#and then I wake up and have to do it all again.

[cloverapple]

How To Finally Shift If You’ve Been Trying For 2+ Years

⚠️ Little warning before we begin: don’t get scared off! I might sound a little negative at first, but that’s not the point of this post. My goal is for you to reach the end of this and think “Oh, I’m definitely going to shift to my DR now!”

Having said that:

If you’ve been on your shifting journey for two or more years, doing methods, reprogramming your mind, consuming advice, maintaining a mental diet, manifesting, forcing assumptions, trying to create assumptions, etc, etc⏤and you still haven’t shifted your awareness to your DR, maybe it’s time to stop trying to make yourself shift.

Stop trying to shift.

Stop trying to trigger a shift.

Maybe the thing you need at this point in your journey is to stop trying to make yourself shift.

And I’ll explain why by asking you a question:

In these two, three, four, however many years of effort, don’t you think you would have shifted by now?

Think about it. You’ve oversaturated your mind with the intention to shift. You do all your methods correctly. You try to convince yourself that you're already in your DR. You feel symptoms. Sometimes you even "mini shift." And yet… you're still here. Doing the same things. Searching for advice that leads you right back to doing the same thing:

Trying to shift. Trying to trigger a shift. Trying to shift your awareness.

Trying.

Trying confidently.

Trying hopelessly.

Trying angrily.

…Trying.

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, triggering a shift, or successfully shifting with a method, it would have happened by now.

“But Clover, I still have a lot of soul-searching and work to do! I just need to put in more effort!”

Awesome! Then click away, because this advice isn’t for you. I’m not talking to you.

I’m talking to the person who is tired. Who is drained. Who, despite applying all the sage advice on the internet, is just burnt out from the process of shifting.

And if that sounds like you, let me repeat: Maybe you need to stop actively trying to shift.

Your work is done. And that’s a good thing.

You’ve spent years ingraining the idea of shifting into your subconscious. You’ve impressed the intention to shift so deeply that it’s already there. Congratulations! You did all the mental work. It’s done.

Your DR is already yours. You already have the ability to shift.

So stop trying to trigger it. Stop trying to make yourself shift.

Let go of the “making yourself shift” process.

“Oh my god, she’s going to tell me to take a break.”

LMAO you thought.

Yes, breaks are excellent. They help reset and recharge your mindset. I always encourage taking breaks if you need them. But let’s be honest. Sometimes, even the thought of taking a break feels just as mentally exhausting as staying on your shifting journey.

“Oh no, she’s going to tell me to do nothing at all.”

Once again, you thought.

Instead, you’re going to capitalize on the fact that you’ve already done all this work. The intention to shift is always, always, always in your mind. Your subconscious knows you want to shift. Just like it knows how to shift your awareness.

So, the next time you lay down to do your shifting process...

Instead of trying to shift…

Instead of trying to induce a shift, induce the void, or force an outcome…

Give yourself exactly what you want.

Give yourself the feeling of being in your DR.

Drop the conscious, active intention to shift because your subconscious already has it covered. You don’t need to keep hammering it in. Instead, focus on inducing the emotions you would feel if you were in your DR.

Imagine waking up in your DR. Imagine being there. Imagine spending time with your DR friends, your S/O, whatever makes you happiest. Personally, I lean toward wake-up scenarios. You can listen to music, meditate, visualize, even do a shifting method if you enjoy it—but instead of doing it with the intention to shift, you’re doing it just to give your body and mind the feeling of being there. The happiness, the calm, the excitement, whatever it is for you.

This does not mean you’re lying there thinking, “Okay, this is going to make me shift.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Drop the idea of shifting entirely. That process is done.

And I’ll say it one more time:

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, making yourself shift, or triggering a shift, it would have happened already.

So let it go. Drop it.

Induce the emotions of being in your DR, and then let go. Once you do that, go to sleep. Or go about your day. That’s it.

So why does this actually make you shift?

Because feeling is the language of the subconscious.

Think about it: The moments in your life that shaped you the most weren’t just things you thought. They were things you felt deeply. Joy, fear, excitement, grief. Emotions imprint on the subconscious. That’s why certain smells, songs, or places instantly bring back vivid memories. Because your subconscious records experiences based on emotions, not logic.

So when you stop trying to shift and instead just focus on feeling like you’re in your DR, your subconscious responds by aligning your awareness to match that emotional state.

Because to the subconscious, there’s no difference between imagination and reality. When you visualize something vividly enough, your brain fires the same neurons as if you were actually experiencing it. Athletes use this trick to enhance performance. Musicians use it to refine their skills. And guess what? It works for shifting too.

When you let go of the effort and just immerse yourself in the emotions of already being there, you bypass the resistance that trying creates.

And that’s when the shift happens.

It happens because you stopped forcing it.

It happens because your subconscious already knows how to shift, you just needed to get out of its way.

So, again, drop the struggle. Drop the effort. Stop trying to shift.

The more precise or perfect you want the shift to be, the more pressure you put on yourself. Your brain rebels against that because rigid control drains energy.

Remember this:

High Emotion + Low Attachment = Flow.

When you feel something strongly but aren’t clinging to the result, your subconscious has room to act. This is why sometimes, when you care less or focus on something in a passing, emotional way, it manifests easily.

This is why people can give up on shifting entirely and shift. This is why people let go of the need to shift and shift. This is why you shift without meaning to.

You: “No, I can’t do this! I need to keep trying to shift or else my subconscious will think I don’t want to shift anymore!”

Me:

*As always, take what resonates, discard what doesn’t, because we’re all different people who need to hear different things :)

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader : how batfamily would react on them trying to end their life

Route : recovered dove

Please read warnings before reading this one!

If you do not feel like reading it, it's okay! (Spoilers will be at the end of this part) Please have tea or hot cocoa, and read relax 💖 and remember there are people who care and support you 💖 I'll be posting more fluff in future parts

Warnings : heavy topics, mentions of death, implications of self-destructive behavior and suicidal behavior, hurt/comfort, traumatized characters.

Idea for this part from this ask here . I also used this idea for comfort part form here

Author's note : I'm including this part in route: Recovered dove only because I want to show that mental healing of Joker's kid is a long way, it had ups and downs, but in the end they have family who acres about them now.

You don't know what exactly triggered it. Maybe it was the fact that everyone started discussing break out in Arkham asylum instead of the usual breakfast convention, maybe it was how Bruce said he didn't have time for you, maybe it was how Alfred was distant today, so you thought something wrong, maybe it was that Dick ignored you today, maybe it was that Jason's aggressive demeanor when you saw him, maybe it was Tim's comment when you brought him coffee, maybe it was Damian's harshness when you meet him near your room today.

That all made you feel so lost. To see them all being unwelcoming to you again was overwhelming. Is it because your father is free again, and they thought you'd be helping him? Wait if your father is free... he will want you back. You don't want back! No! You don't want to be with him again! You do not want to be experimented on again, be beaten up by him again. You thought it was finally over, that you were taken away from that life, never to return. You thought you found family! Why does he have to ruin your life again? He drove her away from you already, the only person who protected you before Batman and his birds, the only person who was your family before them, your mom ... and now he is doing it again; he is taking your family away again! But were they your family? You thought that Bruce was thinking about you as his own child, you thought that Alfred was proud of your progress, you thought that Dick was happy to spend time with you, you thought that Jason was enjoying your shared reading time, you thought that Tim liked to study with you, you thought that Damian finally accepted you. Were you wrong? Was it all a lie? Did they want to use you as bait for your father? Or did they think you would be able to tell them something about him? Was that a reason why they got close to you? But now that they see they were wrong, and after they made sure you didn't know anything, they decided to drop the act?

Was it all a happy dream that's just ended? If it was a dream, you don't want to wake up to the nightmare of your previous life. You can't take the suffering anymore. You need to make it stop to end it, to end it all.

You didn't know how long you were in you were in your thoughts, when you got up. You wanted to live. The room that became your own, became your safe space now felt like JOKE. You needed to get away from it. You struggled to open the window, as it required much strength from your shaking hands. But you were persistent in your efforts to open it, and in the end window opened. You looked down, it was quite high, and you knew that for your body, which was unlike theirs, weak and fragile, it would be enough. You've seen a grown man die when he fell from his high back in a crime alley, so for you, it will definitely be enough. Oh, crime alley, you don't want to go there. You don't want to return to life with Joker. You stood up on the windowsill, looking at the green grass down, feeling the cold night wind against your skin. Your head felt heavy, ringing in your ears just made it all worse. You took one step, and you felt incredibly calm. You took another step, only to be pulled away from the windowsill on the ground and held up. You didn't register the loud voice, the way someone was shaking you. You just sit there staring at nothing in particular, not even able to cry because of how tired you are.

In the meantime, Damian, the one who pulled you away from the window, had already called everyone and was trying hard to make you snap out of it. Yet it was not helping. When Bruce arrived, he moved Damian, who was looking at you with extreme worry, aside. Bruce recognized your expression; he had seen it before - thousand-yard stare - your own mind was protecting you from whatever you were feeling. As he was trying to help you, holding you against him, trying to soothe you, the rest of the family arrived in your room, seeing scared Damian, worried Bruce, and you... you looked so broken. It was too hard on them all

A few hours later, when you fell asleep after you came to your senses and cried for a while, Bruce and others started figuring out what made you feel this way. And it didn't take long; they are a family of detectives, after all. And this all made them feel really bad, guilty. As it turned out, on this day, you were too unlucky to notice only the bad sides of things.

There wasn't any breakout In Arkham asylum. Turns out, the lead they were investigating turned out to be false. Bruce, indeed, was busy, but he failed to communicate this in the normal way: he only added that he would try to make some only by the time you stepped away, which he didn't notice. Alfred was distant because he had a migraine today, but he still wanted to work around the house; there were too many chores to be done in the Wayne manor. Dick didn't mean to ignore you, he was too tired after his few nights of being up and he just failed to notice your quiet presence, being too busy thinking about his bed. Jason was behaving aggressively because of the lead about break out from Arkham asylum, which was the one that he followed for his case, and since it was false; it took the case he was working on back to square one. Tim actually was mumbling about his case, quietly cursing criminals, and not you; just like Jason, he had too much trouble because of that stupid lead. Damian stepped in at the last second to help you avoid stumbling and falling when you were waking in your room, which resulted in his harshness to you, but you were too deep in your panic to notice that his gaze was more worried than angry. If Damian wouldn't have been worried and decided to check up on you... non of them want to think about it.

They spend night in your room and in the morning, they talked to you, communicating how things actually were the previous day, and expressing how important you were to them.

It was a shock to everyone. Even Bruce thought it was going fine, that your session was working and helping you, that you were feeling safe, and that your relationships with the rest of the family were getting better. And he knew that what happened damaged the whole family because they almost lost you. He regretted that he didn't phrase his words correctly, feeling like he failed to show his care for you. He knew he should have been careful with words, he knows how impactful they can be. And since he said he hadn't got time for you he started making time for you. He wants you to know that he cares for you and he will make time for you wherever you need him. His one daily check-up became 2 check-ups, and when he had more free time, he checked up more. He pays extra attention to you. Even your little sneeze will make him worried to the point of examination in a medbay. He stays with you, and sometimes talks with you, encouraging you to open up and share your opinion and feelings. He tries to lessen the influence of "bad guidelines" (that were with you because of Joker) in your head. He helps you talk through your feelings, helps you show them and process them. He reminds you that you are cared for now. And he promises that he will protect you. After hearing you out, learning your fears and insecurities, and when he learned out that most of all you are afraid to go by your father's way, he promises you that he will do everything in his power to prevent you from taking this way. Bruce wants you to be happy, to make good memories. You already got unlucky with your father, who made you experience hell, but Bruce will try to be the best Dad he can for you.

Alfred felt so guilty. He knew you needed care, but he was distracted. He feels like he let you down, by forgetting how fragile and sensitive you are. He knew you were struggling; he had seen it himself. If only he had paid you more attention. But Alfred, better than anyone else, knows that he shouldn't be focusing on the past; he needs to work on the present, and he needs to make sure you feel better. He makes sure to make you more happy while he can. It's always your favorite tea at the tea time you share, with his cookies, of course, which he bakes with you from time to time. It's always your comfort shows or documentaries on TV when you two watch something. He also makes sure no one dares to make you feel uncomfortable, even if it will make him look around like Hawk. But Alfred understands that he can't always be around; that's exactly why he makes sure that he teaches you at least a few techniques that would be able to help with worry and anxiety, and he practices them with you. You are his little star, who may be really quiet but still efficiently lights up his days, and he doesn't want to lose you. When you share that you are afraid your family will reject you, he personally goes to everyone, making sure that they won't be saying something that contains a message. He wants to see you all grown up and happy in the end; he will work hard to make sure your life in Manor will be good.

Even when Dick just heard how Damian called for help for you, he felt shocked, what to say when he saw and understood the situation. What do you mean his baby sibling tried to make their life end when he was blissfully unaware, sleeping in his old room? How? What he missed? Just a few days before, you seemed on your way to becoming the happy sunshine of a kid, and now that has happened? He is your older brother and he missed all the singes?! He needs to sit down. It's too hard to accept this version of reality for him. The reality is that he can lose another member of the family. He knows what it is like to lose a sibling, and he will never want to experience it or feel this pain again. And knowing that it's you who tried to end your life makes it all worse. He tries to understand what pushed you, trying to see what he can do to prevent this from happening. He also tries to distract you from all the negativity in your life with quality time and different activities. The incident shook him hard, and while he hoped to introduce you to cuddles differently, he had to do it now. He needs to make sure you are close, still warm, still safe, still alive. And it seemed like cuddling with him made you calmer; you didn't even realize how touch-starved you were until then. It became a sort of comforting ritual for both of you, cuddling, sometimes just cuddling, sometimes while watching something. While cuddling he often says sweet words of reassurance to you. And while he knows he can't stay in Manor forever, he makes sure you know that he is always here for you, just a call away.

Jason was mad at himself for allowing himself to snap at you earlier. He feels incredible guilt that he was the reason that you were in that state. For a few days after, he could only watch you in your room or living room until he talked about his feelings and the incident (how he calls it because he can't speak that out loud, it physically hurts him to admit it) with Bruce and Dick. He started slowly approaching you, continuing your reading sessions, but also, sometimes, he decided just to start talking with you. He shares with you his experiences in the crime alley, and you share yours; you both know that only you two in the whole family could understand the full horror of this place, and that's aside from the fact that both of you know the full horror of Joker. He says to you that you'll never become like him, because he sees you are different. Jason tries to comfort you, yet he knows he is not ideal in it, but he is willing to try as much as he can just for you. He can understand that you feel lonely; he can only imagine how lonely you get when all the family is busy with vigilante work. It got him thinking, remembering. He remembers times when he was still Robin, and sometimes, when he got hurt, he stayed in his room alone, and. he hated it. Back when Dick gifted him a plushie of a bat, and now, in another attempt to comfort you, he brings this old plushie to you. He tells you that this plushie kept him company and protected him from everything bad, and now it will protect you, and now you'll never be alone anymore; your family's love will be here for you.

Tim was second after Damian to arrive in your room. This sight horrified him. He just froze, in shock. For once, he didn't know how to act or what to do. After everyone made sure you were okay, and his brain began working again, he started to do what he knew best - investigating and researching to find ways of how to help you, trying them with you in the meantime. Art therapy? He tried to hold a few sessions with you. Special games? You both alredy beating third one. Special music? Here is his player, listen when you want. He becomes more attentive to you, noticing every little detail. He knows as a person who likes studies like him, you would want to learn more about your mental health and how to care about yours. He found a way to explain the basics of it all to you in a way that is easier for you to understand, and only when she reads articles (that he chose, of course) about mental health and coping mechanisms. You want to cuddle with him while reading? Good, he will do it (he is happy that Dick showed you how to cuddle and totally not jealous). You want to stay with him while he works? Okay, sure, he is here for you. He makes sure you can ask him anything; he reminds you that you are safe with him and with others. So when you ask about Arkham and your father there he makes sure to show you that Arkham is hard to get out (even if it's not true).

