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auragasmics · 5 months ago

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HIS PATIENCE IS MY VIRTUE!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ synopsis! with work piling up and stress reaching its boiling point, Nanami needs a break. And when his pretty assistant suggests a trip up to Kyoto for the hot springs, he’s taking the chance to spoil you, love you, and turn his 3-year spout of patience into your virtue!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ pairings! assistant!fem!reader x sex therapist!nanami kento

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ cw! 17.3k, pwp, age gap (reader is 26, nanami is 28), use of petnames, use of alcohol, splashes of fluff, (if you squint), solo play (male), voice kink, features a conversation with gojo satoru, cumshot,, handjob, oral(f.receiving), hand job, p in v, unprotected, sensation play(heavy), biting, doggystyle, prone bone, cowgirl, slow sex, needy!nanami, Nanami has a sir kink, implied aftercare

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ xoxo, chris! yessss it’s done! 17.3k of filth and it’s all dedicated to my man! thanks to my lovely friend and beta-reader @n3vr-f0und ! this could not have been possible without you! this goes out to all the nanami girlies, i love our man!

tags: @lalunanymph @4-leafed

He’s asleep again.

Through the slivered crack of his office, your eyes dwell upon Nanami’s slumbering form, casted beneath the glowing embers of daylight. He relied on his folded arms for a makeshift pillow, uncaring of the tousled golden strands of hair that lay waste about the top of the waxy oak desk.

He’s definitely sleeping—and has been for a while.

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh, the breath fueled by concern. You could’ve warned him every morning at the start of the workday and every night right before rush hour began, during rush hour, but he never listened.

For the three years you’ve been under his employment, there was always a single trend that never seems to hint at change: Nanami never knows what exhaustion is until he’s caught in its grasp with heavy eyelids and a slack jaw of yawns.

And there’s one extra detail you know about Nanami is that he hates working overtime—but does it anyway.

Originally when you first joined his side, you thought the job of a sex therapist was an easier task than most; he’d have an easy job; listening and finding a solution for others. After just one day of work with him, such a brazen thought was put to rest. Since that day, you’ve rewritten a new script in your mind, one free of judgment and assumption, because in turn, the job of a sex therapist was not easy.

And for a sex therapist like Nanami who lacked compassion for himself, empathy and compassion for his clients claimed all his time. His days were spent in appointments and his nights were spent in books, nose-deep in pages of delegated knowledge searching for a solution. That was the role Nanami took on, the role of being a compassionate problem solver.

Compassion comes at a price, and his compassion costs him every ounce of his livelihood. Taking on a role that would reap no inherent benefits meant Nanami was always giving from an empty cup, using his blood, sweat, and tears to refill every drop he’d given away.

He rebukes his efforts, truly. Yet, such innate dislike had never once interfered with his determination.

It’s written all over his face once he’s done with a meeting, it’s draining work. It drains him of all his physical, emotional, and psychological energy, but he still wears a smile as a mask in time for the next session.

If eyes can tell a story, then Nanami’s oak brown hues scream out a soliloquy that falls on deaf ears. Inside bleeds out and his story tells of a man who wishes to give up his life for the mundane. To spend his days basking beneath the sun, using the purest white sands as a mattress for his dream life.

Such a shame that the man’s only wish has yet come to pass.

For now, he’s come to terms with it, filling the pit of ever-growing resentment with work.

It’s exactly why he’d be in and out of meetings with clients, spending late nights on the phone. Some days you even come into work to find him asleep in his office with papers scattered about his desk.

His philosophy was simple, if he couldn’t enjoy the deepest desire to the fullest, the least he could do was help those struggling with the same reality.

But as you watch him from the sidelines, a question plaques your mind: when will it end?

It’s redundant, but the question puzzles you every day. It rules over your mind even now as you scan over his sleeping figure. Standing along the door’s trim, you couldn’t help but admire how precious Nanami appears under such temperate conditions.

Quiet steps deliver you just inches from him, granting you to play the role of a jury to a trial of a self-committed crime.

Yet, the criminal in question glows beneath the ebbing light, his skin drinking in the rich hues of pink, gold, orange, and purple. His uniform binds him to his crime, his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his black slacks melding within his leather seat.

Though he committed a crime, there’s one detail that turns this prisoner into a charmer; and that’s the way he wears sleeps. The heft of his slumber can be narrowed to a point, down to his pursed lips, such pink velvety plush begging for a kiss of life.

Pity stains your heart like ink to a scroll, and it’s bleeding through in a passing heat. No fiber in your being could allow you to leave him alone, not when nothing but four lonesome walls and pestering neighbors await you.

Pity carries a weight over its residents, and you were no different. It’s because of how heavy pity is that your hand breaks away from your side, reaching out to curl a loose lock of blonde strands around your finger. Even his hair’s soft, lacing around your skin like the finest silk. Now that you've captured a clearer picture of him, you can’t help softening your gaze over Nanami.

Was Nanami always this attractive? Even in his sleep, he possesses skills to lure you into a trance. Such smooth fair skin, a sculpted jaw clenched in sleep, his cheekbones perched high, and the dark rings beneath his eyes add a shameful appeal to him.

Trailing along his form, you’re stuck at how the burly swell of his arms tests his white dress shirt, the cotton fabric choking at the seams. His shirt just barely hides his broad shoulders, carrying the careful cuts of muscle that rise with every breath he takes.

“If only you would share your stress with me, Nanami,” the words whispered out into the tepid air.

Your hand falls from his distressed bed of hair, the back of your hand dusting past the fishnet stockings beneath your red cocktail dress. The time’s come to wake him up….and hope that he’s as docile as ever.

A deep breath takes you far, your hand resting along his shoulder. It’s rigid, thick muscles that refuse to conform to your touch. The lump in your throat bloats up and you ease his shoulder to rock beneath your hand.

“...Nanami…Nanami, sir…,” you coo, “You’ve gotta wake up. I’m sure this desk isn’t as comfy as your bed.”

A low grumble acts as a response, Nanami shuffling about his makeshift pillow. His hands hide beneath his cheek, his laxed palms curling up into loose fists as he struggles to sit up.

As a courtesy—or more so out of nervousness; you step away from him with your hands behind your back, allowing Nanami to grasp his hazy surroundings alone.

“Wha…What happened?” He rasps lowly, his words served with sleep’s baritone curl.

“Um...Sir?”

“Huh? Oh, did I fall asleep here again? That’s the third time this–hold on…” Nanami trails off, his raspy voice breaking through the air.

He’s hazy and those clouded hazel hues trickle onto you as he shifts towards you, his black leather chair swiveling under him.

“Oh…what’re you still doing here? It’s way past the end of your shift, Sweetheart.”

Nanami watches you bite at that delicate lip of yours, supple plush taking on the jagged impressions. That mindless tick melds into a blooming pout, a decoy for the words that toss his groggy mind off guard.

“Nanami, sir, I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore!”

He’s dumbfounded, a rare state for him, but only you alone manage to pull Nanami into a place of confusion. A hand of his drifts to the back of his neck, itching at the sparse hairs of his undercut, trying to make sense of your outburst.

“And what exactly am I doing to myself?”

“This!” You point to his body, “This, in fact, is the third time this week you’ve slept in your office. And it’s been at least ten times this month! You’re tired, and you need a real break.”

Gawking is all Nanami can do. It comes at the price of a complete loss for words, but in some strange way, he’s intrigued by your outcry. Him needing a break? Of course, he needed a break, but he’s interested to hear what you perceive to be this “break”.

“A vacation is what you think I need?”

“I know a vacation is what you need…but I can’t force it on you,” you sigh, taking wandering steps that land you into the grand armchair sitting opposite to him.

With you seated before him, Nanami shudders beneath the stress of containing himself.

Oh, he hates it when you get mad—but loves it all at the same time. It’s a parallel that consumes him, hating how anger sews along your precious features—while relishing it all the same.

It’s the woe of taking every word you say seriously while admiring those plump lips bearing a firm purse and your finely plucked brows knit a harsh crease into your face.

And when you do get upset—whether it be at a client, the printer…or in rare cases, him. And when you get like this at him, he knows that a lecture can’t be too far off.

“Sir, you’ve got to take better care of yourself! You can hide it from the clients, but you can’t hide it from me. But…I think I have a solution!”

“Which is?” He contemplates with a brow quirked.

Resting his chin along the back of his knuckles, Nanami relies on the strength of his propped arm for support as he delves into your mind.

He knows the expression he’s giving isn’t kind—dull eyes that reek of disinterest. And all the while, maybe it is disinterest because he’s all too aware of what he needs. But your intentions are pure, that much he knows. In the face of pure intentions, who was he to deny your presentation?

You drop your attention to Nanami’s desk, prompting him to follow suit. He studies your manicured finger carefully dragging along the wide calendar laid atop the waxy surface.

“This weekend from Friday to Sunday, you’ll be all free! I know you like to have at least one client a day, but I pushed some days around and managed to—”

“You were planning this…weren’t you?” Nanami hints sharply, his lungs prepping to bore a longing sigh.

To feign innocence, you shrug your shoulders. You hide your motives well, but the small smile around your eyes tells Nanami all he needs to know.

“No comment, buuut, why not take advantage of this?”

Out comes that sigh brewing in his chest. “All right…What do you recommend I do with all the magical free time? Pick up a hobby? Start a garden? Tell me, Darling.”

Nanami’s sights carry to your own, his eyes pivoting over your face deep in thought. Something about you working so hard on his behalf brings about a warmth to flutter in Nanami’s chest. As to how he’s been blessed with you is a mystery he thanks the heavens for every day. And you look so cut–

“Got it!” you snap, “Onsen. I think you need an onsen for the entire weekend. The hot water and minerals will do your body, mind, and spirit justice!”

Nanami tilts his head at the thought, “Hmm, the onsen? Like out in Kyoto?”

“Mhm, I hear those are really nice!”

“Hm, okay then…”

Nanami swiftly dips into his back pocket for his wallet. He flips the thick bundle of leather open, pinching at his card with a single digit and his thumb.

He places a matte black card in front of you, rattling off the steps to make your wish come true. “Go ahead and book the room and two tickets for the train tomorrow at nine, and—”

“Hold on, hold on! Are you inviting me to come along too?”

Nanami merely shrugs at your sweet naivete, “Naturally. I’m sure you’d want to come along too…unless I’m stepping over a boundary. I never asked if you had prior engagements or even a partner at home. But…if you could join me, I think the break would be good for you too.”

Your hands wave the infamous white flag of surrender, shooting down Nanami’s suggestions with a flustered chuckle, “Oh no no…just me at home! But um…yeah, I’ve never been to one. I’d love to come along. But for tomorrow…I’d have to start planning right away!”

“We could…do it together. I have my laptop right in my bag,” his shoulder nudging towards the side of his desk. “I know it’s last minute, so the least I could do is offer some help.”

Nanami struggles to hide the grin that teases his lips when you agree, taming his excitement with a guttural grunt of his throat.

Three whole days with you, the pretty assistant he’s been plotting on since the day he hired you.

As rambles fall from your mouth, Nanami’s absorbed into thoughts of you, while supporting your thoughts with nods and gentle hums. He hasn’t been so outward with his growing affection towards you at all, that simply wasn’t his style.

But has he tried?

Of course, by taking you out to high-class restaurants for lunch and dinner, buying you flowers every week (and blaming it on some client with a crush for you), he’s even found a way to secretly link your account to his so that not a dollar of your hard-earned money would enter the cruel economy. Why if Nanami could go as far as to pay your rent, he’d do it without any questions asked.

And now he has the chance to take you out of the city for three whole days?

Nanami wasn’t sparing a single penny, not when it came to booking that private villa with its own hot spring bath, the best seats on the bullet train, and even planning some excursions to explore Kyoto.

“…Nanami…Sir?”

The call of his name brings him back into the present and on your face wearing a giddy grin.

“Mm…so sorry, is everything alright?”

“Yup! We’re all set for this weekend!” you cheer, clapping your hands softly at the confirmation prompt on the laptop on the screen.

“Oh good! Well then, let’s break for tonight! Be at the station by eight-thirty, okay?” Nanami passing on a stern stare to you.

“I got it, but that’s so early!”

“It’s a two-and-a-half-hour ride, we’ll be getting there right around lunch and with plenty of daylight to spare. Stop complaining and go home…I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nanami huffs out.

His eyes follow you as you lazily pull yourself out of the chair, your hands smoothing down the back of your dress. The steps you take are slow and saucy, leaving Nanami to bite down on his bottom lip.

Such a tease and you weren’t doing it on purpose. You’re just yourself and that’s exactly what Nanami can’t get enough of.

You turn back to Nanami when you pull the door just enough to slip your body through, your lips curling into a fine smile.

“Have a good night…Sir. See you tomorrow!”

“Have a g-good…Have a good night!” Nanami rushes out, giving you a limp wave before the shutting door leaves him alone with his thoughts.

An exhausted sigh rips out from his chest as he leans back into his chair, his hand racing to palm his face.

And in between the gaps of his thick fingers, Nanami’s eyes darted down to a familiar but embarrassing scene.

His cock twitching in his pants.

He couldn’t help it, hearing his name matched with the weighty title of sir sent his mind on a rampage. You calling him sir? And it just so happens to sound so melodic rolling off your tongue?

It already wasn’t normal for someone in his position to be head over heels for his assistant—but he was. It wasn’t normal for Nanami to give in to such silly whims—but he’s going to.

Before thinking it over, Nanami’s hand drops from his face and down to his lap, squeezing at the curious curve rising beneath the black fabric of his slacks.

“...maybe just one can’t hurt…right?”

A rhetorical question, he’s already tugging at the tiny zipper, pulling the slip of metal down its jagged path to its post. He switches over to fiddling with his pants button, yanking the thin button through its slit and tugging his pants down his legs with his briefs in tow.

There’s a risk that some of those sinful moans will evade his resolve; it’s just his luck that his dress shirt’s objecting to the view of everything past his waist. Yanking the shirt up towards his awaiting mouth, Nanami bites down on the white cotton as hard as he can.

He doesn’t hesitate to envelop his length in a fist, strumming up and down all eight inches of his pudgy tanned girth. It’s been a while but Nanami still knows what gets him going—a couple squeezes, focusing on his sweet spot, tracing that one swollen vein ruched along the heavy underside of his cock, all the turning cogs that bring him to ruin.

As he’s taking the time to swipe at the weeping bellhead, a thought pops into his head that he can’t ignore.

He can’t help but wonder what would you think of his dick? A sinfully precarious thought, he knows, but that doesn’t mean he can’t think about it nonetheless.

He’s no stranger to the concept either. Especially when he takes to the bars some evenings, his ears pick up all the talk of drunk girls gossiping about how “pretty” their boyfriends’ dicks are. It’s so vulgar then but now…he’s craving to hear your thoughts more than anything.

What would you have to say about his size, his length, the way his cock sits with a curve that defies gravity? Suddenly, he’s choreographing a scene in his head, picturing you on your knees, patiently waiting for him to rip down his briefs and expose himself to you.

At the thought, he’s picking up a slow pace. His taut fist lazily drags up his shaft and down to the base, utilizing a deathly grip that sends shivers down his spine.

Just for this special occasion, he pulls his shirt from his clenched teeth for a moment to curl over his thighs. Through the pucker of his lips, Nanami sends a thick spool of spit to dance over the flushed head of his cock, the soapy pool dribbling down his length.

His hand meets the trail of spit gradually, his thumb back to swiping along his now glossy underside.

“Oh fuck…” he hisses, writhing in his seat at the new sensation claiming his being. Just stroking himself was decent but stroking himself when he’s dripping like this makes for a new cadence to be found.

Why, it’s so much better that he’s eagerly picking up the pace, his fist sent to swivel up and down his endlessly hardening cock, squeezing at the tip whenever he saw fit.

His eyes risk exiting the scene, fluttering back with the mean strides he weaves. Just to his dismay, a flickering light pairs annoyingly well with the vibrations of a call cursed Nanami’s chance at relief.

He usually isn’t this careless, picking up the phone call without identifying the caller.

“Hello?” He drones into the microphone.

And it’s just his luck that it’s you.

“Hi, Sir! I had a question…”

Sir. Three letters, a single syllable, and the key to Nanami’s lustful demise. If only you knew the filthy hold that ghastly word held over him.

Just by hearing your sweet voice utter such a word, lawless pangs laid waste to Nanami’s fisted cock in sinful bliss. Was this some form of karmic reward? To hear your voice right before indulging in himself had to be some prize.

He’s forced to bite down the groans in his throat and trade his cries for coherent words. “Wha…What’s wrong, Sweetheart? You just left the office.”

“Oh, I know!” He can hear the pout in your voice, those plump lips pushed out for everyone but him to see. “It’s just that I was thinking…nine is just so early! And our tickets are good for all day. Can weeee leave just a little later?”

Nanami wants to listen to your pleas, he truly does, but he has to deal with something new befalling him: his body’s blatant betrayal.

His hand’s moving on its own, choking the fat girth of his cock all the way up to the tip, viciously squeezing the pink crown into nasty pale hues. Even at a time when he’s meant to be serious, his body’s adamant on milking itself dry. But must he be so slow yet unforgiving to himself like this?

“…Sir? Hello? Did the call drop?”

“No! I’m still here…” Nanami’s sudden outburst breaks the silence.

He pins the phone between his ear and shoulder, relying on his two hands to ease the relentless pit boiling at his core.

He had to find some way to get that sinful title rolling off your tongue again. So what could be brought up to keep your voice purring?

“So…since my suggestion is too early, what do you have in mind…Honey?”

“Glad you asked, Sir!”

One.

He’s pulling on his cock with a heavy drag, only for all his efforts to be spat out in glossy tears of precum. He’s making a mess of himself, the glassy rivulets trickling down his ghostly knuckles. He’s nowhere near the sacrums of nirvana but the display he’s forced to bear witness to hints at an early arrival.

“Uh-huh, go on.” he’s mumbling between gritted teeth. He’s losing temperance over his breaths.

“…and we’d still have plenty of time to explore the town, Sir.”

Two.

Now, Nanami’s getting the best of himself, purposely focusing on the head of his cock in short yet quick pumps. He’s extra keen on how sensitive he is too, pitting his thumb to curve right along the against his sweet spot.

He’s so close, shamefully closer than before. He knows that if he keeps on swiping at his underside like this, he’ll be binded to an explosive fate any minute.

“I know you like to be punctual but please, Sir?”

Oh…now you’re begging him. That’s three.

