

“Who—who is it?”

A boy’s voice answers.

“It’s Dustin.”

Surprise fills you, but you tug the door open anyway, still half-hidden behind the frame. The teenager stands there, head tipped back to look at you with wide eyes. He takes in your rumpled clothes, your blotchy cheeks, the dark circles under your eyes—and his face softens with genuine concern.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi?” You can’t hide your confusion. You’ve met him enough times to be friendly—even invited you to his birthday party—but this is definitely not the level of closeness where you expect him on your doorstep.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his tone polite.

“Uh—yeah,” you say, stepping aside. You’re mortified at the state of your living room—blankets and tissues strewn around, half-eaten toast on the coffee table. But Dustin doesn’t so much as blink. He just walks in, glances at the chaos, and settles himself on the couch.

“Have you heard from Steve?” he asks gently, but the question punches you right in the gut. Your breath catches, tears immediately threatening to spill. He sees the way your eyes go misty and holds up both hands in alarm. “Whoa, hey. No, wait, why are you crying?”

“Sorry,” you manage, swiping at your face with the edge of your sleeve. “I just—I don’t think me and Steve are… together anymore.”

“Alright.” The boy exhales, like the missing piece just slid into place. “Well, that… would explain a few things.”

“Explain what?” you ask, voice shaky.

He glances around, looking conflicted. Then he pats the space next to him on the couch.

“I think you need to sit down.”

Something about his earnest, grown-up tone makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time, but you sink down anyway. You stare at your own hands, picking at a loose thread on your jumper.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea?”

“Um… yeah.” You blink, surprised by the shift. “Top cupboard in the kitchen.”

“Okay… You stay there.”

He heads into the kitchen and starts rummaging through your cupboards like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You watch him, baffled as to how this kid is behaving.

He returns, balancing two mismatched mugs in his hands. He places one gently on the coffee table in front of you and then settles next to you on the couch. You notice the way he glances around at the mess once again, but he doesn’t comment on any of it—just holds his own mug close, like it’s offering him a little comfort.

“Um,” he begins, voice hesitant, “I need to ask you… about Steve.”

Your grip tightens on your mug.

“Have you…have you spoken to him?” you try not to let your voice crack.

“Sort of.” Dustin exhales. “That’s why I’m here. He didn’t show up on Sunday when he was supposed to, and when I tried talking to Robin, she just told me to stay out of it.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking troubled. “I’m worried. Robin says he’s gonna quit—his job, I mean—and I haven’t been able to get ahold of him since Thursday. I was hoping maybe you knew what was going on.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears pressing at the corners of your eyes again. The puzzle just kept getting more complicated, first his outburst, and now he’s quitting? None of it made any sense to you.

“Dustin, I wish I fucking knew what was going on,” you admit, voice trembling. “But I don’t. Steve made it very clear how he felt about me.”

Confusion crosses his face. “He…made it clear?”

“More or less.” You manage a bitter laugh, though it hurts. “Let’s just say…there’s no chance of me diving back in to figure out what’s wrong, okay?”

“You won’t?” he presses, leaning forward, his mug clutched between both hands. “I know it’s a lot. But the only time I’ve seen him act like this was when…” He hesitates, almost like he’s afraid to say something more.

You speak before he has the chance to elaborate.

“Yeah, well…” You suck in a breath, blinking away fresh tears. “I’m pretty sure it’s over between us.”

He sets his mug down so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t spill and scans your face, as if trying to analyse the best approach to this situation.

“I wouldn’t be asking, except… I’m scared.” His lower lip trembles, and suddenly you realise how much this is hurting him, too. “He never talks to anyone about how he’s feeling. Not really. You were my last option.” He swallows, looking away. “Whenever I call and he hears it’s me, he hangs up. He’s shutting me out. And Robin. And—everyone.”

Something tightens in your chest. You see Dustin’s fear written all over his face, and it hits you how much he looks up to Steve—how much he cares.

Without thinking, you set your own mug aside and pull him into a hug. At first, he’s stiff with surprise, but then he slumps against you, like the weight of this worry is too heavy for him to carry alone. You press your lips together, forcing the tears back as you hold him.

“Okay,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I’ll try. I’m not making any promises, but…I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” he says, relieved. “Thank you so much. I just—I don’t know how else to reach him.”

You nod, your throat still thick.

“I’m not making any promises,” you repeat, needing him to understand that you’re as shaken as he is. “But I’ll figure something out.”

He offers you a small smile, picking up his mug again. You both take a few moments to sip your tea—hot and soothing, but not nearly enough to un-knot the anxiety in your stomach. Still, Dustin’s presence is oddly comforting; it’s nice not to be alone in this, even if it’s a teenager by your side.

“So…” You clear your throat, stealing a glance at him, gaining the courage to lighten the sullen mood. “Are you gonna tell me how you know where I live?”

“I’ve seen Steve practically sprint here a bunch of times.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Took me about three tries before I got the right door.”

You let out a laugh, but then something clicks.

“Wait—three tries?”

Steve had never felt so low in his life. Five days holed up in his room, only sneaking out to the ensuite to splash water on his face or raid the kitchen for whatever snack he could grab—mostly stale crisps and soda—before retreating back inside.

The place was still a wreck, remnants of that explosive outburst he couldn’t even remember starting. Not that it mattered, really; he’d be getting kicked out in a few months, so why bother cleaning up?

He’d turned off the ringer a while ago, but the calls still came, filtering distantly through his phone on his bedside. Sometimes he picked up the receiver out of some faint, mechanical impulse, but he never spoke. Except once, to Robin.

’M not feeling so good… might quit, but I dunno.

He’d mumbled it out, half-delirious, knowing she’d recognise the alarm in his voice. She’d shown up at the door not long after—he could feel her worried presence behind the wood—but he couldn’t make himself stand, couldn’t find the will to undo the lock and let her in. Plus, he’d moved the key.

She had her own life anyway, right?

Her own happiness, her own girlfriend.

His body ached from lying in bed so long, muscles protesting every slight movement. His mind felt worse, drifting in a haze of guilt and regret so heavy that sometimes he wondered if he could even take another breath.

He had no more tears left to cry, not after everything that went down—especially with you. The memory of your face—that hurt, that fear—was seared into his brain. Even when his eyes closed, he saw it.

Part of him wished you had stayed, just so he could apologise or explain or… something. But another part felt a grim sort of pride that you walked out. You deserved more than the pathetic shell he’d become, and he knew it. He’d flung the ugliest parts of himself at you and he couldn’t even figure out why.

It felt like some twisted reflex, lashing out the moment he’d felt cornered.

It stung especially hard because he remembered every time you’d cried into his arms about your job or life in general, how he’d held you close and never once used your own aspirations against you. He’d admired your drive—even if it sometimes left him feeling insecure.

So how had he ended up painting you as the villain for doing what you love?

Now, it all felt rotten inside him. He could see exactly how cruel his words had been—every insult sharpened by his own self-loathing. And there was no taking them back. He’d never understood before what it meant to watch someone you love crumble right in front of you and realise it was your own damn fault.

It hollowed him out, left him lying in stale sheets, counting the cracks in the ceiling, wishing for the strength to rewind time.

But it was too late. And with each hour that passed in that cramped, messy room, he felt himself caring less about fixing anything—less about everything. Because when he closed his eyes, you were always there, the memory of your wounded gaze burning behind his eyelids.

And he didn’t think he deserved a way out of it.

The moment you pull into the driveway, your hands grip the steering wheel with white-knuckles. You can’t shake the memory of your last conversation—if it even counts as a conversation.

Part of you wants to slam your car into reverse and leave Steve to his own devices. He hurt you, humiliated you, and you haven’t forgiven him. But you made a promise, if not to him, then to Dustin. The kid all but worships him, and someone has to check on Steve.

Seems like you were the logical option here.

So you climb out and make your way to the front porch, heart pounding with each step. The absence of his parents’ car in the driveway tells you they’re gone; the Harrington house is eerily still. You knock, loud and firm, each rap echoing in the silence.

No answer.

A chill snakes up your spine as you bend down to lift the mat—nothing. You bite down on your lip, anxiety churning. But then you notice the pot beside the door. You reach in, fingertips brushing over cold metal, and pull out the key. You feel bitter that this is the thing he decides to listen to.

Stepping inside feels like walking into a tomb. The air is dank, a smell of something musty that makes your nose wrinkle. You notice the coffee table, still shoved askew from wherever he’d kicked it last time.

A glimpse of the kitchen stops you in your tracks. The muffins he must have finished are perched on the counter, days old now, untouched. They look sad, deflated. You can’t decide if you’re more confused or hurt by that. Mail lies in a messy pile on the table, corners curled, unopened envelopes scattered. It’s like the whole house has been abandoned.

Each step up the staircase feels heavier. Despite the countless hours you’ve spent here—movie nights, lazy mornings, heated make-out sessions on the couch—it all feels foreign now. Wrong. The hallway is silent, the lights dim. The air clings to your skin, intensifying the sense that you shouldn’t be here.

You notice his bedroom door, slightly ajar. You pause, trying to calm the growing panic in your chest.

You didn’t come to intrude. You just needed to make sure he’s alive.

But a quick glance through the gap reveals a sight that stops your breath short. Clothes strewn everywhere, books and tapes littering the floor, a desk chair toppled on its side. The place looks destroyed.

Not in a casual, messy way—this is carnage.

You push the door open, and the state of the room hits you like a punch to the gut. This isn’t just sloppy. It’s the aftermath of something far darker. A breakdown. And there, at the center of the chaos, is Steve—sprawled on his bed like a shadow of the person you once knew.

He stirs at the creak of the door, blinking groggily. When his gaze lands on you, his face pales even more, if that’s possible. He looks so different, like a ghost wearing his skin. His cheeks are hollow, hair unkempt, eyes ringed with shadows.

He doesn’t speak—just stares, wide-eyed and stricken, as if he can’t believe you’re really standing there.

Anger simmers beneath your ribs, fighting with a rush of pity so strong it nearly chokes you. You’re furious with him, furious for how he treated you, but the sight of him like this—broken, listless—makes your stomach lurch.

No one deserves this.

You snap into problem-solving mode. No words, just action.

You stride to the window and yank it open, letting a sharp gust of air sweep into the stale room. Behind you, Steve finally rouses enough to realise what is happening, but you cut him off by walking past him, heading into the bathroom.

The pipes groan as you turn the faucet. Steam fills the air, and you test the temperature with your fingers. Your mind runs on autopilot:

Get him up.

Get him clean.

Breathe some life back into him.

When you return, he’s half-upright in bed, blinking in confusion. You hold out a hand, expression set in stone. For a moment, he just stares.

“Come on,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended, but firm. He looks at your outstretched hand like he isn’t sure what it means.

You try again, gentler.

“Steve… let’s go.”

Slowly, he sets his feet on the floor, wincing at the effort. You guide him toward the bathroom, every step feeling like treading on eggshells—somehow both intimately familiar and gut-wrenchingly new.

You still hate what he said, what he did—but seeing him like this, you hate the situation more.

No words pass between you as you ease him toward the tub, your body moving on memory. Your gaze flicks over his clothes—so easy to remove in moments of warmth and laughter, but now the act feels unnatural.

You pause, fingertips brushing the edge of his shirt, and look up into his sunken eyes for permission. His nod is barely there, just the smallest tilt of his head, but you accept it.

Stripping off his clothes feels like undressing a corpse; his limbs move sluggishly, offering no resistance. You gather his T-shirt and jeans, tossing them aside on the sink, your stomach twisting at how distant he feels in your presence. By the time he’s left in nothing but his underwear, you can hardly meet his gaze.

“You got it from here?” you ask unsure.

He nods again, a weak gesture that does nothing to reassure you. You scoop up the discarded clothes, slip out of the bathroom, and softly shut the door behind you.

Outside, his room looks just as you left it—an absolute wreck, the fallout of some internal war. Despite the roil of anger and pain under your skin, something in you is set on fixing whatever can be fixed.

So, you get to work.

You gather wrappers and empty bottles, muttering under your breath as you fling them into the bin. Next, you scoop up the random VHS tapes littering the floor, shoving them onto the shelf in a messy row.

He can reorganise later if he wants to. Not your problem.

The clothes get tossed into a laundry basket, clean or not—it doesn’t matter anymore. You strip the bed, sheets and blankets in one swoop, hauling it all downstairs and stuffing it into the washing machine along with the rubbish.

You don’t even know why you’re doing this, not when your own place is a disaster. But each step feels necessary in a house that’s clearly falling apart from the inside out.

In just under half an hour, you’ve turned the carnage into something that resembles a house again—no longer a battlefield. Even got rid of the stale baked goods in the kitchen.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you head back upstairs, nerves jangling when you hear water draining from the tub. You catch sight of his half-open drawers and rummage for something soft—a pair of old joggers, an oversized sweatshirt.

At the bathroom door, you knock lightly before pushing it open just enough to slip inside. Steam clings to the tiled walls, but the sight of him makes your chest tighten. The towel wrapped around his waist might hide him as he brushes his teeth, but you can see the exhaustion carved into every line of his shoulders.

Even clean, he looks terrible. Empty.

He notices the clothes in your arms, glances between them and your face, then finally takes them from you without a word, toothbrush hanging awkwardly out his mouth.

“I’ll be outside when you’re ready,” you say softly.

It’s the only explanation you can offer before turning on your heel, escaping the suffocating press of sadness that fills the bathroom.

He emerges, hair damp and curling at the ends, wearing the sweats you picked out. He looks like he’s expecting a lecture—or worse—and some part of you can’t help but want to give it to him.

After all, he hurt you. Yet the sight of him, freshly washed but still sunken-eyed, strips away most of your anger, leaving something more complicated in its place.

He glances at the newly cleaned space.

“You… you didn’t have to do that,” he mutters, voice scratchy. He won’t meet your eyes.

“I know,” you shrug, your tone clipped. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

He swallows, nodding once.

“Okay.”

Silence.

He moves to sit on the far edge of the mattress, opposite you, as if he’s afraid to cross an invisible boundary. You can feel the tension stretching between you—a chasm carved out by wounded pride.

“Are you seriously not going to talk?” you finally bite out, the frustration tightening your chest.

He flinches, as though your voice itself is too sharp.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

“A ‘sorry’ would be nice,” you snap, though your anger is already warring with pity. He looks so frail.

“I’m… sorry.” He ducks his head, hair falling into his eyes.

A beat passes, and you feel your patience fray.

“Great.” You swing your legs off the bed. “If that’s all I’m getting, I’m leaving.”

“Wait.” His voice cuts through the air, urgent and tremulous. “No—please. Don’t. Just—”

You pause, catch a glimpse of his face, and see raw panic etched into every line of it. With a sigh, you sink back onto the bed, crossing your arms.

His relief is almost palpable, but it’s quickly replaced by shaky breaths. His hands tremble, and he can’t seem to keep them still on his knees. Panic floods his features, twisting them into something agonised.

“Steve,” you say quietly. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

“I—I can’t—” he stammers, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I just—fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

You shift toward him without thinking, placing a hand on his quaking shoulder.

“Shhh, hey, it’s okay,” you murmur, gentling your voice. “Just breathe. Start from the beginning, okay? We’ll work from there.”

His eyes flicker up to yours, haunted and glassy. The weight of everything unspoken hangs between you: all the damage he’s done, all the nights you spent upset and alone, all the ways you once trusted him.

You can’t forgive him—not yet. But you can’t leave him like this either.

“Please?” you add, your own voice betraying a shaky undercurrent of worry. “Just… talk to me.”

Like you once did.

He takes a ragged breath and nods, swallowing hard. His hands cling to the bare duvet as though it’s a lifeline.

You wait as he struggles to form the right words. And he tries—is trying—lips parting and closing in fits and starts, heart pounding so loud you can almost hear it.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he says, voice ragged. “Never should’ve spoken to you like that. I—I don’t even know where it came from.”

“It clearly came from somewhere, Steve. But we’re not talking about us right now.” You quietly shake your head, eyes fixed on him. “We’re talking about you.”

He exhales, shoulders slumping as he stares down at his unsteady hands.

“Okay,” he whispers, “yeah. Okay.” A deep breath. A hesitant glance at your face. Then, almost in a flood, the words come out once more.

“My dad… my dad got in my head. T-told me I was nothing, a disappointment—couldn’t even bear the thought of me.” His voice quivers, and he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to block out the memory. “I just—I don’t know how—don’t even know who I am anymore. He just—just looked at me, like I wasn’t even worth the conversation.”

Your heart twists, but you don’t speak—just let him continue.

He scrubs his hand over his face, eyes flicking to the doorway as though someone might burst in at any moment.

“I was going to come see you on Friday, I swear—you have to believe me, angel—I really was. But he caught me on the way out, and…” His breath hitches, panic threading through his words. “He was just confirming what I already thought—what’s already true. That I’m a fucking failure.”

He presses a palm to his chest, as if trying to steady his heartbeat.

“And I know that,” he says, voice shaky. “I know I’m nothing special. And in that moment, I just— I wanted someone to feel what I felt—even…even you.”

You swallow, stunned by how raw and desperate he sounds. Even in your worst nightmares, you never imagined him this broken.

“I know it’s not fair—but I’ve seen this story before. You’ll get bored of me—I know you will.” He glances up at you, eyes pleading for understanding. “You say you won’t, but you will. And I’m sorry—so fucking sorry. You have to believe me. I never meant to be mean to you or—or scare you.” His mouth twists in self-disgust. “God—I can’t believe I made you feel that way… Like you were ever unsafe with me.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand on his arm, and he flinches—more out of self-loathing than fear.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft, but firm, “Breathe for me, okay?”

A shuddering exhale racks him, and he bows his head, eyes squeezed shut. For a moment, you think he might push you away—tell you not to touch him, that he doesn’t deserve it. But the words never come.

Instead, he stands there, quietly shaking under your hand, a broken boy who’s convinced himself he can’t be saved.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in at the sight of him—at the guilt, at the rawness, at how he’s clinging to these warped ideas of his own worthlessness.

“I don’t know how to fix this.” He keeps going, voice splintering as he tries to get it all out before he loses his nerve. “There’s no fixing this—I’ve got three months.”

“Three months?”

“He’s kicking me out… basically—my dad. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m done here.” His breath comes in ragged gulps, the admission shaking him. “And I know—God, I know this is so unfair. So fucking unfair on you, sweetheart. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire. I never should’ve—” His voice breaks, and he drags a hand across his mouth. “Never should’ve asked you out that day you came into the store—never should’ve done this to you.”

You want to protest, to tell him he’s talking nonsense—but your words get stuck behind the wave of memories that crash over you from all those months ago.

That first day, his dorky smile lighting up the entire shop. The way he nearly jumped out of his skin when you said yes to hanging out. Building that bookshelf together in your living room, both of you laughing as he insisted he didn’t need your assistance.

The time he showed up at your door unannounced because he just sensed something was wrong. Showing you off to all of his friends. All that progress, all those private jokes, all that slow, deliberate peeling back of each other’s layers—cut to ribbons by a single night’s outburst.

Now, here he is. Tears still clinging to his lashes, voice choked with regrets. The ache in your chest flares hot—hurt and a fierce tenderness all mingled into one.

You couldn’t bear it any longer.

You slide closer without a word, pulling him into your arms, and he clings to you. Trembling so violently it’s like he might shatter if you let go. His breaths come in spurts, each exhale sending a tremor through his body. You press your forehead to his shoulder, eyes burning.

“Steve?” you ask softly after a minute, voice muffled against his sweatshirt.

His head lifts, eyes rimmed in red. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, brushing the hair off his clammy forehead.

“Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no?” His brow furrows. “That’s not really—why are you asking?”

You pull back just enough to fully meet his gaze, then lean in, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips. He freezes, almost like he doesn’t believe what you’ve done is real.

He doesn’t question it, just grateful that it means you’re not leaving him alone. He won’t read too much into it now, doesn’t want to assume that you’re here for good.

“Because,” you say, “we’re gonna go downstairs and make something to eat.” Your voice is calm, like talking to a scared child. “And then we’re going to figure out what to do.”

“You’re staying?” He stares at you, confusion and hope warring in his eyes. “But—why?”

“Because, Steve,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth twitching in a sad smile. “You said it yourself. I’m independent.” You pause as you cup his jaw, running a thumb over his cheek as you gaze up at him. “And you’re going to learn how to be, too.”

He sits at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on the way you move around in front of the stove. If he blinks just right, he can almost pretend it’s a normal day—just you and him, making an impromptu meal after a long shift.

He watches you crack eggs into a pan, stifling a sigh when you scrape the shells into the trash. You’d hoped for something more elaborate, but the fridge was nearly empty—most of the produce spoiled. He curses himself silently for not taking care of it.

A pang of guilt floods him, prompting him to stand, to do something. He goes to the cupboard, rummages around until he finds the familiar box of tea bags you keep here for yourself. He lifts a mug, glances back at you.