Damian didn't like how it felt to see you on the windowsill. He doesn't like how it feels to see you in this state. He doesn't like fear. But fear made one thing clear: he cares about you. He hadn't understood how important you became until that incident happened. You are his sibling, and even if he did not choose you, even if he was against the idea of you being in the family at first, now he knows you held a place in this family like everyone else. And now he knows that he will do everything in his power to make you safe; he will protect you even from yourself. He asked Bruce to install precautions in your room. He follows you like your shadow everywhere you go. He makes sure that there is no danger in your way. He checks up on how you sleep after patrols. He makes sure to be nicer when he is around you, and he heads to ask Father, Pennyworth, and Grayson how exactly to behave around you. He joins in Tim the research of ways for you to cope with traumas or ways to comfort you, and when he sees articles about how communicating with animals improves mental health, he brings Titus to you, and when he goes for walks with Titis he makes sure to take you on them too since he also found out that walks improve mental health, and since it's walking with Titus it's beneficial in double. He protects you and he cares for you even if he struggles with proving it

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinion and have a good day 💖

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Tag list :

@socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla ,  @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer, @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1 @lyla-viper-wayne @amber-content @lizzyzzn

if i forgot to add someone to the tag list, please let me know, and i will add you to the next part

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Spoiler:

Next chapter connected to this (click here) and after that I'll finally write about Joker's kid! reader hair dyeing adventures

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 8 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse » 【note, this chapter contains HEAVY TRIGGERS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE. ABUSIVE PAST RELATIONSHIP. MANIPULATION. GASLIGHTING. DISSOCIATION. CHILDHOOD TRAUMA. PTSD. PANIC ATTACK. explicit sexual content, fem rec oral, orgasm.】

ꨄ words: 13.8k

ꨄ a/n. hello my loves, we are back! this is a very, heavy chapter. pls read the triggers before proceeding and read at your own discretion. i actually cried writing this chapter. i'll see you at the bottom ♡ (art by @/hanamin_0123 on X )

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter → pending

ch 8 // inhale, exhale

Mornings like these make you feel like you’re walking through someone else’s life. Sunlight seeps through the curtains in buttery streaks, and you murmur, stirring slightly under the blankets, the feeling of fingers threading softly through your hair.

Whose fingers? Are you dreaming? Oh well, if it’s a dream, it’s one you’d rather not wake up from. It’s a peaceful morning—domestic, even—and for a moment, you let yourself breathe it in, almost succumbing back to sleep, wondering if this is what normal feels like.

The peace you’re building with Satoru. This life. You let it settle over you like a soft blanket, hoping it might chase away the prickle of unease that had been clinging to your mind since last night.

Ah... but of course. Something is off. And unfortunately, the thought coils into your mind yet again, slithering in before you can stop it—an itch you can’t quite scratch.

It jolts you awake, your eyes fluttering open as the thoughts fester their wake into your mind, but as the fogginess of your heavy eyes begin to focus, the first thing you see is him.

Satoru—propped up on one elbow, looking down at you affectionately as he lays beside you on the bed—fingers brushing lazily through your hair.

“Hey you,” he murmurs quietly. “Good mornin’.”

Your cheeks blush.

Oh. This isn’t a dream. Fuck. Of course. You just remembered that you snuck into his room last night.

Your body moved on its own, and now you’re unsure what to say this morning.

Because Satoru’s smile last night outside the jacuzzi, the one that said—Everything’s fine—you’d seen past it. After all, his smile isn’t just charm; it’s armor. But this time he wasn’t shielding himself; he was shielding you.

And perhaps you would rather convince yourself it is fine. To believe that the life you’re building together isn’t as fragile as it feels—poised to crumble under the weight of the unknown.

Yet, in the stillness of the night, your mind wouldn’t let you rest. No. After saying goodnight to Satoru, returning to your separate beds, most of your night was spent tossing and turning restlessly—thoughts racing in endless circles.

And then, before you knew it, there you were—standing in the hallway, barefoot and hesitant as your fingers brushed lightly against the doorframe of his room. His door was slightly ajar and the faint glow of moonlight spilled out into the dark hallway.

Fuck. What are you doing?

Honestly, you weren’t sure what you needed exactly. Reassurance? Comfort? To hear him say one more time that everything was fine, even if you knew deep down it wasn’t? All you knew was that the weight in your chest felt unbearable, and you didn’t want to be alone with it anymore.

Quietly, you stepped inside, slowly making your way to the edge of his bed. After lowering yourself onto the mattress, you perched there—hands nervously twisting in your lap as you watched him.

He looked so… peaceful. And beautiful. His white lashes rested against his cheekbones, the faintest hint of color blooming there. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic. The mere sight of his expression sent a wave of longing crashing through you.

Without thinking, your hand moved, brushing lightly against his hair. The soft, silken strands slipped through your fingers, and you smoothed them back from his forehead in a gentle motion.

“Mmm…” he stirred beneath your touch, brow furrowing as a quiet murmur slipped from his lips—something too soft to make out.

You froze, hand stilling against his hair as your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, you thought he might fall back into the rhythm of sleep, but then his lashes fluttered, and his eyes opened, heavy-lidded and hazy with sleep.

“y/n…?” His voice was low, gravelly, and his gaze landed on you, soft and unfocused.

“Oh… hi…” you whispered. A warmth crept into your cheeks as his eyes lingered on you. “Sorry I, uh… didn’t mean to wake you.”

He blinked slowly, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Hey… no it’s fine. You okay?”

“Yeah… um. I…” You swallowed hard, your gaze darting down to your lap as your hands curled into the fabric of your nightgown. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

Immediately, his expression softened, the lingering traces of sleep in his gaze giving way to a quiet concern. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow as his other hand reached for yours.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze as the words caught in your throat.

“Nothing,” you hesitate. “I just… couldn’t stop thinking.”

He let out a quiet hum, filled with understanding, before sighing softly. His hand tugged at yours, gently pulling you closer.

“C’mere…”

Before you could protest, you found yourself lying beside him, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He shifted slightly, his chest pressing against your back as the blankets rustled around you both.

You felt his chest rumble against you as he let out a sleepy hum, his hand brushing lightly against your abdomen in a slow, comforting rhythm.

“Better?”

Your breath caught for a moment at the intimacy of it all—the way his face nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his nose brushing lightly against your skin.

“Um… yeah,” you whispered, letting yourself relax into him. “You’re… warm.”

“Mmhm…” his lips curved into the faintest smile as he burrowed closer. “One of my many talents… ‘m like… a human heater,” his words slurred slightly as sleep tugged at the edges of his voice. “Should charge for this, honestly.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, carrying away the weight of your earlier worries.

“Yeah… right. Is there anything you don’t think you should charge for?”

As he considered your question, his head tilted slightly, breath ghosting across your neck.

“Dunno…” he murmured, halfway between wakefulness and sleep. “Smiles, maybe. Those are free… but only f’you.”

You shifted slightly, turning your head just enough to peer back at him. The corners of his lips tugged up into a slow, lazy grin as one eye cracked open at you.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” his grin widened. “See? Free of charge.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, returning his grin.

Ah… all your worries were once again melting away.

As you shifted in the bed to face him, you allowed your eyes to fully meet his.

His legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, and his hands slid to rest at the small of your back—tracing lazy circles, lulling you into a calm you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

“And you’re thinking too much again,” his nose brushed against yours in a playful nudge. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

You held your breath as your fingers curled lightly against the fabric of his shirt, gripping it for some kind of anchor.

“I… I dunno…” you exhaled heavily. “I just… I’m worried, I guess.”

“About Haru?” he asked gently.

You hesitated, your gaze falling as your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The silence hung between you.

He’s not wrong… but that’s not entirely all of it.

You’re worried about… everything. About him. About this.

About… us.

The weight of your quiet made something shift in him. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, his hand continued its soothing motion against your back.

“Hey now…” he murmured sleepily. “Nothin’s gonna happen. You’re safe. Haru’s safe. I got this.”

You look up at him through your lashes, and his own gaze was heavy lidded—the striking blue of his eyes softened by a quiet intimacy.

“How… can you be so sure?” you whispered shakily.

“Because ’m me,” he replied simply, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. It was lazy, sleepy, but so undeniably Satoru. “And I don’t lose. Ever. It’s, like… my whole fucking thing.”

You couldn’t help it—the small laugh that escaped you was quiet and soft, muffled against the broad expanse of his chest as he pulled you closer.

“Your confidence is almost as annoying as it is reassuring...”

“See? Multi-talented,” he quipped, and his hand against your back slowed as the sleep threatened to overtake him, but the lazy circles never ceased. “Seriously, though… whatever’s got you tied up in knots, don’t carry it alone. ’m here… always.”

His words settled over, wrapping around the edges of your anxiety. Your cheek nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt as you nodded wordlessly—molding your body against his.

“I just… don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple in a fleeting kiss. “You’re kinda like… my favorite person, y’know?”

All the unease that was weighing you down burned away as a warmth curled throughout your body. His breathing began to slow, evening out into a steady rhythm.

Once you felt his hand on your back grow still, you thought he’d drifted off, but then his drowsy voice broke the silence—filled with a quiet conviction.

“I got you princess… always.”

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.

“Thanks, Satoru…” you whispered as your eyes fluttered closed.

The hum that rumbled from his chest in response was faint, coupled with the way his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you even closer. And in his warmth, enveloped by the steady cadence of his breathing and the solid presence of him beside you, you felt the faint stirrings of peace. Sleep crept in gently, pulling you under in soft, lulling waves, and this time, you let it.

“Yoo-hoo, sleepyhead. Still waking up?” His voice breaks through your thoughts, teasing, and very much awake.

Your eyes snap to his again, startled, and now, you found him smirking at you, propped up on one elbow. His hair is tousled from sleep, white strands falling messily over his forehead, and his eyes—those piercing, crystalline blues—hold a glint of amusement.

“Oh… um, yeah. g’morning,” you blink, heat rising to your cheeks as the weight of his gaze settles on you.

He rests his head on the pillow beside you, reverently running his hand up your cheek. You hope he doesn’t feel how hot it’s growing under his gaze.

“You’re red.”

Well, fuck.

“And you’re staring…” you murmur quietly.

“Can you blame me?” he replies with a smirk. “You look way too fucking good in my bed.”

Your blush deepens, and you turn your head slightly to break his gaze, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“I… just…”

“Was trying to seduce me, huh?”

Your eyes snap back to his, wide with indignation.

“Wha—I told you I couldn’t sleep!”

“Sure, sure,” he scoots closer to you, lips curling into a devious grin. “Buuuut… you were clinging to me a moment ago. Should’ve seen it. Super cute.”

“Tch… I was not clinging,” you protest, pulling the blankets over your body as your cheeks burn hotter.

“Uh-huh,” he hums, unconvinced, growing impossibly smug. “You sure about that? Pretty sure you mumbled my name in your sleep, too.”

Your mouth falls open, words failing you as you sputter, “I—I did not!”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he replies smoothly, grin stretching into a smirk. “It was quite adorable. Almost melted on the spot.”

Fuck… did you?

Your eyes narrow as he flashes those pearly white teeth at you.

Nah. He’s fucking with you, you know better.

“Yeah right. You’re making that up,” you huff, rolling your eyes.

“Maybe,” he admits, shrugging one shoulder casually. “But you’ll never know, will you?”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, giving him a playful shove. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You snore!”

He scoffs. “I do not snore.”

“You do,” you counter smugly. “Loudly. Like, so damn loud I’m surprised it didn’t wake up Haru.”

His eyebrow rises and a mischievous glint flickers in his gaze. “Ohhhh? Alright, alright. Fine then,” his voice drops low as he murmurs, “you really wanna play that game with me?”

Before you can react, he moves. You yelp as in one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, his hands pinning your wrists gently against the mattress as he hovers over you—grin downright wicked.

“Satoru!” you laugh, squirming beneath him. “Get off me!”

“Nope,” he says smugly, his face dipping closer to yours. “You accused me of snoring. That’s slander. Hate to tell ya, but I can’t let it slide.”

Your laughter fades slightly as you feel his weight press against you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask breathlessly, “And… just what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Perfect?”

Those vivid blue eyes darken, and your breath hitches as he dips his head lower, into the crook of your neck, making your heart flip as you feel his lips press a featherlight kiss behind your ear.

“Hmmm… let’s see… I wonder…” his breath tickles your skin as he trails soft kisses down your throat. “How shall I punish you?”

You blink, absorbing his words as a shiver of warmth spreads through your core.

“P-Punish?!” you stammer breathlessly.

“Mhmm...” as his kisses continue downwards, his hands loosen from your wrists, gliding down your arms reverently. “What did y’think was going to happen?”

His hands gingerly descend down your curves, palms pausing at your hips. You feel his fingers slip briefly underneath the hem of your nightgown, just above your abdomen as his lips fall lower, gentle nips against your skin.

“S-Satoru…” you whine as he hums against your skin, a smirk curling upon his lips.

“C’mon now… you come into my room… crawl into my bed… wearing these thin little pajamas…”

His thumbs rub smooth circles across your abdomen, and you feel yourself beginning to get hot.

“I wasn’t—haaa” the words die on your lips as his hand rises to the curve of your breast, thumb grazing the hardened peak of your nipple through the material of your sleepwear.

“Wasn’t what?” you’re squirming as he pebbles your nipple slowly. “Trying to drive me crazy? Showing up like this… what’s a guy to do?”

His other hand slides higher, slipping beneath the hem of your gown, and with a gentle tug, he pushes the fabric up. His eyes darken as more of your skin is revealed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb rolling over your bare nipple now, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Last night… couldn’t see you clearly in the dark, but now…”

His lips follow his hands, closing around your nipple, and the warm, wet heat of his tongue makes your body arch, your fingers gripping the sheets as a soft whimper escapes you.

“Nngh… S-Satoru…”

“Mm… fuck yes, say it again,” he pants, his lips releasing your nipple with a sinful pop. “Say m’ name, baby. Wanna hear how bad you need me.” He switches his attention to your other breast, lavishing it with the same care—licking, sucking, each gentle nip sending another rush of arousal pooling down your thighs.

With a shake of your head, you try to bite back the desperate sound clawing its way up your throat, but as his hand descends lower, gliding down your hip, you feel his fingers brush against your inner thigh and your body betrays you.

A needy whimper slips out as you open your legs eagerly for him, earning you a cocky smirk. It curls upon Satoru’s lips as he nibbles your nipple between his teeth—vivid blue eyes looking up at you through fluttering white lashes.

“Hah. Look at that,” he breathes, flicking the hardened peak with his tongue. “Didn’t even have to ask, and those pretty little legs opened right up for me.”

The pure arrogance in his voice sets your skin on fire.

“Sh-shut up,” you snap weakly, trying your best to glare at him as a flush creeps up your neck. “You just—haaa…”

The words are stolen from you the moment his mouth begins its descent—trailing kisses lower, his tongue swiping down your abdomen in slow, wet circles, agonizingly closer to your dripping pussy.

“Hmm?” His head tilts as his thumb brushes so close to your center that your entire body shudders. You feel his breath between your legs. “Something you want, sweetheart? You gotta use your words.”

Fucking cocky ass.

Your lips part, but you hesitate—pride warring with need, the unbearable ache between your thighs clouding your thoughts.

He clicks his tongue, mockingly disappointed. A pout on those pretty lips—lips you want buried in your cunt.

“Tch. Guess you don’t want it that bad, huh?”

His fingers continue to skate up your thigh, stopping short of where you need him, and your frustration rises—hands twisting into the sheets.

“Satoru—” your hips buck involuntarily, but he tuts softly, pulling his hand away just enough to leave you aching for it.

“Mm-mm.” His voice is smooth, cruel in its amusement. “I told you, princess. Use your words.”

Your jaw tightens, nails biting into the sheets as your body trembles with need.

“You are insufferable and so fucking unfair.”

A low sinful laugh rumbles through his chest as he turns his head to your thigh, trailing gentle kisses slowly up to your pussy.