The thick gush of white splatters all over Nanami’s heaving stomach, his chiseled abs glistening in a hot, opal tinge.

Before he can even afford to echo the bliss ripping through his body, Nanami yanks the phone from his ear and presses the microphone against his chest to muffle any pathetic whimpers that slip him by.

The poor man, fair skin licked by a familiar fleeting heat and flinching in his seat by the cold wash that follows. He can’t remember the last time he’s let go like that, but the splattered canvas he’s reduced himself to tells him exactly what intuition would scream at him.

He’s just about ready to clean up but something feels…off. There’s just something he can’t put his finger on—

The phone call.

He panics, rushing to press the phone to his ear.

What was the last time you said? Something about please si—

“H-Hey, hey…you don’t have to beg me. Do me a favor, ‘kay? Just text me what time you want to meet at the station and I’ll be there.”

“Okay! Well then…get home safe and I’ll see you tomorrow…sir.”

Four.

It’s a punch in the gut this time because while he thought he’s been milked dry, Nanami’s eyes shoot apart at a bewildering sight: He’s still cumming.

His twitching cock’s forcing out a timid stream of white that’s dripping down his black slacks and running off onto the floor beneath him.

Nanami’s husky voice is washed in grief, the desire to cry out against the bliss of overstimulation dances on his tongue—but he has to send you off first.

With as mellow of a tone as he can rally, Nanami sends you his final thoughts.

“You too. Get home safe and see you tomorrow.”

The call ends and Nanami’s seething behind gritted teeth.

“Fuuuck,” he cursed to himself, his soiled hand still gripped around his twitching length. He wants to move, clean himself up, and get home to prepare for tomorrow, but fatigue’s already batting behind his eyelids.

Slouching back in his chair, Nanami finally allows his lungs to catch some air, his heaving chest stabilizing at last.

He’s a mess, the chair’s a mess, and even the floor too, but he isn’t focused on such miniscule details that nothing a good cleaning couldn’t take care of. Fresh off his orgasm, Nanami’s back to thinking about you and the weekend ahead.

The gears in his head are clicking and he’s thinking that maybe—just maybe, he’s earned the opportunity of a lifetime to do the one thing that’s been on his list for the last three years: to make you his girlfriend.

He can’t take it anymore, being in the office acting like he’s so standoffish when he truly wants nothing more than your presence. Your smile starts his day, your care for his well-being motivates him, and your kind words fill his heart in ways he can’t even describe.

He hasn’t regarded you as his assistant these past three years, more like his girlfriend who isn’t aware of his full-fledged commitment.

It’s so pathetic, he knows. But thanks to you, finally…Nanami’s goal was within reach. All he had to do was chase it.

Nanami’s sentiments only grew during the night and into the next day: Friday, the day he’s set to journey off with you.

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞

It’s been a blur since Nanami’s woke up—he’s been busy packing, cleaning his apartment, and standing in front of the mirror deciding which suit he should don for the day.

As the clock struck two, bags gathered by the door and a plain black suit with a white button-down dresses his body. He’s forgoing a tie for the weekend too, a few undone buttons present the dips of his collarbone prepared to bear the day’s breeze.

But there’s peril racing through Nanami’s mind, and has been since the previous night: he has no clue how to act or even go about courting you into being his girlfriend by the end of the hot springs trip. All he knows up to this point is subtlety—and subtlety is not an option in his arsenal.

The field of romance is a realm he’s barely pillaged through except for a few flings that led to nothing. You’re too different for his typical approach. He needs his message to come out clearer than glass, and for those kinds of results—he’s turning to one…annoying person for advice.

As Nanami reaches into his pocket, he can taste regret staining his tongue. And as he’s clicking onto that damned contact, he’s cursing himself for even thinking of turning to this man for advice.

And when the line connects, he’s kissing his teeth at the sound of his nickname falling from the lips of one…Gojo Satoru.

“Nanamin! You rarely call me these days! I miss you y’know,” the smooth voice trumpets out into his ear.

Huffing out the last bit of his pride, Nanami sighs into the phone, “Ah well…um, Gojo…I need some…help.”

“With?”

“A woman. My assistant, to be precise. We’re going out of town for the weekend and—”

“Nanami? Going on a trip? I must’ve died. And with a lady? I’m in an alternate universe now,” Gojo teases. “So, what do you need help with, I’m a little lost.”

Nanami drops himself on the edge of his sofa, the taupe leather dipping beneath his weight. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing at his tensed skin.

“She’s my assistant but…Gojo…I really want her to be my girlfriend. I have for the past three years. But my hints are too subtle and this is my best chance to finally be honest with her. I just don’t want to mess up. We’re going out to Kyoto

“Three years? You’ve always been patient, but this is extreme, Nanami. And the hot springs…you planning on—”

“Stop it right there. Just…tell me what you’d do.”

Nanami stares at his phone as the line goes silent, waiting for Gojo to say something—anything, really.

“Nanami, now I can’t help you too much, I’m not the relationship type. But just think about it like this, if you’ve had your eye on her for three years…and she’s been working with you for three years, obviously there’s something she likes about you too. This is so cliche and I’m cringing at the thought but…be your—”

“No.” Nanami immediately shuts down.

“Yes, and let me explain. Don’t try to be some guy you’re not, women pick up on that too easily, especially since you guys are going out on this trip. Be yourself and when the time comes, tell her how you’ve felt. And no matter what happens, just be proud that you were honest with yourself, okay?”

“Yeah…that works.”

“Good!” Gojo cheers, “Now go have fun and bring some condoms! You never know what’s—”

“Goodbye, Gojo,” and just like that, Nanami’s thumb isn't hesitant to end the call with a click.

“Just be myself…” he’s mulling over. While it’s sad to say that Nanami already knew that, he was hoping for something a little more out of Gojo. But himself is all he can be, then that’s exactly how he’ll act.

Slotting his phone back into his pocket, Nanami catches a glimpse of the time from the face of his watch.

3:00 P.M.

He had just an hour to himself before sitting on a two-hour train with you. But before that reality could be realised, He had a few errands to knock off his list.

The next time Nanami checks his watch, he’s leaning against a white tiled column in Tokyo station.

And the time is…3:45.

Those that surround are others caught up in their own lives—teenagers dressed in uniform, businessmen in their suits chasing the next transfer, and families strolling out the exits; all the people and not a single one knew the nerves that ambush his calm mind.

Not a single one knew of the havoc crashing through his body at the reality he’s set to enter. He did all he could to prepare, yet he can’t comprehend that he’s the last piece to the puzzle. Everything’s in line like dominoes, and all he had to do was strike the porcelain trail down.

And something about that, such ease, nothing about that sits right in Nanami’s mind.

Until the winning move falls right into his unexpecting lap.

“Oh! Nanami! Hi, sorry for making you wait! This station is just big, thankfully I just followed my gut and found you here,” the familiar voice rings in his ear.

He looks up to find your starry eyes already set on him from a few paces away. Nanami’s staring at you, hard. He’s never seen you in anything that wasn’t professional wear, that’s the excuse that plays in his mind over and over like a broken record.

You, in that silk yellow blouse that grants so much cleavage thanks to its low-cut neck. And the pleated light gray skirt around your waist is just so short, just one mishap and it’s all over.

Amidst all his leering, Nanami almost allows himself to forget manners. He meets you just halfway, wearing a soft smirk as he reaches for your bag.

“Here, allow me.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, Sir—"

It’s that damned word again. The letters rolling off your tongue bring a haunting memory from yesterday back into Nanami’s mind. He clenches the leather strap of your carry-on ever so tightly, gradually collecting himself before speaking.

“Hey Darling, you can drop the ‘sir’, okay? We’re on vacation after all. Nanami works just fine, or even…Kento works, if you want.”

He’s enlightened by the smile you put on your face, the peaks of your cheeks polished beneath the station’s fluorescent lights.

“Oh, sorry about that! ‘m just so used to the honorifics. But…alright then, Nanami. Is my bag too heavy for you?”

“No, no, it’s really not heavy at all. But we should get to the platform, though,” Nanami tokens with his head towards the destined path. “Are you ready?”

A kind smile grew across your glistening lips as you leaned towards Nanami, your hands softly clapping with approval. “Lead the way then, I’m right here.”

And Nanami does just that. He spins right on the heel of his shoe and walks with occupied hands, a tepid stare of his path ahead, his mind swirling with thoughts of you, and you at his side.

The station’s loud, loud with chatter, giggles, running feet, and warbling notifications on the intercom, and as all this goes on around him, Nanami can’t help but be absorbed into his own world. A world that included you.

Every so often, he steals a glance at you, his wistful eye watching you marvel at the station’s lively atmosphere. But all he can think about in his world is you; you and your beauty. He’s enamored at your mindless antics, the way your lashes flutter with each blink, the way your lips twist up–he’s even stuck over. But looking at you wasn’t enough, not when there’s this wall between you two.

It’s invisible to everyone but him. It’s one that he can look over, one that he can easily topple over with a sigh, but it’s one that he can’t fathom to crack without a proper plan.

The wall of silence—Nanami’s greatest ally turned enemy.

He isn’t used to this: sharing his intimate time like this. If he’s not holed up in his office, he’s out on his own tending to errands or matters of business. His usual standoffish method stands no chance today if he aims to woo you.

So, he went to the first thing you both had in common for the moment: emotion.

“So…” Nanami begins as he scours his mind for the words. “Are you…excited?”

You extend a kind look to him, soft eyes that pair well with your smile. “Of course I am! I’ve never been to a hot spring before, but I’ve heard so much about them and how good they’re supposed to be. I can’t wait for that hot water to hit my skin! How about you, Nanami?”

“Me?” He echoes with an arched brow. “Well…guess I’m excited too. Breaks are something I always want to take, but I never seem to act on them. The second I give it some thought, I’m already calculating missed opportunities and risks. I appreciate you pushing for this, Honey. Just make sure you have fun for me, okay?”

“For you?” Maybe you weren’t supposed to catch that slip-up, but being with Nanami like this was already fulfilling you beyond words. For him to be walking beside you, holding your luggage like it's nothing but a feather, it’s all too much for your mind to contain.

Moving dates around to have the weekend available worked in your favor. Three whole days tucked up beside Nanami, waking up with him, exploring Kyoto together, and even bathing together clouds your imagination with sinful thoughts.

He hides the full extent of his figure beneath suffocating suits, but you know all too well that Nanami’s physique is on par with the gods themselves. With his arms, back, and thighs banded with muscle, his developed chest taut with contour, and his big hands teeming with veins, your eyes were ready for it all.

And if the weekend ends with you bent over to help relieve all the pent-up stress he talks about in sessions, it would all be for a promising cause.

“Aww, Nanami…then let’s have fun together. But if I–Oh look, here we are! And the train’s boarding too, should we board? Looks like we’ll have to look for seats too,” your voice carrying a dull sigh.

“It’s fine, I think I can see two seats right there,” Nanami directs with a tilt of his chin.

He leads the way once more, urging you to board the train in front of him. The seats he took note of. You slip inside first, taking the window seat just as Nanami saw in his head.

Before he could join you, Nanami marks his spot with a small white plastic bag on his seat before loading the suitcases into the overhead bin and grabbing it again before sitting beside you.

Tugging the bag open, he reveals two sandwiches inside. “Oh, I stopped by the bakery on my way here and grabbed sandwiches. I um…I noticed what you like on yours, so…here you are.”

Trying to still his trembling grip, Nanami carefully places the tightly bundled sandwich into your awaiting hands.

“Aw, thank you so much! You really didn’t have to! I was just gonna wait until we got to Kyoto to eat!”

The smile that consumes your face is contagious, prompting Nanami to hide his own grin behind a clamped hand.

“It’s a long ride and I have a feeling you might have missed breakfast, so…hope you like it, Sweetheart.”

Nanami’s hope of gawking at you is cut short when you catch his leering sights.

The heat of embarrassment crackles beneath his skin, something he knows he can’t hide from you.

Rather, he adjusts himself, pushing his glasses up against the bridge of his nose with an excuse fumbling out from his lips.

“Sorry. I was just, uh–”

“Y’know, I was wondering,” you swiftly suggest a new subject, “…what do you look like without your glasses?”

Quirking up a brow, Nanami finds himself turning towards you amidst the cloud of blush claiming his cheeks. “Curious?”

“Very. But if they’re prescription, then please just ignore–”

“They’re not. They’ll more like sunglasses, but here, I have nothing to hide.”

At your implied request, Nanami’s glasses sit squeezed between his grip as he pulls them off his face. He’s met with your awestruck face—widened eyes and gaping lips.

“Scary, huh? I bet I look…uh…Sweetheart?”

“Nanami…you look so…different?”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I’m gonna sound old here but you look so handsome! And your eyes, they’re like brown with a dash of green?! That’s so pretty!”

He’s handsome??? That’s a word Nanami never expected to hear fall from your lips. And you’re keeping those doe eyes pinned on him and only him too. Now how is he going to play this off? Hide his entire face behind his palm? Or maybe he should get up altogether and try to calm down…

“Oh…thank you, Darling. Um…I’m gonna go use the bathroom, alright? Be right back.”

Nanami doesn’t get the chance to hear you reply, not when he’s dead-set on returning to you. Just his luck that the bathroom is at the end of the cabin—and unoccupied.

He nearly throws himself inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Beneath his feet, he can feel the train’s latent drags over the tracks, officially beginning the long ride to Kyoto.

Nanami leans against the white sink, grasping the thick porcelain rim with a bruising grip. He’s met with the slender mirror tucked between the chamber’s corner, and just as he knew it—he’s red. From the tips of his ears down to his cheeks, it’s all pink…and seems to only grow richer.

That was…pathetic. A few words of kindness—no, a compliment from you about the qualities he already knows about himself places him in this sweating, breathless rut.

He’s pathetic. If that’s all it took for him to crack, how could he be allowed to think about sleeping in the same bed as you or even bathe with you? This was the place to shake out all those nerves, all those second thoughts haunting his mind, because after this moment, Nanami would no longer be alone. Because at this moment, Nanami is staring at his last moments as a bachelor before he’s married off to the idea of being yours.

He reaches out for the handle, granting cold water to shoot out of the facet.

A few chilly splashes contrast the heat and he’s back to staring back at his fair-skinned reflection.

‘A calm mind keeps a sound body’, that’s the mantra that plays in his head as he tends to his suit, tugging at the sleeve cuffs gently before exiting the bathroom and walking back to his seat. Upon finding you again, he finds you peering out the window of the passing landscape, the city slowly fading out into the countryside’s green pastures.

He notices your fidgeting fingers, nervously linking around each other. Of course, you felt something and his jetting to the bathroom only made things worse.

“I’m back,” he utters for your ears to hear.

Tilting your head back against the black leather, your eyes find Nanami’s, his unfiltered mossy hues falling onto your own.

“Feel better?” Your soft voice greets him.

Sheepishly, Nanami nods as he drops back into his seat. “Yeah, I just needed a moment.”

You shift closer to Nanami, resting your arms along the armrest between your bodies. “Did I…say something wrong?”

That’s when Nanami’s heart drops straight to the soles of his feet. He’s tossed into a state of sheer panic, raking his mind for some makeshift apology to soothe your worries. So many things he could say, but he’s settled for something he would prefer to hear: the raw and honest truth, no matter how pitiful it may seem.

A sigh breaks out of Nanami’s chest and into the air. He resorts to squeezing at the bridge of his nose to assemble his mind. “No, no, never that, Honey! It’s just that I’m not used to getting compliments…at all, really. And I get so red, it’s all just embarrassing to me.”

You perch your chin within your open palm, a faint smile gathering on your lips. “That’s so cute, Nanami! Well, since you’re not used to ‘em, I’ll give them to you. Because…you really are handsome…sir.”

Oh, you must be doing this on purpose, pushing all his buttons to get a reaction. He can’t even hide his grin anymore, not that he wants to, you’re getting a rise out of him—and he’s loving every single moment.

He’s loving it so much that he can’t help but join you, levering his neck to give you his attention. He’s doing so with a rare smile, one that leaves the peaks of his cheeks brimmed.

“Oh, but that’s not your job…that’s mine. How could I have forgotten to tell you just how beautiful you look? Yellow looks really nice against your skin, Sweetheart.”

Nanami catches himself in the moment, how he’s moving closer to your beaming visage. He allows his sights to shift from between your eyes and down to your lips before taking in a harrowing breath.

There’s only one thought in his mind…this was going to be an interesting ride.

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞

“C’mon! The villa’s just around the corner!” You point, turning around to gauge Nanami’s awareness.

“Slow down! I’m right behind you!” he chuckles, tucking the luggage beneath his arms.

Two and a half hours, that’s all it took for Nanami to break the ice of workplace formality with you. Since his outbreak on the train—and your affirming words; he’s found himself floating on a cloud.

Now he’s trudging up some stairs behind you all the way up to the villa, secluded from the outside world.

Since arriving in Kyoto, Nanami’s been taken away by the historic landscape of the area. Lush green trees stand tall amongst bushes and shrubs, and blooming flowers surround the quiet town at every corner.

The only unfortunate fact about the town was that everything closed at six on Fridays, and the train ride got you both here at six thirty. Which meant no nighttime browsing, no dinner, and room service was about to close.

But it’s a fact that Nanami’s willing to dismiss the moment he stood at the villa door with you at his side.

He’s dipping his hand into his pocket for the key, pressing the gold-plated metal through the slot. “Here we are, go on ahead,” Nanami grins, his hand pushing the door open for you.

“Nanami,” you coo, “You go in first, you’ve been lugging those bags up here.”

“No, it’s fine. You know the saying, Sweetheart, ladies first,” He smirks.

What Nanami didn’t anticipate was how close you were, your body flush against his own. And your eyes, they’re lingering on his own as you slip past him, pulling a breathless gasp from his lungs.

“Well…if you insist. I’m gonna go shower first then, meet you in the water, Nanami.”

“O-Okay,” he stutters out dumbly, his eyes left to hinge on your disappearing figure.

There’s another fact that Nanami’s taken note of since the train ride, how casual you’ve become with him so quickly. The fact brought him back to his phone call with Gojo and all that was shared.

It has Nanami mulling over what Gojo said, you already have some kind of feelings toward him. The train ride provided him with enough evidence, but logic tells him not to assume anything further.

And maybe you did feel the same way about him that he’s felt about you for the past three years. Tonight he was willing to put all that to the test, and he only hopes the results come out in his favor.