“Tea alright?”

You shoot him a quick look over your shoulder and nod.

“Yeah. Tea’s good.”

So he gets to work, carefully measuring out just enough hot water, placing a teabag in each mug. He adds a bit of sugar and a splash of milk to yours.

Just how you like it.

When he turns back around, you’re already plating the eggs—fried sunny side up, edges crisp and a little burned around the rim—along with a couple of slices of toast.

Just how he likes it.

The two of you sit down across from each other at the table. The clink of cutlery against plates sounds almost unbearably loud in the silence. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You watch him push at the meal with his fork, taking tentative bites at first. Then something shifts. He goes from nibbling to devouring the entire plate in a matter of moments, like a man who hasn’t seen food in days.

A pang grips your stomach. Clearly, he hasn’t had anything decent to eat in a while. You slide your plate toward him. He gives a shaky protest.

“No, I’m good.”

But you shake your head.

“I already ate,” you tell him gently. “Not really hungry. Please, eat.”

He studies your face, then seems to accept it, nodding slowly. Within seconds, he’s finishing off your portion, too. You sip your tea, quietly reeling at how hollow his cheeks look, the bones more pronounced than you remember.

When the food is gone, he rubs his hand over his face and slumps back in his seat.

“You’re not at work?” he asks, voice low.

You exhale a thin breath. “I… took the week off.”

“What?”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying and failing to sound nonchalant, “I was kind of upset. Didn’t want to hide in the red room if I needed a cry.”

Remorse surges in his eyes, and he ducks his head.

“Sweetheart… I know it doesn’t make up for anything I did, but from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” you begin, voice trembling slightly, “it’s fine. We’re focusing on you right now—”

He shakes his head, cutting you off.

“I know, and that’s important. But there’s something I gotta ask...” He presses his palms to the table, steadying himself. “What I did was unforgivable. If we’re over—if you can’t do this anymore—tell me. I just—I need to know.”

Your heart lurches; the raw plea in his voice stabs at you.

“Steve—”

He lifts a hand, begging you to let him finish.

“I don’t care if you—if you need space, or if you don’t want to see me for a while. I get that. I just… I need to know that I still have a chance. That once I figure this shit out—I haven’t—haven’t lost you completely.”

You swallow hard. The weight of his gaze feels almost too much to bear, but there’s no hesitation in your reply.

“You haven’t lost me.” Your voice softens. “I....I love you too much.”

His face crumples with relief, a choked exhale leaving his lips. You reach out, tentatively resting your hand on his, and for a moment, the two of you stay like that—clinging to the thin thread of hope that still binds you together.

Finally, you clear your throat, pulling your hand away.

“So,” you say, steadying yourself, “we need to figure out what you’re going to do. Are you sure your dad will kick you out?”

“Yeah. He will.” His mouth twists into a grimace. “He’s an asshole, but he doesn’t lie. He cut me off already when I didn’t go to college—he follows through on every threat.”

“Okay. So what about renting? You make enough to cover it, right?”

“I’m pretty sure I do, but there’s hardly anything on the market. And what there is…” He trails off, leaving the rest unsaid.

You know all too well how soul-crushing it can be to search for a decent place in Hawkins. It took you months to find yours.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding, “I know.”

A hush settles between you, the quiet palpable, almost electric. He fiddles with his empty plate, pushing around the leftover crumbs with his fork, while you stare at him, mind churning over possibilities.

Then a single thought sparks—a ridiculous, terrifying idea that sets your heart pounding.

“Steve?” you say softly, and his eyes lock with yours. “I… I might have an idea.”

His eyes scan your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. And then, suddenly, it all clicks into place for him.

No.

There is no way you’re suggesting that. It’s absurd. It’s idiotic. It’s not even something he’d ever let himself consider.

“No,” he rasps almost immediately, shaking his head. “No, angel, I can’t—I can’t do that. Are you serious? That’s yours—not mine. I can’t just—whatever you’re—I mean, after what I said? After what I did to you?”

Finally, you see what you’ve been searching for all week—you see your Steve.

The Steve you’ve always known. The one who never wants to impose, who refuses to be a burden, who won’t ask for more even when he desperately needs it. The remorse in his eyes is painful, and it only solidifies your decision.

This is your boyfriend, Steve. And God, if it meant keeping this version of him—the one you cherish, the one you love—you’d let him stay with you forever.

“This is my offer,” you say. “I’m offering it to you. If you want to treat it like a last resort, that’s fine. But…” Your throat bobs with emotion as you draw in a shaky breath. “I really, really want to wake up with you every day. Split the rent. If your dad’s so concerned about your future, why don’t you make one? One you’re actually proud of... One with me.”

He blinks, tears shimmering in his eyes, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he struggles to compute what you’re saying

You’re insane for doing this.

In his eyes, at least. You’re supposed to be the smart one—the one who thinks things through, who knows better. And this? This is the furthest thing from a smart move.

But he sees it—the way your eyes shine with conviction, how your expression doesn’t waver, how every fiber of your being is offering this to him, fully and completely.

You’re not lying.

He knows when you are. And this?

This is real.

“You… You really mean that?” His voice trembles, and the raw hope shining through makes your heart twist.

You nod, eyes glistening with your own tears.

“Yes. I really mean that. I’m ready to do this—seriously.”

A choked sound escapes him, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His body aches with the need to have you near him.

“Come here,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Come over here, please?”

You push your chair back, crossing the short distance in two steps. The moment you’re within reach, he pulls you onto his lap, arms locking around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

His hands come up to brush the hair away from your face, the gentleness almost undoing you. Then his lips meet yours in a lingering kiss. It tastes like promises and second chances, and he pours every ounce of relief, every fragment of devotion into it.

“You’re not gonna regret this,” he murmurs between soft presses of his lips, voice thick with emotion. “Swear on my life, I’m gonna spend every single day showing you how much you mean to me. You’ll never—ever have to worry about anything again, long as I’m around. You know that?” He kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple, like he can’t get enough. “You’re an angel—call you that all the time, I know, but you have to understand I mean it—fully. You’re a godsend—straight from fucking heaven.”

You feel your heart swell, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. A little laugh slips out—half joy, half disbelieving relief—while you bury your face in his neck, letting him cling to you as if letting go might shatter the fragile moment.

Eventually, you have to pull back, your lips still tingling from his.

He inhales shakily, a new determination igniting behind his tired eyes. A tear slips down his cheek, but he doesn’t look away.

He couldn’t.

Even if he wanted to.

Because this girl—this stupid, stubborn, impossibly insane girl in his lap—has just given him the one thing he never thought he’d have.

Salvation.

A way out. A chance to live his life—not the one dictated by his father, not the one shaped by expectations he could never meet, but his life. The way he’s dreamed about since leaving high school.

It’s been a few days since that heart-to-heart—since all the raw emotions and apologies spilled out and brought you two back together. You find yourself trudging up the stairs to your flat, a small duffle bag clenched in your hand.

It’s not your bag. It’s Steve’s.

He insisted on carrying the heavier stuff, so he’s right behind you with a large cardboard box balanced carefully in his arms. He keeps throwing concerned glances your way, reminding you not to overdo it, especially after the whirlwind you both survived these past few days.

When you offered him your place—opened the door to your home, and more importantly, to your future together. It felt cathartic at the time, but neither of you were naive enough to think it would be easy. Later that same day, the two of you ended up at his dining table, drafting a meticulous list: bills, rent, utilities, a hundred different phone calls you’d need to make to set everything up.

You were both determined to do it right. He kept emphasising that he’d pull his weight, that he’d take on more than his share if it meant showing you how committed he was. The idea of this new life with him thrilled and terrified you—but mostly, it filled your chest with a heat you could hardly articulate.

Hours passed, and by ten at night, you were rubbing at your eyes, complaining of a headache from all the numbers and paperwork. He looked at you, concern shadowing his features. He’d noticed your exhaustion well before you said anything and felt guilty for letting you push yourself so far. Relenting, he agreed that you both needed to step away and breathe.

That night, you slept at his place, and the sensation was immediately familiar—like returning home. Wearing his old Hawkins Phys Ed shirt, you crawled under the covers and felt his arms circle around you. He held you so gently, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers. You could feel his shaky exhale against your hair as he tried not to tear up, clearly thinking about how damn lucky he was.

Even after you drifted off, he found he couldn’t sleep. Not with the guilt still gnawing at him, not when the knowledge of how he’d hurt you weighed on his mind.

Call it self-inflicted punishment or penance, but he carefully slipped out from under your arm, doing his best not to stir you.

With measured steps, he made his way back downstairs, returning to the scattered papers on the table. He picked up the old calculator he thought he’d never use again, muttering every sum under his breath. Even though it was late, the methodical tap of buttons and scribble of pencil across paper soothed him.

Each calculation that confirmed a real, shared future gave him the momentum to keep going, no matter how sleep-deprived he felt. Some of the equations he did twice, not wanting any part of this to be left up to chance.

When you woke up sometime later, you realised the bed was still cold on his side. Anxiety prickled through you as you called his name into the darkness, flipping on the lamp to peer through the dimly lit bedroom. The quiet of the house led you downstairs, where you found him hunched over the table, eyes rimmed red from strain, pencil in hand.

He didn’t even notice you right away, so lost in thought—tallying numbers, crossing them out, re-checking them. Your heart melted at the sight of his serious expression, that little line between his brows telling you just how deep in concentration he was.

Padding across the floor, you stepped into his line of vision. He glanced up at you, and the softness in his eyes nearly made your breath catch. Leaning back in the chair, he waited—almost timid—until you climbed right into his lap. His arms came around you instantly, hugging you like he was grounding himself in your warmth.

“Should be sleeping, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice husky with fatigue. “S’almost two.”

“You’re not in bed.” You told him in a drowsy mumble as you burrowed yourself further into his chest.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted softly. “Thought I’d finish what we started. Want to make sure all of this works out.”

“It’s not going anywhere,” you gave a small shake of your head.

It was true. All these papers and logistics would still be there tomorrow. There was a movement in his eyes but he still wasn’t quite ready to give it up. Wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn’t going to lose this too.

“Please?” You pleaded, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Wanted to sleep with you... Haven’t had the chance all week.”

At that, he broke. His expression gentled as he brushed a few stray hairs out of your face.

“Okay,” he whispered, like he was surrendering to something bigger than both of you. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”

You led him quietly back upstairs, exhaustion weighing down both your limbs. The moment you slipped under the blankets and into his arms, you felt a warmth settle through your bones. He held you close, and you could sense his heart thudding in his chest as he finally let himself relax.

Within minutes, he was drifting off.

That was four days ago. Now, everything’s official—all the logistics sorted, all the phone calls made. You stand in your bedroom, setting his duffle bag in the corner of your room. Behind you, he carefully places a large box on top of the dresser. When you turn, he meets you with a soft, lopsided grin that crinkles the edges of his eyes.

“Is that it?” he asks.

You cross your arms over your chest and nod slowly, taking in the modest stacks of his belongings that are now scattered around your bedroom.

“Thought you had more stuff than this,” you say, frowning.

“I decided to get rid of a few things.” He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “New start and all that.”

“You threw them away?” You scowl in mock indignation. “Instead of giving them to me?”

He chuckles, stepping closer to hook an arm around your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he lets out a low chuckle, nudging your chin with a gentle finger. “You now have full access to my entire wardrobe, and you’re complaining?”

“Hmmm.” You pout as he leans in, you let him kiss you—warm and tender. When you finally break away, you clear your throat. “Did you call Keith?”

“Yeah,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “Got my job back—already squared things away about my time off. Robin forgave me for being a complete idiot, and Dustin too.”

He’s got a second chance, and he’s not going to blow it.

When you told him how Dustin had turned to you for help, you saw the panic ignite in his eyes again—fear that he’d let everyone down, especially the kid who looked up to him like a brother.

So you’d forced him into the passenger seat, driven to Dustin’s house, and watched from the window as Steve hesitated on the porch before finally knocking.

You weren’t sure what was said in that living room—he spent an hour in there. You do know that, by the time you joined them, Dustin had tears in his eyes, but they were happy tears. And Steve looked lighter. Like he’d scraped the burden off his shoulders and left it on the welcome mat.

The three of you ended up sprawled in Dustin’s living room, eating too many slices of pizza, and watching a random comedy on TV. By the time you left, your heart felt a little sturdier.

No more tantrums. No more breakdowns.

You’d believed him too, especially with how his eyes shone with fresh resolve.

“I, uh, moved some of my stuff around in the bedroom,” you tell him. “Had a few spare drawers or whatever—you’ve got the bottom two, and there’s some free hangers in the wardrobe.”

His eyes flick to the space you’ve made for him, you catch the gratefulness that softens his entire expression. He looks at you like he still can’t believe this is real—that he’s here, that you made room for him. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a slow kiss, his lips lingering on yours.

When it ends, he presses his forehead to yours, murmuring a playful “thank you.” But before you can reply, the gentle press of his mouth becomes more insistent. His hands shift to cradle your jaw, and you melt into him as the kiss deepens—hungry, a little desperate.

“Steve,” you mumble, pulling back just enough to speak, though his lips still ghost over yours. “We need to unpack…”

He hums, not letting you stray far.

“We can unpack later,” he murmurs. “Got all the time in the world.”

You want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line, but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters—makes your heart ache. When he dips his head to nip gently at your neck, you let out a breathy laugh, your hands coming up to clutch his shoulders. In one swift move, he lifts you onto the bed, settling you against the pillows.

Your pulse skitters in your chest as he looms over you, his warm, steady gaze sweeping across your face.

“Can I?” he asks, voice hushed. “Wanna say thank you properly—wanna make you feel good.”

A little huff slips past your lips, your cheeks hot. He’s ridiculously sweet, and he knows it. He sees you hesitate for half a second, so he leans in, pressing a series of gentle, coaxing kisses along your jaw, his hands finding purchase at your hips.

“Please?” he murmurs, breath fanning against your skin. “Wanna take care of you. You gonna let me, angel?”

His thumbs begin to knead soft circles into your sides, and you feel your heart skipping a beat—or maybe five. You tug him closer, inhaling the comforting scent of his shirt as your arms loop around his shoulders, deciding then and there you’ll never get enough of him.

You blink up at him, heat already flushing across your cheeks. The second you mumble your agreement—“Yeah, all right. Okay.”—his face lights up with a grin so bright it makes your stomach flip.

He leans in, giving you a quick kiss before pulling back to yank off his shirt. The muscles in his arms and chest shift, and you can’t help the way your eyes trail over his skin. Your own shirt follows suit as well as your bra, stripped away and tossed onto the floor, and then he’s on you again—breath warm and urgent against your mouth, hands skimming over your bare sides.

He’s nipping gently at your bottom lip, then your jaw, and you feel that fevered press of his body. Each touch says he needs this. Each breathless kiss says he’s missed you.

“Wanted to do this all week,” he murmurs, voice raw with relief. “Can’t believe you chose me, sweetheart—I mean—could’ve had anyone.”

Your heart clenches at the genuine wonder in his tone. You cradle the back of his neck, pulling him down for another firm kiss.

“I want you,” you say, voice catching on the words. “Only you.”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes falling shut as though your confession alone is enough to undo him.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk. “Well, I gotta show you how grateful I am, then. Gonna make you see stars, baby. You deserve it—so fucking beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your face, and you instinctively try to duck your head, flustered by his praise. He catches the motion, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Oh? You getting shy on me?”

“N-no…” you protest, but it comes out smaller than you intended.

“That sounds like a ‘yes.’” His voice is teasing as his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. Before you can work up a witty retort, your trousers and underwear are slipped down and off, leaving you bare. His gaze darkens appreciatively. “You don’t like it when I say nice things?”

You shake your head, but the denial dissolves the moment his hand slides between your thighs. Calloused fingertips brush against your slick skin, and the breath escapes you in a shaky exhale. His responding chuckle warms your ear.

“Oh, baby, I think you're lying—just look at you.”

A mortified whimper bubbles out—though your body clearly isn’t complaining. It’s a mess of conflicting emotions: the embarrassment of his unabashed words and the molten desire pooling low in your belly.

“It’s—it’s embarrassing when you talk like that,” you manage to squeak, squirming under his touch.

“Embarrassing?” he echoes, sounding far too amused. He presses his hand more firmly, and a moan slips out of you, your thighs quivering at the sensation. “Can’t have that,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss down your neck. “Was so mean to you, angel—don’t deserve you.” Another slow swirl of his fingers has you arching up. “Gotta make it right—s’only fair.”

You part your lips to respond, but all that comes out is a broken, breathy sound. The rhythmic press of his hand is driving coherent thought right out of your head. He watches you, clearly reveling in how easily he can undo you.

“You’re dripping, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dropping to a low hum. “You sure you don’t like it when I tell you how pretty you are? How perfect you are for me?”

You give a pitiful whine, your cheeks practically on fire. It only seems to spur him on, his fingertips slick as they work you open. Each thrust of his hand feels so sinfully good that you can’t tell if you want him to keep talking or just shut up and kiss you senseless.

Steve was always all sweet words and gentle smiles in bed, but this was different. He was savouring you, getting off on calling you names—not the degrading kind, but the ones that made your stomach twist and your throat tighten.

His cocky little grin flashes again.

“Aw, baby, you’re so sensitive.” He leans in, brushing his mouth against your ear.

You let your eyes fall shut, surrendering to the flurry of sensation he’s stirring inside you. The desperate tingle in your stomach builds with each curl of his fingers, and just when you think you might be careening toward the edge, he pulls away. You open your mouth to protest, only to watch him stand up and strip out of his jeans and boxers.

He shifts back onto the bed, bracing himself over you, and a sharp bolt of arousal lances through your core when you feel him—hot and hard—rubbing insistently against your clit.

“Gonna fuck you, baby,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Gonna show you how much you mean to me—how good you are to me—”

He guides himself to your entrance and pushes in, inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Your jaw goes slack at the delicious stretch. Both of you gasp at the same time—like you’ve just remembered how good this can feel when all the walls are down, when you’re both so desperately in need of one another.

A shudder runs through him.

“God, I missed this,” he groans, beginning a slow, steady pace. “Missed you.” He leans in, mouthing at your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he can get his lips. “Gonna do this every day—after every shift—hell, before every shift. Want you on my cock anytime I can have you.”

The rhythmic drag of him thrusting deeper and deeper has you arching your back. Your nails instinctively rake down his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. The sting must register because he lets out a rough moan.

“You gonna scratch me up, huh?” he rasps, his pace growing more determined. “Gonna leave a mark on me?”

“S-sorry.” You freeze for half a second, peering up at him through hazy, pleasure-blurred eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt you—”

“Could never hurt me—not after what I did.” He shakes his head, eyes burning with intensity. “I—I want it, baby. Wanna feel you tomorrow—everytime I move—wanna remember who’s at home waiting for me. Our home.”

Something about that—our home—sends sparks of electricity tearing through your veins.

“Steve,” you breathe. Your voice cracks with urgency. “Shit, I’m gonna—”

He knows what you mean before you even said the words. Bearing down, he snaps his hips a bit faster, and his words become even more ragged and desperate, tumbling from his lips in quick succession.

“So fucking smart—so fucking pretty,” he manages between thrusts. “Always so sweet for me—God”

His chest is heaving, damp with sweat, and he’s pounding into you like he can’t hold anything back. He feels you squeezing around him, and it only drives him further—spurs him on like he has something to prove. He can’t give you much, but what he can offer, he gives tenfold.

This is what he can give you, and fuck, he wants to give you so much more. He’d give anything to make you happy—to make you feel even a fraction of what you’ve given him. He needs you to understand. Needs you to feel it.

“Always working so hard—taking such good care of me—making me feel so fucking good—aren’t you, angel?” he mumbles brokenly, delirious. He’s teetering on the edge, and you feel it in the way his strokes start to falter. “Need you to know how much I—Fuck—need you to cum on my cock, baby. Won’t stop ’til I feel it—please.”

You’re too strung out to do anything but obey that fierce longing in his voice. With one more thrust, you tumble into release, your body seizing beneath him. The rush has you clawing at his shoulders, your head thrown back as waves of ecstasy roll through you. You vaguely register him letting out a guttural moan as he follows you over the edge, the tension in his body snapping as he spills into you.

For a few seconds, you both just hover there—lost in the throbbing aftermath that feels electric and tender. Your vision spots with warm, dizzy bliss, and you’re semi-aware of him collapsing onto you, his lips brushing your temple in a dazed kiss.

You pull away from him, chest still heaving, and the giggle that slips from your lips sounds almost delirious in the quiet that’s settled around you both. his flushed cheeks crease into a satisfied grin as he tilts his head, studying you.

“What is it?” he asks, brushing his fingers through his damp hair.

You push at his chest—just enough to make him tumble to the side—and roll your eyes.

“You talk too much.”

“Me?” He gives an exaggerated gasp. “That’s weird. Usually you love my mouth.”