“Unfair?” he echoes as his nose ghosts dangerously over your soaked panties.

He inhales, eyes momentarily slipping shut as he takes in the sweet scent of you. And Jesus, he groans. Actually groans. Like he’s drunk on you.

Your body jerks, hips shifting impatiently under him, but he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

Instead, he arches a brow, looking up at you with that infuriatingly smug expression as he presses a fleeting kiss to your clothed core, making a violent shudder roll through you as the soft hum of his satisfaction vibrates against your heat.

“You said you wanted to savor me, didn’t you?” His lips drag slowly back up your inner thigh, teasing, taunting.

You’re pouting now, glaring down at him like you want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time, and he just chuckles, shaking his head.

“Well?”

“What, expecting me to beg?”

“Tch… stubborn girl…”

His mouth finds its way back to the soaked fabric, and this time, he presses his tongue against it, mouthing at your cunt through your panties. A desperate cry slips past your lips as your head falls back—pussy dripping. His smirk falters.

Fuck, he wants to bury his face in your cunt.

Now he’s the one struggling. You feel his fingers press into your thigh harder, nails biting into flesh, and as he pulls back, eyeing the dark, damp patch of fabric clinging to you.

"Fuck, baby…" His fingers skim slowly over the outline of your soaked folds—his hardening cock twitching in his sweats at the realization. "God… you’re fucking drenched."

You continue to bite your lip, fighting back the needy whimper that is desperate to slip out. His head tilts, shifting into something darker as he looks up at you with those ocean-blue eyes—dilated, raw and starved. God you could get lost in those eyes.

But then, that smug ass grin returns.

“All this? Just f’me?”

“Satoru…” you whine.

He clicks his tongue, resting his cheek against your thigh as he looks up at you affectionately.

“Fair’s fair, baby. I’m gonna savor you. Now then, my pretty girl… what do you want?”

Asshole. He’s playing you. And you want to resist. You really do. But you’re so fucking wet, so aching, so unbearably needy for him. Another breath shudders out of you, and as your voice breaks, your resolve snaps.

“Satoru… please—”

There’s that word. His grin shoots up, something dark and hungry flashing across his face.

“Oh?” His fingers hook around the waistband of your panties. “Please what baby? Be specific.”

Fucking hell. You’re losing it.

“Jesus, fuck. Touch me,” you gasp, finally breaking. “Fuck, please Satoru—just touch me already.  Want you—eep!”

Before you can even breathe, he’s ripping your panties down, shoving your thighs wide open, spreading your needy, dripping cunt out for him to see as he curses under his breath. His restraint snaps and oh, he’s wrecked. A filthy groan slips from his lips as he admires you, laid out for him—his cock twitching violently at the sight.

"Look at this perfect little pussy," he groans, and you mewl as he presses two fingers to your soaked folds, just barely parting them as he spreads your slick between his fingers in awe. “Heh… so fucking wet. Your little cunt is just begging to be filled, isn’t it?”

As he circles the rim of your sex, your body clenches needily around nothing, making another whine escape you as your thighs threaten to snap shut—but he grips them firmly, keeping you spread.

"Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Let me see you. Fuck, look at you," he watches transfixed as his finger presses in—just barely the tip sinking inside before pulling back.

You can feel your slick glistening down your thighs, and you shudder, back arching, voice quaking as he finally sinks his long, thick finger fully inside.

“Ahhh—Satoru!”

A downright dangerous smirk stretches across his lips as he begins to stretch you.

"Mmn… fuck, you feel so tight," your spongey walls grip him as he slowly twists his finger inside, your arousal dripping down his knuckles.

And he’s utterly transfixed, his cock throbbing against the mattress where he lays—watching you take it. He releases a shuddering breath as he shifts, gripping your thighs as he presses you forward, keeping you pinned.

"Greedy fucking hole...” he groans, eyes glued to where you're clenching around him, pumping into your pussy with slow, deep thrusts. “Wanna stuff this hungry little cunt so fucking full..."

The moment he curls his finger just right—dragging against that perfect spot, you cry out.

"Ahhh... ah ahhh... ‘toru... nngh...please… more."

There’s that pretty little word again. His eyes flick up to your face, and he’s relishing in this—you—blushing, panting, watching him with an expression that absolutely wrecks him. Licking his lips, he exhales harshly, leaning forward.

“Good girl, begging so sweet f’me.”

You feel his hot breath fanning against your core, and your thighs tremble as he ghosts those glossy lips over your slick folds—teasing you with the contact you desperately crave.

The moment his pink tongue flicks out, he groans—licking a slow, torturous stripe from your entrance up to your throbbing clit, making your whole-body jerk. A sharp cry rips from your throat as he hums against your cunt.

“Fuck…” he pants, licking and curling his finger in tandem now, “nngh… taste better than I imagined.”

His grip slides lower, kneading your ass before he yanks you closer, burying himself deeper between your thighs. The sudden force makes you yelp, but the sound quickly dissolves into a whimper as his mouth wraps about your clit—curling, flicking, savoring every drop of arousal dripping onto his lips.

“S-Sator… nnngh… fuck.”

You see stars, squirming and trembling around his face as his tongue accompanies his finger— delving deep into your tight hole. His hips rut involuntarily against the bed, cock straining unbearably in his sweats as precum leaks through the fabric.

“Mmm...” he hums against you, a sinful smirk curling as he drags his tongue up your slit again, slow and deliberate. “Fuck yes… wanna drown in your cunt.”

He’s back on you voraciously, low hungry moans mixing with the wet noises of your pussy. You pant, looking down at him and oh, he’s ravenous. His face buries between your legs as those blue eyes flick up through messy white lashes, drinking in the way you writhe for him.

And writhing for him you are. Satoru is loving it—seeing your face flushed a pretty pink, panting, your breasts heaving as you shudder against him.

“Haaa—look at you,” he pulls back, flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit now. “Heh… wanna make you squirm and shake until you're nothing but an incoherent mess, beggin’ for my cock."

You’re squirming now, eyes fluttering shut as your clint tingles from the rising pressure building within your tummy. But as you feel his second finger slip into your cunt, your eyes snap open and a desperate sob breaks from your lips. You were so close.

"Ohmygod—Satoru, please—"

He hums in amusement, lapping at your sweet essence. "Haaa... I dunno… maybe I'll grant you what you want, pretty girl,” he’s panting now, scissoring your cunt fervently between each filthy word. “Stuff your needy little hole with my thick, hard cock until you can't take any more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

Your voice is barely coherent now, broken between ragged gasps and desperate whimpers. “Yes… yes… wan’ you ‘toru… m’close…”

Desperate to grip onto something, your fingers find purchase on his hair, slipping through the soft white strands as you pull him close, shamelessly grinding yourself on his pretty face, clenching against him as your arousal coats his lips.

“Mmmngh…” Satoru groans against your cunt, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as you use his mouth. His cock throbs eagerly against the mattress as he devours you like a man starved.

Fuck, he's so hard it hurts, aching to bury himself inside your perfect little cunt.

He fully gives in, releasing his fingers to pull you close—wrapping your legs around his shoulders as his tongue plunges deep—fucking into your entrance as he laps up your dripping arousal—nose brushing against your clit as you rock on his face. You’re on the brink of coming undone.

"Haaa... yes, yeahh! J-jus' like... mmnn... that! Oh fuuuck!"

As your fingers tug at his hair, hips rolling wildly, Satoru groans into your heat, reverberating through your core. You look down to see those glassy eyes flutter open, locking onto yours, watching every little tremor of your body as the pleasure wrecks you.

And then you snap.

Your pussy clamps down around his tongue, a sob ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Satoru groans through it, tongue pressing deeper as your walls pulse violently, drenching his eager mouth as he savors every drop of your release.

His cock jerks violently, aching with need as he drinks you down, eyes flickering shut as he hums against your overstimulated clit, prolonging your pleasure until you’re trembling uncontrollably above him.

Finally spent, your grip on his hair loosens, and your hips still as your trembling slows. Satoru gentles his kisses as he eases you down from your high, his hands trailing light, soothing circles on your thighs.

"Mmm, that's it, princess. Came so fucking hard for me..." he murmurs smugly against your sensitive flesh, pressing one last lingering kiss against your swollen clit before pulling back. His lips and chin glisten with your release as he smirks down at you. "You taste fucking incredible..."

As you watch him lick his lips hungrily, you realize he’s still not sated—not even close. Your gaze narrows to the obscene bulge straining against his grey sweats, pooling with precum. He follows your line of sight, eyes dragging down to the tent in his pants before meeting yours again, his smirk deepening.

“See what you do to me?” he pitches forward, and you shudder as his forearms bracket your head, looming over you. “Fuck… want you…” His lips graze your jaw, his voice a low, desperate rasp. “You felt so good around my fingers… can just imagine this greedy little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

But then, suddenly, the bedroom door swings open.

"Mama! The sun is up. Let’s go downstairs and play!"

Oh God.

The air is sucked straight from your lungs as Haru’s tiny voice rings through the room like a gunshot. Both you and Satoru freeze, horror crashing down like a tidal wave.

Thankfully, Satoru reacts first.

With lightning-fast reflexes, he rolls to the side, yanking you with him, shielding your naked body as he drags the sheets up in a last-ditch effort at preserving what’s left of your dignity. Haru stands in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with tiny fists, completely oblivious to the absolute disaster she’s just walked in on.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying—failing—not to let out a panicked squeak, and Satoru, still rock-hard and reeling from the sheer whiplash of the moment, clears his throat.

“H-Hey, kiddo… uh… what’s up?”

Haru pouts at him, unimpressed. “Where’s Mama? I want Mama.”

“Oh, uh… right.” Satoru laughs, but it’s high and strained, barely holding it together as he tightens his hold around you.

You can feel the mortification radiating off him in waves, and before either of you can scramble for a better excuse, there’s another voice.

“Haru? Where’d you go? Oh—OH MY—”

The nanny—Remi.

She halts in the doorway like she’s just walked into a crime scene, brown eyes going comically round as her hands fly to her mouth. Her sleek dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, her uniform crisp as always, but her composure? Completely shattered. Her face turns a shade of red, one that rivals yours as she sees you and Satoru tangled up in the sheets.

“Oh! Uh—Haru, sweetie—” She clears her throat, trying and failing to sound normal. “Why don’t we head downstairs? Your parents will be down soon!”

Satoru audibly chokes on air, and you feel his body tense beside you. But Haru, ever persistent, pouts.

“But I wanna—”

“I’ll make waffles! Extra syrup! Maybe even some whipped cream—doesn’t that sound fun?” Remi is already halfway out the door, all but dragging Haru with her.

Haru hesitates for a split second, then gasps. “Whipped cream?!”

“Yep! Let’s go!”

And just like that, they’re gone. The door clicks shut, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake. You and Satoru remain frozen, your bodies still tangled beneath the sheets, wide-eyed and horrified.

Your entire soul leaves your body.

“Oh. My. God.” you whisper, hands flying to your face as if you can somehow will yourself out of existence. “I am never showing my face outside this room again.”

Beside you, Satoru exhales deeply, stretching out like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

“Well,” he grins, tilting his head toward you, “that was fun.”

You gape at him, your mortification reaching new levels. “Are you—are you fucking kidding me?”

He just blinks, completely unbothered. “What?”

Groaning, you curl onto your side, burying your face into a pillow. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Satoru’s chuckle rumbles through his chest as he shifts onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. His other hand reaches over, tugging at the pillow you’re desperately clinging to.

“Oh, c’mon, princess,” he hums, infuriatingly smug. “Worst day of your life? Pretty sure five minutes ago you were having the time of your life.”

Your entire body burns hotter than the sun. “Quiet. Do not start—”

“What? Just saying,” his grin widens as his fingers trace lazy patterns down your arm. “One second you were cuming on my tongue, and the next—”

You slap a hand over his mouth before he can finish that sentence. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

The smirk beneath your palm only deepens, and you shriek, jerking your hand back as his warm tongue flicks out against your skin.

“Satoru!?”

He bursts into laughter, utterly shameless, before effortlessly pulling you into his arms. His grip is warm, steady, and one hand slides up, smoothing down your messy hair as he tucks a stray strand behind your ear.

“You’re always so cute when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, dropping into something softer.

“I am not flustered,” you huff, scowling as you bury you face into his chest, grumbling “I am humiliated.”

A quiet, amused sigh rumbles through him as his fingers begin to trace slow, lazy circles over your hip, featherlight, absentminded. Neither of you move, neither of you rush to untangle from each other—it’s a rare moment of stillness.

“Hey,” he murmurs gently, nudging his nose against your temple. “It’s okay.”

You pout, cheeks still burning, as you peek up at him through your lashes. “How am I ever gonna look Remi in the eye again?”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering behind his bright eyes before he rolls them with exaggerated ease. “Baby, you don’t have to,” he says. “Just stare at her forehead.”

You groan, swatting at his chest as you roll onto your back. “You are so not helpful.”

Satoru laughs, deep and unbothered, before tugging you right back against him. His arms wrap around you easily, pressing you close, his nose nudging against your hair. You feel yourself melting into him as his lips brush a lingering kiss against your temple, soothing the heat burning under your skin.

All you want to do is remain here—tangled up in him, forever. But of course, he reminds you of your reality.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair, fingers tracing delicate lines down your spine. “We’re gonna have to go downstairs at some point.”

You let out a quiet whine, curling in on yourself. “No. We absolutely do not.”

He chuckles, nosing at your temple again. “Why don’t you go ahead and clean up, hm? We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Suguru is expecting us.”

You mumble something unintelligible against his collarbone before sighing, reluctantly peeling yourself away from him, the cool air replacing his warmth making you shiver. As you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, reality crashes back down on you.

"You know, I should’ve known this would happen," you grumble, trudging towards to bathroom. "You never lock the damn door. It’s like the whole fucking bathroom fiasco all over again.”

Satoru grins, plopping back onto the bed lazily. "I didn’t see you complaining when I had my face between your—"

A pillow smacks him square in the face before he can finish. He yelps, half laughing as he dodges your second attempt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle the damage control,” he says smugly.

You pause at the bathroom door, squinting at him in pure suspicion. “…What exactly does ‘damage control’ mean?”

That wicked grin stretches across his lips, slow and self-satisfied, his bright eyes gleaming with mischief. “It means I’ll flash Remi a dazzling smile, crack a joke, and act like nothing happened. Works every time.”

You groan, shaking your head as you shuffle through the doorway. “Great… I am so screwed.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Satoru smirks, settling back into the pillows with a sigh. He can hear the water running, but it barely registers, his mind still clouded with the remnants of you—your warmth, your scent, the way you had unraveled beneath him just minutes ago.

And then his gaze flickers downward.

Your panties—still damp, tangled in the mess of bedding, glistening with your arousal—catch his eye.

His throat tightens. His cock twitches, still painfully hard, still aching with need.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. But he’s already reaching for them.

The fabric is still warm, still sticky, and the moment he hooks a finger around the waistband, lifting them to his face, your scent floods his senses. A violent shudder rips through his spine. It’s obscene. It’s filthy. And it makes him impossibly harder.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest as his hips press into the mattress, instinct taking over. Rolling onto his back, his free hand shoves down his sweats just enough to free his aching cock. Precum smears against his abs, and the first tight stroke around the thick base has his head falling back against the pillows, lips parting on a sharp gasp.

“Haaa—baby…” he grunts, pressing your panties to his face as he his hips buck into his fist.

His mind is still clouded with the way you came apart for him—the way you rode his face, rolling your hips, thighs trembling, voice breaking as you cried his name. His jaw clenches, fingers twisting in the damp lace, pressing it harder against his nose, drowning in the sweet, intoxicating scent of you.

God, he’s obsessed.

His breath turns ragged, his wrist flicking faster as heat coils deep in his gut. He pictures you—perched on top of him, sinking down onto his cock, stretching around him, taking him so perfectly. His body reacts on instinct, rutting up into his palm, fucking into his tight grip with reckless abandon.