Dragging the bags inside, Nanami shuts the doors behind him, only to take in the villa with a scanning glare.

Takami mats replace the hardwood floor he’s become used to, with white walls surrounding him. The living room is quaint, with a black sofa against the wall with two armchairs joining the assembly. Just past the living room is a deck that looks out over the town, with a pool of steaming water just past a few steps.

“Nanamiiii?” You sing from around the corner, breaking his focus with ease.

“Yes, Sweetheart?” He’s chuckling to himself. God, if his last name sounds this good, how would his first name roll off that tongue of yours?

He walked towards the source of your voice, only for him to be greeted with the scene of you standing in the middle of the hallway with nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

To ground himself fast, Nanami clears his throat and keeps his eyes pinned on you. And only your eyes.

“Is the shower off or something?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. There’s soap, towels, toothbrushes, and toothpaste, the bathroom’s great. I was thinking, should we order something? Maybe some hot sake and snacks?

“Get whatever you want,” he shrugs, taking a hand through his hair. I’ll have some too, so don't wait for me. I’m gonna go shower too, so go ahead and soak.”

You give Nanami one of your smiles before walking past him—just in time to give him some words of encouragement.

“Don’t take too long, it’s gonna get lonely without you.”

Nanami stands in the doorway of the bathroom, taking one more glimpse at you with his head shaking.

“I won’t.

The next time Nanami gets to see you is after his shower, a brief ten minutes that’s synonymous with an eternity. He leaves the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, his hair weighted by water and his mind running on mischievous fumes.

Finally, he has you all alone with no outside noise to impede on his slice of heaven. He’s strolling down the hallway with his head held high, exuding the sheer heat of confidence off his slicked skin.

Who knew that the moment he caught a view of you, all his hard work would be swept up under the rug and replaced by naive awe?

Nanami swears to himself that he’ll look away, but it’s a promise bound to be broken because he simply can’t find elsewhere to rest his sore eyes except on you. You and the gentle curves of your glistening body perched along the ring of rocks compassing the private hot spring. Beside you is a small bowl that floats, holding what he can safely assume to be the hot sake you wanted.

He doesn’t quite get what’s so amusing about the scene either, but there’s something about observing you participate in the mundane task of peering out over the settling town made Nanami’s cheek swell with a rousing heat.

A part of him almost doesn’t want to distract you—but his imagination was painting him too many scenes that needed his hand to unfold.

Biting the innards of his cheek, Nanami gathers what’s left of his ebbing confidence to walk down the deck steps, the wood creaking beneath his every step.

“How’s the water?” Nanami’s question breaks the silence.

His voice coaxes you to meet him with a welcoming grin, “It’s so nice! And the sake got here too, it’s not too sweet and it’s still warm, just for you.”

Nanami stands at the pool’s edge, his hand encircling his hidden waist. “Yeah, y’know I’m not even much of a drinker, but I’ll try my hand at it tonight.”

He’s still got your regard, the two of you trapped in a trance until he notices your gaze wavering further along his body. Down his bulging chest bejeweled by water droplets, the carefully sculpted contours of his abdomen, down to the fluffy white towel hanging around his hips.

“Well…,” you purr, “Aren’t you coming in, Nanami?”

Slowly, Nanami lowers himself into the steamy bath, his foot settling onto the shallow bottom. The misty water splits around him as Nanami introduces himself. The water comes up no further than his mid-thigh, but the moment he sits down, he’s pulled into an embrace that captures most of his chest. And yet, he can’t hide the sigh of relief that trumpets out his mouth, his head dropping back between his shoulder blades.

“Oh wow,” he pants, “Feels so good.”

“Right, and with a little sake…” you push the wobbling bowl to swim across the pool towards him, “You’ll feel even better.”

“Really?” Nanami smirks as the sake enters his realm. He’s quick to pour himself a cup, filling the stout ceramic cup to the brim.

“If you want some more…gotta come a little closer, Sweetheart,” he teases as he brings the rim of the cup to his lips.

“Guess I could go for a little more,” you give into him with a chuckle, rising from your spot with a hand clipped to the overlapping layers of your towel.

Slow, sweeping steps cut through the water as Nanami gawks at your bearing silhouette. That pesky towel clings to your body, but all it does is complement your curves—those very curves that sit nuzzled to his side as you sit beside him.

“How’s this? Close enough?” you press, your head lolling against the rocky edge to face Nanami’s flushed face.

“I’ll take it,” Nanami snickers as he works himself to pour your cup. “Here, should we make a toast?”

“To what? A vacation?” you question with your cup in hand.

“Hmm…” Nanami weighs, “To…us. And this long-awaited vacation.”

“To us, then” you cheer as your cup rings against Nanami’s.

He’s back to eyeing you; there’s a grin working onto your lips as you push down the sweet liquor, one that brings a liberating wave to wash over Nanami’s mind. He wishes he could see you like this all time, relaxed and free from the stresses of the world.

A moment of silence falls over the scene, allowing you and Nanami to simply bask in each other’s presence. The sake’s finally settled in his system too, leaving him with a faint haze over his mind. He places his empty cup back onto the wobbling bowl before shifting towards you, his eyelids resting at half-mast.

“Y’know, I’m really happy you agreed to come with me, Dollface,” he sighs happily, “ I like seeing you calm like this.”

“I could say the same thing to you, I don’t think I’ve seen you smile so much,” you return fondly.

“But I’m only smiling this much because of you.”

“Pfft, what did I do?” You push off—but Nanami catches the disbelief in your voice with a squint.

That’s when Nanami's eyes shoot toward your own. He isn’t playing around either, not with the courage coursing through his veins. Was this the moment he’s been waiting three years for? And if it was, would he ruin it by saying too much? So much doubt, so much second thoughts cloud his mind—but when he opens his mouth to speak, it’s all rooted from the depths of his heart.

“So much. You’ve done so much, all your time and care have never gone unnoticed. A-and…I …have so much I wish to tell you, but…I’ll be honest, I’m nervous.”

“Nanami? It’s okay, I’m right here and I’m here to listen.” You aimed to soothe him, your hand breaking through the water to lay against his chest.

Oh, how he wishes you wouldn’t have done that. His heart’s already throbbing up to his ears, and with you finally laying a hand on him, he might burst right there. But the tranquil aria of your voice brings Nanami back down into his body and a clear mind.

He clips his bottom lips between his teeth, using the sharp pain to calm the heartbeat you had complete access to. “Doll, I can’t…I can’t keep this up. I’ve um…always…always wanted to tell you that since the day you walked into my office…I knew I wanted to be yours.”

“But I mean…” There’s the logical churning in Nanami’s brain when he enters a space of realism—where he analyses everything down to the letter without regard for how cold it may roll off his tongue.

And that includes an analysis of himself.

“And I know, what sane woman would wanna be with a man like me? I don’t express much emotion, I’m too technical and I overwork myself. But I promise to be—”

“Kento?” you interrupt, rapping the tips of your fingers against his chest.

“Yeah?” He sulks with a frown.

The hand you keep at his chest creeps up to his inflamed features, that same heat meddling in with your palm as you cup his cheek. A gentle turn pits Nanami to face you head-on, but to ease his rushing mind, you give him a smile paired with the softest of tones.

“Any sane woman might not, but you’re grouping me in a category that doesn’t suit me. I don’t mind for my man to be a thinker, a hard worker. And if he has some trouble expressing himself, it’s okay. I have patience…just like you do.”

Nanami’s hiking a brow at your remarks, “So…you’ve known this entire time?”

“Known is a strong word. But Nanami, we’ve been working together for the past three years. How could I not fall for you when you treat me so kindly? All those lunch and dinner dates, the random gifts that pop up on my desk. I mean, playing it off on clients is sweet and all but the office doesn’t open until ten and the mailman doesn’t reach us until twelve. Still…the effort was sweet.”

“God, I feel so childish!” Nanami groans as he screws his eyes shut to avert your gaze. “Guess I shouldn’t have been so nervous, huh?”

“Yeah but, think of it like this,” you try to shed some light on his woes. “Three years have passed and we know each other better, down to our habits too. I think we were better off waiting rather than jumping in when we first met.”

“But that only leaves one question…” Nanami whispers to himself. He opens his eyes again and finds you as his refuge. Space isn’t a stranger in his mind, not when he’s barely a few inches away from your visage. When he finally gathers his thoughts, the words spill from Nanami’s lips without another second pass.

“Will you…be my girlfriend, Angel?”

Nanami can hear you swallow down that lump in your throat. Nerves, that’s the one thing he did calculate for. He’s throwing a relationship on you, without asking if you were anywhere near ready for the commitment.

But he’s hoping. Nanami’s hoping and praying to any god that exists that you’ll grant him this one selfish wish.

“Y’know, if we do this, things can’t go back to how they used to be…ever again.”

“I know,” Nanami hums as he brings his thumb to brush along the crest of your cheek.

“A-And, we’ll have to talk about things moving forward.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“But…what if we’re making a mistake?”

Nanami catches your chin with between his thumb and index finger, compelling you to look up into his eyes. They’re gentle, free of their usual cold stare, and superseded by a blossoming twinkle. He’s capturing you in a trance that’s leaving you breathless; breathless and at Nanami’s every whim.

“If this is a mistake, then I’ll do anything to prove to you that it’s not. There’s no mistake here, that much I know. Whatever you want, whatever it takes…I’ll do it if it means we can be together.”

A pout pushes out onto your lips, touched by Nanami’s dedication and devotion to you.

“Okay…but what about right now? This isn’t going to end in only a kiss.”

“Mmm, call it consummating the relationship,” Nanami suggests under his gravitation beneath tension’s heat towards you. His eyes hang low and pin right onto your lips, hinged at the fated words speaking through the air.

“Well then…guess I’m all yours, Kento. Yes, I wanna be your girlfriend—”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” That truly is all Nanami needs to hear because he didn’t even grant your monologue its deserved spotlight before his lips are sinking against your own.

He has half a mind to call it the kiss of life, a weight lifting off his shoulders the moment he delves into his long-awaited bliss. It’s as he’s imagined—no, better than that. The soft plush of your lips entices him, pulling him into a game of chase. You pull back and he’s right there for more, and when you push he’s taking it all with a pathetic whimper seeping from behind his clashing teeth.

It isn’t long before his hands dip back into the water for the treasure he’s calling your hips. Hidden behind that towel, but it’s no match for him when he’s holding you now, so close that not even a drop of water could invade.

And if Nanami had the strength to find the words, he would. But he’s using every ounce of his strength to fight against the water to have you closer. He’s guiding you right onto his lap, your body smothering against his as you straddle him.

“Can I…take this towel off?” He quizzes between a breath—and he smirks when you conjure up a feverish nod.

Like a feather in the wind, Nanami’s using a delicate touch to peel away the wall, his eyes growing at the sight of your bare skin in reach. It’s a reward when he yanks the thick cloth from beneath you and off into the dark abyss behind him.

And now that Nanami’s finally got his hands on you, no force in the universe could move him.

You’re so soft in his palms, with skin so supple he’s almost afraid of what his touch could do to you. Even with all those precautions, his faith is an unwavering one. You’re too cute for him to abstain from such bliss, especially with three long years of patience behind his belt.

He simply has to get his hands on you, all over you until he’s become acquainted with every crease, crevice, and curve your body has to offer.

“Let me give you a quick lesson on something, Baby. I think you’ll like it too,” he hums, pulling away from this kiss.

“Oh?” you entertain, tilting your head at Nanami’s new persona. He’s grinning, his smile so wide that you swear it has to be a figment of your imagination. But the way his hands glide across your skin pulls out a vivid reminder in the form of a helpless whimper.

“Go ahead, show me everything you know.”

“Erogenous zones. The places where you get extra sensitive. I wanna see how many I can find. Like…right here.” He tends to your breast first, his vast palms carefully skimming along the delicate skin. He’s cupping your tits in his care, using his girth fingers to knead into the pillowy plush.

“How does that feel, Sweetheart?”

Oh, aren’t you the cutest, pulling back from the steady stream of kisses to watch how intentful Nanami is with his words. The hands you brace onto his shoulder pick up a dangerous grip when his fingers feather at your nipples, pinching the dormant buds awake.

With this newfound audience, Nanami can’t help but perform now. He’s taken to the valley of your chest, his lips simmering against your skin as he sketches the grounds for his act in fluttering pecks. Bit by bit, he’s planting his path, nipping at your skin until his lips brush against your nipple.

You pinch at your lip again, praying that it grounds you from what Nanami has in store. “Feel so…so good, Ken,” you whine with setting eyes.

He doesn’t get his way without hearing your mouth, a delicate chirp that melts into a moan. As your eyes crack open once more, he’s sure to meet you with gentle olive irises.

“That’s my girl. Too pretty to hide when I’m merely teasing you. I’ve got all night with you, remember?”

That’s as much as a reminder to himself too, he has all night, two days, and the rest of his days to explore you. But already he’s missed out on so much time, so he hopes you’ll excuse him for the rush now.

The rush of his back finally traveling past your tweaked ties and down to l the small of your back, his burly hands dressing your delicate body like a corset. If he remembers from his days back in university, the back is a special place. It’s where your spine can be found, where your curves take shape, but there’s something else here that Nanami can’t quite put his finger on.

Until he does.

His fingers dust right over the divots in your back, those two dimples waiting for attention. He remembers now, the insane levels of sensitivity hidden in plain sight. He doesn’t want to give away his ruse, but for all you know, he’s merely inches away from grabbing onto your ass.

So he does it, delicately allowing a few fingers to slip past the water and sink into the pert plump flesh, leaving only his thumbs to fill out those precious jewels of your lower back. The pads of his thumbs lay teasing strides as a ploy until he’s located those hidden cords of nerves.

He can’t wait anymore, softly pulsing his thumbs against the dips, solely for his ears to be graced by the prettiest of chords: your heavy gasps drumming into the air.

“This is an overlooked one. Known as the lumbar, but it’s simply your lower back. By using a liiiitle pressure like this—”

“Kennn…h-hold on, that’s so…Ohmy–!”

That’s the gasp he’s looking for, the satisfaction parading itself somewhere deep inside Nanami. The jolt wrecking through your body only brought you right into his hands and pinned against his chest. His lips take to your ears for his own bliss, hiding a sadist smirk behind his encouraging words.

“Now, now, those nasty words don’t suit you, Angel. Can’t you find anything else to say with that pretty mouth of yours?”

“B-But, I—“

Another slip along your back dimples sends you reeling against Nanami, your head dropping to fill the crook of his neck.

“Nanami! That’s …t-too mmuch for me,” your plea falling on deaf ears.

“Oh Baby, did you forget who I am? The body…this body….your body…there’s so many ways to touch you, tease you, make you cum without getting remotely close to your pussy…’nd I’m just getting started.”

Nanami veers himself enough for his eyes to be cast upon you, his hazel hues scanning over your fucked out face; those eyes fluttering at half-mast, your lips broken fleeing hot pants chest. He can’t help but soothe the pain with pleasure, painting the flustered tips of your ear in deft pecks.

“You just so happen to land yourself a sex therapist for a man.”

It’s a truth that Nanami doesn’t let you absorb, not while he’s playing with you like this. His thumbs taunt your lower back and his hands strapped along your ass pull your hips into transit, rutting against him for a sliver of relief.

But Nanami’s grown so desperate that he’s slouching—permitting his back to slip against the bath’s wall if it meant he could plug your pleas with his bulge.

And wasn’t his theory proved right on the first try?

Because the second his hips curl right up under you, he’s gasping at how the lips of your cunt drag against the drenched towel—and along his poor cock. So much fervor, so much passion is driving your hips to rock like this, forcing the towel to lick at your clit.

But…that’s his new job. A new task that comes with his promotion—and one that he’s dying to commence.

“Ken,” his name highlighted behind your moans.

He gets the chance to watch you reach out for him, your hands lacing around the nape of his neck and pulling him close. So close that your foreheads rest against each other and all you can do is dress each other’s mouth with aimless pants.

“You want more, don’t you?” He chuckles.

And you could respond, but you allow your lips to deliver the message to him loud and clear. Back to that familiar cadence, your lips falling into a dance made for you. But when your tongue dips into his mouth for the first time, Nanami swears he could cum right then and there.

Your tongue, velvety and so kind, traces along his own—riding up along every curve and back down to his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” is all Nanami can mutter…because…fuck. Such a dirty word, but his mind’s running on nothing but the lust clouding his core, and rushing to bully his cock with relentless pangs.

“Kento…is that?...” you giggle, breaking from his lips when something hard perks up between your legs.

“That’s what you do to me, Baby. ‘m so hard already, waiting for you to be mine.”

“Aww, but I am yours, Honey,” you avow, raking your nails along the deep chisels of his back. Against his lips, you whisper such a lulling coo that pulls at Nanami’s restraint, using the exact words he didn’t need to hear.

“So…what are you waiting for?”

Nanami kisses his teeth, sparking a devious grin to claim his mouth.

“Part three of this lesson.”

A hand of his snakes between your bodies, twisting and tugging his towel out from under him until he’s free.

“Another erogenous zone, huh? Can I…try to find yours?”

Nanami could never deny you, who was he to start now of all times? He decides to help you out by laying a grip around your wrist, leading your hand down between your bodies

When your hand laces around his pudgy length, he’s gritting his teeth at your bestowing grip. So loose but cradles his cock with such care he could almost shed a tear.

But all you do is lug your lax fist up and down, singly to tease Nanami of what could come to pass. And you do it all without failing to keep your sights aligned with his own. So, just this once he’s letting you take the reins.

“Go on, I’ll even give you extra points if you know how to handle it.” His hands float back up to your hips and he finally relaxes—his body stills, his mind blanks, and Nanami inhales a breath what he deems to be tranquility at its finest.

He’s resting in your care, closing his eyes and allowing himself to feel everything—every beat of his heart, the waves crashing against his chest, the stirring of nerves brewing in his stomach.

That alone grows, its futile persistence slowly consuming Nanami. He’s touched himself so many times before, but it all fails to compare when he has you working on his behalf. It’s more than he can handle.

And he’s too keen on hiding it either, Nanami’s head lolling back when your hand gains fervency. Your wrist works sloppy twirls around the belled crown of his cock that coaxes a livid heat to rip through his nerves.

“J-Just like that, niiice ‘nd slow…g-get the tip too—fuck!”

Your lips cling to his exposed bobbing Adam’s apple, littering his skin with kisses and taunts.