Heat crawls up your cheeks as you huff, trying to will away the memories of just how much you do love his mouth.

“Yeah,” you grumble, “but when you talk like that…makes my head all scrambled.”

“Oh, I know, baby. I’m so mean, aren’t I?” He pouts exaggeratedly.

Another huff leaves you, though you can’t hide the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement. He leans over the side of the bed to grab his discarded shirt and jeans, and you start to do the same—only to freeze when you catch sight of his back in the low light.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, eyes going wide.

“What is it?” He whips around, alarmed by your tone.

“I, uh…I actually did leave marks on your back.” You grimace a little, shifting your weight to your knees. The faint, reddened lines stand out against his skin—four vivid stripes that trace the path of your nails from earlier.

He glances over his shoulder with a casual shrug, though the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays his real reaction.

“Oh yeah?” His voice dips lower, interest obvious.

“I’m really sorry,” you say, feeling a hint of guilt.

“I wanted you to,” he replies without hesitation, and you notice the flicker of heat in his eyes. “Shows I was doing a good job.”

“Still feel bad,” you mumble, cheeks burning. You move closer, fingers ghosting over his shoulder blades.

“You know…” His grin widens. “Could always kiss ‘em better. Hear that helps.”

You scoff but lean in, pressing soft kisses to each mark, and he practically melts under your touch.

“Better?” you ask softly, lips brushing the raised skin.

“Much,” he murmurs, letting out a shaky sigh. There’s a definite pink tinge staining his cheeks now—you’ve managed to fluster him now.

"Aw, you getting shy on me?" You tease as a giggle bubbles up your throat.

"Shut up." He huffs as he leans down to pull on his boxers, holding out his shirt for you to slip on. "Shower?"

You nod as you pull on your clothes, letting him guide you to the bathroom, his touch gentle.

He doesn’t let you lift a finger—cleaning you up was his job tonight, just like making dinner, just like everything else.

He promised you wouldn’t have to worry about a damn thing ever again, and Steve keeps his promises.

Any stress?

That’s his job now. Not yours.

Because you’ve already given him the greatest gift anyone could ask for. You. Your trust, your future. And he’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure you never regret it.

He didn’t tell his dad he was leaving. Didn't see the point.

If the old man wanted to find him, he could, but it wouldn’t change anything. He had made his choice, and for the first time in his life, it wasn’t about living up to someone else’s expectations.

He blocked out the past, because the only thing that matters now is you—safe, warm, cared for, loved. He would spend every day proving that you’d never have to doubt that again.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #stranger things smut #steve harrington smut #stranger things fic #stranger things x you

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gothhabiba · 5 months ago

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@ anon

I think it might be actually dangerous to publish your ask, but I'm sure from my response people will be able to tell what it's about anyway.

You're full of actual, absolute shit if you're pretending not to know by now that verification processes to ensure the legitimacy of Ghazzawin's fundraisers have been undertaken, and that details about what these processes entail have been shared by several people. Several people, some of them currently in Gaza, put themselves through countless hours of work video-calling people, judging their knowledge of dialectical Arabic, seeing their faces and their children's faces and their living conditions, seeing IDs and bank information, asking invasive, personal questions that they didn't want to be asking & that the people responding probably didn't want to be answering, and physically visiting people in Gaza and video-recording their interactions, just so that people like you could be sure that these fundraisers were legitimate. If you're ignoring all of the blood & tears that went into that process just so you can hand-wring about scams, no one needs to be concerned with convincing you of the legitimacy of anything, because you were never going to donate to these people anyway. You are just looking for any plausible-sounding excuse not to do what you already didn't want to do.

If, by some miracle, you actually didn't know about the verified fundraiser spreadsheet (which is frankly still blameable bc, where on earth have you been?), then there it is. The post of mine that you're referring to never even mentioned responding to asks; using this spreadsheet is an absolutely valid, reasonable way of donating directly to families.

Now let me treat some of your statements as though they were questions (which, they were not).

How do people in Gaza have internet access?

Internet infrastructure in Gaza is very robust (e.g. in what cables are made of, how deep they're buried, amounts of redundancy in the system, &c.) because they have been getting bombed by Israel all the fucking time for decades, so they expect this infrastructure to be put through a lot. There have still--if you've been following the situation at all--been several outages caused by damage that Ghazzawin have needed to repair. Though I do have to say that I find it odd that you doubt Ghazzawin have internet access, but also say that you buy eSims...?

A lot of people right now are indeed connected via eSim, which to my understanding only need to connect to wifi once, right when they're activated. People put themselves at risk to connect to eSims because they need to get a good wifi signal, which usually means walking for several miles trying to find high ground. One of my contacts once urgently called me (this is the only time he hadn't just texted) because he had been told his friend had found a signal and so they needed an eSim right then, before they went back to their tent.

I've been trying for some time to connect another of my contacts in Gaza to an eSim, but we're not having success. At Crips for eSims for Gaza they / we (I'm on the server getting advice and helping out but I'm not using their funding; I'm using what people on tumblr have given me to purchase eSims with) keep a constantly updated sheet of which eSim providers use which networks and which networks work in which areas--because the situation is constantly changing. Because my contact doesn't have an eSim on a personal phone, she has to go to a central location to be allotted three hours of internet access from someone who has managed to get connected. Lots of people, on their fundraising posts and pages, specify exactly how they've gotten internet access, how difficult it's been for them to get it, and how stressful it is to be relying on this tenuous connection, spending hours away from their families (at high risk of being shot at by IOF soldiers the whole time), just to message people for hours straight and then go home again.

2. How do people in Gaza have tumblr accounts?

This is a stupid question. Anyone with an email address who is capable of picking a username and password can make a tumblr account. I have personally helped several of my contacts in Gaza with the process.

3. How do people in Gaza know to come into people's tumblr accounts?

This is also a stupid question. I don't really see how you could ask this question if you saw Palestinians as, like, real humans beings. You understand that people talk to each other, yes? Like with words? As soon as a few people had success fundraising to evacuate Gaza on tumblr (nearly a year ago... this news has had a lot of time to spread), obviously they told other people about it.

One of the ways that Israel conducts its genocidal war is through the destructiveness of frustration and boredom. It's a strange situation because everything is extremely dire, urgent, terrifying, and dirty, but there's also seldom anything to do. People are singing, telling stories, going to the beach, inventing games and contests, to entertain children, but also to entertain themselves. And this is the situation--with a bunch of desperate, bored people packed into a tiny piece of land--this is the situation that you think it's impossible for people to talk to each other in? Come on.

If you want to donate to Anera and World Food Kitchen and buy eSims, that's fantastic. Please do that. But if you are as ignorant of the particulars of what this situation is like as your ask makes you appear, then I hope you refrain from speaking on what the situation is like.

I've been nattering on for a long time so here's my call to action:

Decide what you're capable of giving right now, or the next time you get paid

Scroll down on the vetted fundraiser spreadsheet and find someone very low on funds, or with injured children who urgently need treatment or evacuation, and give that money.

AND / OR give it to the PCRF or the IRW

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just-j-really · 30 days ago

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So I've been rotating this idea in my brain since December. It is WIDLY out of season but I am posting anyway. Time has no power over me.

Dream as the boyfriend who gets dumped 90% of the way through the Hallmark movie. Dream is, even in his own mind, this arrogant, moody guy who's a little too obsessed with his job (very high up in the publishing industry). He's not entirely sure how he managed to convince Hob, who's this cheerful, bouncy extrovert and has essentially been Dream's personal Manic Pixie Dream Boy the entire time they've known each other, to go on a SINGLE date with him, let alone be his boyfriend.

And Hob always goes home to see his family for like two weeks at Christmas, it's super important to him. Dream can't afford to be away from work for that long but says Hob should go before him, he'll be there for Christmas itself. Only, the day before Hob's supposed to leave, Dream stands him up for a dinner date (he was at work) and they get in a huge fight about it. The air between them is still very frosty as Hob packs his things and leaves the next morning.

And then Dream spends the next few days with his social media being just. Flooded with pictures of Hob doing Hallmark Christmas activities. He's clearly having a great time. This woman keeps popping up in his photos, and they look so happy together, covered in snow from a snowball fight, sipping hot chocolate at a crowded bar, one video someone else must have taken of them chasing each other around a skating rink, laughing so hard they crash into each other and fall over. Between the photos and the fact that Hob's still texting Dream this whole time, Dream puts together that this is Eleanor, Hob's childhood best friend who he lost touch with when her family moved away unexpectedly.

Hob's talked to Dream about Eleanor before, how close they were and how horrible it was that he never got a chance to say goodbye, or figure out a way to stay in touch (she had super strict parents). Dream has always kinda suspected that there was a layer of 'mutual first crush, but neither of us were really sure where to go from there and the whole thing got brutally ripped out from under us before we could figure it out' to the whole situation as well.

And here they are. They've found each other again, against all odds, they're so clearly happy together, and Eleanor's doing all this fun exciting stuff with Hob that Dream would only be a huge grump about. By the time Dream goes to meet up with Hob, he's already got a whole story in his head of how this is going to go: Hob will tell him he's found someone much better for him and dump him, as Dream deserves.

So when he approaches Hob's parents’ house at like 7pm on December 23rd, and finds Hob and Eleanor talking quietly on the porch, he's just resigned, and fully expecting to end up standing there and watching while they have a Hallmark-movie snow-gently-falling kiss.

Instead, Hob looks up, notices Dream, and immediately just BARRELS into him and hugs him so hard his feet lift off the ground, and before he's really processed that he's the one getting the snow-covered, end-of-the-movie, I-missed-you-so-much kiss. Hob's incredibly enthusiastic and smiling too hard to kiss him properly, and eventually they both wind up in a snowdrift.

And Dream’s just. Not entirely processing as Eleanor greets him (and seems genuinely happy to meet him). And then Hob introduces him to his parents (and they seem happy to meet him, too). And everyone’s acting like he's a wanted part of this gathering, and they're so happy he was able to make it, and Hob's gotten them tickets for some community theater Christmas Carol thing because he knows how much Dream likes earnest-if-amateur art… And a few hours later Dream and Hob are cuddled together on a couch with coco doing some excessively cute Christmas Activity. Wrapping the last few presents while a Christmas movie plays quietly in the background or something. Eleanor has gone home, Hob's parents have gone to bed, so it's just them when Hob softly thanks him for being able to make it at all, and apologizes for the way he left things.

And none of this is how the story is supposed to go.

And I think Dream just breaks down, and Hob's eventually able to get the whole ‘I assumed you'd want to break up with me and date your obvious One True Love, I am terrible’ story out of him.

And there is a certain amount of genuinely upset ‘ok it hurts that you think I think something so horrible about you’ from Hob. But he pretty quickly figures out that no, Dream’s self-esteem is actually that low; he genuinely thinks ‘so terrible that you'd be morally correct to cheat on him’ is just. An objective fact about himself.

Which leads to Hob being like “You realize I'm dating you on purpose, right? I like how passionate you are about your job. I like your confidence. I like that you keep me grounded.” And basically just runs down all these traits Dream assumes are his own flaws, only Hob’s talking about them like they’re desirable. As though Dream is his happily-ever-after perfect love.

So, just for a moment, Dream lets himself believe that he could be. And it gets easier and easier to believe as the welcome he received from Hob’s family and friends just continues for the rest of his visit, as he’s easily brought in to assorted Charming Hallmark Christmas Activities and realizes Hob was specifically saving the activities he thought Dream would like for when Dream would be there, as he and Hob return to their normal lives in the Big City and Hob is still happy to be with him, still willing to resolve whatever conflicts come up instead of just giving up.

(And he finds it very easy to believe on New Year’s Eve, when Hob goes for an absolutely over-the-top grand gesture stroke of midnight proposal.)

#dreamling

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borkunlimited · 25 days ago

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Siúil a Rúin

As Take Your Time, Miss Deer, finally comes to an end, I want to reach out to everyone with a note, a thank you for being here in this two month long journey of weekly updates.

I still remember how I decided to write this fic out of a whim, mostly for myself because I want to sharpen my skills as a writer. What started as a whim turn to little snippets, then an outline, and finally, a challenge where I told myself I will complete this fic in a span of 10 chapters.

Honestly, I did not intend to post this at all here in Tumblr, but my beta reader and a friend convinced me otherwise and I am glad I listened to them or else I wouldn't have met each of you today.

This fic was incredibly challenging to write but mostly because I wouldn't deny that numbers still bother me though I still stick to my belief that these shouldn't define my worth as a writer.

One challenge I encounter is actually creating Miss Deer. Sweet characters seemed easy to write when you see them surface level but sweet characters who are layered are more difficult. I want her to be sweet and kind but not the type that she is dependent on other people to live, rather, has her own set of strengths.

I mentioned this several times to my moot (Hi @xiiiaomaiii!) how FLs from Studio Ghibli greatly influenced me and rewatching them all in one go gave me a better idea on how to write her character and how Sylus will play in the story.

I don't want Miss Deer to be completely dependent on him and I want Sylus to be like how every ML is in Studio Ghibli: Supportive and kind.

(Did it work? I like to think I managed to flesh out her character well based on everyone's feedback.)

There are multiple challenges that I have encounter along the way. My worry on ensuring that Sylus, the twins, and even the characters I have isekai'd in this fic (ex. Louis from Beastars) are not OOC. My realization that having an outline is completely different from fleshing it out and there are times I close the doc then call it a day.

Sometimes, I even erase lines of paragraphs. (Bork, do you still have them? No, they are in the abyss now, forever gone haha)

Anyways, I don't want to keep this long! These are just musings, mostly for my future self to read when she looks back.

What's next?

I will focus on drawing art for this fic during my break.

Pick-up what I left off in the side story related to this fic which is about Luke, Kieran, and the sheep hybrid occasionally mentioned.

(This side story is more focused on the themes of coming of age, the twins and the sheep MC navigating in their relationship. I mostly draw inspiration from Skip and Loafer and Horimiya for this. Also, the amount of Luke & Kieran fics is low and I, an upstanding citizen, must do my part.)

Might write short stories and drabbles between Sylus and Miss Deer as well.

Will I write another longfic?

Yes, I already have something in the works but I need to read more about this LI (Who is the LI? Hehe, you'll see), read more books, watch more films in line with the idea I have in mind.

When will you see this longfic?

One day when you wake up (Hopefully on a warm, sunny day), you'll just see the first chapter and you and I will be in another ride where I publish weekly (I pray nothing gets in the way of my life.)

I am happy this story reached you and when you reread it, I hope my intent of making it a cozy story will make you feel better, recharge you, and help you get ready to face what is ahead.

Thank you everyone!

AO3: Take Your Time, Miss Deer: 🦌🐉 Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s): 🐺🐺🐑

Tumblr: Take Your Time, Miss Deer:🦌🐉 Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s):🐺🐺🐑

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace sylus #lads hybrid au #lads sylus #hybrid au #sylus x reader #sylus x you #take your time miss deer

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marauder-misprint · 5 months ago

Note

I LOVED the ”You were important” fic that you wrote and I know that that it was only published a couple hours ago but I NEED to know if there is going to be a part 2

And if there isn’t then I’m begging you for one were reader maybe goes out with Sirius and his friends for the first time or something. Please I’m desperate 😭😩❤️

I can practically guarantee you this isn't as good as 'You Were Important' but it is what it is! and honestly, I think everyone but Sirius is nervous/unsure about the Hogsmeade visit.

Also, receiving this request literally a few hours after posting made my day ♥︎

Hogsmeade

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

2.7k words

cw: one use of y/n, fluff, swearing

To say that Sirius’ friends were hesitant about you was the understatement of the century. They knew you had a big part in helping Sirius slowly reconnect with Regulus and they knew you were childhood friends. But to be dating? That was a step beyond their comprehension.

“So she yells at you, you have some miraculous conversation and now you’re dating?” Peter asked incredulously. “I’m sorry, mate. I don’t see it.”

“You went from not speaking for years to dating pretty quickly,” James added.

“There’s a lot about her that you don’t know,” Sirius said.

“When you apologized to her last term, did you actually beg?” Remus mused, already knowing the answer but trying to help Peter and James along.

“Yes.”

James choked on his pumpkin juice. “You begged? Like on your knees, begging?”

“In the library. You can ask Reg if you don’t believe me. He walked in on it.”

“How come none of us got to witness that?” James asked with a pout. “I would’ve paid to see that.”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” Remus said.

“Because you didn’t need to be there. It’s hard enough putting my dignity on the line, I didn’t need you lot witnessing it.”

“Okay so if you were on your knees for her,” Peter paused to give the group a suggestive look, “then maybe it’s more believable that she likes your sorry arse.”

“I don’t know why I need to convince you that we’re actually dating… But I did write to her all of break.”

“I thought you were writing Regulus?” James asked.

“Is there a limit on how many people I can write? I wrote to them both.”

“What’s so special about her anyways?” Peter asks, stabbing his fork into the fruit on his plate. “Besides the insane ability of forgiveness.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “At the risk of being called a sap, I’ll keep it brief. She’s perfect. Perfectly flawed. Knows how to handle the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. What else do I need?”

“Handling you and your brother is certainly a special quality,” Remus snorted.

“So was there like something hot about her when she exploded last term?” James asked. “Because I think we were all a little scared of a random ass Slytherin being furious at you.”

“Oh shut it.”

“And we are taking that as a yes,” Peter confirmed with a nod.

“I’ll give you something you can take, Wormtail,” Sirius warned.

“Calm down, Pads,” Remus said. “Let us get used to Y/N and the effects she has on you. It’s new to us. Since you kept us in the dark ‘bout her for six years.”

“That number is going to be the death of me…”

Your friends, minus Regulus, were just as confused.

“You know, when we asked if there was something going on between you and Black, we meant Regulus,” Dorcas said.

“And the only thing going on between me and Reg is friendship.”

“But you and Sirius? You’re serious?” Pandora asked.

“Yes, Dory, I’m dating Sirius.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“You’ve never once mentioned liking him. Before last term, you never mentioned him as anything other than Reg’s brother.”

“Because he said we weren’t friends. Keep up. Pretty sure I told you this.”

“You did. Six years radio silence to dating is a jump, sweetheart.”

“He’s taken big steps since we reconnected.”

“Maybe so. I’m just saying, you are the queen of forgiveness.”

“He knows he’s walking a thin line,” Regulus said, deciding to join the conversation.

“You! You’re okay with this?”

“I encouraged they get close again,” he said. “Did they get closer than I intended? Maybe. But once you get over the initial shock, it makes sense.”

“How so?”

He looked from Dorcas to you and back again. “They practically grew up together. And then when he fucked up, she went and befriended me. There’s something about being a Black that attracts her.”

“It’s the trauma,” you said with a teasing lilt in your voice.

“If that was the case, you’d be dating me.”

“I’m afraid you’ve solidified your place as absolute bestie for the restie a while ago.”

Regulus stared at you for what felt like an entire minute.

“Whatever the fuck that means…”

---

Sirius approaches you after class, as he usually did. You took your time putting your things into your bag while he would shove everything into his own as fast as he could.

“You doing anything Saturday?” he asks, resting his hip against your desk.

“Sleep in? Maybe Hogsmeade with the girls if they wait up for me.”

“What if you ditch the girls and come with us?”

“Us? As in the Marauders?”

He nods.

“Am I ready for a proper introduction to them?”

After you throw your bag over your shoulder, Sirius places his arm around your waist and guides you to the door.

“I think so. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

“I guess… Do they know you’re inviting me?”

“No.”

“What will they think? I haven’t talked to any of them since I yelled at you.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, love. I’ve talked to them about you. Plus, once they get to know you, they’ll love you. I know I do.”

You snort. “Yeah? You love me?”

He looks down at you with a crooked smile. Neither of you had the exact words “I love you” but you hadn’t been dating all that long. It still hung in the air between you though. If you had to talk about it with anyone, you would say when you know, you know. Having Sirius back in your life was like being able to breathe again after having your head held underwater.

Instead of responding verbally, Sirius places a kiss on your cheek. It makes you giggle. He knew it would. He knows he loves you. It hit him as hard as it had hit him that he missed you during those six years. You had a way of making him feel seen that even having the eyes of the entire Hogwarts castle couldn’t raise a candle to. You saw him and he loved you for it.

“So, Hogsmeade? Yes, no, you’d rather snog me in the Gryffindor Common Room…” His voice trails off as he looks down at you with a smirk on his face.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you tease.

“You’ll come to Hogsmeade, then? Yeah?”

You sigh. You know it’s inevitable. You have to meet and hang out with his friends at some point. You couldn’t avoid them forever, as appealing as that sounds, if you want this to work with Sirius.

“Yes, I’ll do Hogsmeade. But you’re paying for my butterbeers.”

He laughs. “As if I wouldn’t do that anyways.”

---

You get up far too early for your liking on Saturday. Sirius insists that you will be spending all day with the boys in Hogsmeade and he’s fairly certain that by the end of the night, you will be telling him you wished the day had lasted longer. You’re not as sure of that as he is, but you’re willing to humor him. It would be good to get to know his friends, at least a little bit.