“Nnngh… oh yes… fuuuck just like that,” he whimpers, thick with need. “Baby… haaa… gonna have you dripping down my cock next time—ahhh, fuck—"

His rhythm stutters, muscles seizing, toes curling as pleasure crashes over him like a tidal wave. His stomach clenches, his breath catches, and then—

A strangled moan tears from his throat as he spills over his fist, thick, sticky ropes of cum painting his stomach. His body trembles, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as the last waves of his orgasm rip through him. His eyes squeeze shut as he milks himself dry, accentuating each pulse of release with a shuddering whine, muffled against your panties.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is his ragged breathing, his limbs lax and boneless against the bed.

Then his eyes flick toward the bathroom door.

The water is still running.

A lazy, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips as he reaches for a tissue from the nightstand, cleaning himself up at an unhurried pace, basking in the post-orgasm haze. His muscles are still tingling, pleasure simmering warm and slow in his veins.

And then he sees them—your panties, still resting on the bed beside him.

He hesitates for only a second before smirking, reaching for the nightstand. The drawer slides open, and with a flick of his wrist, he tucks them inside.

His dirty little secret—maybe for later.

Anyways. Right.

Time to handle damage control.

ꨄ

“Oh! Good morning, sweetheart,” Remi chirps, voice light, easy. “I was wondering when you’d come down.”

She sets a fresh cup of coffee at your usual seat, so natural, so routine, that it momentarily soothes the buzzing in your chest. Oh. She’s being nice. And not weird about it at all.

But then—

“Did you sleep well?”

You freeze mid-step while heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks before you can smother it. Satoru pauses too, his coffee cup halfway to his lips, but unlike you, he just smirks. That infuriating look flashing in his eyes as he watches you with far too much amusement—scrambling into your seat.

“Oh—uh…” your throat bobs as you swallow hard. “Yeah. I did. Thanks.”

Awkward…

As your throat clears, you internally will yourself to sound as normal as possible, while Satoru—little shit that he is—just keeps watching, just keeps smirking, like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say something that will make you wish for the sweet release of death.

But thankfully, Remi either doesn’t notice or chooses not to comment.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, already moving toward the counter. “Satoru made you a plate.”

Satoru hums, lazily swirling his coffee.

“She worked up an appetite, m’sure…”

Your foot connects with his shin under the table, and he yelps, nearly spilling his coffee while Haru giggles at his suffering.

With a huff, he rubs his leg, muttering “Violence before breakfast. Unbelievable…” His lips drop into a petulant pout. “Tch… I even slaved over the stove this mornin, all for you…”

Your brow lifts, unimpressed, as Remi giggles—setting the dish down in front of you with an easy flourish. The moment you look down at your plate, you immediately know he’s full of shit.

Waffles. Golden brown. Crisp edges. Beside them… flower-shaped eggs? Yeah, right. Satoru doesn’t make flower-shaped anything.

Slowly, your gaze drags back up to meet his, eyes narrowing. He’s grinning at you far too suspiciously.

“You didn’t make these,” you say matter-of-factly.

His smile falters, just for a second, before he dramatically slumps back in his chair, pouting like a scolded child. “Wow. You didn’t even try to believe it… not even for a second.”

You arch a brow. “Did you expect me to believe it? You—making flower shaped eggs?”

“I tried,” he sighs, slouching forward as he cradles his chin in his palm, looking thoroughly betrayed. “But Remi threatened my life.”

“No, I saved you,” she corrects with a small chuckle.

Satoru groans while Remi shakes her head, muttering quietly to you, “Trust me, sweetheart… you wouldn’t have wanted the eggs he made.”

Haru nods enthusiastically, mouth stuffed full. “’toru’s eggs were crunchy.”

Satoru scoffs, scandalized. “Excuse me. They were caramelized.”

“They were burnt,” Remi supplies sweetly.

“They were enhanced,” Satoru insists, crossing his arms.

You stifle a laugh, finally cutting into your waffles. And just like that, your worries melt away. The morning falls into an easy rhythm��the air humming with warmth, filled with the quiet clatter of silverware, Haru’s happy little kicks against the chair legs. It’s simple. It’s comfortable.

Remi moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, topping off Satoru’s coffee without needing to ask, pausing to wipe a stray smudge of syrup from Haru’s cheek with a fond shake of her head. Everything about her is effortless, warm. Kind.

She takes a seat across from you, cradling her tea in both hands—posture relaxed as she blows gently over the rim.

“So,” she muses, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Any plans for today?”

You glance at Satoru before answering, catching the way he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head with an exaggerated groan.

“We’re heading into Gojo Corp for a bit,” you say, slicing another piece of waffle. “Got some things to take care of.”

“Ah, work, huh?” Remi hums, taking a slow sip of tea. “Must be nice, working together like that. I imagine it makes things easier… or harder?” Her eyes flick between you and Satoru, a teasing lilt curling at the edges of her voice. “Do you ever get sick of each other?”

Satoru snorts, setting down his coffee with a smirk. “She wishes she got sick of me.”

You roll your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. “Oh, constantly.”

Remi laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Mmm, I doubt that.”

The conversation drifts easily—small talk about work, about how Haru had insisted on watching the same cartoon three times in a row yesterday. But then, after a comfortable lull, Remi shifts slightly in her seat, her fingers curling gently around the rim of her cup as her voice turns more measured.

“You’re meeting with Suguru Geto today?”

Your head lifts slightly—the shift in her tone catching your attention. Across the table, Satoru’s eyes flick toward her, just barely. So quick, so subtle, you almost miss it.

“Mhm...” you nod, hesitating slightly. “That’s right.”

Remi exhales, shaking her head.

“That’s gotta be tough…” she swirls her tea absentmindedly, watching the liquid move. “The custody case, I mean… he’s got his work cut out for him.”

Your grip tightens slightly around your fork—there’s nothing inherently off about what she’s saying, but still… the reminder sends a ripple of unease through your chest. Maybe it’s the weight of the case itself, or maybe it’s just the exhaustion that comes with constantly thinking about it. You’re not sure.

“He’s exceptional,” Satoru says smoothly, matter-of-factly. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug. “There’s no one else I’d trust more than him with this case.”

Remi hums, nodding, but she doesn’t quite meet your gaze right away. “Of course,” she murmurs, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I just mean—it must be a lot for you to deal with. I hope things go smoothly. It’s good that you have someone like him in your corner.”

The warmth in her voice should be comforting, right? Why aren’t you comforted? You find yourself nodding, but the weight of her words begins to bury you. Satoru eyes flick to you as he catches onto your unease. Tilting his head slightly, he studies Remi before immediately shifting gears.

“Remi,” he says, tapping a finger against his plate. “Could you grab some more syrup? Pretty sure I saw it in the cabinet earlier.”

“Oh! Of course,” she chirps, setting her tea down and rising to her feet as she moves toward the pantry.

The moment her back is turned, Satoru leans slightly toward you, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “Don’t let it get to you,” he murmurs, warmth curling around the shell of your ear. “Remember? I got you… always.”

His fingers ghost over your knee beneath the table, brief but grounding, and as you blink up at him, something in the way he’s looking at you—steady, certain—eases the tightness in your chest.

“Yeah…” you whisper, returning his soft smile while your hand settles over his, offering a reassuring squeeze.

But from the corner of your eye, you catch it—Remi, standing by the counter, fingers lingering over the syrup bottle.

…a pause?

Then, so seamlessly it’s almost unnoticeable, she picks it up and turns back around—expression easy, light, slipping back into place like nothing happened.

"So,” she says cheerfully, placing the syrup in front of Satoru before settling back into her seat. “What time do you think you’ll be back? Just wondering if Haru will need dinner before you get home."

The question is innocent. Logical, even. It makes perfect sense for her to ask. And yet—

Something about it feels… off?

No. Perhaps you’re imagining it. Maybe you’re just on edge. Overthinking things.

After all, Remi is kind.

ꨄ

“Every time I walk in here, I think it can’t possibly get worse,” Suguru mutters, loosening his tie as he sinks into one of the chairs opposite Satoru’s desk. “And yet, you continue to outdo yourself.”

Your gaze sweeps over the office, and you find yourself reluctantly agreeing. The space is massive, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sprawling, ridiculous view of the Tokyo skyline. It looks professional, should feel professional—but the illusion is broken the second you take in the state of the room.

Satoru’s desk is buried under a chaotic mess of papers, some crumpled, others half-stacked, as if he had started to organize them before giving up halfway. A small dish of candy sits beside the keyboard, its contents long gone, save for the sea of discarded wrappers. Against the far wall, an obnoxiously comfortable-looking leather couch sits, one you know has seen more of Satoru’s midday naps than actual work.

And then, there’s the final touch—Suguru gestures toward the golf club leaning against the bookshelf, his brow arching.

“You don’t even play golf.”

Satoru barely glances up from where he’s lazily spinning in his chair, a smug grin curling his lips.

“It’s for decoration.”

Suguru groans, rolling his eyes as he tries to make room for his documents on the desk. You sigh, already moving to help, straightening the mess with quick, practiced hands.

"Everything in this office is for decoration,” you mutter, stacking papers into an organized pile before flicking your gaze to Satoru. “Including you.”

Satoru is pleased—gasping dramatically as he places a hand over his heart.

“Oh? So you admit I enhance the ambiance?” His smirk is all teeth. “Always knew I was a statement piece. Finally, my wife admits I’m nice to look at.”

You roll your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah… that’s not what I said.”

Leaning forward, Satoru props his elbows on the desk, vivid blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Mmm, no, but it’s what you meant.”

Suguru doesn’t even look up from his folder. “I know what she meant.” Then, flipping a page, he glances at you. “Lemme guess. He makes you do all the work?”

“Yup.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, unimpressed, before turning his unimpressed stare on Satoru. The man, unbothered as ever, leans back in his chair, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated shrug.

“What?” Satoru says, unabashed. “I’ve always loved her work ethic. It’s inspiring, really. Besides, delegation is the mark of true corporate genius. You wouldn’t understand, Suguru.”

Suguru levels him with a flat stare, then tilts his head toward the far end of the office.

“Oh yeah? And tell me, how exactly does a gumball machine contribute to your corporate genius? Or is that also for decoration.”

You follow his gaze toward the bright red gumball machine standing proudly in the corner, positioned beside a sleek espresso maker.

“Oh, that?” Satoru grins like he’s just been waiting for someone to ask. “That’s for morale.”

You scoff, cutting Suguru a knowing look before shaking your head. “I hate that I kind of believe that…” you mutter under your breath.

Suguru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before dragging a hand down his face. There’s a tired sort of patience in his movements, like he’s been through this song and dance too many times before.

“Right…” he mutters, shaking his head. “I swear you designed this office specifically to avoid working.”

Satoru’s grin only stretches wider, unabashed. “Exactly.” He props his feet up on the desk, reclining with the ease of a man without a single real responsibility.

Suguru gives him a flat look. Then, with a quiet thud, he slides a thick folder onto the desk.

“Well… not today.”

The energy in the room shifts. Satoru’s gaze flicks to you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he drops his feet back to the floor. You straighten slightly in your seat as Suguru clicks his pen, tone all business now.

“Alright. Custody battles always boil down to one thing—what’s in the best interest of the child.” His eyes flick between you and Satoru as he flips through his notes. “The court isn’t concerned with what either parent wants. They’re focused on stability, consistency, and overall well-being for Haru.”

You nod, but there’s a pressure settling in your chest. You already know what’s best for Haru—being here, with you, with Satoru. She barely even knows Naoya. The idea of a judge, a complete stranger, making that decision for her makes your stomach twist.

Suguru’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “First things first,” he says, flipping to another section of his notes. “We need to establish parental involvement. Has Naoya been active in Haru’s life at all?”

“No,” you don’t hesitate.

Suguru doesn’t look surprised, but his gaze lifts slightly, assessing. “Never?”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together.

"He didn’t want to be involved," you say quietly. "I tried… but it was like pulling teeth just to get him to acknowledge her, especially before we separated. It wasn’t until I filed for child support that he started using her as a tool, and he kept delaying the court date, always coming up with some excuse.”

“Oh?” Suguru’s brows lift slightly. “You filed for child support? When was that?”

“Um… about a year ago.” Your fingers fidget in your lap. “Shortly after I left him.”

There’s a pause as Suguru jots something down. His expression remains neutral, but there’s a sharpness to his eyes, a calculating edge as he pieces together the information.

Then, as casually as ever, he asks, “And how did he react? When you left him?”

ꨄ

Dinner was plated, still steaming.

You had made his favorite—teriyaki salmon, perfectly seared, a side of rice, miso soup. You had set the table, poured him a drink. Everything was in its place, arranged to look as normal as possible.

But it wasn’t normal. The packed bags by the door gave everything away.

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made your ears ring. Haru sat on the floor, cross-legged, focused on her blocks. Her little hands moved diligently, stacking each one with careful precision, humming to herself—untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest. When the tower inevitably toppled, the wooden blocks clattered against the floor, breaking the silence for only a moment before fading back into stillness.

Your palms pressed flat against the kitchen counter; fingers splayed against the cool surface as you tried to steady yourself. Any minute now. Any minute now.

Then—

The door creaked open.

Your breath hitched, your body going rigid as Naoya stepped inside. The keys in his hand clinked as he set them on the entry table. Exhaling, he rustled his hair as his gaze swept across the apartment, moving from the dinner waiting on the carefully set table until suddenly, he froze—eyes narrowing as they landed on the bags.

For a second, there was nothing. No words. No movement. Just a long, unnerving silence. And then—

“The fuck is this?”

His voice was quiet. Too quiet—the kind of quiet that had always meant danger. Your stomach curled in on itself, your muscles locking as if bracing for impact. You opened your mouth, trying to summon the words you had rehearsed in your head over and over and over again—but they lodged in your throat.

Instead, all you could manage was—

“I… made your favorite.”

You gestured toward the table—toward the salmon. As if that was the thing that needed explaining. As if that was the thing that mattered. He rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes before striding toward the bags.

“You know that’s not what I fucking asked.”

Grabbing the zipper of your bag, a scoff ripped from his throat as he yanked it open, revealing its contents. Clothes. Toiletries. Haru’s favorite stuffed Pikachu. The things people pack when they don’t plan on coming back.

“You goin’ somewhere, sweets?”

Every instinct was screaming at you to run, run, run. But your feet stayed planted, rooted to the spot as if the very air had turned thick and unmovable. Your fingers curled against your palms as you forced the words out quietly.

“I… I think we need time apart.”

The moment the words left your lips, Naoya barked out a laugh—loud, sharp, mocking. He actually doubled over, hands on his knees, shaking his head as if you had just told the funniest joke in the world.

“That’s cute,” he mused, catching his breath between laughs, his voice dropping into something almost patronizing. When he straightened, his eyes pinned you in place, something unreadable flickering behind them. Something dangerous.

“And tell me, sweetheart—where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Your breath caught, and he saw it—your hesitation, the way your lips pressed together, how your fingers twitched by your sides. A slow, cruel smirk curled at his lips, dripping in amusement.

“Oh,” he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “So, you don’t even have a plan?”

Another sharp laugh pushed past his lips—low, cruel, unforgiving. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished. His expression hardened, eyes darkening as his jaw clenched. The shift was so sudden, so jarring, you felt the air leave your lungs.

Holding your breath, your gaze followed him as he began slowly pacing, like he was working himself up. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he muttered, fingers pressing against his temples. His next exhale came out shaky, forced. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes, you know that?”

“Naoya… please—”

“Stupid BITCH!”

The explosion came out of nowhere.

The sheer force of his voice rattled through your chest, slammed against the walls, reverberated through the floor beneath your feet.

A brief silence followed—Haru’s humming stopped. As you stood there—eyes wide, Naoya glaring at you—in the corner of your eye, you saw your daughter stilling, suddenly silent in the middle of stacking her blocks.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, you forced your voice to steady, lowering it, softening it, as if that would keep things from spiraling further.

“Naoya… let’s just talk, okay? I—”

The next thing you knew, a ceramic plate shattered at your feet.

The impact was violent—shards splintering across the floor, cutting through the quiet like a gunshot. You flinched so hard your entire body jerked back while Haru let out a sharp breath from across the room.