“Aww, so sensitive, Ken. And ‘m only touching you exactly how you want me to,”

“Fu-fuuuck, that’s…d-don’t squeeze down like that o-or–!” He’s barely huffing out. His chest’s struggling to keep up, relying on labored breaths to feed his lungs what bits of air he gathers.

Only a few minutes into the relationship, Nanami’s already pushed to the edge, his body teetering the dangerous line of pain and pleasure. It feels so good to have you touch him, but the heft of his impending high has him seeing stars each time he blinks. It’s a line of pain and bliss that has tears welling in Nanami’s eyes, his broken mind split on an outcome that dooms him either way.

“Ha-Hah! Baby, please! I don’t wanna cum yet, slow down!” He’s sobbing with hands clipping to your waist. His nails sink into your plushy skin, marking you with a bruising belt of crimson crescents.

“But you’re so close, Ken!”

“I know, I know, but I can’t cum before you do, Angel. Wouldn’t feel right to me.”

His hand finds a new hold along your wrist, pulling your worked hand through the water and pressing along the bulging ripples of his chest.

“Besides…All that sake’s got me craving something so sweet. Think you can help me out with that, Honey?”

“Mm-hm…’course, Ken.”

“Good.” He hums as his gaze falls over the salacious scene’s background: the wooden deck. He’s also keen on calling the towel he freed from you back into play, tugging the soaked cotton towel across the deck.

Patting his hand atop the deck, Nanami ushers you to join his next lesson, “C’mon. Bend over and keep that pretty ass in the air for me, alright?”

If there’s something Nanami knows about you, it’s your ear for direction. Every task, every favor, and anything he’s asked of you during the past three years was always completed beyond expectation.

And this was no different.

The arch you take on is nothing short of heavenly, your face hidden behind the blossoming spread of your ass. “Beautiful,” he ponders aloud, his wandering hands rowing along the luscious junctures of your curves. “I still need your help, Darling. Spread yourself fr’ me.”

He oversees the hesitancy that claims you, your trembling hands reaching around the globes of your ass. Ever so gently you pull yourself apart before him, only for a whimper to bring all your hard work crumbling down.

“But Ken…that’s so—fuck!”

Obiviously you’re nervous, he’s asked you to reveal yourself like it’s something so easy. As his newfound position entitles, he’s supposed to ease your woes, not enforce more than what the world already dishes out. That’s why Nanami takes a thumb right over your clit, drawing loose rings around the timid bud. He’s so painstakingly slow too, ensuring that every nerve is caught beneath his tantric trance.

“That’s so what, Baby? You don’t have to be nervous with me, just wanna make you feel good.” And that’s a sworn promise of his, the kiss he places onto your ass brandishes it as such.

“Take your time, ‘m right here.”

Words have power, and he’s witnessing the magic with naked eyes. Your hands, once trembling and timid, now pries yourself apart for Nanami’s sake.

“How’s that?” you press, tilting your head to find Nanami’s hidden silhouette.

“Perfect. So pretty too, Baby. Oh, look at how cute your clit is! Mmm, I know you’re sweet too, aren’t you, Darling?”

What else had to be said, Nanami’s really taken a liking to your pussy, the way your clit drinks up his touch with jaunty throbs. He can’t ignore that blatant fact that you’re dripping into his impressions. He could take some credit for the sticky mess unfolding between your legs, but he’s more interested in furthering his role.

So it’s no wonder when Nanami can feel himself drawing nearer, his heavy eyes guiding him to meet your splayed cunt within mere inches.

“Tell me, y’know that this cute clit of yours is another one of those erogenous zones ‘m teaching you about, right?” He breathes out against your bare cunt.

“Y-Yeah…” you huff, biting at your lip.

“Good girl. Let me see how long it takes to make a mess out of you.”

A man starved, that’s all Nanami is as he falls victim to your displayed cunt. He nurses you with a pout, granting him the exclusivity of tending to your clit. He places a soft kiss as a foundation, melting all your woes beneath his supple curves of a ruined grin.

He seals the spry bulb between his lips, his purling jaw working to bring your clit to its blushing bulbous swell.

He’s allowing his tongue to slip onto the scene, the slicked palette pedaling kind, short strokes to the pink pearl. His heavy tongue drifts along the raw nerves softly, curling just at your swelling hood to tease.

Between a thin stare, Nanami’s thinking of how cute it is that your plump clit dances along with his tongue. It takes two to dance and Nanami couldn’t have asked for a finer partner. Whenever he takes the time to twirl, swirl, and nudge at you, he’s met with a grand pirouette that laces around his tongue.

“Fuck!” the curse ripping from your puffy lips. It feels good, that much he knows thanks to your melodies. But if only you knew the discipline it’s taking Nanami from not burying himself between the fat mounds of your cunt.

You’re like silk against his slicked muscle, those soft folds of yours sewed along his curled tongue. He can’t even begin to account for how many times he’s traced at the pulsing hem of your folds, nipped at your fluttering hole, even the number of kisses he’s tongued out of your clit, all to pull out that saccharine stream of ambrosia from your slit. So sweet, so sticky, exactly what he needs to soothe his mind from the edge it sits on.

He hears your cries too, your sobs, the whimpers, and the need to cum blended with each word. Nanami wants to soothe you too, feed your numbed mind kind words of reassurance. But greed’s got the better of him, the sin staining his very tongue as he indulges in your honey.

But when he catches the way your hands dig into the plush of your ass, he’s wincing at the sight.

He’s also keen to that hand of yours drifting dangerously close to his canvas. He’s aware of your game and allows for that stubborn digit of yours to nip at your slit.

Those subtle pulses lead to you sinking in a little deeper, a certain detail he can’t let slip for too long.

“Am I not enough for you, Honey?” Go on, show me how you touch yourself.”

His chocolate hues break wide at how greedily your puffy hole envelopes your finger, swallowing each sloppy stride you pump into your core. But that’s all it is—cheap, sloppy work.

Somehow and someway, your body’s enjoying it, the addition of your finger bringing shivers to rake across your skin.

And while Nanami isn’t a jealous man, he’s resenting that touch of yours with a nasty sneer.

He could shy away, let his mouth help guide you through that high begging to crash through your body. You’re working so hard—but Nanami works harder.

The longest finger he has pecks at your busy hole. He doesn’t think much of it at first—until he catches your hole latching onto his teasing scheme. Before he can go on about how much of a mess you’ve made out of yourself, a dumbfounded awe strikes him. He’s able to attest to it, how his digit is being suckered inside you.

“Oh fu—knew you still needed my help…but we can work together too.” He’s chuckling to conceal that crack in his voice.

It’s a slow, wet draw that has you stretching, gasping to be stuffed by the oblivious girth of his finger. But it’s so wet that your pussy and your mouth have to squeal out against his deepening reach.

“K-Kennn, fuck! Right there!” You gasp, yielding your endeavors at Nanami’s introduction.

“Now I didn’t say to stop, Angel. Keep going, pretend like I’m not even here.”

And he means every word, he’s waiting for you to pick that sloppy pace, one that he challenges with the slow drags of his own. You lack the grace he strives for, the same grace that brings him right to your sweet spot without fail.

“O-ooh shit, Kento!” Your hips jerk from his ministrations, but he isn’t letting your sobs distract him from such a discovery.

“Hm? Is that your spot, Honey? Right here?” He taunts, sending his ruined digit to thrash against the stiffening bundle of nerves.

“‘M so close, Ken! Plea-Please don’t stop!”

Don’t stop? Don’t stop? He had no plans of stopping, yet your body seems to cry out against your compelling demands. Why, Nanami wants to bring about the lush high you deserve, whereas your hips suddenly picked up such a nasty habit of jerking away from his mouth has him thinking otherwise.

“I told you already, you don’t have to beg me. It’s right there, hm? Let it all out for me.”

He tags a hand at your rebelling hips and pulls you right onto his coiled tongue, where defeat lies along the horizon. He relies on his lips, now plump and plush, to tack onto the sputtering bulb of your clit and melt away all that prudish tension with a kiss.

Such a kiss allows him to trace over your spry hood, to roll out the glossy pearl in riveting tides. And when paired with his pummeling finger, Nanami can only count the seconds it takes for your body to crumble.

Nanami draws him back exclusively to watch your beautiful demise. He keeps his hand at your hips, kneading at the grip he used to restrain you out of pity. It’s an honor for him to be by your side, aiding you through what he deems to be a perilous high.

He’s so endowed to your allure, that Nanami can’t keep his thoughts all to himself—no, he utterly has a duty to share all he’s thinking with you, even how pretty you look in the face of ecstasy.

“Look at you, wanted to cum ‘nd I did it all for you…give it to me, c’mon, Angel.”

Your hand can still be found in his, clutching at his palm through every tremor, every sob, and the heavy sacrifice of your breath. He’s right there with you, decorating your skin with soiled pecks until your breath is caught and steady.

“Good?” He checks, his hand skimming along your skin.

“Oh, Ken…th-that was really good!”

“Well then…can you give me one more?”

That’s when you finally turn around to face him, gems of water adorning his body. Your eyes hinge on a particular sight though, his cock standing up at a slight curve.

Tan with the pretty cream hues of his shaft that contrast his own skin—and the blushing pink tip of his cock by miles. Vibrant veins line his every inch, lacing around his girth without fail. The underside’s heavy too, defined by the contours that flush out his cock. And of course the tip’s fat, what else did you expect, the blushing pink heart that tops him off pecks at you, his cock primed by tease.

Nanami’s touched by how quick he’s got your attention, and he plans of keeping your time well-spent. That’s why he’s swift to bestow a coddling grip around his, feeding himself with a few lazy pumps for your explicit viewing pleasure.

“But…I forgot to bring condoms—didn’t think we’d get this far. We don’t have to–”

“No,” you grin, passing a sinister glint back to Nanami, “It’s fine.”

Oaths spill from his lips the moment you grant him such a blessing. He’s already nuzzled against you, preparing his fragile mind with what lies beyond your hole.

“Oh, you got so wet for me, fuck,” the words he’s mumbling aren’t even made for your ears—he’s raving straight to your pussy. He’s dragging his slicked tip through your folds, up and down, tracing at your slit with lazy nips. His prodding bellhead comes to smother your tight hole in messy kisses, lathering up a rich foamy web that’s waiting to be destroyed.

“I’ll be gentle, so be nice to yourself too ‘nd don’t rush,” Nanami hums as he hunches over your body.

He’s keeping his hips loose as he sends his cock eight inches deep. Eight inches that he’s chosen to feed to you through kind snaps of his hips. Your puffy entrance suckles at the slit of his cock, drinking up every drop of his precum before he’s hidden inside your walls.

“Fuh–Angel, t-that’s just th-the tip, al-alright? Got a litt-ttle more to go,” He gasps. But that’s to serve as a reminder to him that he has more to go–which means Nanami has to grasp onto his composure for just a little while longer.

The urge’s there, but why rush when you feel so good right here? Warming up his tip with silky pulses that test Nanami’s resolve. The hands he’s chained to your hips grow heavy, bearing a harsh grip once he’s glued his hips to the thick plush of your ass.

“Gonna move now, Angel. Tell me if it’s too much right now, ‘kay?”

Nanami’s so ingrained with your suckling heat that he almost doesn’t want to pull out. If you keep squeezing him like that too, he knows he could in a matter of minutes.

But then a thought laps through his mind—he’s wearing a rare honor of delving into your pussy bare.

And that’s a chance he’s not willing to risk.

Slowly, his hips reel from you, stealing back those girthy inches from your greedy walls. He darts his eyes down to the sight, his cock bore with your slick. So messy what a few minutes can do, and it’s left him with a fixture for sore eyes.

Creamy, thick, and yet…it’s not enough. No, it’s not enough for Nanami, he needs you creaming a nice cloudy ring around the base of his cock.

Since that’s the task he’s chasing, Nanami doesn’t hesitate to seal himself back into you, finding a kind rhythm to alleviate your walls to his bulling girth. Every roll of his hips brings him closer to his goal, you’re easing up around him. He’s almost inspired by your resolve to take him to feed you just a little more of a tempo, his hips catching wind of your welcoming advances.

Your voice breaks his concentration. “Ken?”

“Ye-yeah, Honey?”

“M-More…I can take it, Baby.”

He had no business hearing that fall from your lips, that request only makes Nanami throb. He’s all for it now, reeling his hips back until the very tip of his cock threatens to leave you. The filthy rut he’s fallen into reads through your ass, towing hypnotic waves to ripple through your skin.

You feel so good around him, your satin-like walls snuggling his girth. He can feel you working at his own demise, all that squeezing feeding the knot in his stomach. Oh, how he wants to cum, to paint you in his seed—but that’s not an honor yet deserved, not while your orgasm has yet to present itself.

He’s so hellbent on being so kind to you that every bit of his body acts in accordance towards his wish. The thick head he delivers to, the girth of his cock keeps your greedy walls at bay, and the swell of his heavy balls babies your clit with light taps of rapture.

He’s almost forgotten where you two were—outside with neighbors under a kilometer away. But who’s Nanami to stop those delicious moans from leaving your mouth? You’re singing him a song of how well he’s pleasing you, how deep he sends his cock to reach. He’s been busy at your sweet spot for sometime, painting the nerves in his scent, in his kisses, and in his fervor.

“That’s it, stay with me. Y’re taking me so damn good too, Angel. Squeezing down on me like that…

“Fuck, Ken..I-my legs…can’t keep them up anymore…”

Before Nanami can even offer some advice, your body’s already given up the hope of support. Your legs stretch out along the towel, forcing you to lay on your tummy.

“Hm, don’t worry about it, just lay there all pretty and take this dick, okay?”

Of course, Nanami’s found a solution, as he always does. This solution prompts him to trap you beneath his world when planting the flat of his hands beside your head, his hunkering body stretching over you. He slots his chest along your back, leaving his hips to break away from you.

All your curves, all your breaths, all your whimpers and your moans were his own when he’s this close. He can feel everything, even the way your walls flutter around him with this newfound angle.

He gives you time to adjust while he gets to explore you, his eyes searching for where to lay his artwork.

Right there, along your shoulder, he’s already imagining all the kisses and bites claiming your soft skin.

“Tell me…” he mutters between a trail of pecks along your shoulder. “You know what I love about you?”

“N-No…what’s that?” you quiz, levering your chin back to find Nanami hard at work.

His earthy hues fall prey to your gaze. He’s compelled to abandon his work to favor you, the answer to your question dribbling from his mouth.

“Oh, what do I love about my sweet baby? It’s how vocal you are, always telling me what’s on your mind. Just like right now…” he smirks, “Even though I can’t see, you always seem to tell me how deep I am…and how much deeper I can go. Just…liiike this…”

A lazy drive of his hips sends his cock to deliver a wispy kiss right to your cervix, coaxing your tummy to cave in against the towel.

“Oooh shit! Ken! Fuck!!”, your gaping mouth mewls.

Nanami simply grins at how fast your hands ball up the towel between your fists, he’s proven right. Not that he cares all that much, bearing the privilege of hearing your sweet cry is all the reward he needs.

“Oh I know, Baby, I know,” his voice carrying a suave chord, “I’m gonna be nice, fuck you right too.”

A man of his word he is, Nanami Kento.

“KenKenKen! ‘M gonna fucking cum again!” you sob, bucking your hips up against him.

“Again? That’s my girl. Gonna cum on my dick, right? I’ll make it a good one too, don’t you worry!”

He’s working on your behalf, grinding his hips along the swell of your ass. He can’t go any deeper than this, but he’ll admit that he’s neglected your sweet spot for quite some time now, Blame it on the feverish heat subscribing to his body, but he’s ready to focus his all onto you.

That includes kissing at your sweet spot with the head of his cock. Rolling his hips ever so carefully, sketching along those inflamed nerves with buttery pecks, he’s ready to make you cum—hard. Harder than what any toy, your fingers, and any man ever could.

Though, it’s when he slips up and finds your cervix—that’s what brings about your downfall. His ill-minded finding brought about deep-rooted tremors to wreck your core, capturing your entire body with a hellish wrath. Your walls clench at Nanami, cursing him for being such a fate before you.

Yet, all he can do is cheer you on, chuckling at how his efforts brought him to a place of bliss.

“That’s it, cream all on me, Baby. Fuck, trying to make me cum too, aren’t you?”

“Ken, I-I—ohmygod!”

“Shhh, I got you, Sweetheart,” he’s humming along your cheek, “Come back down to me…we’re not done yet.”

“We’re not??!”

Nanami hides the sly grin on his face as he turns back to the awaiting pool of water behind you both.

“Of course not. We came all the way out here, did you think I wasn’t going to take you in the water too, Baby?”

“Ken…I…I don’t think I can cum anymore!”

“Oh yes, you can! You didn’t even squirt for me yet! But if you don’t do it tonight, I’ll make you squirt tomorrow.”

Selfish, so utterly selfish of him to try and pull another round out of you, but his tempered patience challenges this rare spout of excitement. For in simply a few hours, Nanami’s become addicted to you—your lips, your body, your moans, even watching you cum at his hand, he’s addicted to it all.

“One…one more, ‘kay?” you wager, a look of your glossy doe eyes consuming his sights.

“Okay! That—”

“But…” you swiftly intervene, your weary hand searching for rest along his thigh.

Nanami’s eyes follow your lithe hand, tracking the lazy path it takes up his body. He’s still waiting to hear the rest of your deal, but how can he when your hand trails up his thigh, curving up around the base of his cock and up towards his flexing abdomen.

“Ken, baby?” The melodic call of his name breaks the trance, Nanami’s sights meeting your own.

“Y-Yeah?”

Nanami’s eyes light up at the smile adorning your face.

“I wanna ride you. It’s the least I can do for makin’ you work on your vacation.”

He’s gawking at you. Dumbly too. His mouth surrenders to that gap and he merely stares at you. That’s all he can do to distract himself from the mind-numbing rush of blood filling out every inch of his cock.

Because thanks to you…he’s painfully hard again too.

“Aww, you like that idea? You’re already making a mess, Ken.”

He looks down. You’re right. All this excitement has him dripping aimlessly, the back of your thigh covered in patchy drops of his precum.

But he can’t bring himself to move, not when he’s caught between a place of utter embarrassment and pitiful arousal. Should he apologize? Should he wipe it off?

As you crawl back onto your hands and knees, suddenly his cock’s sitting homely between the soft, thick globes of your ass, Nanami doesn’t know where he found the restraint to not paint your skin white right then and there.