You feel awkward as you head to the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall rather than Slytherin. At least you didn’t have to deal with teasing from Pandora and Dorcas this morning; they were still tucked into bed, where you’d much rather be. Still, you feel eyes on you.

“Good morning, lovely!” Sirius chirps as soon as he spots you within earshot.

You give him a nervous smile. The full of Marauder nonsense was weighing on any optimism you might’ve had. You take the spot next to Sirius, obviously saved for you. The other boys are quiet, although you don’t blame them.

“Morning everyone,” you say.

They mumble responses. Remus looks half asleep as he sips his morning tea, Peter is zoned out as he stares at his plate, and James is shoveling eggs into his mouth. You assume he would’ve given you a better response if his mouth hadn’t been full.

“Whose idea was it to go so early?” Remus mumbles, putting his cup down and giving you a polite smile.

You look from boy to boy before laying eyes on Sirius.

“You. You did this,” you say accusingly, pointing your finger at him.

“Maybe.”

You forcefully rest your forehead on his shoulder with a groan.

“I thought you weren’t a morning person.”

“He’s not,” Remus answers for him with a knowing look in his eyes that you don’t see.

“Sorry that I’m excited,” Sirius says. “Just the first time all my favorite people are going to be together.”

“Second,” Peter says, barely loud enough to be heard.

“Second?” Sirius repeats.

“He’s, uh, counting the yelling, I think,” James says after swallowing. “You know, last term.”

You lift your head from Sirius’ shoulder and you know your face is red. The yelling.

“I promise I don’t yell all the time,” you say softly.

They all laugh in one way or another. Sirius has his full body laugh while Remus has more of a chuckle. You swear you see Peter clench his jaw as James barks out a short laugh. You’re certain this is going to be a long, painfully awkward and embarrassing day. Sirius starts putting food on the plate in front of you and nudges the cup closer to you.

“Eat up.”

“I can make my own plate,” you tell him firmly.

“But you weren’t.”

You roll your eyes but start to eat the food he’s grabbed for you. The boys are mostly quiet while you eat. Sirius forces some conversation. He’s adamant that something will spark. He just needs someone to bite, someone to start talking besides him, and then conversation will flow more easily. It had to.

It does, finally, as you leave the Great Hall and begin the short trek to Hogsmeade. The boys discuss everywhere they need to go today.

“You’re not going to make us get lunch at Puddifoot’s or anything, right?” Peter asks tentatively, as if already hating your answer.

You laugh loudly, making the boys in front of you look over their shoulders.

“Godric, no!” Their faces relax. “Not every girl loves lace and all that frill.”

“Oh, I had just assumed…” Peter’s voice trails off.

“Doesn’t everyone know the saying?” you ask.

“What saying?” James asks.

“When you assume, you make ass of you and me.”

You walk up and throw an arm around Peter.

You hiss in his ear, “Don’t go making an ass of me. I don’t care what you make of yourself.”

Peter blushes furiously as you remove your arm and laugh.

“I fully assumed we be spending time in Honeydukes and Zonko’s and maybe Pippin’s or something before finishing the day at the Broomsticks. Is that not normal?” you ask, walking backwards at the front of the group.

Sirius was beaming at you, clearly enjoying how suddenly comfortable you became. Apparently you just needed someone to get the wrong read on you. Then you point at James.

“Spintwitches? Regulus was talking about this new broom-”

“Polish? They got in the new broom polish?”

You nod and James picks up his pace, easily passing you so you turn around to walk normally.

“Well, come on, you lot!” he calls. “I need some before they run out!”

“I highly doubt that they are going to run out, Prongs!” Sirius yells at him as he resumes his spot at your side. “Now is this so bad,” he whispers to you.

You roll your eyes but give him a wide smile. Maybe his friends weren’t so bad. They just had to see you as something other than a pathetic girl or the angry girl who nearly screamed at Sirius about his brother.

You were right about their plans for the day, though. After Spintwitches, the group heads to Honeydukes to restock on sweets that you would have to carry around all day. Next was Zonko’s. The boys flitted around the shot like hummingbirds, never looking at a stand for too long but practically guaranteed to return. When the shopkeeper told them their total, you choked on the licorice wand you were snacking on. The boys give you a strange look while Sirius hits your back and makes sure you’re okay.

“Dear Merlin, do you always spend that much in there?” you ask as you exit the store and head to the main square.

“Yes?” James answers. “Is it a lot?”

You snort a laugh.

“Prongs, you know it is. There’s a reason you and Padfoot pick up the bill every time,” Remus says with his own laugh.

“Oh! If you boys don’t mind, can we stop at the quill shop?” you ask.

“Quill shop and then Three Broomsticks? Sounds good to me,” Sirius says, answering for the whole group.

The rest of the boys wait outside while Sirius follows you into the shop. He doesn’t say anything as you browse. He follows you like a lovesick puppy, which is what the boys are calling him in their conversation outside the shop. Not that he would’ve minded it anyways. Sirius was happy. He had it all in that moment: a girl who loved him, friends who would die for him, and a family in the Potters. He couldn’t think of anything else he needed in this moment.

After you made your purchase of a new quill and inkwell, you and the boys made your way to the Three Broomsticks. As expected, it’s packed, but that doesn’t stop you from being able to find a table big enough to fit all of you. You feel at ease as you drink butterbeers with the boys and snack on the crisps James ordered for the table. There are jokes you don’t quite understand and snide comments you don’t quite agree with, but overall, it’s good. You know you’re new to the group and it will be easier the longer you’re around. It helps that Sirius is next to you, giving you the occasional touch and kiss. And the occasional knowing look when the boys say something that would elicit a remark from you but you’re not in the place to say anything yet.

You wave to your friends when they make their way into the pub. They gather at a table at the other end of the room.

“You can go say hi, you know,” Remus says, noticing who you’re waving to. “We’re not holding you hostage.”

“You’re not, but they might,” you say as you make eye contact with Barty and he makes kissy faces at you. “They can get my recap of my day later.”

“Oooh, what are you going to tell them about us?” Peter asks, tossing a crisp at James who catches it in his mouth.

“You spend way too much at Zonko’s, but you weren’t as bad as I was expected.”

“Wait! Wait, wait,” James says, holding up his hands to pause the conversation. “What do you mean too much at Zonko’s?”

“How bad were you expecting?” Remus asks before you can answer.

“Potter, you know damn well what I mean. I can excuse the Honeydukes spending because, well, I’m just as bad. But Salazar, so many galleons wasted! And for what? A prank?”

“A prank that will bring joy for weeks,” Sirius says, giving you a playful nudge.

You roll your eyes.

“How bad were you expecting today to go?” Remus asks again.

“Horrendously.”

Sirius gasps and leans away from you.

“Wait, really?”

You nod.

“We’re not… that bad, are we?” James asks.

“Spending a full day with people I’ve barely interacted with in the six years we’ve been classmates? With our main interaction being… the yelling?” you ask incredulously.

Your point is made.

“To be honest, we… I was nervous ‘bout this too,” Peter says. “You’re scary when you’re pissed.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Remus asks with a smirk; he knows why it’s good.

“Means you are less likely to cross me.”

“And there’s the Slytherin,” James laughs before throwing back his butterbeer.

“What, being my girlfriend doesn’t make them less likely to cross you?” Sirius asks.

“While I’m sure that is reason,” you start, “I’d rather be scary. There’s more people to keep in line than your boys.”

“Like your boys,” Remus says. He’s looking at Evan and Barty.

“Oh, they are easy to keep in line,” you muse. “They are more reward-based. Threats don’t work on them.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” you say, not elaborating.

“So, another round, yeah?” Sirius asks, waving down Rosmerta.

#marauders fic #marauders #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #marauder-misprint #slytherin!reader

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n0cturnalflesh · 2 months ago

Text

Dr.Zayne's Guide to Treating a Hunter

Synopsis: Greyson asks for advice on how to deal with his hunter crush. Zayne gives him a very thorough lesson, with you as the test subject obviously.

Tags: Smut, established relationship, threesome, F/M/M, dom!Zayne, sub!Greyson, p in v, oral, warming, worshipping, roleplay, grinding, Greyson goes into subspace? idk it just came to me as i was writing WC: 6.1k

a/n: That took wayyy longer than it shouldve, I say for the third time as i publish my third fic. Thanks to yall who helped with deciding Greyson's crush! Disclaimer, I am nowhere near being in the medical field!!

————————————————————————

The hardwood door is cold beneath your knuckles, a subtle indicator of whom this office belongs to. Holding your breath, you wait for a reply.

“Yes? Come in.” Zayne’s voice draws from within. He’s not expecting you; a week-long mission ending a few days early thanks to your efforts, and not even a single bruise to show for it. With the extra time off given by Captain Jenna as a reward, what better to do with your time than to surprise your favourite doctor?

Creaking the door open slowly, you push it closed with your heel and spin in a circle, holding the small box of macarons out front as an offering.

“Doctor Zayne!” you hum in a sing-song voice, “Your favourite hunter is back! Did you miss me?”

His eyes widen at your voice, hand slowing from the rigorous notes being scribbled as he looks up from his desk. “You’re back early. Are you alright? Why wasn’t I notified about your mission ending early?”. Caution laces his tone, unable to get excited at your sudden return until he knows you’re safe.

“Of course!” You chirp, pointing a finger gun out the window as you pretend to aim at a tree outside, “When am I ever not alright? I’m a professional.” He gives you an unamused look. “Anyway, I convinced Jenna to delay my mission report status so I could surprise you. Got dropped off right outside the hospital.”

“Hmm.” Zayne hums, standing from his desk as he takes a step towards you, “Professional misconduct with not just the Hunters Association but also Akso Hospital?”

“Yup! Only cost a week’s worth of lunches for the team on me.”

Zayne stops in front of you, pulling you into a warm hug. “And a box of macarons, apparently.” He gladly takes the offering you present, eying down the flavours you chose.

“Whatever.” You huff. “My reports should be in your inbox any second now, I just got them delayed long enough to surprise you. Mission ended early due to uncovered intel. Didn’t even get a scrape!”

Zayne raises an eyebrow at your words, pausing halfway into biting a macaron. “Shocking. Are you sure about that? How do I know you haven’t been replaced by a wanderer? I’ve witnessed you get injured stepping out of a car.”

“Uncalled for!” you pout before a mischievous idea pops into your head. “But, if you’d like to do a full body inspection, I have no objections, doc-tor.”

Popping your hips, you lock your hands behind your back and tilt your head to look up at the surgeon, challenging him. His eyes linger on your body as he takes you in before settling on your face.

“I guess a thorough inspection is in order for such a… wreckless patient.” He leans forward and pushes you back slowly. “If you’ll have a seat, we can begin.”

Unable to hold back your smirk, his hands guide you around his desk until you're sitting on the ledge in front of his chair. Taking a knee in each hand, the cold of his fingertips lingers as he drags them along your thighs before spreading them to stand between.

Fingers gripping the hem of your hunters’ skirt, he leans down to whisper in your ear. “This new uniform seems… breathable. I didn’t realize skirts were efficient for fighting in.” He presses a kiss to your neck, breath hot against your ear.

“It’s for undercover missions.” He takes a small bite at your earlobe, “Not,” you gasp, “not the standard uniform.” With shuddering breaths, Zayne’s cool hands slide up your waist, tracing each curve and arch of your body until they rest, gently cupping your face. Pulling back, he leans his forehead against yours.

“I missed you, my love. I’m glad you’re safe.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I missed you too.”

He slowly begins to devour you, lips pulling at your own as he tries to consume every inch of you like a starved man. Grabbing at his tie, you pull it from within his grey vest and yank him closer to you. The firmness of his body begins to melt against your own, hips moulding in ebb and flow as he grinds against you in waves.

“Zayne.” He kisses you. “Should I,” Again. “Should I lock the door?”

Pushing his lips heavy against yours one last time, he pulls away with a rugged breath. “No, I’m expecting Dr. Greyson shortly. Any minute. We won’t have time.” His words come with a wince, as if it pains him to decline the offer.

You gaze up into his eyes, a shared longing for desperation pleading silently for each other. Zayne takes a step back, eyes closing with focus as he visibly wills himself to calm down. As he sits down in his chair, you can’t help but notice the fat tent in his pants.

Sighing under your breath, you hop off Zayne’s desk. “Well, I need to sign off on a few final mission reports. It shouldn't take long. Would I be able to finish them here with you, and then we can grab food once you’ve finished your work? Unless your matters with Greyson are confidential, then I can just…”

“No, you’re welcome to work with me, please. He was requesting some advice, although on what, I’m not sure. At most, likely something related to his current medical research.”

“Yay!” You bounce, grabbing your laptop from your standard hunter bag and propping it next to his on the desk. “Watcha working on?”

“I’m preparing presentation material for a speech I’m giving later next month to our new resident doctors. I’ve already caught up on my post-operative documentation and patient progress monitoring for the day.”

“Mmm, I love it when you talk all medical. So sexy.” You wink. A small smile flashes across his face, ears flushing a light red. “Glad it’s nothing too pressing then. Mind if you scooch a bit so I can sit down?”

Zayne gives you a slightly puzzled look, his eyes flickering to the empty chair beside you, one that he definitely does not need to move over for you to access, but still abides by your wishes. With a comforting confidence, you lean over and sit on his lap, skirt bunching up your thighs as you do. A small gasp comes from behind you, but Zayne remains quiet other than that.

“Darling,” he whispers, “Dr. Greyson?”

“Hmm? It’ll be fine. I’m just trying to get some work done. That extra chair of yours hurts my back, this is much more comfortable.” You reply, eyes not moving from your laptop. “Besides, this is hardly compromising. Greyson knows how much we miss each other after long missions.”

Zayne wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder. The silence tells you he disagrees, but his tight grip around you says he doesn’t care enough to fight back. And so you begin your work.

Ten minutes in, your report is almost halfway done. Zayne has not touched his work. His arms loosen and tighten every few minutes around your waist as he watches your type.

“My love,” he breathes, “can you please stop bouncing your foot.”

The movement is brought to your attention, and you slow it to a stop, unaware that you were even doing so in the first place. “Oops, sorry.” You smile, “Didn’t mean to distract, doc.”

He stiffens at the nickname, fingers digging into your sides as he steadies you against him. It’s then that you feel the newly hardened bulge beneath you.

“I’m sure you did, actually .” He pulls your back flush against his chest. “You know your effect on me. I can’t keep my composure with you like this.” As Zayne grinds you down onto his lap, your back arches into him. “Thinking I have the strength to withhold from your teasing.” He places a kiss on your neck. “You break down all of me.”

Hands groping at your body, you rock with him as he bucks lightly against you. “ Zayne .” you moan.

He groans into your neck, wanton and dripping with lust, “I need you. Sit on it, please darling.”

Blinded by desperation, you nod and push his hands up your skirt. His finger prods at your sopping panties, pushing them to the side to smear your slick around.

“You’re already so wet. I barely need to stretch you out.” He gasps, fingers pushing into your clenching cunt as he scissors you open wide. “Pardon my rushing, a true medical professional should know not to rush these things.”

“ Mmph , well,” you pant, “my boyfriend should know how well he fits in me and put it in before it's too late.”

He withdraws his fingers in an instant, nodding to himself as he undoes the zipper of his pants. The warm weight of his cock springs out and hits your lower back. Pausing your movements, he lifts you with ease to hover you above him before slowly sliding you down onto his full length. The pressure is immediately dizzying, feeling his tip push deeper in as your body stretches to take him.

“Zayne!” you cry out.

“I know, darling.” He whispers from behind, placing gentle kisses on the nape of your neck until you're fully sitting on him, ass flush against his pelvis. “Even if we don’t have time to finish, to be in you is a gift in itself.”

Zayne rubs at your hips, shifting his hands until they rest on your lower belly, holding you where you hold him within you. “You drive me to madness in the best way possible, I can’t control myself around you. I need you, always and forever.”

“And you have me.”

Like your words are his kryptonite, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, panting at the feeling of your warm, gummy insides squeezing him.

The sudden turn of the doorknob disturbs the moment, a new voice entering the room.

“Hey, Dr.Zayne, thanks for agreeing to help! It’s nothing serious, more of a… personal matter you could say.”

Greyson enters the office, head turned towards the door as he closes it behind him. He hasn’t seen you yet, nor does he notice the brief scramble at the desk as Zayne hurriedly pulls and smooths out the bottom of your skirt. Still nestled within you, it looks nothing more than you sitting on his lap to do work.

“Oh! Miss Hunter!” Greyson’s ears flush. “I didn’t realize you were back from your mission. I’m glad to see you made it back safe and early. And to see you lovebirds are happy together.”

“Yep,” you muster up, voice shaky from nervousness. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I was just working on some reports. I can… leave if you need.”

Zayne squeezes your thighs beneath the desk tightly, a precautionary questioning at how you would even remove yourself from the situation.

“Oh! Actually, this might be a matter you can help me with too.” Greyson replies, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “If you can promise to keep a secret.”

You nod along shakily, too distracted by the weight of Zayne’s cock nestled deep within you. Were you not being split open, your brain would absolutely clock into whatever secrets Greyson is about to spill.

“Of course!” Your voice comes out nervously high-pitched. Zayne’s hands begin to rub gently against your thighs at the hem of your skirt, hidden from sight beneath his desk. From within you, his cock twitches against your walls. He’s enjoying this.

“Yes,” Zayne answers from behind you, “if this is regarding what I think it is, she would absolutely be able to provide some insight on the matter.” His tone is calm, practiced, but just a little bit deeper than normal, hiding the carnal desire beneath it. He looks over your shoulder to Greyson, a smile on his lips as he nods in encouragement.

Greyson’s blush spreads from his ears to his cheeks as he begins to stutter over his words, clearly nervous to voice his thoughts. “Well, hunters are such a highly regarded profession.”

As he talks on, Zayne raises his hand higher, slowly up your thigh with such a stillness that could only be done by a surgeon's hands.

“And obviously hunters should be treated with the utmost respect.”

“ Mmhmm .” You nod, head spinning as Zayne slowly gets closer to your heat.

“Dr.Zayne would clearly know from experience.”

Maintaining eye contact with the cardiac surgeon’s assistant begins to be a struggle as Zayne uses the slick from where you two meet to rub at your clit gently.

“So I wanna make sure I do it right.”

You’re entirely gone, staring right through poor Dr.Greyson as he talks. Zayne’s fingers slide from your clit, circling around the base of his cock that kiss your lower lips.

“I just don’t know how to confess. I want to make sure I can show I’d be a good boyfriend for a hunter, that I could treat her right.”

“Wait, what?” You pause, suddenly tuned in to his mild confession. “You have a crush on a hunter?” Leaning forward to lean on Zayne’s desk, inadvertently sliding his cock a few inches out as you do. His hands retract at your movement, resting on the armrests of his chair.

Greyson looks away and out the window in embarrassment at the idea being laid out so bluntly. “Yes.”

“Oh my-” You gasp, bouncing slightly in excitement before cutting yourself off at the feeling of Zayne’s dick pushing up into you as you move. Behind you, he lets out a desperate gasp, knuckles turning white as he grips tightly at his armrests.

Greyson, oblivious to the incident, continues to stare out the window, deep in thought. “I’m not gonna name names, yet , at least.”

Before you can reply, Zayne wraps his arms around your waist and yanks you back down fully onto his length. The cry of pleasure escapes your lips before you can stop it, face reddening in embarrassment and lust as he fills you entirely again.

“Miss?” Greyson turns suddenly at your outcry. “Are you alright?” He takes a few steps towards the desk, Zayne tightening and tensing his hold on you as he does. The pleasure is blinding, intensified by the absolute control Zayne exerts over the situation- you’re a goner.

The room is silent as Greyson leans toward you, examining your features. His eyes rake over your body, slowing as he reaches your once again bunched-up skirt in Zayne’s hands by his pelvis. By the way that his blush deepens, he’s figured out exactly what’s going on.

If the room was silent before, it must be lost in the deepspace tunnel now with how quiet and still it is. Zayne’s laboured breath is hot and heavy against the back of your neck, while Greyson’s chest rises rapidly in front of you. With a beet-red blush, his eyes dart between you and Zayne. Disbelief flashes across his face through his furrowed eyebrows, embarrassment visible in his quivering lip.

But there’s something else, too. Something in his eyes, the way he maintains strong eye contact between both you and Zayne, in the way he doesn’t back away but, if anything, leans a bit closer with curiosity.

And in the way his pants begin to tighten around his front.

The situation has you clenching tighter around Zayne, pushing back slightly into his hips. The way he holds you, claims you , in front of his colleague like you’re his prized possession has you wanting more of this side to him. He must feel the way you clamp down on him as he returns in kind by pushing up against your hips just enough for his tip to kiss your cervix. A silent validation through this rocky situation.