Chest heaving, pulse thundering, your eyes zeroed in on the scattered debris, glinting under the kitchen light—sharp, jagged edges that could have easily torn through skin if you had been just one step closer.

“Fuck… see what you fucking make me do?” he muttered, shaking his head as he paced across the kitchen. “You always push me, always fucking nagging, like some goddamn broken record. I give you everything, and you still bitch like an ungrateful little—”

His voice blurred. You were barely hearing him anymore. Your pulse was too loud, roaring in your head as a ringing sound began to drown him out—drown everything out.

"Shit, baby…"

The shift was instantaneous.

You blinked, refocusing, and suddenly—he was in front of you.

Close. Too close. His fingers curled around your wrist—not harshly, but firmly.

“Look, I…” He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before raking it through his hair. When his eyes met yours, something in them was different. Softer. More open, more human.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, quieter now. “You know I—” He let out a heavy breath, like he was the one suffering. “I love you, baby. So much. You just make me crazy sometimes, you know that?”

The whiplash sent your thoughts into a tailspin. The heat of his palm against your wrist. The gentleness in his voice. Your body screamed at you to pull away, to resist.

But your heart—your stupid, aching heart—

“You don’t have to do this, baby.” Naoya’s thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, slow, soothing. Tethering. “I get it. Things have been… rough lately. I’ve been stressed, work’s been a fucking nightmare, and I know I take that out on you sometimes.”

You swallowed hard, breath hitching, vision blurring as you blinked back the sting behind your eyes. This is what he did. This was how he made you stay.

He spun words into silk, wove apologies into something tender, something careful.

A beautiful lie.

"I'll fix it," he promised, his lips curling into something almost boyish, like he already knew he'd won. "I'll take better care of you, yeah? You and Haru. We can fix this. Just… stay. Stay right where you belong."

For a second—just a second—your mind whispered the possibility.

Maybe it could be different this time. Maybe he meant it. This is fixable…right? Things could be okay if you just—

No.

No.

This was the cycle. The same fucking cycle that had been spinning over and over and over again.

Rage. Apology. Empty promises. Repeat.

You had seen this moment before. Felt this warmth, heard this regret, let these pretty little words lull you into submission. And every single time—every single time—you had fallen for it.

But not this time.

Naoya’s grip tightened the longer you stayed quiet, making your breathing quicken now—shallow, panicked. His gaze flicked across your face, calculating, searching for an answer he wanted—needed—to hear.

"Baby?" His voice was still soft, but there was something sharp underneath. "You wanna sit down with me?"

You swallowed hard. And then, somehow—somehow—you found your voice.

"I… can’t," you whispered.

For a second, nothing moved. Not the air, not the world, not even him.

His fingers curled tighter around your wrist—just long enough to send ice shooting through your veins—before loosening again.

"You can’t what?"

“I’m leaving Naoya. And I’m taking Haru.”

His lips parted for a moment, but nothing came out, until finally, those wicked lips curled into something cruel—amused.

"C’mon now… you don’t mean that," he said, like it was a joke, like you were saying something ridiculous. "You’re just upset."

His hand lifted, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Too soft. Too gentle. Your skin burned under a touch you once leaned into, once believed in.

"You don’t really wanna do this, baby," his thumb ghosts over your cheek. "I get it. Things have been stressful, I haven’t been at my best, but you’re being ridiculous. You don’t have to go and make a scene."

As his fingers skimmed the curve of your jaw, cradling it like something fragile, you held your breath. It’s the very same caress he’d always use after losing his temper—after breaking something—brushing the tear trailing down your cheek, like he was trying to rewrite reality, trying to pull you back into the script.

"Let’s just sit down and eat, hm?" he coaxed, smooth as silk. "You made my favorite, didn’t you? It smells incredible. We should eat before it gets cold."

He was smiling now, gentle, reassuring—like none of this had happened. Like if you just sat down, everything would go back to normal. Like you wouldn’t still feel the tremble in your hands, the stinging heat of his words.

As you opened your mouth to speak, he pulled you close.

"Don’t do this, baby," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours for just a moment. His breath was warm against your lips. "Just… be good for me, okay?"

Be good for me.

The words settled over you like oil, thick and suffocating. And suddenly, blinking through your own empty haze, everything became too clear.

The shards of ceramic scattered at your feet. The tiny splinters of glass catching the light. The dining table still set, untouched. Waiting for someone to sit down. As if there wasn’t a shattered plate on the floor.

As if he hadn’t just thrown it. As if he wasn’t capable of so much worse.

Rage. Apology. Empty promises. Repeat.

"I’m leaving," you repeated.

His fingers twitched, then released you altogether. Exhaling through his nose, he shook his head, disappointed—as if you were being unreasonable.

"You’re nothing without me," he muttered.

The words settled like a weight in your stomach, but you remained silent.

His lips curled as his head tilted slightly, scanning you like he was recalibrating, assessing—trying to find a new way to break you down.

"N o t h i n g," he repeated, slower this time, dragging the word out like it was something filthy.

The first tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. A quiet, shaky sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it back.

Naoya wasn’t finished.

"Look at you," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Pathetic. You wouldn’t last a fucking week without my money. You’re a failure. A desperate little bitch who got knocked up and thought she could trap me with a useless kid."

A sharp breath punched from your lungs, a gasp—small, broken. He could degrade you all he wanted. He had done it before, and he would do it again. But Haru?

Something inside you splintered, something that had been held together by fear and exhaustion and the faintest hope that maybe—maybe he could change.

"Haru is not useless."

The words left your mouth before you even realized you had spoken them, and Naoya stilled—brow arching slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to speak at all.

Your pulse thrummed; your hands curled into fists at your sides. You could feel the wetness in your lashes, the tremor in your shoulders. But you didn’t stop.

"And… I’d rather be miserable than be stuck with you."

Silence.

For once, Naoya was stunned into stillness. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You had never spoken back like that before. And for a fleeting, reckless moment—you felt something close to power.

But then, his expression twisted. Something ugly. Something furious. And you knew.

Fuck. You had just made a mistake.

"YOU—"

Closing your eyes, the drywall beside your head shook, caving in under his fist while dust and plaster rained onto your shoulder.

The ringing in your ears swallowed everything—your own heartbeat, the distant hum of the light, the sharp inhale you barely managed to take as your body locked up.

For the first time, you thought—really, truly thought—he was going to kill you.

You didn’t dare move.

He was yelling now, screaming in your face, his words pouring out in a torrent of unfiltered venom. But his voice was just noise now. A violent storm battering against you, word after word, crashing like waves, over and over and over.

You couldn’t hear him.

Your mind had detached, floating somewhere far away, just outside your own body. Your vision blurred at the edges; your limbs trembled so violently you thought your knees might give out.

Then—through the haze, you saw him move.

A sharp pivot. Footsteps, heavy, stomping toward the bedroom. The door slammed so hard the walls shook. And then—

Silence.

Your body didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The seconds ticked by, stretching into something unbearable, something suffocating. Your chest was so tight it ached, but your lungs kept shuddering, gasping for air.

Then, like a puppet whose strings had been severed, you crumpled. Your back hit the wall, legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed onto the floor—a sob ripping through you before you could stop it.

It tore out of your chest, raw, unrestrained. It wrecked through your entire body, like something primal, something beyond your control. Your fingers curled against your arms, clutching at your own skin, trying to hold yourself together—trying to keep from unraveling completely.

Choked gasps echoed into the emptiness of the apartment, your sobs reverberating against the walls. You sucked in a shuddering breath—trying, desperate to regain control—

And that’s when you heard it.

A whimper.

Your entire body jerked. Your head snapped up so fast your vision swam. The air in your lungs froze.

Haru.

You turned—where she had been sitting, where her tiny hands had been stacking blocks—

Empty. She’s gone.

Panic surged through your veins, crashing into you like ice. You scrambled onto your feet, nearly stumbling in your haste, your vision tunneling as your breath came fast, sharp—

"Haru?"

Silence.

Dread curled around your ribs, sinking its claws deep. You turned frantically, scanning the apartment, searching, praying.

"Haru?!"

Nothing.

Your heartbeat was deafening as you staggered forward, checking behind the couch, peering around the kitchen island. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.

Then—

Another small, muffled whimper.

You spun, pulse hammering against your ribs as you followed the sound, eyes landing on a cupboard. A small, low cabinet beneath the sink. The one that had never really locked properly. The one just big enough to—

Your breath hitched, and dropping to your knees, your fingers shook as you reached for the handle. You pulled the door open, and there she was—curled up inside, her knees drawn to her chest, tiny hands covering her ears, her small body trembling.

Tears streaked her round cheeks, her lower lip wobbled, and when her wide, terrified eyes met yours, something inside you shattered.

She had hidden herself away.

From him.

From you.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you reached for her, arms wrapping around her small frame, pulling her against your chest. She melted into you instantly, her little hands fisting into your shirt, burying her face into your shoulder as soft, hiccupped cries wracked through her tiny body.

You rocked her gently, whispering her name like a prayer, your voice breaking as your lips pressed against the crown of her head.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Over and over, you murmured it into her hair, against her temple, into the delicate curve of her ear, as if sheer repetition could make it true.

"I'm so sorry, Haru. I'm so, so sorry."

And that was the day you swore—you would never, never fall back into Naoya’s grasp again.

ꨄ

“y/n?”

The sound of your name pulled you back.

The past dissolved like mist burned away by the sun, fading into the recesses of your mind. The dim, suffocating glow of your old apartment vanished, replaced by the cool, sterile overhead lights of Satoru’s office. The warmth of Haru’s small body against yours was gone, replaced by the unyielding leather of the chair beneath you.

You blink, the weight of memory still lingering in your chest.

Across the desk, Suguru was watching you carefully, his brows furrowed slightly, his pen poised between his fingers. Beside him, Satoru had straightened in his seat, his usual playful smirk nowhere in sight. His bright eyes—always so full of mischief—were sharp now. Piercing. Concerned.

Swallowing hard, you realized your hands had curled into fists in your lap. Slowly, deliberately, you forced yourself to breath—loosening your fingers, unclenching one joint at a time.

"Sorry," you murmur hoarsely. "I was just—" exhaling, you shake your head. "I was remembering."

Satoru doesn’t speak, but his gaze lingers, tracking every subtle shift in your expression, every flicker of emotion. He’s perceptive—too perceptive. Suguru, too, holds your stare, though something in his expression softens.

"I asked how he reacted," he prompts, gentler than before.

Wetting your lips, the words tangle in your throat.

"Not well," you finally admit.

Suguru’s pen barely moved, his focus entirely on you.

"Did he put his hands on you?"

As you hesitate, Satoru’s jaw clenches—hands curling into fists under the desk, knuckles going white.

"He didn’t—" you pause, pressing your fingers into your temples. "He threw things. Punched the wall. Screamed in my face until I couldn’t even understand what he was saying anymore."

Silence.

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching before he folds his arms tightly across his chest. His lips press into a thin line, tension radiating from every part of him as Suguru sets his pen down.

"That’s important," he says carefully. "If there were witnesses, records of damage, anything like that, it could help.”

"I… didn’t call the police," you murmur. "No reports, no records. Just… me."

Suguru nods, as if he had already expected that answer.

"And the child support case?” he continues, voice even. “Do you still have the documentation for that? Any filings, court dates, official correspondence?"

You stiffen, and something flickers across your face—guilt, unease, something you can’t quite name. Satoru’s eyes flick toward you, catching the slight shift in your posture.

"I…" your fingers curl against the fabric of your blouse. "I never went through with it."

Suguru tilts his head. "You never went through with it?"

You swallow; throat suddenly dry.

"I filed," you admit, barely above a whisper. "I started the process. I needed the financial support… he shut down all our joint credit cards, stopped paying the rent… kept delaying, making excuses, pushing back the court date. And then…"

Your gaze drifts toward Satoru, your expression softening despite yourself. A wry smile tugs at your lips.

"And then I married Satoru."

Satoru reaches out without hesitation, his hand finding yours, fingers curling around it with a reassuring squeeze. His thumb strokes the back of your hand—gentle, steady, grounding.

"And you no longer needed the financial support," he murmurs, piecing it together.

You nod. "Yes. So… I stopped responding to his messages."

“Can I see those messages?”

Suguru’s voice pulls your attention back to him—something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Oh… um, sure. Why?"

"Because the way you stopped responding could make a difference," he says evenly, holding out a hand. "We need to see how this will be interpreted in court."

A small knot tightens in your stomach, but you don’t hesitate for long. Pulling away from Satoru’s grasp, you reach into your bag, fingers unsteady as you unlock your phone. Scrolling through the old message thread, you hand it over.

Suguru takes the phone, his expression unreadable as he starts scrolling. The room feels eerily quiet. His brows furrow slightly, his thumb pausing at certain messages, and the longer he reads, the more apparent his concern becomes. His jaw tightens. The pen he had been twirling between his fingers stills completely.

Satoru notices. His easy, lazy demeanor shifts, shoulders straightening, his eyes flicking between Suguru’s face and the phone. Your fingers press into your lap, anxiety twisting in your gut.

“What’s up Suguru?” Satoru says. “I know that face.”

Suguru doesn’t respond immediately. His thumb halts on the screen, and when he finally speaks, his voice is careful.

“y/n… did you ever explicitly tell Naoya you got married?”

Your stomach knots. “Um… no…”

A pause.

“Did you tell him you no longer needed financial support?”

Dread coils around your ribs, squeezing. You already know where this is going.

“No…”

Suguru exhales slowly, setting the phone down on the table before meeting your gaze head-on. His expression is unreadable, but the weight behind it makes your pulse pick up.

“Did you ever tell him that both you and Haru moved in with Satoru?”

You hesitate, glancing at Satoru before answering.

“No… um, he… kept contacting me, but I never picked up his calls. I just… ignored him.”

Suguru leans back slightly, his fingers steepled together as he releases a slow breath through his nose. You can see him choosing his next words carefully, and somehow, his silence feels heavier than anything he could say.

Your pulse hammers against your ribs, unease crawling up your spine. "What?" Your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

Suguru’s eyes flick between you and Satoru before he finally says it.

“That’s not going to look good on our behalf.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“It paints the picture that you up and left without informing him of Haru’s whereabouts. Legally, he had parental rights—even if he wasn’t actively involved. If the court sees this as you cutting off access to his child, it could be a problem.”

The words hit like a slap.

Nausea rises in your chest as the weight of it settles over you—heavy, suffocating. You had been so focused on escaping, on surviving, that you hadn’t thought of how it would look on paper. You hadn’t considered what it meant legally, hadn’t realized that in the court’s eyes, your silence might be seen as something calculated, something deliberate.

You had unknowingly made this harder.

You just wanted to be free. To disappear from him. To never hear his voice again, never flinch at the sound of his footsteps, never have to wonder which version of him you’d be facing that day.

"Hey.”

Satoru’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind, gentle but firm. You blink, grounding yourself as his warm palm finds yours beneath the table, fingers wrapping around your own.

"You're spiraling," he murmurs, grip reassuring, anchoring you. "Breathe, sweetheart."

Realizing only now how tight your chest has become, you suck in a shuddering breath. Across from you, Suguru watches silently, but he doesn’t interrupt—letting Satoru handle it.

"You didn’t do anything wrong," Satoru continues, voice low and steady. "You didn’t owe that bastard anything. And you did what you thought was best at the time."

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a slow, comforting motion.

"You’re not the one who abandoned Haru," he murmurs, tone firm. "He did."

“Exactly,�� Suguru chimes in, measured but sure. “And now we know what he’ll latch onto, how he’ll try to twist things in his favor. And we’ll be prepared for it.”

Satoru gives your hand one last squeeze before finally letting go, leaning back in his chair. He tilts his head at Suguru, lips curling into something sharp.

"Good thing we have a damn good lawyer then, huh?"

Suguru sighs, shaking his head, but there’s the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

"You mean the best lawyer. Keep up."

Satoru scoffs, stretching lazily as he folds his arms behind his head. "If you're the best, then why does my name bring in the bigger checks?"