And you have all the confidence to taunt him now too? Taking advantage of his dumbstruck silence to roll your hips against him, stroking his weeping cock ever so slowly.

“C’mon, Ken, I’m waiting. Don’t you wanna go back in the water and relax…with me? We can all that fun we’ve been talking about too.”

He’s stuck on the sight. Up and down, you’re dragging back on his cock, leaving the white-hot tip raw and aching; leaving those portly veins to bloat and flourish along his length; leaving the spill of precum to dangerous tread behind the lines of milky white.

“Fuck” Nanami’s voice rattles out at last. “I might—no, if we do…I'm so sorry…Sweetheart, I’m sorry but I’m not gonna last long!”

“That’s okay,” you coo, “We can go nice and slow just to calm you down.”

Shamefully, Nanami nods at your assurance. As to how you ended up with a hand over him is shameful—but a well-played card.

Slowly, he descends back into the haze of steam, the water welcoming his body once more. He sits himself at the bottom of the pool, the water coming up just above his navel.

In the corner of his eye, Nanami carefully watches as you slip back onto the water and crawl into his sprawled lap to straddle him. Your arms drape along his broad shoulders and he’s already reaching for your hips with hungry hands.

Your forehead presses up against his own, sealing Nanami in a spell he couldn’t imagine breaking from.

“Gonna go slow, okay?” You whisper, your hips drifting above the pink crown of his cock.

Though he’s been buried to the hilt of your heat, it’s still foreign to Nanami’s mind what it means to have you split over him. He doesn’t know that to have your pretty pussy split and sputtering dumb means to carve your walls into his shape, his size, to mold you around every single detail that comes with a man of his caliber.

And that upright curve he’s donning too.

The sweltering gush that your walls paint Nanami behind has him reeling beyond comparison. He’s so desperate too, the urge to snap you down to his tensed thighs teases the very hands he keeps pinned to your luring hips.

But he can’t forget that it’s an effort you make to accommodate him, laggardly drowning your poor hole beneath the sinful weight of his length.

Taking him like this, it’s overwhelming to have something so thick, so hot, and stupidly twitching out of sheer excitement fill you like it’s easy.

Yet, you do it anyway with that cute break between your lips, gasping like something so shocking has your attention. You do it with furrowed brows, confounded as to how you’ve ended up gaping around his fat cock out of the kindness of your heart.

It’s all so shrewd, but your sacrifice makes everything worthwhile once Nanami’s immersed in your spitting cunt once more.

He’s right back to relish how your walls pamper every bit of his cock in those flirting embraces. He’s right back to gritting his teeth, finding it in himself to bear that persuasive hold you’ve laid before him.

Nanami has it in him to cry out, to rattle off hymns of how well that sloppy pussy of yours got him—but all he can conjure up is the will to pin a sloppy kiss on your lips.

His mind might be fleeting, but Nanami’s learning you too are a woman of your word; slow is an understatement for the mesmerizing toll your hips adopt. It’s a mesmerizing toll that’s slow enough to have the likes of Nanami—a man of rigid logic—gasping for air.

You’re still squeezing him, but it’s more aligned with your intentions now rather than the nerve of taking him on like before. It’s all so tedious, having your hips roll all the way to the top, dangling at the tip, only for your walls to lather up the fat pink bulb in gummy kisses.

All the teasing has his cock threatening to slip out, cursing your cunt in twitching for stealing back the shared bliss.

“Oh fuck—Wha…What are you doing to me, Angel?” He’s whimpering against your lips, and your smirk catches every single word.

You feign innocence with him, pressing a merciful peck onto his quivering frown. “What are you talking about, Honey? I’m taking my sweet time with you, just like I said I was.”

That’s what you say, but Nanami’s aware that there’s more to your claim than what meets his ear. If you were really taking your sweet time with him, why is he spiraling down this pit of ravishing piety?

You’re drawing out whimpers he himself never heard before, his jaw slacked by the sudden song on his heart. You’re only riding him, but can you feel how every bit of his body surrenders to you? You’re following through on your word, yet here Nanami is, chasing after your swiveling hips with mindless bucks of his own.

You’re too clever at having him dance in your palm, and that’s something Nanami can’t help but plot against. He isn’t one to challenge the powers that be—but something about this moment taunts the very chemistry of his psyche.

He has to even the playing field, though, in his current state of writhing and plight, all he has is his hands.

For his ruse to taste success, Nanami’s hands can be found bound to a particular parlour of your back—the lumbar, or…your lower back. He’s sure you’ve forgotten about his speech from earlier, but he meant every word. For what he possessed in his hands was both the power and knowledge to have you cum without any real need for penetration.

And while that holds true…he does have you on his cock right now, working so hard to relieve him. He’s musing over the idea, hungry to see how hard you’d cum if he picks up his teasing.

His thumbs slot themselves back along those dimples he’s grown fond of, his sinking digits shattering the powerful strides of your hips.

“Oh—You’re back to that again?!” You jolt, your hips seized by his mischievous ploy.

Nanami’s drinking in your exasperation with a smirk. “Told you, there’s so many ways to make you cum.

He’s bracing for the torturous words you have in store for his brash rebuttal. That’s the fate he’s anticipated to befall him.

He wasn’t, however, prepared for your encircling arms to pull him closer, your bodies simmering against one another. He didn’t anticipate the kisses you’d place at his gaping lips, gentle and sweet. And there’s no possible way that Nanami could have orchestrated the words set to leave your lips.

“Oh yeah? Then let’s cum together, Ken.”

“Are…you close?” he whispers softly.

“Mhm,” you nod, “And I know you are too.”

Nanami’s taken aback by your tentative nature. You know his habits, mannerisms, and now how dangerously close he was to spilling in your womb. He had the strength to press you up along the pool walk to finish himself off, but where’s the fun in such bold novelties?

Because if he did follow through on that thought, he’d be missing out on bearing witness to your eyes screwing shut when you drop your hips a little too hard, bringing his cock right back to your sweet spot.

“K-Ken, I’m–!” That’s all he needs to hear, not when your face paints him a clear picture. With your eyes rolling back into your skull, your forehead sunken along the crook of his neck, and that breathless sob warming his skin—you were right at your peak.

It doesn’t help his cause that you get all the more sensitive, that minor mistake throwing your whole body into the heat of chaos. You’re ruining him in flittering clenches, pulling every ounce of Nanami’s strength to the surface of his skin.

He’s seeing stars in his eyes, white patches seizing his vision as your poor pussy stutters around him. He knows what’s due to follow—that all-powerful weight that pins him down and forces that tragic cycle to crash down on Nanami.

His legs are subdued by a trifling rip of nerve, rendering Nanami’s reprisal futile. He’s going to cum, that’s the pill he has to swallow. But he can’t begin to fathom that he’s going to cum inside you.

Sure, it’s a thought he’s paid some time too—every day for the last three years. But now that he’s faced with that want, he can’t help but rebuke it completely.

He’s reaching between your bodies to grab at his cock, wedging himself from your heat with a sob. You were so good to him, even better around him and now he’s forced to bear his orgasm alone while your own courses through your veins.

“‘m…c-cum—cumming! Fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Baby!” He seethes, clenching his jaw when his overworked body is faced with the lone choice of release. A release that has opal hues spitting from his twitching slit, thick ropes of white staining the water.

He’s devastated by a hitching breath that leaves his stomach caved and his burly chest shuddering for air. Nanami’s head is sent to roll, dropping back as he’s doing his best to hold back that woeful moan.

And he’s still going, still tainting the water with his definition of healing. The hot spring was healing, but your pussy was the epitome of rejuvenation.

“Hey,” Nanami’s hitching voice rasps as he strokes the small of your back, “Still with me?”

All you can deliver is a sheepish nod, your arms still clinging to Nanami for support. And he’s got you, his hands cradling your delicate body through the reeling fatigue that comes after such bliss.

He’s exhausted, worked raw and to the bone, but Nanami still finds the energy to pull both you and himself out of the water and into the bedroom.

With just the indirect rays of light from the hallway, Nanami gently lays you to rest upon the vast face of the bed. You look so peaceful like this, nodding off with a faint grin plastered to your puffy lips. He finds himself inclined towards you, hovering above you as he dusts the back of his hand past your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, “You did so good for me, so proud of you! I’ll take care of the rest, don’t worry–”

“Ken?” your hoarse voice croaks out.

Nanami immediately gives in to you, concern dressing his face with knitted brows. “Yes, Sweetheart?”

Your hand creeps towards his own, your fingers weaving around his own. He can tell you have a question on your mind, it’s begging to come out too.

“It’s okay, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Well…can I still come to work Monday?”

Nanami’s eyes soften as he peers over to you. Even in this darkness, he can make out the frown playing at your lips. His hand comes to soothe all your worries, cupping your cheek with his thumb and stroking the highs of your cheek.

“Of course, Baby. You can come in, leave early, whatever you want.”

“So then…can I still work with you?”

That question troubles Nanami, striking him inaudible as he cautiously considers his answer. If he had things his way, Nanami wanted you to go shopping, to spoil yourself with spa days and classy cafes. He wanted you to enjoy the bliss of free time, while he worked to ensure all your dreams could come true.

But then again, he didn’t have it his way.

He has you to consider now, and if working with him brought you joy, who was he to ruin that?”

“Well…I want you to go have fun, go shopping, go to the spa. But that’s what I want. I also love having you at the office with me too so…if that’s something you really want, then…”

“It is! Now that we’ve figured that much out…let’s go.”

You make an attempt to stand, only for Nanami to catch your trembling body within his care. “Um..where are we going?” He asks, draping an arm around your waist.

“To shower. I may be tired, but I think I can handle a shower with you…and only a shower, Kento.”

“That’s fine by me. But, since you’re up…we should also plan out what we’re doing tomorrow. I was thinking we leave here at 9:30 and—”

“Kennn,” you draw out, “It’s vacation. Let things happen, okay?”

He muses at your words, “Let things…happen, you say?”

Let things happen? That’s the kind of advice he prefers to steer clear of. And yet, it’s gotten Nanami to achieve his wildest dream—turning his pretty assistant into his girlfriend. He steals one more glance at you, a look that fetches a smile to grace his timid features.

“Then, we’ll let things happen, won’t we, Darling?”

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iluvloganhowlett · 3 months ago

Note

Feel free to reject this request since it’s kinda heavy, but maybe Hugh kissing the reader’s sh scars but it’s like friends to lovers? Preferably f reader but gen is fine too

YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL ❀˖°

in which logan draws stars around your scars

warnings: HEAVY MENTIONS OF SH⚠️⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS IS A TOPIC YOU CANNOT HANDLE, angst, blood

i actually love this request as someone who struggles w sh themselves so pls don’t be afraid to ask smt like this!

i also switched it to logan instead of hugh bc i feel like he just fits the part better and this isn’t friends to lovers it’s just lovers😭 sorry

“you drew stars around my scars. but now im bleeding.”

you couldn’t help it, the burning sensation of the blood dripping down over your old scars was a feeling you couldn’t resist.

for 2 years now you’ve told yourself that you’d stop, thay you’d get better. especially since logan came around and made you want to get better. but you couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried.

more sooner than later did the tears of guilt and regret begin pooling your eyes, the hot liquid dripping down your face as you held the cold towel to your wrist harder.

you knew logan would be up here any minute; his class was coming to an end soon. the last thing you needed was him walking in on you cutting yourself after you told him you’d stop.

you took a deep breath, drying your wrist and slapping a few bandaids on it before looking at yourself in the mirror; you were a mess. your face was flushed, covered in streaks of dried tears as the new ones kept coming. your hair was a ruffled mess, you were drowning in your hoodie and fuck did your wrist burn.

“y/n/n?” you heard from afar, shit. surely logan was in your bedroom, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom.

you sighed, praying that your voice would be strong. “i’m in here, just a minute!” you called out, cursing yourself for your voice cracking at the last second.

immediately logan’s concern grew higher, slowly approaching the door and leaning his head against it. your nervous sobs were hard to miss, especially from right against the door.

“y/n,” logan called firmly, “open the door f’me please.”

your eyes widened, noticing how logan’s voice grew louder. it didn’t take you long to pick up on how close logan was to you.

“i can’t,” your voice cracked, you looked down at your hands that shook rapidly, afraid of what was to come.

logan’s brows furrowed, he’d had enough. you heard one of his claws retract as he picked the lock.

quickly, you took out your box, shoving your blade into it and throwing it god knows where into the drawer just before logan barged in.

“are you okay in here?” he asked, glancing down at your exposed wrist, covered in bandaids.

you followed his eyes, yours widening when you noticed you forgot to roll down your sleeve.

logan felt like he could physically feel the pit growing in his stomach, realizing what you had done. logan had never understood why you chose to hurt yourself like this. but he did understand what it was like to endure so much pressure and emotion that you don’t know how to contain it. and so he never screamed, or yelled, or frankly even asked ‘why?,’ because not everyone has a ‘why.’

your tears were flowing once more as you moved closer to logan, “i’m sorry,” you sobbed, burying yourself in his arms.

he immediately welcomed you, wrapping his strong

arms around your shoulders, rocking you back and forth in hopes to calm you down.

he looks down at you, his own eyes glossed over slightly, he hates seeing you like this, especially when he knows he can’t do anything about it.

soon logan loosens his grip, reaching gently for your left wrist and bringing it up to his lips, planting a soft and gentle kiss on one of your old scars.

“my baby,” he mutters, kissing another one while ensuring he leaves your fresh one alone, “my sweet baby.”

you can do nothing but sob harder. you’d expected numerous reactions out of logan but this definitely wasn’t one of them.

“i love you,” kiss. “i’ll always love you, doll.” kiss. “y’know that? i’ll never stop loving you.” kiss.

your eyes dart down as you feel a drop of water on your wrist as logan continues kissing up and down your arm.

he was crying.

his confidence wavers, “you’re beautiful,” kiss. “so, so beautiful,” his voice begins to crack as he leans a head down on your shoulder.

logan takes a deep breath before dropping your wrists and instead taking your face in his hands, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “you’re always gonna be beautiful t’me, alright? the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”

it was the first time you’d ever seen logan cry this hard, the hot tears pouring down his face at an unbelievable pace. you’d be a monster to say this didn’t make you tear up in the slightest.

you place your hands on his wrists, his hands still holding onto your face. slowly he leans in, closing the space between you two. kissing you in such a gentle, loving way that it makes your legs feel weak.

“i love you, logan.”

“you’re beautiful, peach.”

this is so sad☹️

taglist!!

@velvrei @spazwayy @oatmilkriver @sseleniaa @mei-simp @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesangel @realsimpbitchshit @pickuptruck01 @keigohawks @thereallchristine @zeeader @pink-jello-fish @twinky-wink @malfoys-demigod @seamlessepiphany @withafoll @lulawantmula @gigachadcowboy

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ere-the-sun-rises · 3 months ago

Text

Batfam and the Lazarus Pit

This isn't my idea, and I honestly can't remember if @frownyalfred or @bruciemilf came up with this idea first, but it's been living in my head rent free and I need to get it out.

There are Lazarus Pits under Gotham, even contributing to why the city's so cursed. The Bats have each used a Lazarus Pit at least once (maybe not Spoiler and Signal, but I'm not sure). I'm fairly sure it's also canonical that the more you use it, the more prolonged the effects are and it kinda changes you incrementally but permanently.

Enter the Batfam, who train like crazy and are Olympian-level athletes all on their own, and using the Lazarus to help each other on death's door. (They don't tell each other when they do this, and they think it's never been done to them - except Jason, he can always tell - but they also don't share when they've done it to others.)

As time goes on, everyone gets older, stronger, more proficient at their jobs. Some take on younger teams, some proteges, some fly solo or stick around home. It's one of the OG Leaguers who points it out one day when they're having a civilian lunch - probably Ollie or Hal. In my head Bruce is one of, if not the youngest, OG Leaguers. So it's not crazy when Clark or Barry start to wrinkle around the eyes or get grey in their hair well before Bruce would. Bruce is also a public figure - he's got appearances to keep up.

But then ... Bruce is over 40 and his hair is still as black as it's ever been. His wrinkles are from his scowling and focus, only crinkling around the edges of his eyes and mouth a little bit. Idly, Hal wonders out loud if Bat's eyes have always been so dark, almost like coals. Barry notes that Bruce is way bigger than he used to be, that he bulges the suits he wears to galas with his size. Ollie, who's own beard is greying, bitterly points out that even Bruce's stubble is still black.

And suddenly, Bruce hits 50 and he's still thick-chested and dark-haired. The other Bats only seem to get more and more ... more. No non-meta can spar with them anymore unless they hold back and they seem to have endless stamina and pain tolerance. Clark and Diana think nothing of it, but the other fully human Leaguers start to wonder what's really going on. If maybe Bruce had lied to them. But J'onn swears that in their own minds, all of the Bats fully believe they're human. Aside from the suspicion, there's no reason to believe otherwise. They still bleed and scar, no matter how beautiful they seem to remain. No matter that Bruce keeps going and going and going even after others his age have been retired for years.

Fed up one day, Ollie asks him how he does it. Dermatologists? Botox? Just For Men? Bruce snorts and rolls his eyes. He smirks, "Good genes, I guess."

Bruce is nearly 70 when the grey creeps into his hair and his body starts to slow. His children are still active as ever, and when Tim takes up the Batman mantle, Bruce retires to train new heroes. One young hero complains that Bruce hits like one of the Amazons she trained with but he only responds that he's never stopped being the Bat even with tbe cowl off.

And then ... Leaguers start dying. Gradually, age takes them one by one and they's succeeded by the heroes they've mentored and the children who followed in their footsteps. Grey is starting to creep into Dick and Jason's hair, but they're still as vibrant and lively as ever.

It's only when it's just him left of humans of the original group that he actually considers why. If anyone should have died young, it should have been him. And yet, he's nearing 90 and not nearly as withered as some of them had been when they passed away. The vitality he's always attributed to his genetics and continued activity can't explain why all his children remain as beautiful and capable all their lives as he has. So one day, he gathers his wayward children down in the cave like they used to 50 years ago and asks them to be completely honest with him.

"Have any of you used the Lazarus Pit on anyone here without telling them or reporting it?"

The silence he's met with is deafening.

#Batman #Batfam #Batfamily #Bruce wayne #Justice league #Age slowing #Lazarus pit

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sanguineterrain · 5 months ago

Text

angel of small death | jason todd

Summary: You can't remember what it was like to be human. Until Jason returns. Now, he's the only thing tethering you to this world. And you won't let anything happen to him.