“Dr. Greyson,” Zayne huffs, voice rich with dominance and authority, “why don’t you lock the door? As my assistant, we can give you a thorough explanation on how to properly treat a hunter.”

Greyson looks behind you, maintaining eye contact with Zayne for a few seconds before scrambling to lock the door. He returns to the desk, standing about 5 feet in front of you. With tense shoulders, he looks to Zayne for further instructions, his undone lab coat doing nothing to hide his clothed erection.

“You can start with a prescreening review. What do you think a hunter should want in a partner? I will leave the expert to judge your answers.” As Zayne directs his assistant, he kisses the back of your neck and allows his hands to gently caress your hips. Riling you up but not going where you need them most.

“ Ahem , well,” The normally witty surgeon begins, “A hunter should want someone that can respect their independence.”

Zayne nods, hands sliding up your shirt. You arch your back, leaning into his touch.

“Someone that can treat them well and take care of them after a long day.”

He slides his hands over your clothed breasts, not quite squeezing them but still gently fondling them. “Pay attention, darling,” he whispers in your ear, “you are the subject matter expert.”

As a whirl of pleasure and electricity surges through your nerves, you force your mind to focus back on the young man in front of you. Through foggy eyes, you rake your vision up to make eye contact with him.

“Someone that, fuck , someone that can be patient and understand the risks of their job.” He whispers, shifting from foot to foot as his hands fidget in his pockets.

A gentle nudge from behind reminds you that he’s awaiting your response. “ Yes ,” you gasp through deep breaths, “mmhmm. And. Need someone to,” you sigh as Zayne gropes you lightly, “someone to keep them grounded, make them feel like a person, reassure them, please them .”

The subtle touches mixed with Greyson’s eye contact are becoming too much as you begin to grind your hips back on Zayne. Squeezing your legs down around his, if you lean just a bit, you can catch your clit on the hilt of his jeans. It’s not nearly enough, the room is spinning, head foggy with pleasure. Has Greyson always looked so submissive?

“Very good. I think you have an appropriate understanding of the matter.” Zayne groans, his hands stopping their previous ministrations. He holds you still on his lap, slowing your grinding. “Lesson two: bedside training. In line with Akso Hospital’s Office of Faculty Development, what are the three stages of effective bedside teaching?”

Astra have mercy on your cunt because as Zayne speaks to Greyson, he begins to show the side of him you don’t often get to witness. His voice deepens and hardens- amongst other parts of him. Looking up over your shoulder, you can see the assertive stare he gives his assistant. Despite his professionalism, he still manages to slowly unbutton your shirt, spreading it slowly to reveal your bra.

Greyson coughs to himself, hand grasping at his belt before smoothing over his erection, pushing it down through his pants as he chases some relief. “Preparation, teaching, evaluation!” He all but spits out like the words will grant him some kind of prize.

“Good. Now I want you to get on your knees, Dr. Greyson.”

Greyson does exactly as he’s told, clambering onto the ground as he knees before the desk. Zayne slowly wheels his chair back until it hits the back wall. From this position, your entire body is on display for Greyson to watch, from the way your thighs rest on Zayne’s to the dampened stain on his pants where your bodies meet.

“Come closer.” Zayne beckons. Greyson crawls on all fours towards you, under the desk until he’s sitting pathetically on his knees before you. He looks up at you with hazy eyes filled with curiosity and lust.

Before you can feel any form of shame, Zayne presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “We will begin by reviewing patient information. Greyson?”

“Uh,” He stammers, eyes lifting from you to Zayne. “Female patient, returning from deepspace hunter mission with a history of Protocore Syndrome. Presenting for a post-mission evaluation and follow-up care.”

“Diagnosis?”

Greyson shifts on his knees, confused and distracted by the sight in front of him.

“Sexual arousal.” Zayne answers for him, raking his hand beneath your skirt to gather your wetness between his fingers. “Explain what this diagnosis entails.”

With heavy eyes, Greyson speaks without taking his eyes off Zayne’s hands at your core. “Female tumescence, increased heart rate, flushing of the skin and elevated blood pressure. Heightened sensitivity in erogenous zones and increased desire are expected.”

“Treatment plan?”

“Orgasm.”

As Greyson gives his answer, Zayne begins to curl your skirt up higher. The coolness of the office air hits your upper thighs, cooling down your heated body. “Do I have consent from the patient to involve medical teaching in your examination today?”

Without skipping a beat, you nod your head. “Yes! Please!” You whimper, desperate to end the teasing.

“Excellent.” Zayne pushes his fingers against your clit, reigniting the coil of pleasure within you. With a jerk, your hips begin to move on their own as he massages the bundle of nerves. Arching your back to rest your head against his shoulder, he uses his free hand to spread your legs and hook your ankles around his calves, displaying you for Greyson to see.

“A hunter’s mission is always a serious matter. Whether it is a direct assault or recon mission, it’s important that you pay the utmost attention to their bodily needs. Especially after a long mission away from home.” Zayne turns his head to press a kiss to your cheek, voice softening from his stern, medical tone. “Where do you need me, my love?”

“Everywhere, fuck , touch me please, faster .” Your whole body twitches with desire, hips bucking forward as you hump his cock. From the ground, Greyson can see how Zayne plays with your clit, how he runs his fingers down to where his length enters you and back to your clit. Zayne’s free hand leaves your thighs and moves to unclip your bra with ease, helping to slide it off your body.

Bouncing against him lightly, Zayne begins to match your hips with gentle thrusts, not enough to pound you but enough to shake your whole body. He presses his lips against your neck, biting down as he gathers your breasts in his hand and squeezes.

Lost to pleasure, a quiet whimper pulls you back to Zayne’s office. Greyson kneels beneath you, having crawled closer, looking like a mess. His hair is askew, strands sticking out from their normal styled positioning as a result of him desperately running his fingers through it. His shirt lays untucked from his pants, a few buttons undone, while his glasses are smudged with fog and sweat. And yet, his pants remain done up, ever the obedient assistant to Zayne.

The whimpering continues and it's not until you really focus that you realize he’s begging, over and over. “Please, please , Dr. Zayne, please may I have your permission to touch something, anything .” Greyson’s cheeks are impossibly flushed, his whole body entranced by you and Zayne, like he’s floating through a hypnotic trance, ready to do whatever Zayne asks of him.

“ Mmmm ,” Zayne growls, releasing your body to once again wrap his arms around your waist. As he begins to focus on thrusting into you, he groans out. “I think we can,” he gasps, “begin with procedural training.”

Zayne taps lightly on your inner thigh, enticing the other doctor to come closer. With his face between your legs, Greyson’s heavy breaths tickle your soaked panties. He looks up obediently, chest heaving up and down desperately as he awaits the next order.

“I want you to walk me through the treatment. Outline the key steps of this diagnosis and procedure, Dr. Greyson.”

With laboured breaths, Greyson’s entire body heaves as he makes eye contact with your filled cunt. “R-resolve female tumescence and sexual arousal through, fuck , physical stimulation of the clitoris and nipples, mmmph , and internal stimulation with penile penetration.” He bucks his hips into the air, nearly losing his balance as he tries to catch himself from touching you.

“Keep going.” Zayne holds you spread for Greyson to see.

“ Mmmmm , the p-parasympathetic nervous system via the pelvic nerve, plays a key role in initiating arousal, w-while the autonomic nervous system coordinates the physiological responses involved.” He pants, brain short-circuiting between the medical knowledge engraved into his mind versus the image of you spread and filled that he’s trying to burn into his memory.

“W-with the clitoral corpus cavernosum filling with blood due to vasodilation, leading to tumescence. Increased blood flow causes the labia minora to swell and enhances vaginal lubrication.”

“And can you point out where on the patient you can find this lubrication?”

“F-fuck. On your fingers, on her thighs, on your cock.” He manages to choke out.

“Tsk. I don’t recall ‘cock’ being a medical term.”

“On your penis .”

“Good. It’s important to maintain professionalism with your patients. Now, how do I treat her?”

“Stimulation to the pudendal, pelvic, and hypogastric nerve. Rhythmic penetration, manual stimulation of the clitoral glands, alongside sexual verbal stimulation seems to be the b-best course of action for this patient.”

“I think we’re ready to begin hands-on training, Dr. Greyson.”

Zayne taps your clit lightly with his finger, before sliding his hands up to caress your breasts. Greyson looks up at the both of you wantonly, crawling closer until he’s a blink away from your cunt.

There’s a moment of pause, not necessarily hesitation but rather expectancy. Zayne’s face hovers behind your head as he stares down to watch his assistant wait. The stillness is torture as his cock resides within you, clit pulsing with every beat of your heart. He keeps your ankles hooked around his calves, holding you open for Greyson. The soft squelching of your slick echoes out as you shift impatiently in Zayne’s lap.

“Don’t keep the patient waiting, doctor.” Zayne speaks, reaching his hand out and grabbing Greyson by the hair, shoving his face into your pussy. The immediate pleasure is like the light at the end of a never-ending tunnel; your whole body igniting with heat as Greyson laps your clit.

It’s sloppy, loud even, as his nose pushes against you, sinking into your drenched panties that’ve been impatiently shoved to the side. Zayne’s hand returns to holding your waist as he begins to grind you onto his lap. With every thrust back, his cock teases your silken heat, with every hump forward, Greyson laps on your clit with a heavy tongue.

The assistant doctor picks up on the rhythm, his whole body rocking back and forth to chase your clit as you bounce lightly on Zayne’s lap. “ Mmmm .” He moans, voice sending ripples of pleasure to your sharp point, “ More, more, more .” He chants like a desperate man. A low laugh-turned moan escapes from behind you. Tilting your head, you see Zayne’s flushed cheeks beside you.

His half-lidded eyes turn to look at you, chest heaving behind your back with laboured breaths. “ My love ,” he pants. Digging his fingers into your bouncing breasts, he kisses behind your ear and begins to start thrusting up into you.

“Fuck” you hear from between your legs, looking down just in time to see Greyson pull back. His face is dripping with sweat and your wetness, hair ruffled and messy from his ministrations. With wet hands, he pulls his glasses off and tosses them on the ground beside you. He pauses for a moment, leaning back on his hands as he watches Zayne fuck into you.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, his wrinkled, half-buttoned shirt tightening as he pants. His leaned-back position only accentuates his neglected boner. Zayne grabs your chin, arm crossing in front of your bare chest as he presses your cheek to his and forces your gaze down onto his assistant.

“I think our doctor-in-training could use some help from the expert again. Care to show him how a hunter can also care for their partner, darling?”

“ Mmhm .” You whimper out. Between bouncing thrusts, you unhook your leg from Zayne’s and place it on the inner side of his thigh. On an inviting angle, you beckon Greyson forward again. He crawls towards you on all fours until he straddles your leg, chin resting on your knee. Greyson looks up at you with clouded eyes, pouting and yearning for any kind of touch. With a nudge from a particularly harsh thrust behind you, you step down on his boner.

“ Ahh , fuck!” he crumbles forward, panting cheek resting against your thigh. “Mmm, sorry-” Before you can finish your apology, Greyson leans heavier into you, thrusting his bulge against your leg. As he humps you, his hands cradle your hips with reverence. He inches his face forward until it’s once again smushed against your crotch. With every thrust, he humps his erection onto you, chasing release as he licks at your clit. Zayne’s heavy balls squish against Greyson’s face, but neither seems to care.

Reaching out, you burrow your hands into them, grabbing each by the hair and pulling them closer. “ Oh my god! Z- ” You throw your head back, the combination of Zayne’s cock hitting your g-spot and Greyson’s tongue at your clit drawing you closer to the release you’ve been seeking since you first sat on Zayne’s lap.

“Yes, my love!” Zayne grunts out, “Say my name!”

“Zayne!”

“ Fuck , good girl.” He gasps, hips stuttering and losing their pace for a moment. Kissing the side of your neck, his fingers lower from your chest to your hips, brushing over Greyson’s hands for a moment.

“This,” Zayne thrusts, “is the proper way to treat a hunter. On your knees for them, having been allowed the privilege to treat them. Understand, doctor ?”

Pulling back slightly from your pussy, Greyson keels forward hard, humping your leg like a dog in heat. Pathetic whimpers of agreement and nods of his head escape him as he uses both hands to pull your leg closer against him. A wetness down your calf exposes his drooling mouth. He closes his eyes in bliss, letting out a loud whimper as he leans his entire torso against your leg one last time, holding it firm as his body twitches with pleasure.

“Eyes on me, darling.” Zayne coerces you, “you’re my hunter.” With that, Zayne fucks into you faster and harder than before. His hands rope down your body and begin rubbing at your clit as he pulls you to kiss him.

“Mmhm, ‘m your hunter.” You moan back between sloppy kisses. His tongue licks at your lips, teasing with little bites. True to his title as a surgeon, his delicate fingers expertly tease and please your pussy, sparking tingles within you as you begin to clench tighten around him.

“ Mmph , cum for me!” He chants in your ear, rocking into you with desperation. It finally becomes too much, surges of white shooting throughout your body as you tighten and twist and clamp down on him. A sharp coolness chases your skin as he holds you tight against him, whispers of his evol losing control. It’s the only sensation that reaches you beyond the explosion of pleasure that courses through you. Like an electrical charge, it travels through you and unwinds within him.

“ Ah , you take me so good. Perfect,” He pants, hips picking up the pace. The pressure of your orgasm mixed with his insistent thrusting is too much, making you spaz lightly in his arms, whimpering pleas for a break.

“Was made for you. ‘m sorry, almost there. You can hold on, right good girl?” He begs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, damp hair smudging across your skin. He drills into you a few more times feverishly, and finally with a deep groan, he bursts within you- floods of his cum filling your twitching walls.

Through clouded thoughts and fuzzy vision, it feels like you’re floating above your body. The release of tension has tingles spreading throughout your limbs. You sit, sweaty and chilled on his lap, stuffed to the brim and unable to tell whether it's been minutes or hours.

Finally, as your mind and body reconnect with themselves, sharp tinges of coolness pierce your skin. Through squinting eyes, you look down to see Zayne’s hands frosted to your hips. Weakly, you extend your fingers and interlock them over his. Evol power pushes through you weakly as you resonate with him, removing the light sheet of ice from his shivering and steaming body.

As the ringing of pleasure in your ears dies down, it's replaced by a slow panting. Very slowly, your senses come back to you: the blinding LEDs shining from above, the smell of sweat and cologne surrounding you, the moist mop of hair resting against your shoulder, and the limp weight resting on your thigh.

Greyson! Having nearly forgotten about Zayne’s assistant, you slowly shift your eyes down to peek at him. Warm flushes of embarrassment heat up your body as he still rests against your nearly naked body, but his eyes are still closed as he rests.

Zayne must notice your gaze on the other man as you peer down. Subtly, he shifts his leg, nudging Greyson back into a kneeling position at your feet. From this angle, it’s not hard to miss the wet patch on his pants right over where his boner was. Head bowed down, eyes still closed, and with a vibrant rosy blush covering from his ears to his neck, he looks utterly pitiful and submissive.

“Zayne!” You whisper-yell, “You didn’t have to push him.”

“Training's over.” He pants back, “Students are no longer involved in this case; care will continue under Dr. Zayne only.”

Before you can reply, he’s pulling you in for a hug, pressing himself tightly against you’re back. “You are mine, as I am yours. One and only.”

Reaching back to rub his hair, you smile. “Always and forever. I love you.”

“And I, you.”

Getting dressed is easier than expected. Greyson remains partially aware of his surroundings but still not entirely present, allowing you to fix your attire quickly while Zayne picks him up to rest on the couch in his office. By the time he wakes up, you and Zayne are enjoying takeout at the desk.

“Welcome back, Dr.Greyson.” Zayne addresses him without looking up from his food as his assistant rises to a seated position. The poor man is redder than an apple as he notices the wipes and damp towel left for him to clean up, along with a larger lab coat to better cover himself.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation.

“You do not have to make this any more uncomfortable than it has to be. You asked for advice, and I believe we provided it, no?” Zayne asks, pausing from taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Right!” Greyson stammers out, voice cracking slightly as his face flushes even deeper.

“You are making it more uncomfortable.”

Laughing inwardly to yourself, you speak up to ease the tension. “Hey, it’s ok. We had a good time, did you?” He nods. “Good. Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone.” With a wink, you use a finger to draw a line across your lips, twisting and locking away the key. “I’m sure you’ll impress whatever hunter you have the hots for, especially now that you know what it's like to…properly handle one.”

Your casual approach to the situation seems to have calmed him down, as he nods in agreement, seeming to have a better grasp of the situation.

“Thank you, Doctor Zayne. And Miss Hunter! For the opportunity. I won’t forget it.” Despite the slight shakiness in his voice, his tone is much more relaxed. With that, he picks up the supplies left for him and begins to head towards the door.

“Wait!” You call out as his hand reaches for the knob, “You never told me who you’re crush was!”

“Nope!”

“I could help set you up!”

His ears flush impossibly red once more as he continues to reach for the door. With haste steps, he nearly rushes directly into Yvonne.

“Dr.Greyson, what’s got you so flush?” Her voice rings out from the hall, popping her head in to see you and Zayne eating together. “Oh my gosh! No way you finally told them about Tara!”

—--

“I have to say, I’m shocked at how… submissive Greyson was. He totally got into some sub-space or something, y’know?”

Zayne pauses, staring at his sandwich for a moment before lifting his gaze to you “I’m not. After all,” he deadpans, “he is my sub -ordinate.”

#love and deepspace #lads #l&ds zayne x reader #zayne x mc #lads zayne #lnds zayne #zayne smut #lads smut #zayne x reader #love and deepspace smut

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dunmeshistash · 4 months ago

Note

Do you have any other Ryoko Kui Oneshot recommendations? I just read the last ones you mentioned and i absolutely loved them

Honestly! I recommend all 3 of her published one shot compilations, they are all REALLY GOOD

You can read about each of them on this post, the text is from the english pamphlet of the Ryoko Kui Exhibition

A few that really stuck with me other the ones I've already mentioned here (wolves tell no lies, perfect communication and how to be that girl) were these (the order is just the order I remembered them)

The Dragon's School is on Top of the Mountain: The titular story of one of her published works, it makes me think about a few parts of Dungeon Meshi where Laios is trying to find an "use" for monsters in the surface. I really enjoyed the idea of trying to make dragons "useful" so they can continue to exist, it's very bittersweet.

Home: From the same collection as the previous one, it's about what happens to The Hero of the story after he has defeated the big evil, in the perspective of the simple villagers from his hometown. Makes my heart ache. Other stories in this collection have a similar theme of "story after the story" what might have happened after the conclusion of an adventure but this is the one that stuck to me the most

Spring and Autumn: Two oneshots from terrarium in drawer that tell the same story in different perspectives. Quite possibly the best "what if humans were pets" story I've ever seen (I've seen at least 2). I cried so hard, I'm crying right now 10/10 don't let the premise scare you off

Distant Utopia: Terrarium in drawer is AMAZING but here just one more to maybe convince everyone to read, children are tasked with creating a story about "bullying persecution and discrimination", end up realizing things aren't so simple as they first thought

A Modern Fairytale: Ok dragon school might be my favorite one shot collection. This one is about a fantasy creature (centaurs) living in modern times, and the struggles that might cause in society alongside humans. It's a really interesting and grounded take that I don't think I've even seen before (Plus the centaur wife that shows up in short sections is adorable)

Mermaid Sanctuary: From Seven little sons's of the Dragon like wolves tell no lies. A guy finds a mermaid that keeps trying to go into land for some reason. Everyone tells him to leave it be cause "mermaids aren't human, they're just animals that mimic humans" but he decides to help her anyway. It's very interesting with how it portraits mermaids

That's it for my favorites! I really recommend everything by Kui tho, I had to stop myself before I just listed all the oneshots

Btw you can buy Seven Little Sons of the Dragon in english

#ask #recommendations #manga recommendations #ryoko kui #one shots #about cyan #ausaic #long post #edit: FINALLY FIXED THE LINK #Added mermaid sanctuary

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mononijikayu · 4 months ago

Text

toxic till the end — fushiguro toji.

“You can’t fix everything. You should know that.” you replied, your words trembling as they left your lips. “I don’t know if I can ever forget that.” He nodded slowly, his expression one of deep regret. “I know.” Silence grew once more between the two of you. You could feel the tears pricking your eyes harshly. And you could tell that he was noticing as much as you.

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, nsfw, r-18, smut, making out, biting, scratching, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, fingering (female receiving), creampie, pet names (babe, etc....), age gap (reader is late 20s, toji is mid 30s) love, humor, light-hearted, long-term relationship, secret relationship, cheating, break-up, falling out of love, toxic relationship, drama, depression, grief, sexual intercourse, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of naked bodies, depiction of cheating, depiction of grief, depiction of depression, mention of sexual innuendo, mention of sexual intercourse, actor! toji, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 15k words

NOTE: i know i disappeared for almost a week and im really sorry,,,,,i just wasn't feeling well and in the middle of that - i was also busy. i genuinely wanted to publish something but there were things that came up - including me finishing a commission. and also worrying about uni stuff. its a really long one, i still have stuff to edit for bonus cuts for that. i am really sorry but i come back with a fury with toji!!! anyway, i hope my absence didnt make yall leave. enjoy and i love yall :']

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

the good life ― masterlist.