"Because people like looking at you, not listening to you."

Satoru gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Wow. That hurts, Suguru. That hurts."

"Good. Feel it.”

A breath escapes you—something close to a laugh. Small, but real. Satoru catches it immediately. His eyes flick to you, and for a brief moment, the teasing glint softens, just slightly.

Like he’s cataloging it. The way your shoulders have eased, the way a bit of color has returned to your face.

"See, sweetheart? He’s so mean to me," he whines, nudging your arm. "Did you hear that? Just, like, zero respect."

Rolling your eyes, your smile grows—the weight in your chest lifting, if only for a moment.

"You act like I haven’t been carrying you since we were kids," Suguru drawls, flipping a page in his folder.

Satoru straightens immediately. "Excuse me? That is blatant slander."

"Is it?" Suguru quirks an eyebrow. "Who was the one who got you through high school? Barely, might I add.”

"Hey now," Satoru objects, leaning forward. "I was a bright and capable student."

"Sure. When you weren’t slacking off and being a goddamn menace."

You shake your head, amused as their bickering continues—like muscle memory, like second nature. It’s effortless, this constant push and pull between them, a rhythm so ingrained it feels like breathing.

And for a brief moment, you let yourself sink into it, warmth curling in your chest. Like nothing has changed. Like you aren’t in the middle of preparing for a custody battle. Like there isn’t a pit of anxiety still gnawing at your ribs.

Satoru and Suguru make it easy.

Then your phone buzzes against the table where Suguru placed it, face down—a tiny vibration against the polished wood, so quiet it barely cuts through the noise of their conversation.

It’s nothing. Just a text. A notification.

Without much thought, you reach for it while the boys go at it—Satoru gesturing wildly, his voice dramatic, animated. Suguru flipping a page in his folder, unimpressed, already prepared to dismantle whatever ridiculous argument Satoru is making.

Unlocking the screen, your eyes flick to the message.

Naoya: We need to talk. When can I see you? Just… be good for me.

The words register slowly, their meaning sinking in like ink bleeding through paper.

The air turns thin—the office warping at the edges, colors leaching into something muted, distant. Your pulse spikes, hammering wildly in your chest, and your fingers slacken—the phone slipping from your grasp, clattering onto the table.

“Sweetheart?”

Satoru’s voice is muted, and you barely register the scrape of his chair against the floor because all you can see, all you can hear, are his words—echoing in your head.

Just be good for me.

The words crawl over your skin, wrapping tight around your throat. They coil around your ribs, squeezing, constricting, suffocating—

You don’t really want to do this, baby. Let’s just sit down and eat.

The edges of your vision blur, warping, swallowing color and sound. You’re not here. You’re there—the dim apartment, the sickly glow of streetlights bleeding through half-closed blinds, the remnants of shattered ceramic at your feet, a voice too soft, too calm—too dangerous.

Be good for me, okay?

Your body won’t move. Your ribs won’t expand.

“Baby, what is it?”

A different voice. Familiar. Safe.

As you blink, light and color slowly bleed back into your vision, and something warm presses against you—solid, steady. Satoru. His careful grip finds yours, anchoring you, pulling you back, back, back.

His other hand reaches for the phone, and his expression darkens the moment he sees the message—a muscle jumping in his jaw, his fingers clenching before he wordlessly hands the device to Suguru.

Then, he’s turning back to you.

"Hey, sweetheart…" his voice is soft, coaxing, and he cradles your face tenderly. "I need you to breathe for me."

Oh, are you not breathing?

The realization hits all at once. Your lungs are locked. Your breaths are too shallow, too fast, too panicked. The walls are still closing in, the weight still crushing your ribs. Your fingers clutch at Satoru’s sleeve, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

"You’re okay," pulling you in, his arms wrap around you completely. "He’s not here. He can’t touch you. I’ve got you."

The scent of him—clean linen, something crisp and warm—fills your senses. The thump-thump of his heartbeat echoes against your ear, a steady rhythm cutting through the chaos while his thumb brushes slow, deliberate circles against your back.

"Breathe with me."

You inhale, slow and shaky, then exhale.

You’re not there. You’re here.

Satoru feels the moment your body starts to ease. The moment your fingers loosen from their iron grip on his sleeve, the moment your breath finally evens out—but he doesn’t pull away, cradling you in his warmth.

Finally, you find your voice.

“I’m… okay,” you whisper, dragging your head up, meeting Satoru’s concerned gaze. His thumb brushes against your cheek—just once, fleeting, and his eyes search yours, not convinced.

A beat passes. Then, Suguru clears his throat.

"I’ll respond."

His voice is even, but there’s an edge beneath it. Cold. Measured. And you don’t protest. You can’t. Because the thought of speaking—of addressing him—sends another wave of nausea rolling through your gut.

Your body instinctively tenses again, and Satoru doesn’t let go. His fingers continue tracing slow, steady circles along your back as Suguru stares at the phone, jaw tightening just slightly before his fingers move over the screen.

The soft tap-tap-tap of his fingers against the glass is the only sound in the room. Then, a pause.

A slow, deep inhale drags through his nose, his thumb hovering over the screen for a brief second before he presses send. And the silence that follows feels heavy, expectant.

“He’s going to respond,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

Suguru leans back slightly, watching the screen. Waiting.

“He will,” he confirms, voice unreadable. “But that doesn’t matter.” His eyes lift, meeting yours with something unshakable. “Because we’re meeting him tomorrow.”

The words settle like a weight in your chest.

You stiffen. “We are?”

“You don’t have to see him, sweetheart.”

Satoru’s voice is gentle but firm, his fingers tilting your chin up just enough to guide your gaze back to his. There’s something quietly resolute in the way he’s looking at you—something absolute.

“Me and Suguru will go,” his voice is unwavering, a promise wrapped in steel. “You don’t have to do a damn thing. Let us handle him.”

The finality in his tone settles over you like armor.

You inhale—slow, deep. The tension still lingers, an ache sitting heavy in your ribs, but it no longer feels crushing. It no longer feels insurmountable. Because you don’t have to do this alone.

You have them.

a/n. ahhh, i hope you guys liked this chapter. it was very, very tough for me to write. i can't tell you how much i despise naoya—fucking gaslighting asshole, lol. i hope this gave you a glimpse of what y/n actually lived through. this is the reason she has a lot of issues—the difficulty trusting, reluctance to open up. with naoya, y/n had no voice—she was powerless. but satoru brings out the spark in her, rather than diminishing her flame, satoru nurtures it. i feel like i didn't even get to accomplish everything i wanted in this chapter 😅 but oh jeez, i couldn't do another 20k chapter. just know that there's still a lot i'm setting up for. i'm so excited for what's to come 🥹 also, y/n and satoru finally shared some intimacy, hehe. hope it was worth the wait for ya'll 🤭 remember, SLOW BURN. thanks so much for reading, and as always, i would really love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! the support with this fic floors me, every single time. i appreciate each and every one of my readers—THANK YOUUU💕 -aly → you are currently all caught upꨄ

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbah @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

[carisc4pshaw]

Morning delays

In which Spencer and Fem!Reader are late for work yet again because Spencer can’t keep his hands off her. (Smut!)

word count: 1.3k

tags: porn without plot, Smut, co workers, late to work, love, boyfriend&girlfriend, long term couple, showering together, sex, intimacy, P in V, unprotected P in V, Minor breeding kink, raw sex, 18+, fingering (f receiving), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), nipple play.

warnings: 18+!! whole thing is smut, unprotected sex (don’t be like them guys!)

notes: I don’t think I missed any tags anyway this is the most sexual thing ever written so I hope you horny people enjoy it.

————————-❤️‍🔥—————————

Just before you and Spencer had fallen asleep last night you had set the alarm for 7 am, it probably wasn’t enough time to get ready in the morning but you had a late night watching a movie with your long-term boyfriend not that either you saw much of it because before you got to the halfway point Spencer was on his knees between your thighs sucking your clit and circling your entrance, sliding his tongue into you until you had reached multiple orgasms.

You were certain the alarm hadn’t gone off yet because usually that would wake you straight away but today you were awoken to your boyfriend’s hands up your shirt resting on your breasts and tweaking with your hard-ish nipples. 

“What time is it?” You asked Spencer with a soft moan. 

“Almost 7 am.” 

“Baby we don’t have time, the alarm is about to go off,” You moaned halfway through what you were saying. 

One of Spencer’s hands slid down your stomach, “You want me to stop?”

“Well no…”

“Is your pussy already wet for me darling?” Spencer whispered into your ear. He wasn’t one for dirty talk all the time but when he did it the throbbing between your legs was only ever worse. You needed him badly and by the feel of things, he needed you too. 

You nodded, “Yes Spence.”

“Can I feel?” His hand still moving lower. 

“Yes,” With your signal he slid his hand under the waistband of your panties avoiding your clit as he ran a finger through your folds to collect your wetness, “Mhm Spence.”

“Beautiful, you’re so wet,” He spoke just before the alarm went off. With one quick movement, he took his hand from your panties and switched the alarm off before positioning himself between your legs. 

His large hands landed on your waist gripping you firmly. He leaned down attaching his lips to a nipple swirling his tongue around it for a couple of minutes until moving on to the next. 

His mouth pulled away from your nipple with a loud pop. He rested his hands at the side of your hips playing with the lace of your underwear. 

“Can I take them off now?” He looked straight into your eyes. 

“Please,” You said with a breathy sigh. 

Spencer pulled them off leaving them somewhere in the room, you’d find them later.

“What do you want?” Spencer asked, one of his hands running from your waist to your hip back and forth. 

Your eyes trailed between the both of you where you could see his erection through his boxers. 

“I want that,” You smiled sweetly and innocently. 

“What?” Spencer smirked. 

“Your dick.”

Spencer nodded, “Let me warm you up first.”

With that, he pushed your legs further apart his hands resting on the apex of your thighs, his thumbs nudging your folds due to the size of his hands. 

He used one of his left thumb to run back and forth over your closed folds. 

“Stop teasing we don’t have much time.”

Without another word he plunged his index finger inside of you, quickly curling it inside of you knowing exactly where your most pleasurable spot was. 

“Oh my god. Spence another!” You moaned with a little shout. 

“Yes baby,” Spencer pushed his middle finger inside, pulling them out a small way to push them back in much harder hitting your g-spot as hard as he could.

You reached down between you pressing two fingers to your clit and rubbing it in a quick motion. 

“Oh fuck, Spencer don’t stop,” You moaned loudly throwing your head back. 

Right as you felt your walls begin to tighten around his fingers and that familiar coil in your stomach he pulled his fingers out leaving your core pulsing around nothing. 

“What the fuck babe,” You groaned. You were frustrated, the tears began to well in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry, it just happened when you were frustrated or in this case when you couldn’t reach your peak of pleasure apparently.

“Hey no baby don’t cry,” Spencer wiped the tears from your eyes, “I’m going to make you cum I promise.”

“Why did you stop?” You frowned.

“I wanted you to cum when I was inside of you,” He ran his hand down your hair.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Spencer asked giving you a kiss. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You reached for his boxers pulling them down just enough that his erection sprung out of them before he discarded the material completely. 

“How do you want me?” Spencer asked. 

You blushed biting your lip, “Like always.”

“Honey, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

You hid your face in his neck, “Raw,” You muttered.

Spencer smirked, you usually did it like that now that you had been together for three years and knew you were both clean but he loved hearing you say it. 

He rested his dick against your folds rubbing the tip against your clit to relax you again after leaving you without an orgasm a few minutes ago. 

You loved how his veins felt against you when he did that but right now you just craved him filling the empty space inside of you.

“Please,” You stared into his hazel eyes that were clouded with lust.

You breathed in deeply as he pushed the head inside of you slowly, his fingers coming to your clit to help as he entered you. He wasn’t too girthy but he had length and his head always stretched you out the perfect amount that you experienced a slight tweak of pain before the rush of pleasure.

Spencer wasted no time in picking up the pace pounding in and out of you quickly since you really had to be leaving soon, mornings were always for rougher faster sex and the evenings were for when he wanted to spend hours worshipping every inch of your body.

His tip grazed the nerves inside of you with every thrust and that partnered with the firm circles on your clit you knew you weren’t going to last very long. 

“Close already honey?” Spencer moaned feeling your walls tightening around him. 

“Fuck! Mhm,” You couldn’t speak anymore without a sting of moans leaving your mouth. 

“Good girl, hold it, I’m almost there,” Spencer thrust harder, your skin slapping together and your hips colliding.

“Spence please,” You moaned. 

“Yes okay baby okay,” Spencer groaned, “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No inside please.” 

Two more thrusts and you came around his dick just before he spilled his seed deep inside of you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer kissed your forehead which had a few beads of sweat on it. 

“You felt so good,” You couldn’t help biting your lip and giving him a satisfied look. 

“So did you sweetheart. I’m going to pull out okay?” 

You nodded as he pressed his thumb against your clit only to make small circles as he removed himself from you. It was slightly overstimulating but you knew he was just caring for you and nothing more.

“We are so late, we still need to shower,” You said looking over at the clock. 

“I thought we could shower at work, you know training is first on the schedule you’re just going to get sweaty again,” Spencer shrugged getting up from the bed to find the pieces of discarded clothing. 

“Excuse me? I’m showering before we leave,” You said with your eyes widening. 

“Why?” He asked and you hoped he was reading. 

“Because we smell of sex, from last night and this morning and I have ropes of your cum inside of me.”

Spencer smirked, “Leave it there, that’s pretty hot.” 

“You’re insane,” You rolled your eyes and got up from the bed.

“I was kidding, take a shower but I do like the thought of me being inside of you like that.”

Again you rolled your eyes, walking toward the bathroom, “Are you joining? We will save time and water.” 

“If I ever say no to that question, know there’s something wrong with me,” Spencer said following you through to the bathroom. 

————————-❤️‍🔥—————————

[peachesofteal]

Nori is such a menace she would deadass call Simon dad on purpose

Nori isn’t in bed when you wake up, and that’s a problem. 

You’ve been lucky, you guess, that Simon has been letting her sleep in your room. He even lets you lock it at night… if you’re “good”.

Small victories, or whatever. 

He’s figured out how to keep you here. How to threaten you effectively, complaints to child services, getting you fired from your job, getting you evicted, dumping your car in a river- 

Faking your death, and Nori’s. Letting you run only to bring you back again and again. 

“But I’d never hurt you, love. You or Nori, promise. Jus’ gotta trust me.” 

You’re biding your time. Waiting for the right moment, the opportune time to strike. He’s already told you he’ll have to leave for work, that he won’t be here for weeks or even months at a time, but he knows you’ll stay put. 

You’re not sure how he’s so confident, but you’re sure it’ll be his downfall. 

The saving grace in it all is that Simon doesn’t hurt Nori, or you. He’s not gentle with you so much, but with Nori, it’s different. It’s like watching a giant hold a delicate daisy in their massive hand, trying desperately not to crush it. 

It’s kind of… no. 

It’s kind of nothing. 

You rush out of the bedroom to find her sitting on the kitchen counter, little legs swinging and giggling, low cadence of Simon’s voice humming from the fridge to where she hovers over a big mixing bowl. 

“Mommy!” She smiles, arms up for a hug, but you stay on the outskirts, staring at the two of them. It’s bizarre how they look together. Nori is big for her age, was big when she was born, still in the ninety percentile, and next to him… she practically looks like she’s his. “Daddy said I could have pancakes.” Your mouth drop opens, so wide you know you’re catching flies. Simon only smirks. 

“Eleanor… baby, Simon isn’t… he’s not your dad.” Her little brow furrows, matching the pout in her bottom lip.

“But he said.” 

“He’s not your dad!” You snap, and the silence after is deafening. It lasts only a second before she bursts into tears, and Simon scowls at you. 

“Right, that’s enough.” He pulls her from the counter, holding her shoulders until she’s steady on her feet. “Go to your room and play, alright? Mum and I need to have a quick chat.” She looks from him, to you, nervously, reaching her hand out for yours. You squeeze it. 