Pairing: Jason Todd x shadow monster!gn!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings/tags: monster!reader, canon-typical violence, codependency, reader attacks Batman, reader accidentally hurts Jason, stalking, suicidal thoughts, crying, hurt/comfort, somewhat happy ending.

A/N: I wrote this in a day so if there are any grammar mistakes please feel free to lmk!

the divider

You feel it when Jason returns.

No one else seems to. The Bat (his… family?) doesn’t sense anything is different, but you do.

And just as quickly as you feel him, he’s lost. His grave is empty. You scour Gotham for him, his body, anything. But he’s gone. Stolen.

If you were more powerful, free from this wretched body, you would find him. Hunt down whoever took him, then bring him back to Gotham, so he might rest.

For a short day, your limbs had felt like flesh. The void that is your mouth had smiled. You were human again.

Jason is lost. You scream in mourning.

He’s back.

You’re awake.

“Go through the side!”

Hood’s men scramble to obey, armed and ready. They’ve planned this ambush for three and a half weeks. Black Mask made himself scarce after Hood made it clear he wouldn’t leave him alone. You watched in pride and worry as Jason threw himself into his revenge.

He’s stronger than in your memory. He’s big, bigger than most opponents. Bigger than the Bat. He’s good with a weapon. Good in combat. Scarred all over. Brutal.

But he’s angry and hurt, and he’s human. He may have the Pit inside of him, but he is no monster. You would know.

The Bat is hunting him. You will tear him apart, if necessary. You will tear apart anyone who hurts Jason.

You slip through the shadows, letting your limbs stretch as long as they can. They make awful shrieking noises when you stretch too far, and it makes the men below nervous.

One of Jason’s men looks right at you. You look back. He gasps and runs back to the van.

These men are loyal but they’re nowhere near strong enough to protect Jason. You’d prefer to eat them all, but Jason seems to trust them. So you gut a lackey in a clown mask and silently remain on the highest balcony across the street from Black Mask’s lair.

Once, you permitted yourself to watch Jason in his apartment, in his bed, while he slept. He cried through a nightmare. You tried to chase the nightmare away, but you’d only made it worse. He awakened, sweating and gasping, and screamed as soon as he saw you.

You haven’t revealed yourself since.

You are lonely. You want to die. You’ve wanted to die for a long time.

But you won’t. Not before you see Jason home safe.

Automatic gunfire echoes from the lair. You rush to the unlit side of the building. You peer in through the window.

It’s mostly Black Mask’s men on the floor, bleeding. You slip inside to eat the death.

“The fuck is that?!”

You look up just as three bullets pass through you. You scowl at the offending gunman, who drops his gun and runs. Rude.

You wouldn’t normally enter like this, make your presence so obvious. If someone were looking for you, they could easily track you after tonight.

But nothing matters except Jason.

There’s shouting outside. You soar to the ceiling and through the skylight.

“Shit, shit, fuck! Boss! Boss, you alright?”

“Shut the fuck up, Garett,” Jason says, helmeted head lolling against the brick. Three of his men crowd him.

You speed to the shadow, carefully avoiding the light casted by the overhead streetlight. You’ve stepped in one before and the fluorescent lights sting.

Jason is bleeding from his gut, where his armor separates to allow movement.

You creep closer. If you still had a heart, it would beat fast. You remember how it felt. You don’t feel fear often these days, but now you know for sure that it was never gone.

You scream.

The streetlight shatters. Jason and his men cover their ears, shouting in pain. His men start to bleed from their ears. It doesn’t take much for you to strike them down, knock them into a fitful slumber.

“Who’s there?”

Jason immediately pulls out his gun, despite his injury. You try to stay on his side, so he won’t have to see your yellow, bottomless eyes. You’d close your eyes if you weren’t so afraid of hurting Jason further.

“I ain’t scared of you!” he says, and you’d be inclined to believe him if your teeth weren’t peeking out at the scent of his fear.

You swallow and focus on his injury. You stretch your fingers to two thin points. Then you reach into his stomach and pull out the bullet.

Jason yells in pain and fires. You ignore it and keep going.

“Sssssss-sssor–ry,” you rasp.

Jason turns his head and looks right at you. He panics, trying to squirm away. You quickly hold him down so your fingers won’t rip through his intestine.

“Let go a’me! Let go!”

He fires until the cartridge is empty. You are crying.

“Sss-sssor-sssorry.” Then you sear Jason’s wound closed.

That’s when he passes out, the pain overwhelming him. Black tears run down your face and join the dark.

As soon as the wound is cauterized, you slink to the darkest corner of the city, inside an abandoned warehouse.

You let yourself grow into your full form, showing your claws and exposed tendons and the hole in your chest.

Then you cry, cry, cry. The windows explode, the bricks become dust, and still, you cry into the rubble. You cry until morning.

You can’t stop.

You should. You’re fearsome and ugly and Jason is already entrenched in grief. You’ll only make him worse.

But after the ambush, you can’t rest. You have tried to return to the dirt, to where you had lain for so long. You swim to the bottom of the ocean and try to sleep with the creatures there. That doesn’t work either.

So you follow Jason instead. You follow him every night on patrol. You snipe anyone who gets too close, intending to harm. Jason returns home with a full magazine, most nights. You know he should take care of his adversaries on his own to keep in practice, but you throw up iridescent black oil when you try to let go and not protect him.

“I know you’re there.”

You’re crouched on an apartment’s fire escape two stories above. Jason has stopped. He’s been frozen for several minutes.

You look around, trying to find who Jason sees. But the alley is empty.

“I know…” Jason takes a shaky breath. “I know you’re there. I feel ya watchin’ me.”

Then he takes off his helmet and tosses it aside. He takes off his holsters and removes his knives and tasers and drops those next to his helmet.

You crawl on all fours down the apartment building, claws scraping the brick. You can smell his fear from here.

You rattle a loose screw at the end of your climb. Jason turns in your direction. He gasps, eyes wide.

You freeze. Neither of you move for a long minute.

“You’ve been followin’ me,” he says.

You nod. You’re not sure if he can see you in the dark.

“Who—what are you?”

You crawl closer. Jason wants to move away, you can tell, but he doesn’t.

On your hands, you come up to his head. You wish you could make yourself smaller.

Jason swallows hard, chest rising and falling quickly.

You’re not good at speaking. You used to be. Used to have all the words. Now they’re gone. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

“I feel… shit, I feel like I know ya,” he says. “You know me?”

“Rrrrrrrob–rrobiiii—robiiiiin.”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah. You knew me then?”

You reach for him. Careful. So careful. You use the blunt side of your claw to touch Jason’s scarred cheek. He’s so warm. So full of light.

He steps back. Your hand falls.

You start to cry. You can’t help it.

Your claws dig into the pavement, tearing through asphalt.

“Waaaan–wantttttt. Tttt. Jaaaayy. WAN—TTTT. WA—JAY. WANNN—”

You try to speak softly, but it comes out like a shriek. Jason grunts in pain, covering his ears. Red seeps through his fingers.

You stumble backwards at the sight. You must go. You must try again and see if the ocean will take you.

“Wait! Wait, wait!”

Jason runs around, holding up his hands in front of you. You stop, black tears pooling into a puddle at his feet.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. I know you.”

You want to speak but you’ll hurt him if you do. So you cry in silence. Jason waits.

“‘S okay,” he says again. “You didn’t do it on purpose. Shh, shh. Don’t cry.”

His fear is lessened. Not gone, but not grown.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, honey.”

The tears keep falling. Jason keeps waiting.

“‘Course I remember ya,” he says, and pets you where your cheek should be. “How could I forget you?”

You moan quietly. It doesn’t hurt Jason this time.

The night that the Bat finds Jason brings a thunderstorm with it.

You’ve followed Jason for weeks now. He’s no longer afraid when he catches glimpses of your endless mouth and shapeless eyes. Sometimes, on patrol, you get nervous. When you’re too close to people, to noise, you get restless. You want to run, but you can’t, because Jason will be alone. And so will you.

Jason has begun to hum when you get nervous. You get closer when he does, looming over him, but he no longer smells like fear.

“Y’smell like peaches, y’know that?” he’d said a few weeks ago.

You’d just pitched your head lower to show you were listening.

“Yeah,” Jason had said. “Like peach pie. I was so confused the night you removed the bullet. Craved peach pie for days. Ain’t that the weirdest shit you’ve ever heard?”

Honestly, yes. After everything, that is definitely the weird part.

“Gooo—g-g…” You’d swallowed, frustrated. Jason had hummed.

“‘S okay,” he’d said. “‘M listening. Take your time.”

So you’d tried again. “G-good?”

“Yeah, honey. Oh, yeah. So good. You’re so good.”

That hadn’t been what you meant. But you’d gotten the feeling Jason knew what you were asking and decided to answer another question anyway.

It’s pouring tonight. The rain doesn’t bother you, but if lightning starts, you may have to retire for tonight.

That’s only in an extreme circumstance, however. For now, you’re right there with Jason.

“Shit, ‘s really comin’ down, huh!” Jason shouts over the rain.

He swings to a rooftop and almost slips on water. You rush to him, but he holds up a hand, laughing.

“‘M fine, ‘m fine. I gotta finish the southside. You can dip if you want.”

You don’t respond. Jason sighs.

“Alright, fine. C’mon.”

You’re two blocks into the southside when a dark blob lands in front of Jason. You stay hidden, eyes sharp.

The blob is a man. The Bat.

“Jason,” Batman says. Jason stiffens.

You feel a screech working its way out, but you stop it for Jason’s sake. You will intervene if he needs help.

Both of their fear levels have shot up.

The Bat steps forward. “You lied to me, Jason. I can’t believe it’s you going around Gotham killing—”

“Oh, you can’t?” Jason spits. “You can’t believe your little bird that’s back from the dead is angry that no one fuckin’ cleaned up this city? The clown is still alive, Bruce!”

Thunder cracks the sky. You stay silent, keeping your grip on the side of the building light. You’d offered to kill the Joker for Jason. Ki–lllll clo–own? K–ill?

But Jason had told you no. Had said that it wasn’t your responsibility. So you’d refrained.

The Bat is quiet for a moment. Then, “I’m sorry, Jason. I know you’re upset, but—”

“Fuck you. I don’t wanna hear your attempts at peacemaking. I’m not gonna stop no matter what you say.”

“Jason,” the Bat says. “You have to stop killing.”

“The only way I’m gonna stop is if you kill me.”

You scramble down as soon as you hear armor clash. A batarang strikes Jason’s chestplate. Jason’s increasingly aggressive, forcing the Bat to defend himself harder.

Thunder strikes again. Jason knows all of the Bat’s weak points. And while the Bat is distracted, it doesn’t stop him from fighting well.

The moment the Bat draws blood, you stalk out of hiding and howl.

Three streetlights explode as you grow to your full, terrifying size. Both the Bat and Jason cover their ears. You slam the Bat down on the ground, claws shredding his cape and suit. You’re furious. You will kill.

One of your claws punctures the Bat’s thigh. He shouts in pain. You’ll tear him apart for making Jason bleed.

Rain beats down on you. You heave over the Bat, shaking with fury.

“Stop! Fuck, fuck. Stop it!”

Jason pulls at your arm, which is nearly the size of his entire body. His helmet is cracked, his exposed eye bloodshot. That rekindles your anger, but Jason quickly intercepts.

“Stop, please. It’s okay. I’m okay. Don’t kill him, please. Don’t kill.”

“Miiiiii—m—miiii-ine. Mine.”

Jason nods. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it.

“Yeah, yeah, I am. I’m yours. He’s not gonna take me away from ya. He wouldn’t kill me.”

The Bat coughs, spitting blood. “N-never.”

"Mine," you say, tremulous, blood under your claws. "My Robin."

Jason shakes you. "Yours. I'm yours. C’mon, peach. C’mon, love.”

It would be so easy to end it now. End you and the Bat. And you would do it if you didn’t think it would end Jason too.

His fear is high. You pull your claw out of the Bat, who groans. You let Jason lead you away. He holds your darkness.

“Scaaaar—sc-ared. Scare-d?”

“Yeah,” Jason admits. “Little bit.”

You close your eyes. “Ba-ad.”

“No, honey. You’re not bad. You’re scared.”

You dig your claws into the roof, cracking the concrete. You let yourself shrink, so Jason can wrap his arms around your neck. You don’t trust yourself enough to touch him back.

He’s crying. Jason is crying.

You pull back a little, so you can see his face.

“Cr-y,” you say, feeling like weeping yourself. “Cry cr-y c-ry.”

You want to say so much more, but you can’t. Your words are gone. You know Jason doesn’t judge you for that, but you need to tell him. Tell him how you feel.

You lick Jason’s cheeks. They taste like salt and rainwater. You lick more. Lick until he stops crying.

“Son,” the Bat says behind you.

“‘S okay, B,” Jason says.

Rain drips down his face and suit. He’s beginning to shiver. You try to shield him as best as you can.

“We’re okay,” Jason says, this time just to you.

“Sc-scaare—”

“No, no. Hey, peach. ‘M not scared. Y’hear me?”

You slowly drape your arms over Jason’s back. He strokes your wrist that droops and stretches unnaturally.

“Yeah. You know me. I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #jason todd imagine #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #shadow monster #shadow monster reader #monster reader #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dc x you #jason todd x gender neutral reader

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lynnlovesthestars · 1 year ago

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Why?

Pairing: Astarion x Reader. Genre: Hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. Warnings: mentions of past abuse, self-harm, astarion is a little bitch that can't accept someone can take care of him, blood sucking, lots of pulling and letting go i guess?, messy emotions for messy people, self doubt and insecurities. Anxiety, panic attacks, nudity but not sexual. (if i missed something, please let me know. Summary: night is that moment when you can take care of yourself, but what if you find someone that needs more care than you? WC: 4.4k

Author notes: omg i finally finished this one, i've been working on it for a while now and initially it was supposed to be published before i started getting requests, which by the way im loving and im diligently working on<3, anyways this was a small challenge for me, i've been trying to work with stuff i wasn't entirely comfortable with to push my boundaries and learn something new, and this came out.. I hope you'll enjoy this read while I work on the next draft<3 love you lots!

When the moon finally made its way in the sky, and dinner had been consumed, you knew you finally had some time for yourself.

You’d take that time to scrub away the blood that stuck to your skin and the filth of the day. Traveling along a river had it’s pros: you found a nice spot along the bed of the Chionthar that seemed perfect for a bath.

That night the place was particularly silent, the wind was blowing between the leaves and it was the only sound that you could hear until you passed that funny rock shaped like a bear.

Initially you thought it was an animal, or at worse a beast, but as you delved closer rhe sound became much clearer.

Heavy breathing.

It was a sound you could recognize everywhere, because it was a sound you’d make on those nights when anxiety would take over and you felt helpless. Since you went through all the hardships of your life, you promised yourself you’d do your best to help people in need, and in that moment there was definitely someone that needed help.

Your stomach was churning as you followed the shallow breaths that reverberated in the silence of the undergrowth. It led to a small clearing where the moonlight was free to enlight as much as possible of your surroundings. On the opposite side from where you came from, someone was coiled on himself, exposing their bleeding back your way.

The slender fingers clawed at their own flesh leaving deep marks, but it was the whimpering that helped you recognize the person in front of you.

Astarion.

Astarion that was completely naked, his nails were digging into his shoulders, and trembling like a beaten puppy. His clothes were scattered around the clearing, they were ripped in the haste of the panic, you assumed.

You rushed to his side, dropping your bag next to him as you crouched and cradled him to you.

“‘Starion” You whispered as you scanned him, from the way he hid his face, to the red streaks along his chest, the pale skin stained with tears and his glassy, raw eyes.

His whole body was a trembling mess as he couldn’t hold back tears. The slow wails were filling you with anguish as you tried to calm him down just enough so he could make out a few words.

“Who did this to you?” You whispered softly, as you slowly dried his cheeks. The question awoke something in him, he slipped out of your arms before you could object and he tried to sit up.

His arms were shaking as he rested his palms on the leaves-covered soil. “No one.” He turned his head away, his eyes subsequently diverting from yours. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” He breathed out as he tried to stop his eyes from getting more and more teary, yet failing at each attempt.

“Yes, it does.” You insisted, raising your palm and reaching for his cheek. Gently you guided his eyes back to you making sure he knew you cared. Making sure that he knew you only wanted to help him.

The pit in your stomach felt like a dark hole in you, swallowing everything with it. You’ve never seen him like this since you two met, not even when you learned his vampirism while he was starving.

Even when you learned small bits of his past, like how he got turned, he always kept composure, though you knew he was hurting. Now instead he was so vulnerable.

You felt a pang of guilt hit you, you were invading his personal space and he probably wanted to run away, yet he was growing on you, and if there was something about you, it was that no one hurt the people you cared for.

“Who did this to you?” You repeated still gently yet firm. You caressed his cheek with your thumb, taking your time to wipe away the remnants of his previous tears.

For a moment he hesitated, he wanted to hold back, but then his body gave out, almost slumping on yours. His eyes were duller, his lips were quivering, and he wasn’t sure he could ever form a full sentence properly, but you were there and you were trying to help him. No one ever tried to help him.

For so long he wished someone would waltz in and come to his rescue. He desperately wished someone would shake him awake from his worn coffin to drag him out of those filthy kennels. He wished someone would dry his tears and heal his wounds, yet for 200 years he suffered alone.

Instead you did much more than what he expected: you insisted, you didn’t recoil disgusted or gave up. You sat there trying over and over to patch him up, to find answers, and to find who hurt him so deeply that he’d end up bleeding alone in a forest.

You knew, of course, that he didn’t tell you his whole story when he opened up, it would have been foolish of him to do so since you were a stranger. He didn’t mention the scars that covered his back, or the constant nightmares during his reverie, cause of course elves couldn’t live without over analyzing things, or the true extent of his master’s punishment. You couldn’t have known yet.

His voice was shaky, broken, a whisper as he muttered Cazador’s name, afraid that even saying his name out loud would be too much, like that would make the monster materialize in front of him, but once he muttered his name, he couldn’t stop his words from being vomited out of his throat like sharing all of this with you was a new compulsion bestowed upon him.

“I was meditating when my brain decided to gift me an old memory” He sighed shakily. “And of course the memory was related to whatever is carved in my back. The pain was so vivid it felt like I was back there, hunched as that bastard was having the time of his life.” His voice was feeble, broken, it was so raw you were not sure how to react.