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YOU NEVER LIKED BEING PERCEIVED. Even if you were an actor, you didn’t want to be. You absolutely hated the attention, you hated having to be known to people you didn’t know on the street.

He knew that. Which is why you never allowed yourself to go on dates with him in that local restaurant. Or ever allow yourself to be comfortable kissing him, knowing paparazzis were following you both.

But he was loud about his love for you. He always has been. It was obvious when he looked at you during press tours. It was obvious when he heard the sound of your name and smiled like it was the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

He was never good at hiding the fact that he was in love. That’s just how it was with loving a man so magnetic and passionate as him. He tried to convince you that he wanted the world to know.

Yet, you weren’t prepared to do that. You weren’t prepared for the world to know, for the world to be in your bed. You didn’t want everyone to know that you were his, because you were scared. You were scared of what could happen.

You’ve gone through the trauma of it before, your own ex–boyfriend announcing the break–up before you even knew about the break up. And all the people that hated you, for making him sad. For all those fantasies in their head of all the things you did wrong. You were frightful that it would repeat all over again.

Perhaps he got tired of that. Perhaps he got tired of waiting. Maybe he got tired of you. And you were scared of that. You were scared that this was the case.

You were horrified that he would do the same thing like that ex-boyfriend you loved before. You didn’t want to manifest it. But you also didn’t make a move. You were right. He would get tired of you. You made it this way. You let this happen.

The apartment was eerily silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on you, making every breath feel heavier. You stood in the living room, arms crossed, heart racing as you waited for Toji to come home. He had a late night shoot, he told you. They’d extended the shoot, because of the weather. That’s what he said in the next text. He won’t be home until today.

But as you waited home, all that plagued your mind was the conversation with your friend this morning. You felt sick as the words repeated over the phone.

It won’t go away, not even when you want it to. It remained ever so present, still echoing, hammering deep in your mind. It was as if the weight of her words settled deep in your chest like a knife would.

"I saw Toji last night." she had said, her voice hesitant. "He was with someone else."

“What….what do you mean by that?” You muttered back at her, still reeling from the words that slipped from her mouth. “Surely it was just another cast member—”

“They were kissing, babes.” She told you earnestly, yet you could tell she was having a hard time with it. She knew that everything she’s saying was breaking your heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“No…no, thank you for telling me.”

You hung up after that. You didn’t know what else to say. What could you have said that could have made it any better? You couldn’t think of anything. All that remained were the years of memories together, now scattered across that empty space where love should be.

The betrayal, the doubt, and the fear had been building in that space where you should feel your love for him. A place where it is still there, that love, bleeding and tattered by all that grief that comes with mourning the relationship. And now, standing here in the place you both called home, it felt like you were about to explode.

The door clicked open just around lunch time. You had remembered you had given Toji a separate key for your house. Just as you had a key for his. You didn’t want to see him just yet. Not right now. Fushiguro Toji stepped in, face covered by the levelling of his cap. His usual confident demeanor clouded by an unease you hadn’t seen before. He looked at you, the tension in the air immediately palpable.

Babe, didn’t know you’d be awake." he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

"You said you’d never do that to me." you replied, your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger. “You said you wouldn’t be like him.”

He nodded, closing the door behind him. "Alright. What’s going on?"

"I know you were with someone else last night, and you kissed her. My friend saw you." you spat, your voice breaking with the anger and pain you kept hidden. "How could you do this? How could you betray me like that?"

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked caught off guard. Then his expression hardened. "It’s not what you think."

"Not what I think?" you repeated, your voice rising. "Then explain it to me, Toji. Explain why you were out with someone else while I was here, thinking everything was fine."

"I was tired, okay?" he snapped back, his voice louder now, the frustration evident. "Tired of feeling like I’m not enough, like I’m just waiting for you to trust me."

“How long has it been?” You asked him. “How long have you and your lover been going behind my back?”

“Babe—”

“How long?”

He looked away, the contorting guilt bellowing all over his face. This was a look you had seen time and time again. “A few months.”

"A few months." You repeated.

“Yes, but it was casual hook ups and she has a boyfriend too—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you shouted, tears streaming down your face. "You think that’s going to fix anything?"

"I didn’t plan for it to happen." he said, his voice softening, but the damage was done. "I was just... I felt alone."

"You felt alone?" you repeated, the hurt in your voice cutting through the air. "What about me, Toji? Do you have any idea how alone I’ve felt, wondering if you’d get tired of me, if you’d leave me like everyone else has?"

He took a step closer, his expression filled with regret. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did." you whispered, the fight leaving your body as the weight of it all pressed down on you. "God, I just….is it my fault? Is it because I have a busy schedule? Or is it just because I haven’t allowed the world to know about you? And you were desperate to be seen with someone?”

He shook his head. “That’s not the case.”

“It seems to look like it.” You laughed to yourself, almost mad in the thought of your grief. “You did say she had a boyfriend. I doubt that would have changed much, if she knew that you belonged to someone.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with a regret that almost made your heart ache. His voice, usually so steady, trembled with sincerity. "Please, let’s talk about this. I can make this right."

The words hung in the air, heavy and bittersweet. You wanted to believe him, to let those words soothe the rawness inside you. But they felt too late, like a balm for wounds already too deep. You shook your head, the fight draining from your body as the weight of it all pressed down on you.

"You cheated on me. So brazenly." you whispered, your voice barely audible, laced with pain. "Just like he has. Just like every other man I’ve ever let into my life." The admission stung, the truth of it settling in your chest like a stone.

“Babe…..”

"Maybe you were just another number, another ex."

His face twisted in anguish, his hands clenching at his sides. "Babe, please, listen to me—"

“I’ve listened to you long enough.” Your voice was soft but firm, carrying the finality of a decision made. Tears blurred your vision, hot and relentless, streaking down your cheeks. “Just... leave your keys. I’m going. I can’t stand to look at you or stay with you here.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Toji's gaze faltered, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, to plead, to explain. But no words came. Slowly, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the keys that once symbolized shared moments, shared spaces, and placed them gently on the table.

“I’m sorry.” he said, his voice barely a whisper, a final echo of the love that had once been so vibrant between you.

You didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say. You turned, each step feeling heavier than the last as you walked away, leaving behind the remnants of a relationship that had once held so much promise. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound resonating like a chapter closing.

After that, he took all his stuff from your place and left. Even the keys. And you were glad he did. You were glad he wasn’t there. You blocked his number, you told your friends to stop relaying any messages from him he sent. You even cancelled any appearances with him for work, especially those for the Japanese leg of the press tour for Jujutsu Kaisen.

And then you disappeared, as though you didn’t exist.

You moved apartments, you didn’t tell anyone where you were. Only your manager knew, just so you could make it easier for her to pick you up for work schedules when you start doing them again. And changed phones and deleted your social media presence. You just wanted to be alone. You wanted to process the death of a seven year relationship.

Over half a year later, they start to see you again. The last they had seen you, you were still red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. You had explained that you dealt with some personal loss, which wasn’t untrue. People had speculations, they always have. But you didn’t want to admit to anything. You just let them have their fun and you let yourself have your grief.

The mirror had become a stranger for a while, reflecting someone you barely recognized, a shadow of the person you once were with Toji. The truest you had been yourself was with him. And now you have lost that. You had lost the version of yourself you had loved so dearly. And you hated how that too had revolved around him. Your most beloved life was him.

You hadn't planned on disappearing, not really. But each day felt heavier, each step harder to take, until retreating into the quiet solace of your loneliness and grief became the only thing you could manage.

And everyone in your agency was understanding of that. You haven’t truly taken a break in your entire career. And with that burn out, as much as the heartache, you had to have your time to yourself.

Little by little, you started to pick yourself up from the ruins of the failed relationship. Little by little you found yourself able to breathe again, even though you were still against the crashing waves of pain. At the very least there was some progress. At least you were getting somewhere.

Though, you couldn’t escape him. How could you, when he was so beloved by the world? Every corner of your world seemed to echo with the ghost of him. His face, smiling and confident, stared down at you from every billboard, a constant reminder of what you had lost years of your life to. Years you were the prettiest to yourself.

His voice filled the airwaves, every interview a cruel twist of fate, his laughter a haunting melody that played on repeat in your mind. Fushiguro Toji. His name was a bittersweet whisper, both a comfort and a curse, lingering in the recesses of your heart.

No one else knew that you had broken up. It was a secret you held close, it was a grief that belonged to you and only you. It was a wound too fresh and raw to expose to the world.

You hadn’t found the courage to say anything, convinced that speaking it aloud would make it all too real. Besides, you believed you didn’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Your pain was yours alone, a private storm that no one else could weather.

As you walked through the winding streets of Tokyo, the city lights blurred against your vision, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. The vibrant energy of the city felt distant, a stark contrast to the numbness that enveloped you. The world moved on, oblivious to the turmoil within you.

No one understood what you felt. No one probably ever would. It wasn’t just the loss of a relationship; it was the loss of a dream, a shared future that had unraveled before your eyes. The quiet moments, the laughter, the unspoken promises. They were all gone, leaving behind an emptiness that you didn’t know how to fill.

You kept walking, the sounds of the city fading into the background, your mind a whirlwind of memories and emotions. The ache in your chest was a constant reminder of what once was, and what could never be again. But even in the midst of the pain, you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. Life was waiting, and somehow, you had to find a way to live it again.

The door to your apartment closed behind you with a soft click, but the silence inside felt deafening. You slipped off your shoes and let your bag fall to the floor, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. The familiar surroundings felt foreign now, as if the air itself had shifted, carrying the remnants of memories you weren’t ready to face.

You wandered through the small space, your eyes scanning the room aimlessly. You knew you should do something, anything to distract yourself. So you started cleaning, hoping the mundane task would occupy your mind. You wiped down the counters, straightened the cushions, and folded the laundry. But every movement felt mechanical, your thoughts drifting back to him.

Then you saw it—his jacket. Your mouth went agape at the sight of it. It hung innocuously by the door, just as it always had when he would visit your apartment. You didn’t know you still had it, from the move. You didn’t know the movers packed it too. He didn’t take it with him when he left the house.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. It was the same jacket he had worn countless times, the one that carried his scent, a mixture of cologne and something uniquely him. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers grazing the fabric.

The moment you touched it, the floodgates opened. The tears came fast and uncontrollable, pouring down your face as you clutched the jacket to your chest. You sank to the floor, the weight of your sorrow too much to bear.

The scent of him enveloped you, bringing back a rush of memories. His arms around you, his laugh, the way he would kiss your forehead when you were feeling down.

You cried for everything you had lost. For the love you had poured into a man who could never fully be yours. A man older, with a life that always seemed just out of reach. A man who cherished his independence, who was never truly tethered to you in the way you had hoped. You had given him your prettiest years, the best of yourself, only to be left with the pieces of a broken heart.

Tomorrow was the shoot, and you knew you had to pull yourself together. The contract was signed long before the breakup, back when you thought working together would be another way to share your dreams, your passions, your lives. Now, it was the weight pulling you into a reality you weren’t ready to face.

Tonight, the pain was too fresh, too overwhelming. How could you stop crying when every corner of your life was a reminder of him? When his presence still lingered in the smallest things, like a ghost haunting the spaces you once shared?

You stayed there, curled on the floor, clutching the jacket as the tears continued to fall. It wasn’t just about losing him. It was about losing the future you had imagined, the dreams you had built together.

And as the night stretched on, you let yourself grieve, knowing that somehow, you had to find the strength to face tomorrow. But for now, all you could do was cry.

══════════════════

MORNING ALWAYS DOES COME. And when it does, you try to make the effort to still stand on your own two toes. When the morning came, exhausted and numb, there you were facing the inevitable.

You bowed to everyone, greeting them with as much enthusiasm as you could muster. You smiled as though there was no problem at all. Chattered and sat there on the make–up chair like nothing had happened. As if there was nothing at all that shattered you to nothing.

The studio lights felt harsher than you remembered, their unforgiving brightness illuminating every inch of the set—and every crack in your heart. It was as if they knew, as if they were exposing the rawness inside you, the pain you had tried so hard to bury. The bustling crew moved around you, adjusting cameras, checking props, but their chatter seemed distant, muffled by the storm in your mind.

You couldn’t help but feel nervous, your hands trembling ever so slightly. It felt strange, almost surreal, like this was your first time stepping in front of the camera. You had done this a hundred times before, but today was different.

Today, you were a different person. The warmth of reassurance that once came from a simple touch, his hand brushing against yours, his quiet, steady presence—was gone. You were on your own now, and the weight of that reality pressed down on you like a heavy cloak.

You swallowed hard, the bile rising in your throat as the familiar sting of tears threatened to break free. Your muscles tensed, contorting as you fought the overwhelming urge to let go, to release the tears that had been building up inside you. But you didn’t. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t let yourself fall apart here, not now.

Not now, you repeat to yourself, a mantra you clung to with every ounce of strength you had left. You didn’t want it. You didn’t want the tears, the loneliness, the pain. You didn’t need it. You had told yourself this over and over again. You didn’t need to feel this, not here, not under the glaring scrutiny of the studio lights and the watchful eyes of everyone around you.

Your breaths came in shallow, shaky gulps as you forced yourself to focus, to channel everything into the character you were about to portray. The lines blurred between the role you played and the person you were, but you clung to that thin line of separation, hoping it would hold. This was your sanctuary, your escape. If you could just hold on a little longer, maybe the pain wouldn’t consume you.

You could do this, you told yourself.

You could survive this, you know you could.

It’s only for a few weeks of this misery.

But as you lifted your eyes, you saw him again.

And all that resolve dissolved almost instantly.

Fushiguro Toji stood across the room, talking to the director, his usual charm evident in the way his shoulders shook with laughter. The sound of it, rich and familiar, carried across the set, drawing the attention of those nearby. He looked relaxed, his posture loose, his smile easy. He seemed to be in happy spirits, more than the last time you saw him.

It was a sharp contrast to the last memory you had of him—tense, conflicted, the weight of your shared history etched into every line of his face. But now, he seemed lighter, as if the burden of your breakup had lifted from his shoulders. The sight of him like this stirred a mix of emotions within you. Jealousy, sadness, and an aching longing you tried to suppress.

You watched from a distance, your gaze lingering longer than you intended. It was painful, seeing him so carefree, as if nothing had changed, as if the past weeks hadn’t unraveled you both. But there he was, moving through the room with an ease that seemed effortless, while you struggled to keep your composure.

The director clapped him on the back, and Toji’s laugh echoed again, brighter this time. You quickly averted your eyes, pretending to busy yourself with your script, but the image of him remained imprinted in your mind. It was harder than you thought it would be, being in the same space, breathing the same air, while feeling worlds apart.

For a moment, you wondered if he had truly moved on, or if this was just a façade, a mask to hide whatever he might still be feeling. But you pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was surviving this day, this scene, and the countless others that would follow. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable interaction. You had to face him eventually.

The director’s voice cut through the low hum of the studio, calling for everyone to take their places. “Alright, let’s get started! Everyone, introduce yourselves before we begin.”

You took a deep breath, forcing your shoulders to relax as you stepped forward with the rest of the cast. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on your chest, but you reminded yourself to stay calm, to keep it together.

Your eyes, however, betrayed you, flickering towards Toji for the briefest second before you snapped them away, focusing instead on a point somewhere beyond him. You were a professional. You had done this countless times before. You had been through worse—or so you told yourself. You could do this. You had to do this.

As the introductions began, your turn loomed closer. Each name and face passed by in a blur until the spotlight shifted to you. You bowed to each and every one, smiling at them as best you could even though you couldn’t process it all just yet.

“Hello, nice to meet you all!” you said, introducing yourself. Your voice is steady despite the storm within. “It’s great to be working with everyone.”

Your words were polite, professional, and utterly detached. At least you notice it. But the others didn’t seem to. You could see the blur in all their smiles towards you, shining in a way you couldn’t recognize. You barely registered the murmured responses of the others, your focus pinned on keeping your composure. Then it was Toji’s turn.

He stepped forward, his presence commanding as always. “Fushiguro Toji.” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. There was a familiar warmth in his tone, one that made your heart clench. “Looking forward to working with all of you.”

His blue–green eyes flicked to you, just for a moment, but it was enough to send a ripple of tension through your body. You held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than you intended, before quickly looking away, pretending to be engrossed in the script in your hands.

The director clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Alright, let’s dive into it! Remember, the first scene is a heavy scene, so take your time and feel it out. Call for a cut any time you want to. So let’s start, like we rehearsed.”

You nodded at the director. Everyone moved to their places, and you found yourself standing just a few feet away from Toji. The air between you felt charged, the unspoken history hanging like a shadow over the set. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost cautious.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. “Yeah.” you murmured, your eyes fixed on the floor.

Toji hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but the director called for action, and just like that, you were thrust into the scene. The lines between fiction and reality blurred once again, and all you could do was hold on and hope you made it through without falling apart.

As the cameras rolled and the scene began, you pushed everything else aside, locking the pain away in a corner of your heart. The studio lights continued to shine, harsh and unrelenting, but you stood your ground. You didn’t need your tears. You didn’t need your loneliness. All you needed was to make it through this moment. And somehow, you would.

The first scene couldn’t have been more ironic if the universe had written it itself. A husband and wife, embroiled in a bitter argument, their marriage on the brink of collapse. Every word in the script seemed like a cruel reflection of your own reality. The dialogue cut too close, each line a dagger, the emotions too raw to ignore.

You had told yourself you could handle it, that you could compartmentalize the character’s turmoil from your own. But as the words spilled from your lips, it felt as if the character had seized control of your body, dragging all your buried feelings to the surface, laying them bare for everyone to see.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” you shouted, your voice cracking with the weight of suppressed emotion. The accusation wasn’t just a line; it was a scream from your heart. “You’re always so wrapped up in your own world! What about us? What about me?”

The tears that pricked your eyes weren’t from the script. They were your own, threatening to fall, the pain of the breakup echoing in every syllable. Across from you, Toji’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening as he stepped into his character. His voice, sharp and filled with a familiar bitterness, mirrored your own anguish.

“Don’t act like I’m the only one who made mistakes!” he shot back, his tone rising, the frustration palpable. “You think it’s easy, carrying the weight of everything? Maybe if you tried to understand instead of blame—”

“Understand?” you interrupted, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. The sting in your eyes blurred your vision, but you pressed on. “I’ve tried! I’ve given everything, and it’s never enough for you!”

The room felt electric, the tension between you both so thick it was as if the air itself might shatter under the weight of it. Each word hung in the air, resonating with a truth neither of you could ignore.

The director’s voice called out, “Cut! Let’s take a moment.”

The tension didn’t dissipate with the end of the scene. It lingered, heavy and suffocating, as if the raw emotions couldn’t be contained by the simple call for a break. You stood there, your chest heaving with the effort of keeping your tears at bay, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

Toji remained across from you, his jaw tight, his eyes still locked onto yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, as if frozen in the aftermath of the words that had been exchanged—not just between the characters, but between the two of you.

You stood frozen, your chest heaving as the emotions coursed through you. Toji turned to face you, his expression unreadable. You saw him take a step toward you, and panic clawed at your chest, but you forced yourself to stay put. Running away wouldn’t solve anything. You had to face this, face him.

“Hey.” Toji said softly, his voice gentler than it had been during the scene. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding even though your body betrayed you with a slight tremble. “Yeah. Just… caught me off guard, that’s all.”

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge how much of the scene was acting and how much was real. “It felt real.” he admitted, his tone cautious. “Too real.”

“Yeah.” You murmured, not looking at him. You didn’t want to. You didn’t know if you were prepared to just yet.

The tension between you and Toji was palpable, thick like fog, clouding every inch of the set. You stood there, heart pounding, as the reality of the situation settled deeper into your bones. This was not just a fleeting moment; this was going to be every day, side by side, pretending like everything was fine when it was far from it.

Toji shifted on his feet, his usual confidence seemingly faltering as he took in your guarded expression. “I didn’t think you’d come today.” he admitted, his voice lower, more vulnerable than you remembered. “Thought you’d call in sick.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I have a job to do.” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Besides….you showed up too.”

Silence befell the two of you after those words. You started fidgeting with your fingers, something you would do when you were nervous. As you feel your throat closed up, you purse your lips into a flat line. You thought it was time to walk away, to take your time away from him before the next take.

Finally, Toji broke the silence, stepping closer, his voice lower but no less intense. “It was just acting.” he said, his tone softer, almost vulnerable. “I’m sorry for my tone.”