“It’s okay, go ahead.” She nods, and waddles off, leaving you alone. With him. 

It’s quick this time. Face in the pillow, bent over his knees. He doesn’t pull your leggings down either, just wails on your ass, grunts every time he makes contact, squeezing and cooing as you sniffle. 

“If you’d listen, we wouldn’t have to do this honey.” 

“I’m not listening to you! You… you kidnapped us!” You’re trying to keep quiet for Nori’s sake, but it’s hard. Everything is hard. It’s unfair. He sighs.

“You’re in your own home, honey. How have I kidnapped you?” 

“Not kidnapped.” He hauls you upward, holding the back of your neck, wiping at your wet cheeks. “You’re holding us hostage. Just… leave! Let us go. Please.” It’s been weeks of this, and you won’t give up. The pleading. The begging. The tears don’t stop, and he pulls you into his chest. 

“I know, it’s hard isn’t it? I know.” He rubs your back, lips on your temple. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

“Stop,” you croak, shaking your head. The comforting, the coddling, the affection makes it all worse. The way he kisses you, holds you. How he pulls you down on his cock and fills you up, wrists pinned tight at your back, your tits bouncing as he thrusts. 

You don’t want it. 

You beg him to stop. 

And he only holds you tighter as you come, eyes rolled back in your head, thighs shaking. 

It fills you with shame. Confusion. 

“I’m not going to stop, okay honey? We need to get this out of your system before the next one comes.” He caresses your stomach, and nausea builds in your throat. 

He’s been fucking you without a condom for weeks. Weeks. 

Your last birth control pack ran out six days ago. 

The time is ticking away. A bomb waiting to detonate, and there’s nothing you can do but sit in his lap- 

And cry. 

Later, he offers ice cream. A walk down the street to the parlor in search of Nori’s favorite flavor. A walk where you will pass people who will perceive you as a happy family, when all you want to do is grab one of them and beg for help. 

Nori is so excited for ice cream,  so happy. 

You can’t say no. 

“We’ll find you some strawberry baby girl. That sound good?” The two of you are putting on hats and jackets as he observes, thick fingers zipping your coat to your chin. “Can’t have you catching a chill.” 

“Right.” Nori beams as he does the same, tapping her nose before hoisting her up over his shoulder. 

“Ready?” 

She smiles at you mischievously, arms wrapped around his neck. “Ready, daddy.” 

[sugarwarachan]

I NEED THE TROPE FOR VALENTINE'S OF EX TO LOVERS W BAKUGO

the one that goes like “ i wanted to treat you how i should’ve before.” pleaspleaseplease

when i think about this man groveling a part of my brain starts purring on low. based on this prompt list! "i wanted to treat you how i should’ve before."

ex-husband!bakugou who knows how badly he fucked up. he's obsessive by nature and the fact that he let down the person he loves most in this world doesn't sit right with him

ex-husband!bakugou who hates his empty apartment but slowly starts filling it with furniture and things that remind him of you. daydreams about the day he can bring you back here

ex-husband!bakugou who starts calling you to check in, savoring your voice even if it means you might yell at him

ex-husband!bakugou who simply starts listening more. he becomes thoroughly invested in everything you tell him, no matter how small, "your boss still being a dick, baby? pretty sure that fuckin' extra doesn't hold a candle to your talent, ya know that?"

ex-husband!bakugou who falls in love with you all over again through cautious text messages and late-night phone calls. he stays up late just to stream reality tv with you in his ear making commentary, his heart aching in his chest because this is all he really wants

ex-husband!bakugou who sees the upcoming Valentine's Day as a chance to win you back

ex-husband!bakugou who invites you over for dinner and sets up his apartment to look as romantic as possible: candles flickering, wine poured, your favorite meal on the table

ex-husband!bakugou who nearly falls over when you show up wearing his favorite dress. he fidgets throughout dinner, trying not to stare at you but finding it impossible

ex-husband!bakugou who dribbles wine down his chin when you moan around a bite of chocolate cake. when you laugh in response something loosens inside him and he allows himself to relax. he can do this; he can win you back

ex-husband!bakugou who lets you take the lead, blood rushing in his ears when you smooth your hands up his chest and kiss him. he can't help but attack you, one large hand palming your ass, the other pulling you as close as he can get you

ex-husband!bakugou who fucks you slow. he hears you begging him to go harder and leans down to kiss your forehead, smirk on his lips, "sorry princess—gotta make up for lost time and get you stupid on my dick" (you cum like six times that night)

ex-husband!bakugou who wakes you up with coffee the next morning, blond hair hanging messily in his face. you cock your head in question and he just shrugs, a blush stealing across his cheeks. "just wanted to start treatin' ya like I should have when we were married"

happy early valentine's day, loves!! more content to come. ˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are so appreciated <3

[25centsoda]

I give myself about an hour, maybe two if I don't catch it in time, and then I go "Okay. This task is not working right now. Time to put it down and do something else." Other variations are "I don't have the brain for this task right now." (maybe it's a complex thing but I'm not doing complex thought at the moment), or "This task is not available to me right now." (video game-like thinking).

And then I have to go do something else. I know that I won't always "have the brain" for tasks every day, so whenever possible I schedule myself to have extra time to complete things to accommodate/compensate for this; thus, often I can safely set the task down until tomorrow, or overmorrow, at which point it will be easier. If I'm super busy that week or weekend and a task isn't working, I'll look ahead in the week to see if I can accomplish a future task and thus make time for this one.

Example: I've been sitting at my computer with a job application staring at me, scrolling tumblr or my phone for two hours. I look at the clock and realize how much time has passed - not enjoyable time, not productive time, just time. I go "Okay. This task is not working right now. Time to put it away and go do something else." I write out any thoughts I'd had for the cover letter, or tasks I need to accomplish next time I open up the gdoc (contact references, write cover letter, get somebody to proofread it, find contact info for last job, etc), then I close all the tabs. Maybe I'm really busy this weekend, and I had planned to get this job application done with the middle of my day Saturday so I can do dinner with family in the evening, and Sunday I'll clean my apartment, cook, and plan out my week. I really need to get this job application done by Monday, but I can't just add it to my tasks on Sunday. So since the job application "isn't working," instead I get out my cleaning supplies and a playlist and clean with my Saturday midday. This gets me unfrozen, gets me accomplishing something, and frees up time to do the task later. On Sunday I wake up with a much clearer head, some thoughts on what to write in my cover letter, and more energy to contact people.

Alternatively, if I can't get myself to do a different Task, I say "Okay. This isn't working either. Time for a break." A break could be a nap (or a lie-down; don't have to fall asleep to get restful benefits, just quiet time laying in the dark is helpful too), watching TV, engaging in a hobby like painting, etc. Then you can either go back to the original task or just give up on it for the day and do something else, whichever you have the capability for at the moment.

Important: Whatever you do, don't beat yourself up for it. Sometimes you get "stuck" or freeze, and sometimes you can get yourself out of that, and sometimes you can't. It's all okay. Tomorrow is another day. The next hour is another hour. There is always another chance. Step back, reset, and try again. You're doing amazing.

this randomly blew up on twitter so i figured i’d post it here bc lord knows everyone on this app is neurodivergent

[imsofreakingtired]

ok since the people are asking for a sequel to this fic... i must deliver 🫡

crawling back to you

content warning(s): angst - buT THERES A HAPPY ENDING I SWEAR

"crawlin' back to you, ever thought of callin' when you've had a few? 'cause i always do maybe i'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new."

~~~

Sevika catches you halfway back to the apartment. You are bathed in the neon light of the sign of the Last Drop several steps ahead, making you feel like a hologram. That might have been all you were to Sevika. A hologram. Something pleasant to look at, not tempting enough to touch.

“Baby,” she says, “let me explain.” 

She’s not even out of breath. Your world is falling apart and she probably just decided to walk leisurely after you, as if you barely mattered more than just another one of her girls. 

You avoid her gaze. “I thought you were busy tonight.” 

“I am,” she snaps. “This is ridiculous.” 

You’re silent.

“Did you actually think I was going to Babette's every night? You think I’d lie to you that way?” 

“I don't know,” you hiss. “Would you?” 

You know people are overhearing the two of you, but your anger bubbles over like a boiling vat of undiluted Shimmer. Sevika glares down at you, and you feel a twist in your heart. This is the end of everything. Even though she’s the one at fault, she’s the one with the records in Babette’s and not you, you feel like you’re the one pulling all the wrong strings. 

Your question hurts her more than she would ever let on. Of all the people who’d accuse her of lying, she never thought the dagger would be driven home by you. She wants to tell you she’s sorry, that she doesn’t know why she went into the arms of a stranger rather than risk being vulnerable to you. She wants to tell you all she was trying to do was protect you from her. She wants to ask: if she showed you the cracks in her skin where she’d broken and put herself together again, would you still stay?

But she can’t, because now there’s a wall of ice between you and you are already turning away. This time, she doesn’t follow. 

When she comes home late that night, the apartment is empty. 

~~~

You have found a small, run-down inn where the rats skitter beneath the floorboards and the water doesn’t run half the time, and you’ve sworn every single person you know to secrecy regarding your whereabouts. Every day that goes by feels heavier without Sevika. 

You smoke Shimmer vaporizers to escape the lonely silence of the room, you find work in a scrap metal shop and spend every waking minute of the day trying not to miss her. Trying not to fall into that endless pit of remorse. Go back, go back, get the fuck back and apologize. She was a mess when you met her. You know she can’t live without you. You’re terrified she might do something dangerous and reckless to herself, that she might hurt herself or worse. You find yourself wondering at night if she had eaten dinner or if she had just gone to sleep after a smoke and a shot of whiskey. You have nightmares of seeing her dead at your feet. 

One night it rains like Zaun has never seen before. It’s like the sky has opened up like a wailing mouth, or a gaping wound. Torrents of rainwater rush between buildings and submerge basements. It’s a night no one in their right mind would ever bother going out in. 

So of course that’s the night you hear the banging on your door. 

You open it, a broken bottle in hand, ready for a threat. You think it could be the manager, a sneaking thief who stealthily raises the price of the rooms with each passing week. 

Instead you see Sevika. 

Her prosthetic arm is detached and she isn’t wearing her cloak. Her hair is plastered wetly against her face. Her clothes are drenched. 

Your first thought: is she out of her mind?

Your second: oh my gods. She’s lost her mind.

“How did you know I was here?” You demand loudly. “Are you trying to catch your death?” 

The second part of the sentence comes out as instinct, and you’re embarrassed but it’s too late. Her brows were knit together like thunderclouds, but her expression softens slightly when she hears the concern in your voice. She had been preparing herself for anything. She was convinced you had already found someone new, and were living with them. Now there’s hope. You might still care about her. 

“Get the fuck in here,” you snap, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the room as if she’s a misbehaving child. You yank the moth-eaten sheets off the bed and throw them around her shoulders. “Are you drunk? Why aren’t you saying anything?” 

Fear pierces through your irritation. Has something happened? Is she sick? Is she running from something?

Sevika looks down at you, watching wordlessly as you try to rub the water off her skin. When you let go of her, she lets the sheets fall to the floor. 

You throw your hands up helplessly. “What are you doing here? Who told you I was here?” 

“You think I needed a gingerbread trail to find you?” 

You fall quiet, cursing yourself inwardly. Sevika probably knew where you were since the day you left. 

You know why she’s here. You can see it in her eyes, where all her unspoken emotions betray her. But she can’t translate them into words. She can’t say the words you need to hear. 

You sit down on the bed with a heavy sigh. The room is silent but for the sound of dripping water. Finally you speak. 

“Babette says you only went there once.” You look at her. “Why?” 

She looks down. “I was drunk.” 

“You gonna use that excuse every time from now on?”

“No,” she says sharply. “I thought—I thought I didn’t have you anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She shakes her head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—I—” 

She comes forward suddenly, and you instinctively draw back, thinking she might hit something. There’s a desperate look in her face that you’ve never seen before. But she doesn’t raise her hand. She kneels on the floor in front of you. 

“Sevika, what—?”

“Take me back,” she pleads, her voice rough. “I swear it’ll never happen again, so—take me back.” 

You try to stay angry. You try to push her away. But when you look in her dark grey eyes and see the tears standing on the lashes, you find you can’t do either. You feel the heat of her body against your knees, and as you slowly remove the string tying her hair and run your fingers through the wet strands you realize with a pang just how badly you missed her. 

Sevika gives a sigh and lays her head down in your lap. 

“You’re not entirely forgiven yet,” you tell her. 

“I know,” she says, her voice muffled. 

It’s as close as she’ll ever come to saying she’s sorry. You think it’s not a bad start. 

~~~

note: your honor she is just a sad wet puppy in the rain and has done nothing wrong in her life ever 😭🙏

~~~

taglist~

@notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @ 00valentina-writes00  @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @lez-zuha @mascdom @tiyawnyana  

[miniscapes333]

your FS fantasizes about you like what at night ? (18+)

PICK A PILE READING LOVES ;)

👇 [PILE - 1] 👇[PILE - 3]

👆 [PILE - 2]

Disclaimer: The images featured are not mine. All credit and rights belong to their original creators.

PILE - 1

I see them lying awake, long after the world has quieted, after responsibilities have been tucked away for the night. But they can’t rest—not yet, not when their mind is full of you. They turn onto their side, exhaling sharply, one hand resting on their chest, the other gripping the sheets like they’re trying to steady themselves. But there’s no steadying this—no controlling what happens when they close their eyes and let themselves fall into you. They see you there, in the private corners of their mind, bathed in a soft glow, looking at them with that knowing gaze—the one that tells them you know exactly what you do to them. And oh, how they ache for you.

Their fantasies aren’t just about the act of having you; it’s so much deeper than that. They picture the lead-up, the slow burn of it all—how your fingers would skim over their skin, teasing, promising, never rushing. They imagine your lips ghosting over their pulse, how you’d linger just long enough to make them shiver, to make them want. It’s the way you’d push them to the edge, not just with touch, but with presence—the way you’d own the moment, make them feel like there was no one else in the world but the two of you. They crave that—the intimacy, the way your body would mold against theirs so perfectly, like you were meant to fit together. And when they let go, when they finally surrender to the thought of having you, it’s devastating. The kind of desire that leaves them breathless, heart hammering, hands flexing against the mattress like they can feel you there.

And when it’s over, when the fantasy has run its course and they’re left in the quiet aftermath, they don’t feel relief—they feel restless. Because it’s not enough. A dream of you will never be enough. They want the real thing. They want to turn over in bed and find you there, warm and waiting, your body tangled in the sheets with theirs. They want to hear your voice, your laughter, the whispered teasing that makes their pulse spike all over again. They want to wake up in the morning with you still beside them, the evidence of the night before lingering on your skin. And until that day comes? Until they can finally have you in their arms, their bed, their life? They’ll keep fantasizing, keep reaching for you in the dark, letting the thought of you pull them under, over and over again.

PILE - 2

It starts the same way every night. Restless hands, a heavy sigh, the dim glow of the night teasing the edges of their sleepless thoughts. They toss, they turn, but it’s you that keeps them up—you who lingers behind their eyelids the second they shut them. There’s something feverish about the way they crave you, something raw, untamed. It's not just about wanting you; it’s about needing you. Like a fire licking at their skin, like something that refuses to be contained. They imagine you standing in the doorway, a smirk playing at your lips, something teasing in your eyes—like you know how much you unravel them, and you enjoy every second of it.

Their fantasies don’t start slow; they don’t have the patience for slow. No, the second they let their mind slip, they’re already deep in it—your body against theirs, heat rolling between you like a storm about to break. They imagine the way you’d grab at them, the way your fingers would press into their skin with just the right amount of desperation, like you need them just as much as they need you. And gods, they would devour you. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just hands gripping, lips crashing, bodies colliding in a way that leaves no space between you. They burn for you, and in their mind, you let them consume you. Every sound you make, every shiver, every breathless plea—it pushes them further, makes them reckless. They want to ruin you, leave their mark on you so that no one—no one—could ever question who you belong to.