“When I woke up I was covered in blood and everything was hurting.” His eyes widened for a moment like he could rewatch those images over and over again, right there in front of you.

“My body was clearly not mine anymore, I was taken over by this fear that you’d all hate me for whatever this is, so I ran looking for a spot to hide.” He lowered his gaze.

“I guess before I could look around me, I sank on my knees. I felt like I was suffocating, Tav.” He was trusting you with something that he was running away from, something that terrorized him, something that you knew went opposite of his survival instinct. It was something that made him so fragile that he had to run away from a place that he should have considered safe, your camp.

Despite the gushing wounds he still ran, and yet he allowed you to get a piece of his mind, he didn’t kick you away like he’d usually do.

“My clothes were too much, the pain was too much, everything was too much. I'm not gonna lie. I literally ripped everything off before I could even process what I was going to do to myself. The only thing I knew was that the old scars were open again and they were gushing. I could feel it, Tav. I could feel the blood dripping down my fucking back.” His eyes were brimmed again with tears that he couldn’t hold back even if he tried, it was such a haunting feeling he wished he could erase the memory. “I couldn’t stop.”

He looked at his hands, his fingers were covered in blood and specs of his skin were hidden under his fingers. He was so disgusted at the sight that another sob quivered from his lips.

“You’re safe, nothing can hurt you now.” You leaned forward wiping his cheeks with your palms.

The remorse in his eyes was vivid, he just had trauma dumped on you and he knew you were going to hate him for it, but then you said his name so gently, so caring, that he allowed you to caress him.

You gave him time to ragain as much control as he could muster before you helped him up. He did look in need of a bath undoubtedly, and you had to go to the river anyways, so you asked him if he wanted to join you. You offered to clean his wounds so he could avoid infections, though you weren’t so sure vampires could get infected like that.

You both took your time standing up, his head was pounding so hard that his balance faltered. Your arms were there for him before he could hit the ground.

How was it possible that whenever he'd be deep in shit, you saved the fucking day? Just that day you did it twice and he would have sworn he didn't deserve any of it.

“I’ve got you” You made sure your arms were anchored on him, steadying his movements, and taking the opportunity to ask him if you could clean his wounds. He wanted so bad to refuse but his body felt so heavy, and his eyes pleaded for help no matter how much he’d try to hide it. Astrarion couldn’t recall a single person that cared for him so tenderly.In the past 200 years all he got was beatings, starvation, indifference, it was all so foreign to him, so much that the words you told him bounced in his head incessantly for days. “I know you can handle it yourself, but it doesn’t mean you should have to do this on your own.” I know you can handle it yourself, but it doesn’t mean you should have to do this on your own.”

It was like a second nature to you, you could read his eyes like no one ever did.

Yyu guided him towards the river, in that secluded spot you liked.

You settled down your bag on a stump, and along with it Astarion’s clothes. You decided you were going to clean those after you were done with your baths, and afterward if your fingers didn’t feel too sore, you’d work on fixing the tear along the back of his blouse.

You picked up the small bunch of bottles, and one of the small towels you usually carried around to clean your wounds.

Astarion let go of your hand only when you picked up those things, and even in that brief instant, his legs could barely hold him up. It was like he was dragged back in the kennels, like he had not fed in goddamned ages, and he lost too much blood to even breathe.

You didn’t notice it until you turned towards him, his body was quivering like a leaf in the middle of a tornado.

Despite the tremor and the blood, there was still something about him that leaked confidence, like the hurt that was encompassing him was not making him look smaller, or weaker. It was.. real.

If you thought you saw through astarion when you first met him, this was the moment you realized you were wrong. When you were slammed in front of this raw sight, you knew.

This was the closest you could get to the real Astarion, and it hurt. You didn’t understand why it hurt so much, but it was much worse than any other pain you could recall. It was a feeling that was eating you from the inside cause you knew his wounds were much deeper than what he shared with you so far.

Nevertheless, you didn’t hesitate to throw the bottles closer to the water and pass to astarion the towel, then before he could even understand what was going on, you whisked him up in your arms.

He wanted to complain- he wanted to rely only on himself-, but his body didn’t agree. It was like it was screaming at him, screaming to tell him that he needed help and that even for a moment, it would have been okay to let someone patch him up.

You sat him right at the edge of the river, where a log was already propped nicely so travelers could clean themselves without the risks of the flowing water, then without thinking too much about it, you stripped off your own clothes, discarding them quickly. You weren’t embarrassed, or rather, you were, but he exposed so much of himself already, that you felt safe to do it as well.

You joined him, sitting yourself in a spot that allowed you to slip in the water effortlessly, while still being close to Astarion.

The towel was the trick: you dipped the cloth in the water just enough that you could wipe away the blood without soaking the skin, then you’d gently run it down Astarion’s body to wipe it all.

You worked one small patch at a time, starting with his right shoulder and working your way through his scarred body.

His back was towards you, exposing the carving, which you identified as infernal runes. You cleaned him slowly and with a softness you didn’t know you had in you.

Everytime you’d move away to dip the cloth in the water, his body would soften, even if for a moment, before the towel grazed again on his scars, and he couldn’t help but flinch ever so slightly.

“I’ve got you” You whispered under your breath as you pressed the cloth on his neck, causing a long shudder to run through Astarion’s back.

He wasn’t sure what if was anymore: whether it was the towel still startling him or your words that seemed to mend him like tiny plasters putting his wounds back together. What you were doing for him.. it was nice. You soothed his skin, while whispering supportive words as you took care of him.

“I won’t let him hurt you again” You whispered while taking a moment to squeeze the blood off the towel, before resuming your slow descent.

As you worked on another patch of the runes, you couldn’t help but stare at the way the moonlight shone on his skin, it was a sight that otherwise you would never see.

Your eyes took in all his form as you cleaned and cleaned, and you could feel your heart running an extra mile.

The slow passing of time started to affect him after a while, his back slowly hunched under the heavy weight of his thoughts, his breath hitched as you diligently traced his back. No one was ever allowed to touch his back before you. He could feel the tears swelling again under his eyes.

You were so concentrated on cleaning that you didn’t notice until he was almost curled up again, and you helped him up.

You kept your arm around his waist so he couldn’t fall prone as you started working on the wounds on his chest, and that’s when his eyes met yours, the crimson was shining as the tears piled and piled on them, the moon only served the purpose of highlighting them.

Then when you scooted him closer to you and allowed his back to rest against your chest, he was a crying mess again.

This time his lips were moving before his brain could process his thoughts, for a moment you could see his sanity slip away hidden in the drops of his tears.

“Why?” He pleaded. “Why? Why? Why?” His voice rose between choked sobs.

“Why now?” The more he would ask, the more his voice would raise, until it finally broke in a whisper again. “Why didn’t you show up earlier? I could have been plucked from...” His words felt like a stab right through your chest.

"Shh" You whispered as you left the bloodied rag on his thigh, and you wrapped your other hand around his waist.

"I might have not made it in time, but I promise you I'm not leaving your side now" You pulled him on your lap, leaving a soft kiss on his temple. You knew that if he was still alive, you’d feel his chest pound incessantly as everything became overwhelming, but the only sound you could perceive was the rushing of the water. In any other occasion you would have hated the closeness of your naked bodies, you would have been weary of such intimacy, yet it felt different. It felt right.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” He asked when his breath finally set down again, and the only memory of it was the long streaks of tears still sulking his skin.

“Cause you don't deserve this” You still held him close as you lowered your voice, making sure the sound of the water could shield you both if you needed it, like a bubble around you.

“Liar” His tone matched yours, but with much more spite. “I've done awful things” He shook his head, it was something that heavily plagued him, he’d often have flashes of some of the horrible things he did, and that moment was one of them: he could hear the echo of the screams of the poor victims he’d bring back to Cazador.

“That doesn’t mean you deserved torture.” You cooed. “You didn’t have a choice.” You traced small soothing circled on his hip as you still held him close.

He sighed deeply, he knew you were right as much as he wanted to say that he could have ran away. The memory of the darling boy and the consequence of his action were a fierce reminder of it, everyday of his life.

“You are a fool.” He sneered. “I have stabbed in the back everyone I got close to, and you are still doing…” He pointed at the two of you, at the position you are sharing, at the rag on his thigh, at your arms around him, and the words you just told him. “This.”

“I like taking risks.” You chuckled softly.

“This is not a risk, you are doomed to fail and you are a dimwit” He rolled his eyes, evidently it was obvious for him, unlike you that still believed fairytales.

“Am I?” You didn’t falter, in that moment you felt confident in your choice.

“Are you forgetting the knife I held at your throat darling? What makes you think I wouldn’t do it again?” He retorted trying to make you waver, it was his survival mechanism at the end of the day. If he was able to slither in just enough doubt, he wouldn't’-

Your words caught his attention again right away, as you started counting on your fingers.

“The fact that we’ve been traveling together for 3 weeks, that I let you feed off me several times and you have not sucked me dry, the fact that you told me about your past, and that you allowed me to just wipe away blood from your back.” You stopped for a moment, building up tension and to perceive what went through his mind in that moment. “..and the fact that you are literally crying in my lap.” You finished.

“Okay what if i'm just manipulating you? How would you tell?” What was the game he was playing?

“I don’t think that what i witnessed tonight could be faked, ‘Starion” You finally sighed, relaxing your shoulders. You didn’t even feel your body tense up, that’s how much you were absorbed by this conversation between you two, cause it was so confusing.

He didn’t answer anymore at your last remark, he just allowed you to finish your work diligently as he was lost in thought again.

You made sure his wounds were clean before leaving the rest of his body up to him, and then you finally took your time to properly clean yourself as well as your clothes.

Drying your skin was by far the hardest step since you carried only one big towel with you: you opted to pat your bodies dry before slipping in your clean clothes, then you’d give him the towel to cover himself, since his clothes were in heavy need of repair.

The walk back to camp was fairly silent, since Astarion was still affected by the blood loss and you were lost in your thoughts.

You left your wet clothes next to the fire where they could dry while you’d rest, and then you started to walk back to your tent.

When you were just a few steps away from your little nook, you remembered.

Instead of sneaking directly into your tent, you made a beeline towards Astarion’s. He was still outside, sorting a few empty containers he had around, while his frustration was palpable in the air.

“‘Starion” You called quietly, avoiding to wake up everyone else.

“What? Are you here to give me your pity?�� He scoffed as he was still fixated on the conversation you just had.

“Actually, I was wondering if you needed to be fed.”Your voice betrayed your worry which was loud and clear. “Earlier I noticed you were struggling, and your eyes are.. dulled” You explained, you wanted to pat his shoulder but you stopped just a moment before you touched him.

“So? Are you going to make fun of me if I am?” His walls were back up, the vulnerable elf you saw earlier rushed away behind this mask he carefully handpicked to push you away.

“No, you can feed off me though” You suggested encouraging. “If you want of course, take

your time, I’ll be in my tent” The last thing you hear was a muffled ‘thanks’ as you made your way to your tent again.

Astarion finally made up his mind, he strode quickly toward your canopy. “Darling?” He brought your attention to him. Your tent’s entrance was wide open, offering zero privacy to you as you were nose deep in some tome.

“Hey, come in.” You smiled, you were glad he was no longer avoiding you. “Can you please unhook the flap?” You asked while you moved the book away from the two of you. “I don’t wanna make you feel too exposed” You clarified.

“I appreciate it, but are you sure you want me to feed off you? I mean I know it’s not the first time, but it’s-” He hesitated, sure he wanted you to stay away, but at the same time that thought made him flinch away, like he should have felt differently.

“Yeah I’m sure” The apple of your cheeks warmed up at the nervousness, especially when you noticed he was fidgeting with his fingers. “You lost so much blood and the shock.. you definitely need to get your fill”

“Thanks” He avoided your eyes before sitting next to you.

On the other hand you took your time readjusting your little reading corner, making sure it would comfortably hold both of you.

“Just relax, I’ll take care of everything” He finally gave you the closest thing to a smile after a whole evening of tears. His arms wrapped around your middle as he helped you to lay with him. His touch was impossibly gentle: he moved away your hair and tilted your head to expose your neck, but he didn’t bite right away.

His teeth grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as he held you to him, just like earlier you held him to you. He traveled down your neck with his lips, looking closely for your pulse, or so you assumed, then when he found a nice spot, he sunk his teeth in your flesh. Your body tensed for just one moment as you could feel his lips press around the wound, and your blood slowly leaking out.

Then you became putty in his hands, the dizzying sensation rocked you sweetly as you let it take over you.

He was slow, tender.

He held your head gently and pulled you impossibly close, almost as he wanted to fuse your bodies.. His legs naturally tangled with yours while he sucked and sucked on your skin like his life depended on it.

It took everything of you to repress the whimpers that would build up in your throat, it was different from all the other times he drank from you: in the past you’d just be very tense, but in that moment you felt like air was directly pulled out of your lungs, like your body was being set on fire.

He wasn’t in any different condition, he was barely repressing the moans as your warm blood rushed against his tongue, and his breath was hardly regular.

Even your blood tasted different, sweeter than before taking over all his senses. It was madness, it was like your blood suddenly turned into a drug he couldn’t resist, making his head spin.

He stopped only when he noticed you were starting to slump in his arms, a sign that you were getting too close to a no-going-back point.

He took time to lap away the blood that was still leaking from the pinpricks, sending jolts down your limbs, and stealing a sweet mewl from your lips. He didn’t concentrate on the sound he coaxed off your lips, cause he knew that if he did he’d probably spiral into insanity, so he focused on the wound he had inflicted, leaving a few kisses right where the pricks of his teeth made home, before reaching for your blanket and covering you with it.

He didn’t let go of you, or move at all for what it mattered, he had to internalize all those feelings that were overwhelming him before he could walk out. He knew that if he didn’t stop there until he was back in himself, he would have felt dizzy as well, and he wasn’t fond of the idea of passing out on the floor.

Was he blood drunk? Whatever feeling was cursing through his body, he wasn’t sure he could identify it, but moving was not an option anymore when he noticed you were still nudged in his embrace. He tried to sneak away, but you were cradled on him, ‘peace’ crossed his mind before it got swept away by something you’d mumble, he had to wait for a bit to catch what you said since you murmured something he couldn’t quite comprehend, until your voice became clearer.

“I wish I could have saved you sooner” You murmured under your breath. “Stay, i’ll protect you.” Your arms around his waist pulled him closer to you, slotting your bodies together like pieces of a puzzle. Your warmth, your sweet flowery smell, your surprisingly gentle snore slowly lulled him in, closer and closer until he felt safe, and quietude took over him.

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peachesofteal · 9 months ago

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The Pit

2/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dubious consent. Smut - M/M/F. Forced breeding and kink (but we're soft). Medical inaccuracies. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Misery inspired. Horror-ish. Whump. Caretaking. Imprisonment/kidnapping. Forced comfort. Addiction. Feelings of fear, panic, anxiety, hopelessness. Simon calls the shots.

It’s snowing.

The forest floor is covered in thick, white cotton, heavier than cement. It sticks to your clothes, your knees, soaking you to the bone. You slog through the snow; the forest grows longer. Taller. Trunks of trees enclosing you in a cold grave, a cage.

You have to try. You have to.

The moon illuminates your path, a swath of silver light refracting through weeping frozen branches, their backs bowed with the heft of the snow, cracking and shivering under their burdens.

They’ll snap eventually. They’ll break.

Just like you.

Wolves howl in the distance. It makes no difference; how close they are. You can’t take much more, newly healed leg already spent, lungs heaving for what little air there is in this elevation.

They circle. Blood-soaked maws snap at you, herd you closer and closer to the start, to where it all began, to where it continues to begin, again and again.

The house.

Your knees find ground.

You’d rather die now. Freeze in the snow. Or…

A jaw snaps. You hold out your hands. For freedom. For peace.

The last thing you see is the flash of pearlescent canine, ripping into your flesh.

“Shhh, jus’ a nightmare.” Simon’s thumb works across your brow, concern shining on his face in the dim lighting. You shiver, even in a room like a sauna.

“Did- did I wake you?” He shakes his head. Of course, you didn’t. He’s always awake. He’s always watching.

“Close your eyes.” He tucks you close, blazing heat from his massive, pillowy chest bleeding into your back, your ribcage expanding slowly. It’s rhythm, sick, twisted rhythm, syncing you together, your breathing evening out, steadying in his hold. He reaches for Johnny, who’s curled on his side, and strokes through some long, loved pieces of mohawk. Lips muss your hair. “Sleep, little dove.”

The floorboards in the hallway creak.

They talk to you, whisper about comings and goings, each spot singing a specific frequency just so, hitting the right pitch at the right time, a chorus of shifting weight echoed by hackneyed groaning.

The creaking is didactic in nature. It exists to teach you something, to plainly expose the things you should have been paying attention to all along: footsteps in the morning, in the evening, shuffles versus steps. Schedules, routines, things you didn’t pay close enough attention to, things you didn’t care enough to notice, all laid out very carefully in front of you. The weeping wood of the floor practically begged you to notice, but you were too distracted by the never-ending reminders of your agony, and the cups of tea that made you woozy. You were too busy craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the outside world beyond the window, too preoccupied with trying to stand on your own without vomiting all over the floor (again) to catch what the hallway was trying to say.

If you had listened, you would have stood a chance.

“Alright, here we go.” Johnny murmurs, an arm under your knees, another around your back. When he rises, cradling you into his chest like a child, you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to tamp down the whimper that breaks free. “I know, I know. Almost there.” He soothes, lowering you to the couch where the pillows are all placed in very specific positions. One of the goes under your calf, another your knee, and they line the sides of your ribs for your arm to rest elevated, comfortably. He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious swallowing you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you.

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, light venetian blue eyes tracking across your face. They catch the light just so, sparkling downward, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes spiraling outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken.

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height. There’s something happening above your head, something he concedes to with a sigh, shoulders relaxing, a regretful glance cast your way. “I’ll get ye some naproxen, dove.” He promises with a kiss, and then you’re alone in the living room, unable to move, snuggled against the worn leather couch.

Your leg is in a cast. Paper and glue, you think, makeshift at best, and they both remind you of it all the time, how it’s not medical grade, how you can’t attempt to walk on it, how the bone is incredibly fragile, and will be, for a while. It’s in worse shape than your arm, which at least has a black brace on it, covered from elbow to wrist, immobilized with a dull ache, a pain consistently throbbing, but doesn’t make you cry. Not the way your leg does. Your leg screams with agony, still, pins and needles and buzz saws in your bones, a haunting torment keeping you awake at night, making you second guess your desire to live.