You swallowed hard, your throat constricting. “So was I.” You whispered, your voice barely audible.

The tears you had been holding back now threatened to spill over, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him. Toji’s gaze grew softer as he looked at you, the anger from the take earlier melting into something more akin to sorrow. Something you think you were more familiar with.

“I didn’t want things to end that way.” He admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Can we not talk about it—”

“But I want to.” He tells you in his retort, abruptly cutting you off. “I need to. I want to fix everything.”

“You can’t fix everything. You should know that.” you replied, your words trembling as they left your lips. “I don’t know if I can ever forget that.”

He nodded slowly, his expression one of deep regret. “I know.”

Silence grew once more between the two of you.

You could feel the tears pricking your eyes harshly.

And you could tell that he was noticing as much as you.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again. “I’m glad you’re here….at least.” he said quietly, sincerity lacing his words. “I know it’s hard, but maybe… maybe we can find a way to make this work.”

You almost laughed, the irony of it all hitting you. “Make this work?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief. “You mean like how we were supposed to make us work?”

Toji winced, the pain in your words cutting through him. “I didn’t mean it like that, you know that.” he said softly. “Look, I….I know I hurt you. I know things didn’t go the way we wanted. But this project… it’s important to both of us. Can we at least try to be civil? For the sake of the work?”

You bit your lip, torn between the urge to lash out and the need to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Civil.” you echoed, testing the word on your tongue. “I guess we can try.”

He offered a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

A tense silence settled again before he spoke once more. “Look, I don’t want to make things harder than they already are. If you need space, I’ll give it to you. Just... don’t shut me out completely.”

Your heart ached at his words, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Space would be good.” you agreed, your voice firmer now. “Let’s just focus on the work. That’s all we need to do.”

Toji nodded, accepting your terms. “Okay. Work it is.”

The director called for everyone to reset for the next take, but the two of you remained locked in place, the world around you fading into the background. It was a moment of unspoken understanding, a shared pain that neither of you could fully articulate. As the crew moved around you, preparing for the next shot, Toji took a step back, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer.

“Let’s get through this.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that spoke of more than just the scene ahead. “We owe it to ourselves.”

You nodded, unable to speak, and turned away. Your assistant handed you the script once again and you found yourself trying to focus on the script in your hands. The show had to go on, but the lines between fiction and reality had never felt so blurred.

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, a mix of relief and sorrow washing over you. This was your new reality. It probably always will, when people like your chemistry together.

You are going to be stuck working side by side with the man who broke your heart. But as you watched him go, you realized something: you weren’t the same person you were before. You had been broken, yes, but you were also stronger now.

You knew that. And maybe, just maybe, that strength would see you through this. You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. The day had only just begun. But you were praying that he doesn’t look at you with that look in his eyes again.

══════════════════

DAYS ON SET BECAME A NEW STANDARD OF LIVING. You haven’t been sure you were used to it yet after a long time away, but you were sure about to get there. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself.

As the days turned into weeks, the rhythm of the shoot became oddly familiar. Early morning calls, practice for heavy scenes, dress rehearsal, the chaos of set preparation, and the god awful long night to morning shoots.

This was the relentless cycle of takes transformed into your new daily standard routine. You and Toji fell into an unspoken pattern between the two of you, though. But you had to be, if you wanted to keep your jobs. It was a strange thing to witness, if one was being honest. It took a lot of effort to memorize the dance. And every bit of that was equal parts effortless and exhausting.

On the surface, you were professionals—co-workers delivering lines, executing roles, keeping up appearances. Especially him, he was your senpai too. He was good at maintaining that mask on him more than you were.

But beneath the polished veneer, tension simmered, weaving itself into every glance, every exchange, every shared silence. You could tell just by looking at his eyes. No one else but you could do that, after all.

The studio became your shared battlefield, its walls echoing with unspoken words. You threw yourself into the work, burying raw emotions beneath layers of performance day after day.

But when the director yelled for the cut, you knew that the veil dropped most instantaneously. And that always leaves you vulnerable to the presence of the man who had once been your everything.

Fushiguro Toji was close enough to touch yet felt a world away from you. And you were certain that he felt the same way about you too. After all, you had a wall he couldn’t reach. You wouldn’t let him reach it. There was no way for him to know what to do with you.

But this doesn’t stop you from looking. Nor did it stop him from doing the same thing. You had noticed everything about him and what he does. It was obvious how hard it is to be exes on set. It was even harder when you were soulmates.

There was the slight hesitation in his laugh, the way his smile sometimes faltered at the edges. He was both familiar and foreign, a stranger wearing a face you had loved. Everything about him was something you knew and everything about him was something that was a mystery. It was a really intriguing thing. And that was the worst thing of all. You were intrigued about the man you loved and hated all at once.

Conversations were sparse at first, clinical and focused on the work. You both clung to professionalism like a lifeline, avoiding anything that might hint at the depth of your shared history. The lines were clear: scenes, blocking, timing, delivery. Anything beyond that was dangerous territory.

You were determined to keep things professional, to relegate your relationship to the sterile confines of work. But no matter how hard you tried, the walls you’d built between yourselves began to splinter under the weight of the unspoken.

The first crack came during a late-night shoot. The two of you stood under the harsh glow of the heavy set lights, running through lines while the crew adjusted the framing. Toji, leaning casually against a prop table, smirked at a mistake you made while stumbling over a particularly convoluted line.

“That’s the third time now.” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. There was a teasing edge to it, but it was softer than you remembered.

You shot him a sharp look. “Thanks for keeping count.” you replied, your tone clipped, though your lips twitched against your will.

His smirk widened, but there was no malice in it, just a faint warmth. “You’re welcome. I thought I’d help out since you seem… preoccupied.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing him off. “Preoccupied with carrying this scene, maybe.”

The banter was fleeting, but it lingered in the air long after the cameras rolled again. Once again, you did the best you could and continued to bring your spirits up. As the night progressed, the director started to feel a little bit more satisfied with one or two shots. And that had at least allowed you the hope of going to sleep soon.

Later, during one of the scene changes, you caught him watching you as you adjusted your new costume. He didn’t look away quickly enough, and your eyes met. For a moment, the distance between you felt less insurmountable, the years of hurt and silence shrinking into the space of a single glance. That glance was the longest moment of your life, you were sure.

“What?” you asked, a touch defensive, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, as if debating whether to respond, then shrugged. “Nothing. You just… remind me of something.”

You wanted to press him, to ask what he meant, but the vulnerability in his expression stopped you. His eyes, usually so guarded, were uncharacteristically soft, as if he was on the verge of saying something he couldn’t quite bring himself to voice.

Instead of pushing, you turned back to the mirror, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered, tracing the reflection of your face as though searching for something. It was recognition, understanding, forgiveness.

But then you caught yourself. The silence was becoming unbearable, the air between you thick with things neither of you dared to say. You cleared your throat, the sound breaking the tension like a sharp crack in the stillness.

“We should start rehearsing.” you said, your voice steady, though your heart was racing. “For the scene.”

For a moment, Toji didn’t respond. He seemed to weigh your words, as though deciding whether to challenge the sudden shift or let it go. Finally, he tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in quiet disbelief.

“...Are you comfortable doing that with me?” he asked, his tone careful, hesitant. It wasn’t the confident Toji you remembered, the one who always seemed so sure of himself, even when everything around him was chaotic. This was different—softer, almost unsure.

You hesitated, the question throwing you off balance. There was a part of you that wanted to lash out, to let him know how much his presence still affected you, how rehearsing with him wasn’t just work. But you swallowed it down, forcing yourself to focus on the here and now.

“Yeah, why not?” you replied, shrugging as though it didn’t matter. Your tone was light, almost dismissive, but the tension in your voice betrayed you.

Toji’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but not entirely neutral either. “Why not, huh….” he echoed softly, more to himself than to you. He took a step closer, crossing into your personal space but stopping just short of overstepping.

“Okay.” he said finally, his voice steady now, though his eyes still carried that flicker of something unresolved. “Let’s rehearse.”

You nodded, turning away from the mirror and moving toward the small table where the script sat. You busied yourself with flipping through the pages, anything to avoid looking at him directly. But you knew, you could feel it — he was looking at you and only you.

As you both settled into the familiar rhythm of line-reading, the tension between you didn’t fade entirely, but it softened, shaped by the shared focus on the work. There were moments, brief but poignant, where you caught glimpses of the man you had once known in the way he delivered a line or the way he watched you deliver yours.

Yet you knew when you said these things, you knew it would be bad. You knew they would hit too close to home, too personal. And that was what happened. When the two of you were finally shooting the emotional scene, it was more real than your practice and perhaps, that’s what fueled your acting.

The dialogue was heavy, charged with the kind of raw emotion that mirrored your real-life tension a little too closely. It was a confrontation scene this time around—a breaking point between two lovers teetering on the edge of collapse. As you delivered the lines you had practiced, the words felt too personal, too sharp, cutting into wounds that hadn’t fully healed. And you hated it.

“That’s all you ever do, isn’t it?” your character accused, the anger in your voice reverberating through the silent set. “You push people away the second they get too close. You think it’s easier to walk away than to face what you’ve done.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel every pair of eyes in the room on you, the weight of the moment pressing down like a vice. But your focus was on Toji.

He stood across from you, his character’s guilt written across his face, but there was something else there—something unspoken that made your chest tighten. Somehow, it was his real face. Somehow, it was his truest blossom of regret.

The director called for a break, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. The crew scattered, murmuring amongst themselves, but the energy in the room remained electric, charged with the kind of intensity that couldn’t simply be switched off.

You turned away quickly, grabbing a water bottle from the craft table. Your hands were trembling slightly, your pulse still racing. You focused on the coolness of the bottle against your skin, anything to ground yourself, to pull you out of the emotional spiral the scene had sent you into.

“You okay?” Toji’s voice came from behind you, quiet but insistent.

You stiffened, refusing to turn around. “I’m fine. Just… in the scene.”

“Right.” he said, but there was a note of skepticism in his voice. “You sure that’s all it is?”

Something in his tone made you snap. You spun around to face him, your eyes blazing. “Why? Do you think I’m talking about you?”

Toji’s jaw tightened, his posture rigid. For a moment, his mask of calm slipped, and the vulnerability beneath it was laid bare. “I don’t know.” he said, his voice low and even. “Are you?”

The question hung between you, the weight of it almost unbearable. His gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you standing there, raw and exposed.

“What if I was?” you shot back, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “Would it even matter?”

His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, neither of you willing to back down, yet both too afraid to fully engage. Before either of you could break the impasse, a crew member approached, clipboard in hand.

“We’re resetting for the next take.” they announced, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. “Five minutes.”

You tore your gaze away from Toji, nodding curtly at the crew member and quietly thanked them before turning on your heel and walking away. Your footsteps echoed in the cavernous studio, each one feeling heavier than the last.

As you retreated to the corner of the set, you could feel Toji’s eyes on you, his presence lingering like a ghost. Even as the crew busied themselves with preparations and the director barked instructions, the tension between you remained, an invisible thread pulling tauter with every passing moment.

You leaned against a prop, exhaling shakily, trying to center yourself. The scene was over, but the emotions it had stirred up were still thrumming through your veins. And as much as you tried to tell yourself otherwise, you knew this wasn’t just about the script. This was about the two of you—about all the things you’d left unsaid and all the wounds that still refused to heal.

══════════════════

YOU HADN’T READ THE NEXT PART OF THE SCRIPT YET. You had been too emotionally exhausted about what you had been doing for work that you had put off reading the script. Which was fine, you were able to memorize things easily when you see it long enough. That’s why you have this sort of career in the first place.

So the next morning, you arrived on set early with your manager. You greeted everyone as you were clutching your script tightly in your hands. Your manager quickly greeted everyone and went to you, before telling you that he’ll get you both coffee from the coffee truck. You nodded at her, telling her that you’ll just be sitting on the trailer.

It had become a habit, one you told yourself was about preparation — ‘it will work out’; but deep down you knew it was also a way to mentally brace yourself for whatever the day might bring. You have told yourself that phrase for years now, but perhaps, it didn’t hit as hard as it has now. Much more because you were working with the man you were in a relationship with for quite a lot of years.

Working with Fushiguro Toji was a constant balancing act, teetering on the edge of professionalism and the unresolved tension that hung between you like a storm cloud storming away with its raging thunder and its hurling battering rains. That was just what it was, when you were working with someone you still had unresolved issues with.

You settled into your usual corner, flipping through the script for the day’s scenes. You moved to take the pen from your bag, and started highlighting things you wanted to work on and things you wanted to ask for feedback from the director. As you skimmed the pages, your eyes caught on a block of stage directions that made your stomach drop. A part you hadn’t seen just yet.

Hiruka steps closer to Suzaku, their faces just barely inches apart. The tension between them is palpable, one that pushes them together like gravity and after a beat, they kiss.

Your mouth went agape at what you had just read. This was not what you expected. You clutched your heart, feeling how it skipped a beat. For a moment, you just stared at the words, as if doing so would somehow make them disappear. But they didn’t. The scene was there, in black and white, unavoidable.

"Everything okay?" a voice broke through your thoughts. One of the assistant directors, passing by with a clipboard, glanced at you with mild concern.

You forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Just going over the script.”

She nodded, already distracted by another crew member waving her down, and you exhaled slowly, your mind racing. You haven't kissed Toji since… well, since before everything had fallen apart.

The idea of doing it now, even in character, felt like reopening a wound you’d barely managed to scab over. Even though it had been six, seven months since the breakup, the thought still wasn’t something you had gotten used to. The memories of what had been lingered like a ghost, haunting the edges of your mind whenever you let your guard down.

But then again, no one knew you were dating. To everyone else, you were just friends. Friends and co-workers. That was the story they had always known, the one you had carefully curated and protected. It wasn’t their fault—they didn’t see the quiet moments shared off-set, the way his hand used to linger on yours, the stolen kisses behind closed doors, the whispered promises of something that had felt so certain at the time.

You… you weren’t ready to tell anyone. The idea of opening up that part of your life to the world had felt too vulnerable, too risky. So you had kept it quiet, only sharing the truth with a handful of people you trusted—close friends who had sworn to keep your secret. Back then, it had felt like the right choice, like something sacred and yours to guard.

Now, though, it felt like a double-edged sword. No one on set knew about the history between you and Toji, which meant no one understood how charged this scene truly was. They didn’t know how much it would take to get through it without letting the weight of the past seep into every glance, every word, every touch. To them, it was just another part of the job.

But to you? To you, it was a reckoning.

You rubbed your temples, trying to shake the thought away, but it clung to you stubbornly. You were here to work, to act, to tell a story. You had gotten through every other scene with Toji, no matter how tense or emotionally taxing it had been. You could get through this one too.

Couldn’t you?

Your internal spiral was interrupted when Fushiguro Toji walked onto the set, his usual calm demeanor in place. He spotted you almost immediately and gave a slight nod in greeting, but his expression shifted when he noticed the look on your face.

“Something wrong?” he asked as he approached, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You hesitated, holding up the script instead of answering. “Have you read today’s scenes?”

He frowned slightly, taking the script from your hand and flipping through it. You watched his blue–green eyes scan the page one after another, his expression shifting from neutral to surprised and then to something you couldn’t quite place.

“Oh.” he said simply, his voice unreadable.

“Yeah.” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh.”

Toji closed the script, handing it back to you. “Well….” he began, his tone measured. “It’s part of the job, right?”

His casual response made your irritation flare. “Don’t act like this is nothing.” you shot back, keeping your voice low but firm. “You know it’s not. Not with us.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying it’s nothing. I’m saying we’ve done this before. We’re professionals for a reason. We’ll handle it.”

The word professionals felt like a jab, as if he was reminding you that whatever was between you didn’t matter anymore. You opened your mouth to argue but stopped yourself, biting back the words. Instead, you took a step back, putting more space between you.

“I just... wasn’t expecting it.” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I guess I should do more reading on the script before I say yes. But then again, we were together before this. I would have thought differently if we were….”

You stopped yourself from saying anything. You sighed as you took the script back from him, not looking at him. You fumble through the script once again, stopping at where you were reading earlier. For a moment, Toji didn’t respond. He simply watched you, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded.

“Neither was I. But maybe it’s a good thing.”

You frowned. “How could this possibly be a good thing?”

“Because….” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “If we can get through this, we can get through anything else this job throws at us.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond to him whatsoever. There was a sincerity in his tone that caught you off guard, a reminder of the man you used to know, a man you once loved—the one who could somehow say the exact thing you needed to hear, even when you didn’t want to hear it.

“Let’s just get it over with.” you muttered finally, turning away to avoid meeting his gaze. You hoped the words would end the conversation, but Toji, ever persistent, wasn’t ready to let it drop. “As soon as possible.”

“Are we going to rehearse—”

“We are not going to rehearse kissing.” you interrupted sharply, spinning back toward him with a pointed glare before he could finish the thought.

He blinked, momentarily startled by your tone, then raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. No rehearsing. he said, his voice calm but edged with a hint of amusement. “I wasn’t going to push it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, still skeptical. “I mean it. We know how to kiss for work. It’s technical, not personal. We’ll hit our marks, make it look convincing, and that’s it.”

“Got it.” he replied, his tone unreadable. But the faint twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, and it made your chest tighten with a mix of irritation and something far more complicated.

“I’m serious, Toji.” you added, folding your arms across your chest. “This doesn’t have to be a thing. Let’s just focus on the scene and move on.”

He tilted his head, his gaze softening just slightly. “I know. I’m not trying to make it a thing, I promise.” he said quietly. “But it’s not like we can pretend it doesn’t feel... different.”

You froze, his words hitting you harder than you expected. Different. Of course, it felt different. How could it not? You had kissed him before, really kissed him. Many countless times in another life, when things had been simpler, when you weren’t standing on opposite sides of an invisible wall you’d both helped build.

But you couldn’t let yourself dwell on that now. Shaking your head, you turned back toward the set. “It doesn’t matter.” you said, more to yourself than to him. “It’s just a scene, Toji. That’s all it is.”

You didn’t wait for his response as you walked away, but you felt the weight of his gaze on your back, heavy and lingering. And as much as you tried to push it down, you couldn’t shake the sense that, for Toji, it might not be just a scene after all. You looked for your manager.

You needed to get that coffee from her as soon as possible.

And perhaps, a donut. You need enough sugar to get through the day.

And so you let hours pass by, trying to get the idea of the kiss off your mind. You were not going to think about it until you had to. That’s what you tell yourself. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

How will it happen? How will you end up lasting with how he would touch you? How could you keep this professional? You shook your head. You hated how much you were getting too into this.

When you finally make it off to set once again, you find yourself overwhelmed already. After going through the worst of thoughts while on the makeup chair, you couldn’t help but feel even worse here.

The set was quiet as the crew adjusted the lights and cameras for the upcoming scene. You stood off to the side, arms crossed, your script clutched tightly in one hand. The weight of what was about to happen pressed on you like a physical force, making it hard to breathe.

Toji was across the room, leaning casually against a prop table as the makeup artist gave him a last touch-up. He looked calm. Too calm, like this was just another day, another scene. Like there was nothing to freak out about. It irritated you. How could he be so composed when every nerve in your body felt like it was on edge?

Soon enough, the director called for everyone to take their places. You moved to your mark, heart pounding. Fushiguro Toji approached, his steps measured, his expression unreadable. The tension between you thickened as the cameras rolled into position, and the director gave the signal to begin.

The scene started smoothly enough. The dialogue flowed naturally, your voices blending together in a rhythm you had mastered over weeks of working together. But as the emotional intensity of the scene built, you felt the lines between acting and reality begin to blur.

“That’s all you ever do, isn’t it?” you said, your voice trembling with both your character’s anger and something far more personal. “You push people away the second they get too close. You think it’s easier to walk away than to face what you’ve done.”

Toji stepped closer, his character’s frustration mirroring something unspoken in his own eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” he shot back, his voice low, dangerous. “You don’t know what it’s like to carry this kind of weight.”

“I don’t know?” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know, because I was there. I was always there.”

The director hadn’t called the cut, so you kept going, even though your hands were trembling and your breath was coming faster than it should have been. Toji’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might break character. But then he stepped even closer, closing the gap between you.

And then it happened as naturally as breathing —the kiss.

It started the way it was supposed to, his hands lightly brushing against your arms as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours with the perfect mix of tension and tenderness. But as the seconds ticked by, something shifted. The scene was supposed to end with a brief, restrained kiss. I twas just enough to convey the characters’ unresolved feelings. But Toji didn’t pull back, and neither did you.

Instead, the kiss deepened even more, the intensity between you igniting like a spark meeting gasoline. Fire blossoming in the spark of that gasoline, over and over as you both push and pull.

His hand moved to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in a way that felt far too familiar, far too real. Your hands, which were meant to stay at your sides, found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if you were anchoring yourself to him.