The tea helps though. The tea makes everything less, makes the pain round, instead of sharp, makes the fear feel farther away, instead of right on the tip of your tongue, like a monster on your doorstep.

Simon says your name, broad shoulders stationed in front of the fireplace, glass of water in one hand, two pills in another.

“Do you want to sit up?” You blink at him, and he kneels before you can answer, perching right next to your shoulders. “Open.” You give the pills a dubious glare, unsure, lips zipped tight. It could be the naproxen, but it could be something else.

After all, the tea is not just tea.

He sighs in the same exasperated sentiment, and then his thumb and forefinger are grasping your cheeks, cold shiver erupting down your spine at the contact, and he pushes your mouth ajar. “Don’t be like this, sweet girl. Thought you were going to be good today?” He’s referencing something you remember vaguely, a discussion from last night in the dark, a promise you made when the world was coated in sap and too far warm, sticky like the sweat clinging to your neck-

“Ye dinnae need to cry, little dove. Don’ we take such good care of ye?” Johnny cooed, eager. “Ye just need tae be good for us, and we’ll do everything else.” He was holding you tight, too tight against his skin, heat radiating from him like the sun.

“I don’t understand.” You moaned, unable to move or twist away, trapped in the cage of his arms, Simon sitting prim on the edge of the bed, one hand on your hip.

“You will, in time. By spring, we hope.” Simon told you, dark sympathy in his eyes, words stretching into a mixed-up sentence jumping around in your mind. By… spring? What does that mean? Johnny’s hands roamed over your skin beneath the blankets, stroking across your breast to delicately pinch at your nipple, before dipping further south, slipping into your folds without warning.

“Ah!” You gasped, tense, frozen beneath his touch.

“Shhh.” Simon pats your hip. “Let Johnny put you to sleep, dove. You’ll feel better after a rest.” Johnny’s fingers stuffed in your pussy, thumb dancing across your clit, would lull you into tea addled sleep, and warring emotions swirled in your head. Your desire for this, your acceptance of this, is sick.

You’re sick.

You think of the snow. The reflection on the floor in this room, crystallized shimmer on the ceiling. The sun has been out, and you’re dying, wilting, from not feeling it on your face.

“Tomorrow.” You croak, and Johnny pauses. “Tomorrow can I… can I go outside?”

“Will you be good?” Simon’s thumb rubs at a spot on the corner of your mouth, and you nod.

“Yes… I- fuck.” Johnny’s breath hitches, and your walls clench up tight, squeezing. Small explosions of light dance across your eyes, pain mixed with pleasure, peaks and valleys rolling through your muscles. “Fuck.” A big, scorching hand spreads across your lower belly, just beneath your navel, and pushes.

You come immediately. It’s overwhelming to keep yourself relaxed, to prevent the spike of pain from your injuries, but an orgasm dulls everything else, and you cry with its intensity.

You’re sick.

You don’t miss the way Simon’s hand lingers, how his eyes don’t leave that spot, how Johnny’s hand covers his, and they hold there, lost in their own world for a second.

“If you’re good, sweet girl. We’ll take you outside.” He whispers, arranging limbs and waists and feet to his liking.

You fall asleep dreaming of a blizzard.

The pills go down so easily.

And you suppose they help. For a while, anyway.

Enough time for Johnny to get you set up on the porch, zipped up in their clothes and propped up on a loveseat rocker.

You wonder if they sit out here in the spring. In the summer. Do they drink their tea and eat their biscuits and watch over their domain like kings? It’s so American, so southern, to envision, and you almost laugh at the idea of either of them swapping their black bitterness for something iced and sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of their head.

“Dove? Can ye look towards me?” Johnny sits half on his knee across from you, on another outdoor, plastic chair. He’s got his sketchbook and pencil in hand, excitement brimming from eyes to lips, like a child. Full of wistful bright light, the sun itself.

Simon’s sun, it would seem.

You’ve noticed it, how Simon is the earth, but Johnny is the sun. The whole world, revolving around one ball of light, one eager, wild Scot, a star, the only, in Simon’s sky.

He draws you with efficiency. Moving and directing you just so, not daring to jostle you or cause you discomfort, but still ensuring he gets the best light. The barely-there dew drops of dawn. The glisten of a million frozen crystals at your back.

He handles you like glass. He stares at you like you’re a doll, a fragile one, like you had when you were a girl.

In the quiet moments, which are many, you catch them staring at you. If they’ve brought you down to the living room, they lurk in the kitchen, murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch. If you’re in the bedroom, they curl around you like wolf pups, pawing and petting until you’re asleep.

You don’t understand.

They won’t even talk about it with you now. How you came to be here, how they’re insistent you’ll have to stay until spring, when the pass opens.

Their words are a sickness, infecting you, spreading through your system until they’ve touched every piece, inside and out.

It’s madness. The kind of madness that pushed you to the brink already, made you feel like you’re losing touch with reality, with yourself. The kind of insanity that nearly got you killed.

You test the weight. Just barely, just enough that it screams under the pressure.

If you could make it to the door.

If you could make it down the hall.

If you could get out.

You grit your teeth.

The house has been silent for hours. No creaking floorboards. No heavy footsteps. You close your eyes, hold your breath, listening one last time.

They must not be here.

They go out, every once and a while. Bring things back. You’re not sure where, or how.

You shuffle a step, dragging your foot. It’s more a hop, but you use the bed to offset the inevitable thump of your body weight, managing to make it to the end, fingers deathly tight on the wrought iron.

You can do it. You can.

It’s only three, four hops at most to the door. On one leg, in a weakened state, it’s harder than you thought, but when your fingers lay on the door handle, the release of relief in your chest is overwhelming.

Yes! Yes. You can do it. Just-

The knob does not turn. You pull, applying more force, trying to jiggle it, see if maybe it’s stubborn or just old. This cabin is certainly old. Even though it’s been hollowed out anew inside, the bones are ones of a hunting cabin. A long-forgotten place, now housing horrors anew.

You twist and tug again. Every time it doesn’t budge, you try a little harder, each metallic scrap and jangle louder than fireworks.

You tug and you fiddle. You close your eyes and push down the rising panic.

The truth comes rushing over you all at once.

It’s locked. It’s always locked. That’s why Simon ensures it’s shut completely, each time they come and go.

They never intended to take you home. They never are going to give you your phone, or theirs, they’re never going to get you back over the pass.

You’re locked in here. With them.

The tugging becomes something else, something wired and frenetic, until you’re jerking the door handle with all your might, shaking the frame, screaming. The motion destabilizes you, and your lack of strength does you no favors.

Before you can self-correct, you stumble. You fall, instinct forcing your bad leg down, and when you try to catch yourself, you howl so loud you think the mountain shakes.

Your head smacks the frame of the bed on your way down, and then… as always now, everything is dark.

The first time you open your eyes after, Simon is seated in the chair. The same one he was in when they brought you here, severe and terrifying. The room is spinning, and you’re just as nauseous as the first day you laid eyes on him.

“I- I’m sorry.” You croak, but he only shakes his head, rising from his seat without even giving you a second look.

For a fleeting moment, the indifference stings.

“You’ll wear that,” he motions to your foot from the end of the bed, the good one, and you peek down to see a metal shackle clamped around your ankle. “until you can be trusted again.”

Johnny crawls into bed with you at night. He cries, hot tears on his cheeks, and coos over the leg with the break in it, and then over the shackle.

“I told him, ye dinnae mean to be bad.” His fingers shake as he traces your cheek. “Ye just cannae help it. It’s not yer fault, I know dove. Ye dinnae know any better. We have to teach you.”

“Johnny-“ Please. Let me go. Help me.

They all die in your throat when he presses his wet face to your neck like a dog, rutting his hard cock into your hip.“Ye’ll be right as rain by spring, I told him. Gon’ be such a good mum for the bairn, I know ye will.”

The world fades away. The silence suffocates, and you pray to die.

You cry the rest of the night, even when he shucks your pants down and licks your pussy until you’re coming on his tongue. You cry until he falls asleep, and Simon returns, settling in his seat, watching you both.

“How do ye feel about chicken soup tonight?” Johnny draws you back to him, sweet boy smile on his face, and your stomach clenches involuntarily.

Stupid handsome Scot.

You’re sick.

“That’s fine.”

“But do ye like it?” He’s so eager, back straightening with interest, really trying to learn, trying to figure out what you like and dislike, what will earn him your good graces, and what won’t.

You shrug. “Sure, it’s… it’s good.” A thought occurs to you. “Where do you get the chicken?”

“We’ve got ‘em in the barn. Can’t roam in the winter but we keep ‘em warm in there. Along with some ducks. A goat.”

“Farm animals?” “Aye. How else we supposed to make sure you’re healthy?” He waggles his eyebrows. You try not to grimace. “Si slaughters ‘em fresh. Everything tastes better that way.” A soft light shines in his eyes, a wolf’s instinct, and the shudder trembling down your spine makes your hands shake. “Ye cold?” He clocks it immediately, as he he does with every other single thing.

When he gathers you into his arms to bring you inside, tucking you back into the couch, you don’t even argue. You just sit there. Like a doll. Theirs.

Night is the easiest. It’s simple, to give in to your body, let them take over, take control of the parts that have long betrayed you. You close your eyes as they touch you, kiss you, make you come.

You even enjoy it.

That’s the worst part. You like it, when there are hands and fingers and tongues all over your body, like you’re being worshipped, like you’re some sort of god.

You like it, when Johnny gets overexcited and Simon settles him, guides him with a hand on his cock to your entrance, whispering slow in his ear, encouraging him to take his time. You like it, when Johnny’s pulse flutters under his jaw, when Simon holds you steady, when they get lost in each other, in you- you can almost pretend it’s not real, it's some fantasy, from a book, something dark and delicious-

Not your reality.

Tonight, Simon holds you in his lap on the edge of the bed, broken leg lying flat, his elbow crooked under your good knee and wrenched upwards, nearly pressing against your chest. The angle is intense, and Johnny grunts, muscles flexing with every thrust,

“Ah- fuck.” You moan and twitch, locked inside a cage, a confinement, the arms of your captors… your saviors. Simon swirls the pad of a finger over your clit, mouth open on your cheek, teeth nipping over your skin. You clench, Johnny cursing, some bitten off dialect you’re not familiar with, Simon’s voice dripping with smirk.

“Good girl, squeeze our boy, jus’ like that.” He does it on purpose, the talking. Knows how it makes you gush, long ago figured out the way to make your pussy clamp down around whatever he’s got worked inside you, his cock, Johnny’s, fingers, tongues.

Together, you’re an orchestra. Johnny is the strings, the violin, the viola, a cello. He plucks so perfectly, a harmonious blend of beauty spills from his bow, rising in the air until the audience is on their feet. His music trembles. It quivers and cries, like the wail of grief.

Your grief.

You’re the piano. An entire world, nestled in one instrument, but you play off tune, broken and sharp, pitch all a mess- you don’t even belong here.

Simon is the maestro. He directs each note, each melodious ring exactly as he wants it, working the music up to a brilliant crescendo, and it comes crashing like the force of a wave breaking onto sand. He conducts you, Johnny, the day, and night. He orchestrates the flow, lyrical give and take evolving in the house, your captor status slipping farther and farther away each night you take them into your body.

He knows you like it. Knows he’s in the lead, knows they’re winning-

And he doesn’t let up.

“Harder.” He coaches, and Johnny obliges, mouth open in bliss, eyes nearly rolled backwards. His fingers clamp down on your hip, too close, and you hiss in fear, the preparation of pain.

Simon snarls, yanking it away, holding to him tight before discarding it in exchange for the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Johnny pants. “Sorry, dove.” You want to tell him to fuck off, to tell him you hate them, you hate them both, but you're only able to give them a high pitched moan of pleasure. “I’m gon’ come.” He grunts, and Simon yanks him forward, lips smashing together, tongue snaking messily between teeth.

For too long, the three of you hold fast. Johnny’s reckless, furious thrusts shove you backwards, over and over again. “Pull out.” Simon commands, flat palm on his chest. “Do not, Johnny.” He pushes him away from you like a dog, shoving him backwards with a firm forearm, a piece of rebar turned flesh.

He comes all over your belly, splashing thick white splatter across the mound of your cunt, up past your navel, choking on gasps of breath as Simon heaps praise onto the two of you.

Later, after they’ve bathed you, given you another orgasm, and all are almost tucked in, you whisper in the flickering fire light.

“Can I… can I have some tea?” Simon starts. It’s small, barely visible, but you feel it, in your bones. The echo of him in the room.

He holds your head between two palms, and you wonder if he’ll crush your skull. Decide it was all too much trouble. You’re too sick, feeble in your mind, too weak to survive.

“To sleep?” He asks softly, eyes darting over your shoulder for a split second, heavy with worry.

“Please?” There’s something in his eyes you don’t understand, a whirling mist of hell and desperation, and then it clears, and he motions a go ahead to Johnny.

“Alright, dove.”

The tea settles you into silence. With it, you can exist. You can survive.

It numbs you from the inside out, and as time passes, you feel no pain. You’re tangled in a dark web, a viscous manner of thing weighing you down from all angles. You feel nothing, and days turn to weeks, weeks to a month. Soon, the world is thawing. Snow melt turns to river and mud, greenery fighting for its chance to sprout and survive. Your leg is healing.

Spring comes.

The day you roast a chicken is the day your life ends, for good.

It’s domestic, the act. An olive branch to Simon, who’s angry with you, again. Who’s frustrated, took himself outside to chop wood.

Johnny mopes inside the house.

“I hate it when the two of ye fight.”

“Well, if he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole.” You hold the wooden spoon like a wand before returning it to the cast iron, swirling it around in the mess of butter and onion. “Then there wouldn’t be an issue.” You swallow the sting of his earlier refusal. The quick rejection of your request.

All you wanted was to go on a walk. It’s a beautiful day.

Why must the leash be so tight?

“He’ll be happy ye’re cookin’ again.” Johnny grins wide, pretty face beaming over the counter, and you sigh.

Maybe.

You’re watching out the window when Johnny approaches him in the yard. You can’t make out anything their saying, but the body language paints enough of a picture.

Johnny is rigid, angry.

Simon is calm, placating.

Words are exchanged, brows shifting with sympathy, sweetness.

Johnny erupts with glee. He shines like the sun, and Simon smiles, a real, true smile.

They’re beautiful.

And you’re sick.

The three of you tangle together in the dark. It’s a sailor’s knot, thrice over, difficult to understand which piece is which, where one begins and the other ends.

Simon’s anger is long melted. A glacier, gone leaving only a gash in the rock behind.

It’s this gash, this quiet undercurrent, keeping you focused on the wrong thing, pliable in bed until you realize Johnny is murmuring something in your ear, two arms banded around your waist from where you lay on your back, atop his chest.

“We cannae wait,” His hand strokes over your belly with reverence. The words cut through the thick, heady haze, and you try to twist to look at him. “watch ye get big with our bairn, goin’ be such a good mum.”

“Wh-what?” you choke, tensing. They try to settle you, sweet words and mouths everywhere, but you cannot get away from the fear.

From them.

“You- ahh.” You’re on fire, a finger rubbing your clit, Simon’s width between your thighs. He spears you open on his cock, unrelenting, making you keen and cry, face wet with tears.

“Waited long enough,” He grunts. “Been wastin’ it for months.” He steals your whimpers, swallows them, takes them inside like you take him, like you’ll take him-

“- until you swell. Until you’re heavy, dove, round with us.”

Until you’re forever theirs.

It’s a snarled promise. A prayer. Your eyes find the ceiling, fire flickering in shadow across old texture, and you breathe.

He shoves your knees towards your chest, Johnny still lock tight around your ribs, tongue in the shell of your ear.

“Need to be still, cannae lose a single drop." His palm is searing beneath your navel, and he's practically singing, vibrating. “We love ye so much.”

They’re conducting Beethoven. Ode to Joy.

You’re playing Bach. Come, Sweet Death.

Simon comes in you for the first time, and you come too, clenching down around his cock as he praises you, holding onto him like you can’t let go. Like your body knows. Like you’re craving it.

“Good girl.” He croons, spooning whatever slips free back inside, shoving it deep, wet lips on your own. “Gotta keep me in, dove… jus’ like that, there you go.” You throb, squeezing again, pulsing for him. For the words.

You’re sick.

When they switch positions, and Johnny smiles at you over your knees, his canines shine nearly red in the fire light. Two predators, one prey.

Your heart cannot help but flutter.

Sick.

Eight months prior:

The bar is packed. Summer music festival, the banners say. The park is thriving, alive with melody, musical acts rotating on and off the stage, children running amuck with candies and balloons, families relaxing in lawn chairs.

An Americana tradition.

They sat there themselves, for a while. Watching. Burning desire growing hot under his collar every time he saw a mum and her bairn, a small, precious thing cradled close to a chest, an overexcited five-year-old having a catch with his Da.

Eventually, they retreated to the darkness, hiding away in the one bar in town, it’s small windows and dim light practically a calling card.

And what they found inside, well...

“Hey, what can I get you?” You’re perfect. Sweet and soft, like a dove. Kind faced; kind spoken. You make Johnny’s cock twitch just looking at you, and he pictures you on your back, legs spread wide, exposed for them to feast on. To fill. He can’t wait to taste you, hold you, kiss you, have all his firsts with you.

Will you fight them? Will you squirm? No, you'll be good. You'll be so good for them, their perfect, sweet girl. He knows it.

How did they get so lucky?

Simon tucks his ballcap lower.

“Sorry, there are a million people in here!” You half shout over the raucous noise. “You’ll have to speak up!”

“Just two beers.” His yank accent needs work, but it does fine when there’s one hundred other faces next to his. A sea of forgettable memories.

Just as intended.

Your fingers brush his when you deposit two drafts on the bar top, shooting off a total, and for a lingering second, he stares at you.

Simon caresses the back of his neck, thumb circling a loving touch into his skin.

A warning. A reminder.

Can’t make ourselves stand out. Cannot be remembered.

Johnny peeks at the name tag pinned above your breast, and files it away. Files everything away as they finish their pints, how you scrutinize the crowd, how you’re constantly working, looking for things to do, cleaning. Taking care of everything. The people at the bar, your coworkers.

His heart overflows with love. With warmth, and when they take their leave, he can’t help but look back one more, catching a glimpse of your profile, singing a silent goodbye.

See you soon, dove.

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