The room around you faded from your reality. The set, the cameras, the crew—it all disappeared as the kiss pulled you under, dredging up emotions you thought you’d buried. Pain, longing, regret. All of it crashed over you in an overwhelming wave, pushing and pulling you towards him.

“Cut!” the director finally called, his voice sharp enough to break through the haze.

You and Toji finally let loose and separated abruptly, both of you breathing hard. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the equipment and the muffled sounds of crew members shuffling around. No one said anything, but the charged atmosphere was impossible to ignore.

The director, who had been watching the monitors intently, clapped his hands together. “That was… intense.” he said, nodding approvingly. “Let’s reset and do one more take.”

You couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze, least of all Toji’s, as you stepped back to your mark. Your lips still tingled, and your heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of your chest. As the crew moved around you, resetting for the next take,

Toji leaned in close, his voice low so only you could hear. “You okay?”

You nodded stiffly, refusing to look at him. “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t. And as you prepared to shoot the scene again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had just happened wasn’t just acting—it was something far more dangerous. Many things were pushing through your mind over and over again. Things you shouldn’t think about. People you shouldn’t think about.

You touch your lips, before stopping and closing your eyes to take a breath. Toji was still looking at you, as though trying to make sure you were alright. But you couldn’t be coherent, you couldn’t think straight. Not when his lips tasted like forbidden fruit, from paradise, from heaven.

The moment the director called for another take, you felt your chest constrict. You couldn’t do it again—not right away, not with how raw everything felt. Your hands were trembling, your head spinning, and your heart still hadn’t slowed from the intensity of the scene—or the kiss.

“I need a break, director.” you muttered, barely audible, before turning and walking off set without waiting for a response. “Please….I…”

You started to move before you could register it. You ignored the crew members and assistants milling about, their curious glances following you as you navigated through the maze of equipment and props.

You didn’t stop until you found a quiet corner near the back of the lot, where the noise of the set faded into a distant hum. Leaning against a wall, you exhaled shakily, pressing your hands against your temples as you tried to steady yourself.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt his presence before he spoke.

“Hey.” Toji’s voice was soft but steady, cutting through the silence.

You stiffened, not turning around. “I just need a minute.”

“I know that.” he replied, his tone careful, as though he were trying not to spook you. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You scoffed, your laugh bitter and hollow. “Why do you care if I’m okay?”

His footsteps grew closer until he was standing just a few feet away. “Because I do.” he said simply. “I always have. You know that.”

You spun around to face him, your frustration bubbling over. “You don’t get to do that, Toji. You don’t get to pretend like everything’s fine, like you care, after everything—”

“I’m not pretending!” he interrupted, his voice rising just enough to cut you off. His jaw was tight, his expression pained. “You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted any of this to happen?”

“You walked away, Toji.” you shot back, your voice shaking. “You made your choice. And now you’re acting like—like—”

“Like what?” he challenged, stepping closer. “Like I regret it? Because I do. I regret everything, alright? But I can’t change the past. I can’t undo what I did. All I can do is try to…” He trailed off, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Try to do what?” you demanded, your own anger simmering beneath the surface. “Make yourself feel better? Redeem yourself? Because that’s not how it works, Toji. You don’t just get to show up and act like we can fix this with one stupid kiss!”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” he said, his voice softening, though the intensity in his eyes didn’t waver. “I just… I miss you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to look away from him, but you can’t. How could you, when he was looking at you like that? Like he still sees you to be the only one for him. Like he still loves you most in this world.

“Toji…” you started, but your voice cracked, and you couldn’t finish the sentence.

His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression torn. “Tell me to stop.” he murmured, taking another step forward. “If you don’t want this, just say the word, and I’ll walk away.”

You wanted to say it. No, you wanted to scream at him. You wanted to push him away and shove him and be angry with him, to tell him that you were done, that the past was the past and there was no going back. That you do not love him anymore. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, when he closed the distance between you, cupping your face with his hands, you didn’t pull away. His lips found yours, and the kiss was nothing like the one on set. It was desperate and unguarded, filled with all the things neither of you had been able to say.

Your hands clung to the fabric of his shirt, almost as if you needed the physical contact to ground yourself. The kiss deepened as your body pressed against his, the tension between you both crackling in the space that had once been filled with affection and now was choked with pain and unresolved emotion. His lips were insistent, hungry in a way that told you just how long he had been holding this back. The rawness of it, the desperation, sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands moved to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair as if he were afraid you’d slip away again. When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, both of you stood there, forehead to forehead, your breaths heavy and unsteady. The world around you was a distant blur, and all that mattered was the way his chest rose and fell against yours.

The silence was suffocating, yet neither of you moved to speak. You couldn’t find the words, couldn’t find the strength to pull away from him again. He, too, seemed frozen in the moment, as if this brief touch of something real had left him equally shaken. But then, before you could fully collect yourself, he pulled you even closer. His body heat, his scent, enveloping you in the tight space between you.

Your eyes met once more. This time, there was no confusion, no uncertainty. The vulnerability in his gaze mirrored your own, and for just a heartbeat, you both let the walls crumble just enough to see each other for what you were—people who had been broken, but still searching for something to hold on to.

And then, his lips were on yours again, more forceful this time, as though he couldn’t hold back any longer, as though the weight of everything between you was too much to bear in silence. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

The emotions inside you were tangled, each one vying for dominance. Hurt, longing, anger, and something deeper. A desperate need to feel something other than the emptiness that had been haunting you both for months.

His hands slid lower, tracing the line of your back, and you gasped against his mouth as your body pressed into his more firmly. It felt dangerous, reckless, but in that moment, you didn’t care. There was something that felt like freedom in this chaotic, emotional storm that you both had been trying so hard to avoid.

But it wasn’t just about the kiss. It was about everything that led to this point. The unfinished conversations, the words you both kept swallowing, the feelings you couldn’t express. His lips softened against yours for just a moment before he pulled back slightly, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t know how to fix this.” he murmured, his voice rough, laden with frustration. "But I need you to know... I never stopped caring."

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat ringing in your ears. You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. "Then why did you leave?" you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady.

His eyes darkened, his face tightening with regret. “Because I was scared,” he said, the words slow, deliberate. “I thought I could push it all down, but it just… it just made everything worse.”

You could feel his hands trembling against your back, his words raw with honesty. And for a moment, you let the weight of that honesty sink in.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you fought the lump in your throat. “But I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

Toji’s thumb brushed over your cheek, and you could feel the conflict in him—he wanted to comfort you, to make things right, but you both knew there were no easy fixes, no simple words that could undo the damage done.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice full of sorrow. “I know, but I’ll be here. I’ll be here until you decide if you want to give me a chance to make it right.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as you rested your forehead against his, the exhaustion of the emotional rollercoaster threatening to overtake you. You weren’t sure what this meant, what the future held, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to feel it.

The rawness, the tension, the connection. The kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was a fragile promise, a silent acknowledgment that, despite everything, there was still something worth fighting for between you.

But you both knew that this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning of something uncertain, something that would require more than a kiss to fix. But for now, you didn’t need answers. You just needed this. This seesaw game.

The more you were on this seesaw, the more you got to him. The more he’s here with you, locked in this cage of your own toxic desires. His touch, his presence, and the understanding that, for the first time in a long while, maybe you weren’t as alone as you thought.

“This doesn’t change anything.” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“I know.” he said softly. “But it doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the rush of emotions flooding through you, but it was no use. Whatever had just happened, whatever this was. It wasn’t over. And you weren’t sure if that terrified you or gave you hope. Because it means you were no better. Your resolve crumbled so easily. How could you, when it was him?

“We have to go back to the set.” You whispered to him.

“Let them wait.” He whispers back to you, his breath hot against you.

That’s how you ended up back in his trailer, under him just like you had been six months ago. You had all but abandoned everything outside the door. From your mic packs left on that corner wall a few meters away, to the costume clothes left on the fridges of the trailer door.

Your lips echoed loud moaning ripples that could embarrass you had you cared enough for it at that moment. But you didn’t. All you cared about was the pleasure of being underneath him, being choked by his figure pressed against you as you squirm over and over again with the breath you didn’t have against his firm grasp.

All you could do was wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to where the sweat and the drool mixed onto you over and over again. With every tug to pull him closer, you found yourself being pummeled with his member deeper over and over again — taking away the dry spell that had kept your resolve for the past six months.

You could feel him burn you inside, searing you whole with the sheer size of him, taking over every inch of your crevices as though it belonged there. As though all of you were made for all of him.

You couldn’t help but release another moan, feeling your insides close against him, as your inner thighs quivered against the side of his waist repeatedly. The force of his thrusts were so strong that you were sure the bed was going to break.

His fingerprints were being engraved against your thighs with the way he pushes against your flesh, keeping you intertwined in this vicious downfall with him. Toji couldn’t help but laugh as he pressed closer against your body, the build of his cock sliding through your tummy and he could feel it. He felt proud of it. No one knew how to make you feel this electrifying feeling of being alive the way he could. No one else. And you knew that too well.

Calluses started to form on your reddening skin, pelted with golden sweat as he pulled in and out of you with the speed of a thunderstrike. One moment he’s into the point you could feel him down your throat choking and the next, it felt like you were freed from the vestiges of being full of everything heavy, only to feel so empty that you long for him to choke you whole with his cock.

And he does. Repeatedly. Over and over again, until you are on the verge of tears you know you shed because of the pleasure you succumb to, to your shame. To your love, to your desires. To him. No, for him.

Because you knew, no one else can love you like this. No one else can make a mess of you like this. No one else can make you feel so whole and broken all at once that it breaks you into many pieces.

You found yourself clawing at his back, successive moans with your breaking tone sounding like music to his ears. He hums in acceptance of the pain, trying to keep his composure as your nails bring blood streaming down his back. You move slowly to bite his shoulder, deep and whole and raw. You find him grunting slowly at the pain of it. You dug so deep that you knew you also drew blood there too.

You find him accepting it knowing that this is your love. This is the love that you have for him. And it will never change anymore. You wanted to love him and love him to the point he hurts. You want him to hurt. You want him to cry. You want him to bleed. Because how dare he make love to you, knowing you didn’t want to be hurt by loving him?

“I hate you.” You cry to him, his blood metallic in your tongue. You cry again, in between your incoherent moans. “I hate you more than anything in the world.”

“I love you.” He whispers to you over and over again, digging deeper into you that he has carved a home in you. “I love you. More than anything. More than life itself.”

You cry at his words. Because you knew they were true. You knew that he does love you. And yet you don’t want to be with him. You don’t want to let him back in. But he is here, with you. He is you, in you. He was everything that encompasses you. He was your first love. He was your first everything. And you can’t take it back. You can’t unlove him, even for your own good. Not even if the heavens wanted you to.

Toji couldn’t help but snarl as he pushes deeper and deeper, his sound animalistic and raw. He was close. You know this too well, once he stops talking. He devotes himself to the task. He pushes through over and over, the beckoning of his thrusts growing more erratic as he nears his peak.

But you knew him too well. He never comes inside of you without making sure you get your fill first. His long fingers reach down to where you're joined, finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles that send jolts of electricity shooting up your spine.

“T–toji!” You cry out loud, arching deeper into his touch as the pleasure coiling on your belly echoing over and over. You could feel his fingers work you perfectly, expertly as he pushes through over and over as he pushes his masterful fingers and his thrusting hips. “I….I’m….I’m close!”

"That's it, baby. Come for me too." he coaxes, his voice a low rasp in your ear. "Let me feel this pretty pussy squeeze the cum out of me."

He only gets this way when he finds himself close, his words disappearing into the reality of pleasure with you. You push against him, throwing your head back against the pillows. You shatter with a keening moan, your walls clamping down around Toji’s shaft as ecstasy crashes over you in waves.

He follows moments later with a guttural groan, pumping you full of his hot seed. You were shaking as you cling to him tightly, mewling softly against his shoulder blades. You could feel his body heavier against you as you both rode out the aftershocks, still gasping and twitching with the intensity of your shared climax.

As the fog of passion clears, you slowly come back to yourself, awareness returning in increments. You purse your lips as he presses kisses against your neck and then your jaw and then your cheeks. The warmth of his seed seeping off you as your hands loosen their hold on his body.

“We can’t do this again.” You whisper to him exhaustedly.

“I know.” He whispers back to you, his eyes shot with the look of love. Or was it lust? You could not tell. “I know.”

But you knew you were both lying to yourselves.

He was going to come back again and again.

And you would let him in, just as you had now.

══════════════════

YOU HAD SAID YOU DIDN’T WANT TO PARTICIPATE IN ANY PRESS TOURS. It had taken a while before you had even budged to the demands of the director. But you knew that you couldn’t admit that to be a resolve without the act. All Toji had to do was ask you, in his own way and you knew you would say yes. And you hated that it was the case.

As the lights of the red carpet flickered around you, you smiled, the cameras flashing as you and Fushiguro Toji posed side by side. His presence, tall and imposing, was the perfect foil to your poised elegance, but inside, you felt something altogether different. It was truly a quiet storm of conflicting emotions that you could barely contain.

The interviewer, enthusiastic and bright-eyed, approached you both with a microphone. “You two are the talk of the town! After months of speculation, you’ve finally confirmed your relationship with that press announcement. How does it feel to have it all out in the open?”

You met the interviewer’s gaze, your smile steady, though you could feel the weight of the question pressing against your chest. You exchanged a brief glance with Toji, his expression unreadable. He gave a small nod, as if reassuring you to continue, but you knew the truth—there was nothing to reassure, nothing to calm.

“We’re happy to finally share our truth, really.” you said, your voice smooth, practiced, like you were reading from a script. "It's been an incredible journey, and we're excited for what's next, both in our professional and personal lives."

The interviewer’s smile widened, practically giddy with excitement. “It’s clear that you two are truly in love! Your chemistry on and off-screen is undeniable. Toji, how does it feel to have such an amazing partner by your side?”

Toji’s lips quivered into a half-smile, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “It feels like a new chapter, honestly. I’ve always admired her strength, her talent. She’s someone who challenges me, changes me, in ways I didn’t expect. I think that’s what makes it work.”

The words were kind, but you heard the undertone. You knew what it was. It was the unspoken acknowledgment of the past. The past you’d both tried to bury under layers of public appearances, press releases, and carefully crafted smiles. The past you had come to hate with all your hatred.

What had started as something deeply painful had morphed into something else entirely, something you didn’t quite understand but couldn’t escape. This was a gilded cage that you had allowed him to trap you in.

One that you couldn’t escape. That’s why you were here, standing next to him, because you couldn’t tear yourself away. You couldn’t fly away. Even when you hated him. Even when you knew better.

You felt the interviewer’s eyes shift back to you, awaiting a response, her curiosity piqued. "And for you, how does it feel to have him by your side now, after everything you've been through?"

Your chest tightened. The words to explain your truth were there, just beneath the surface, but they never quite made it to your lips. You gave another practiced smile, masking the turmoil that churned inside you.

"It’s complicated, yeah." you said carefully, choosing your words with precision. "We’ve both had our struggles, but that’s part of growth. That’s a lot of work, to make it all go smoothly. We’ve learned a lot from each other. And we’re both better for it."

The words hung in the air, a soft veil of politeness that couldn’t hide the undercurrent of something darker. The toxic bond, the cycle of love and hate, of pain and yearning. You hated that you were still here. You hated that you could never quite leave him, no matter how much you should. And yet, there was no escaping the pull. Not now. Not after everything.

The interviewer beamed, satisfied with your answer, but all you could do was nod politely, your gaze flickering to Toji again. The smile he gave you was the same one you had seen countless times before, the one that made your heart ache, the one that made you question everything about who you were, about who you were becoming.

You knew you should’ve been stronger. You knew you should’ve walked away a long time ago. But here you were, caught in the web you had spun and truly hated it. You hated him, but you still stayed. You knew, deep down, that this was your reality now.

Your love for him would never be pure. It would never be something that anyone deserves to have. It was not worth living a life of destitution and desperation. And yet, it was what you had. It would never be easy, it would never be anything other than toxic.. It would always be tangled up in mistakes, in forgiveness, in betrayal, in passion.

And so you stayed.

Because even if he would hurt you, even if you would hurt him, this was the life you had chosen. You had crossed that line long ago, and now, there was no going back. There was no way to escape the chaotic love you shared. It would make you happy. It would make you miserable. It would always be the same, because it had always been this way, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

For better or for worse.

For the horrid to the frigid.

You both were toxic till the end.

The moment you stepped inside the theater, the noise of the red carpet event faded into a dull hum, replaced by the quiet buzz of the room. The lights overhead gleamed off the polished surfaces, casting long shadows over the seats where the audience had yet to arrive.

Fushiguro Toji walked beside you, his presence commanding and strong, but the usual ease between you felt heavier now, charged with a tension neither of you had addressed since the interview. Since you were now a couple in the public hemisphere. And he was too aware of it all.

As you made your way toward the dressing room, you felt the weight of his blue–green gaze on you, sharp and searching, as if he was trying to decipher something in your posture, in the way you carried yourself. You ignored it, pretending to focus on the steps ahead, the noise of your heels clicking against the floor, the rhythm of your breath.

When you reached the door, you paused for a moment, the cold handle beneath your fingers reminding you of the distance that had always existed between you and Toji, even when you were close, even when you thought you understood each other. Even when you were now stuck in this disturbed romance.

The room was empty except for the faint scent of makeup and old costumes, a reminder of the countless times you’d shared similar spaces before everything had unraveled. Toji followed you inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His footsteps were quieter now, the usual swagger in his walk subdued, but his presence still loomed larger than life.

You didn’t turn to face him immediately, choosing instead to adjust your dress in front of the mirror. The reflection staring back at you seemed almost foreign—perfectly poised, with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Not fully. And you didn’t know when that would ever happen again.

“You okay?” Toji’s voice was low, cautious, as though he wasn’t sure whether to press you or give you space.

You met his gaze in the mirror, seeing the uncertainty there. It made something inside you tighten, but you refused to show it. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” you said, though the words felt empty as they left your mouth. “It’s just... another night, another show.”

Toji stepped closer, his reflection merging with yours in the glass. “You don’t have to pretend, you know.” he said softly, his tone edging with a familiar vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “You don’t have to say everything’s fine when it’s not, babe.”

For a moment, you thought you might turn to him, reach out for him, let the rawness of it all spill over. But then you remembered the cameras, the words you’d both spoken on the carpet. The image you were meant to present. The lies you’d wrapped yourselves in, hoping no one would see the truth beneath.

“I’m not pretending.” you replied, a little too quickly. You broke your gaze with the mirror and turned to face him now, your eyes narrowing as if daring him to say something more. “What’s the point? Everyone’s watching, Toji. Everyone’s waiting to see if we’re going to fall apart, if we’re going to crack under the weight of it all. So why give them the satisfaction?”

Toji didn’t flinch at your sharp words. Instead, he took a step closer, his eyes softening, his voice quieter. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending too. Maybe I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

You shook your head, stepping back from him, though your heart thundered in your chest. “It’s too late for that. It’s too late for us, for anything real. We’ve already made our choices, Toji. This….whatever this is—this is just for show. This is what we have now. This is what we’re stuck with. And you know what the root cause was.”

For a brief moment, silence hung in the air, thick and oppressive, before Toji took a step forward, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your wrist, stopping you from retreating further. His touch was steady, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes, something that you could feel without needing to see it.

“I don’t want to lose you.” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you. I know I did, but I swear, I’m trying to fix it. I’m trying to fix us.”

You looked at his hand on your wrist, the heat of it seeping into your skin, and for a moment, you wondered if you could believe him. But then reality crashed back in, the weight of everything you’d been through. His betrayal, your own resentment, the lies you told yourselves about what you were.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again, Toji.” you whispered, your voice shaky, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to be before. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

He watches as you halted, taking a moment to gather yourself. Before you looked at him again. “But god, we are just miserable with and without each other. Nothing changes. And yet here we are.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if pleading for you to see something, anything, in him that might make a difference. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can earn that trust back. If you’ll let me.”

The words hung in the air, suspended between you, as the unspoken tension between you both remained unresolved. There was a part of you that wanted to believe him, that wanted to give in, to fall into the comfort of what you once had. But there was another part of you, the part that had learned from the mistakes, the hurt, that knew better.

“I don’t know.” you said quietly, pulling your wrist free from his grasp. “But I’m not the person I was before, and neither are you. So maybe we just need to accept that.”

Toji’s eyes dropped for a moment, the weight of your words clearly sinking in. He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to change your mind. Instead, he nodded, as if acknowledging the truth you both shared, no matter how painful it was.

“I don’t want to lose you.” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

But this time, there was no more fight left in you to give.

The words hung between you both, unresolved.

And for the first time, you wondered if you ever could let him go.

You wondered if you both would ever be free from each other.

Yet you knew that was wishful thinking, you knew that was a dream.

“You don’t have to worry.” You whispered back to him. “I’m not going anywhere….But you already knew that. Didn’t you?”

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