But then comes the part they hate. The comedown. The moment when reality settles back in, when they open their eyes and realize that the bed is still empty, that you aren’t there. The rush fades, but the ache lingers, deep and insatiable. They run a hand through their hair, stare at the ceiling, jaw tight with frustration. Because it’s not enough. It’s never enough. No matter how vivid the fantasy, no matter how hard they chase the high of you, it always ends the same way—with them wanting more. With them lying awake, restless, desperate, waiting for the day when they don’t have to imagine anymore. When they can finally reach out—and find you waiting for them in the dark.

PILE - 3

It creeps in like a whisper—soft at first, almost bearable. The thought of you. The way you tilt your head when you’re amused, the curve of your lips when you say their name just right. They try to shake it off, bury it under exhaustion, but it never works. No matter how many nights pass, how many times they try to push you away, you return like a ghost, haunting them in the most delicious, torturous way.

Tonight is no different. Their mind sways between the hunger and the ache, between the need for you and the pain of not having you. They imagine how it would be if you were there—if they could reach out and find your body against theirs, warm and real, not just some fading mirage in the dark. Their hands twitch at the thought of you beneath them, your skin soft under their touch, your breath hitching when they claim you like they’ve wanted to for so long. It’s not just about passion; it’s deeper than that. They want to erase the space between you, to take and take until there’s nothing left separating the two of you. Every kiss, every drag of their lips along your skin, would be a promise—a silent, desperate vow that this time, they won’t let you slip away.

But reality always hits like a cold rush of air. When they open their eyes, the bed is empty, their hands still searching, their body still burning with a craving that has no satisfaction. And gods, it hurts. It’s the kind of hunger that lingers in the bones, the kind that no amount of dreaming can sate. They roll onto their back, exhaling sharply, frustration thrumming in their chest. Because they know—no fantasy, no restless night, no imagined touch will ever be enough. They need you—not just in the shadows of their mind, not just in the spaces between wake and sleep, but in their arms, in their life. And until that moment comes, they will keep wanting, keep reaching, keep aching for you in the dark.

Paid readings availabe - check them out here 🫶🏾

[itsshawtyfellas]

Solo

Pairing: Thanos x fem!reader x Nam-Gyu

Warnings: 18+ (mature content such as masturbation, voyeurism, poly relationship, degradation kink, sex dream, drug mention, groping, cum)

A/N: ever since s2 of squid game came out I've been OBSESSEDDDD... like why is everyone so fine (no one would be safe from me) so I decided to write a little something 🫦 enjoy sluts

Ever since you've met them, you could say your life has been sort of... chaotic; both outside of the games and during them.

You weren't complaining though. Despite being absolutely fucked in both their heads, you loved them and they loved you... in their own weird and twisted ways. They would always complain and do stupid shit to get your attention whenever you were busy with something; they insult each other when it came to decide which one of them would hold you in your sleep; they would also fight to guess who would have the chance to fuck you.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

Their prying eyes were open with slightly dilated pupils from the drugs they took earlier and were fixated on you as you slept, the three of you hidden in the far bottom corner of the layers of bunk beds. Your body was in between theirs as they (once again) fought to sleep with you, only to end with their figures in each side, Nam-Gyu supporting his body with his elbow as he laid sideways while Thanos sat normally with his knees up and his arms on top of them. You were sleeping peacefully despite their murmuring voices until Thanos notices the slight change in your breathing pattern, tilting his head with furrowed eyebrows in confusion.

"Nah bro, I'm tellin' you that guy's fucking crazy to be playin' this shit all over again-" Nam-Gyu says with a smirk, not noticing Thanos' focus on your face as he tried to tell if you were going to wake up or not.

"Shut up." Thanos' baritone voice stops him mid sentence and Nam-Gyu only looks at him with an annoyed look until you hum in your sleep and he lifts his head, meeting Thanos' eyes to confirm if he heard the same. They both look down at you as their voices fade into the air, eventually thinking it was nothing abnormal and ready to go back to their previous conversation until you hummed again but it wasn't a casual hum you'd use to fill the silence.

No, it almost sounded like a hum of... pleasure. Upon this realization, their curious gazes and sultry grins stay fixated on your sleeping form, not aware that you were dreaming of them; of their hot and naked skin on yours as they fucked you senseless, wet lips glued to your neck and face as veiny hands roamed all over your body, from your bouncing tits all the way to your soaking wet cunt as you were seated on Nam-Gyu's lap, his cock in your tight asshole as he held your legs open to let Thanos fuck your warm pussy.

As the dirty scenario in your brain continued, you unconsciously start to lightly hump your hips against the air as another low hum escapes your lips, not even realizing it was all a dream nor feeling both men's wandering eyes as they took over your form with smirks on their faces, watching silently the way you, at some point, brought your hand to your core to lightly rub your clit through your clothes and they only shot each other a look of amusement, feeling their dicks twitch in their pants.

Still dreaming of their cocks inside of you, fucking you raw and deep, you let out a low whimper –not low enough since they could hear– as your hand travels to your heat again to rub yourself for a second time, feeling like you were getting closer and closer but before you could be near that peak, you feel your body twitch as you wake up and you take a sharp intake of breath to calm yourself down.

"Havin' fun, señorita?" Thanos' voice suddenly cuts through the silence, catching you off guard and your head turns to look to at him with wide eyes as he looks down at you with raised brows and an amused look.

"Looks like you're havin' a great time, huh?" Nam-Gyu teases and you glance at him to see that stupid cocky grin of his on his face and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, not bothering to respond as you try to hide the fact you still felt hot and bothered by closing your eyes to get some sleep. "Not gonna answer?" He continues with a low chuckle.

"That's weird... you weren't this quiet a few minutes ago." Thanos' words were teasing and you try to avoid giving both of them a snarky response, feeling heat rush to your cheeks due to the embarrassing fact they knew you were having a wet dream and you contemplated between answering them or going right back to sleep but your train of thoughts was interrupted the moment a ringed hand goes straight to your clothed core and roughly cupping it in his hand before letting it rest gently against it, causing your body to jolt at the sudden rush of pleasure.

"Don't tell us you're feelin' shy now." He continues his teasing as Nam-Gyu keeps his hand on you without moving it and you'd be lying to yourself if you said it didn't turn you on. It caused you to almost move your hips against his hand but you managed to refrain yourself from doing so.

"C'mon guys, I just wanna sleep-" You pipe up with tiredness in your voice only for Nam-Gyu to interrupt you before you could finish. "Oh, do you?" He grins down at you as he squeezes your heat again and you instantly, without thinking, press your thighs together for some sort of relief and your sudden movement didn't go unnoticed by Thanos, whose wandering eyes never left your form as he also smirks.

"Someone's desperate-" The purple haired man grins mischievously and your eyes shoot up to him at his words, ready to give him a not so nice response before he continues. "-for a nice night of sleep, that is." He finishes, almost playfully as he sees the hunger and annoyance in your eyes. "Tsk, what did you think I meant, hm?"

"Oh, I think she wanted a part two." Nam-Gyu taunts with an egotistical grin oh his face, referring to the dream you had a few minutes ago before locking eyes with Thanos, whose tattooed hand starts petting your hair. "Is that so, señorita?"

"You guys are so fucking annoying, I swear..." She trails off with a slightly exaggerated eye roll, masking her arousal. "And yet we manage to fuck that out of you, right?" He asks rethorically, stopping you from continuing.

"Nah bro, she knows that... or maybe she doesn't..." The long haired man responds in your place, muttering an almost mocking 'dumb bitch' under his breath.

"Seriously, fuck you... both of you." You snap.

The men only look at each other with smug grins on their faces before bursting out laughing at your annoyance, having to cover their mouths so that they wouldn't accidentally wake up the other players. "What's the matter? Did we not fuck you good enough in your dream?" Nam-Gyu teases and his hand sneaks inside your pants and underwear, feeling the hot moisture of your cunt on his fingers and you buck your hips against his hand, biting the inside of your lower lip to suppress a moan.

"Wait... we must have 'cause she's so fucking wet already... shit, you hear that?" He grins at Thanos, who only smirks as he keeps petting your hair, listening to the sound of your heaved breathing and the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy the moment he slips two fingers inside you. He thrusts his fingers in and out at a fast and rough pace, causing you to gasp and your back to arch off the bed as you ache for relief but that's quickly stripped away from you when he stops his motion and takes his fingers out of you, wiping them on the thin blanket covering your body.

"What the fuck-" Your breathless voice and words immediately die in Thanos' mouth as he kisses you fervently with his hand still on your head, his tongue pushing past your lips and demanding entrance in your mouth, both of your tongues battling against each other before he pulls away, leaving you gasping with a cocky grin on his face. "Why are you so frustrated, huh? We just want the best for you." He says in a teasing sad tone while Nam-Gyu only laughs as he sees the frustration on your face.

"The best thing you two assholes can give me right now is a good night of sleep-" The last bit of her sentence is dragged out a little as ringed fingers start itching up your groin once again, his touch light and teasing causing your leg to twitch and for you to push his hand away.

"Woah, no need to be so rude."

"We're just trying to help... you need to relax."

Thanos finishes his sentence with a wink and a lopsided smile and Nam-gyu's dumb grin doesn't leave as he takes the blanket off your body and starts to pull your pants down along with your underwear and at this point you're already too turned on to care as you raise your lower half to let him take them off, pushing them towards the end of the bed with your legs. "There you go, see?" He in a low condescending tone as he watches you. "We'll make sure you get a tight sleep, ain't that right?"

Nam-Gyu only laughs before answering him in a hushed tone. "Yeah, we can't leave our girl hanging, right?" He teases as he keeps his focus on you and Thanos' painted fingernails scrape gently back and forth the skin of your groin before traveling to your inner thigh. You knew the game they were playing with you – a game they've played countless of times before in different circumstances – teasing and mocking you to no end when they knew you ached for the same thing they wanted, almost like a game of cat and mouse, with them always looking for ways to pounce on you. Even though you enjoyed when they did this, you couldn't help but take a brief glance around the area, wanting to make sure none of the other players were up and watching you before Thanos leans in to whisper 'no one's watching, don't worry' in your ear, interrupting your train of thoughts and you focus again on the feeling of his warm hand on your left thigh, noticing how Nam-Gyu's cold one went to your right thigh – a contrast between them. Both their hands take a firm hold on your legs as their lustful gazes meet with sinful grins, almost as if they were communicating telepathically when they suddenly pull your legs up and holding them to your chest, a low gasp escaping your lips as you felt a little too exposed to the cold air – or to anyone who could walk by.

Your breath catches a little as they ogled at your wet cunt without any shame, watching the way your gaping hole kept clenching around nothing with perversed smiles.

"Do you want something?" Nam-Gyu asks with mock empathy, watching the desperate look on your face and slight twitching of your hips, wanting them to do something, anything. Almost as if he read your mind, his fingers go back to your core, rubbing your folds with his middle finger before circling fast and light circles on your clit. Your back immediately arches as he does so and right before their ears could hear a moan, Thanos' palm covers your mouth, muffling any sound that could come out.

"Shh... c'mon, you don't wanna wake up the others, do you?" He beams, faking concern knowing he could care less if they got caught or not.

"You're a fuckin' slut, getting my fingers all wet like this but you like that, don't you?" The dark haired man sneers, pistoning his fingers in and out of your pussy with an unwavering speed and a firm grip on the back of your thigh. You bite your lower lip beneath Thanos' hand to suppress any sound that could come out but it got harder and harder as he keeps the relentless pace of his fingers.

You couldn't stop squirming around under their smug stares, uncontrollably rolling your hips against his hand the closer you got to the edge and a desperate pant leaves your lips when you feel the sudden emptiness in your walls, realizing he took his fingers out once again and you let your head fall back against the pillow.

"Aw, you poor thing. You were close, weren't you?" Thanos' deep voice rings in your ear, taunting you. "Make yourself come then." He directs and despite his usual playful attitude, you know when he's telling you to do something, you do it.

"You heard him, didn't you? C'mon, do it."

Although you felt slightly timid under their daring eyes, you weren't letting them repeat their words – knowing for a fact they would either fuck you out in the open or leave you hanging. You didn't bother to complain or plead them as you focused on the wetness between your legs, your right hand heading downwards and right to your stimulated clit, rubbing light circles on it and caressing your hole with you ring and middle finger from time to time.

"Jesus fuck..." You recognized Thanos' gravelly voice beside you as his free hand travels to the hem of your shirt, lifting it all the way up to your chin along with your bra, your nipples hardening due to the sudden cold air as he leaves you almost fully bare beneath them. He doesn't waste time in squeezing and toying with your hardened bud at the same time Nam-Gyu's warm mouth meets your other nipple, licking and sucking hard on it while holding your leg so he could have more access.

"Oh fuck..." You trail off with a moan and your eyes close, your hand gripping his dark locks as you bask in the feeling of their hands and mouth on you, including the feeling of your own touch as you pick up the speed of your fingers on your pussy.

You're too lost in your own pleasure to even realize that they stopped touching you, moving around on the bed so they could sit up on their knees beside your laying form before lowering their own pants and boxers to free their already hard cocks, stroking themselves at the sight of you.

"Fuck me... what a fucking slut. You like this, don't you?" Nam-Gyu taunts with a sly grin as his ringed hand goes back to your thigh, gripping it firmly again against your chest and that's when you open your eyes and notice their veiny hands stroking themselves, the sight turning you on even more.

"She fucking loves it, man. Put them inside for me, baby." The purple haired man nods towards the fingers currently circling your clit and you slip those same fingers inside your soaked cunt, filling the air with squelching sounds as you thrust them in and out, curling them the slightest bit to get the build up you needed to reach your orgasm.

"Oh God- fuck, I'm... I'm close." You panted.

"Hold it-" Nam-Gyu barks before Thanos stops him. "Fuck that, c'mon baby, make a mess for us."

You couldn't focus on their slight banter and much less on whose order to follow as you kept thrusting your fingers at a brutal pace, the skin of your palm hitting your clit just perfectly and just enough to make you spasm on the bed, a big wave of pleasure washing over you and taking over your body as you come, your mouth falling open involuntarily and you had to cover your mouth before any sound could escape.

"Fuck yes, that's my bitch... that's my fucking slut." Nam-Gyu adds in a trembling and hushed voice, almost as if he was saying it to himself the closer he got to his peak. By sensing this, you lift the fingers that were previously in your cunt and full of your arousal towards your mouth, giving them a taste of their own medicine by sucking on them as kept your eyes fixated on them and on the way they were rapidly stroking their dicks.

You suck the juices off your fingers until there was nothing left, not once taking your eyes off them, causing their hold on your legs to tighten and you help them by keeping them bent and glued to your chest.

A few seconds go by before Thanos body trembles as he gives his cock a few more messy strokes, his cum gushing out of him and falling directly on your vulva in thin ropes of white, a few low groans and a 'so fucking pretty' falling out of his lips as he adjusts his clothes and falling back on the mattress. Nam-Gyu follows right after, a series of low hums rumbling in his chest as he thrusts into his hand, his sperm shooting out of him as it hits not only your already cum covered cunt but also your thighs.

"There... now you don't have to dream." Nam-Gyu's sentence if followed by a slap on your thigh as pulls his pants back up and laying down on his back.

You could only sigh to yourself as you didn't feel fully satisfied but you knew they wouldn't easily give you what you wanted, so you silently put your track pants and underwear back on, feeling the moisture between your legs as their hot and sticky fluids seep through your skin and panties.

"That's our girl." Thanos chuckles amusingly along with Nam-Gyu as they both end falling asleep with their arms around you.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

A/N: I was supposed to post this days ago but I've been going through a MAJOR writers block but I'm glad I finally finished it... also the next fic might be a salesman one so pay attention... hope you enjoyed it loves🫶🏽

PS: funny how I started writing this on the toilet just to finish it the same way lmao

[gyubakeries]

𝗴𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘂𝘀 | k.mg

a/n: trust mingyu to do something and completely throw my world off-kilter. i cried after listening to the cover because the song is that meaningful to me. mingyu if i ever meet you i will hug you. and cry. also, thank you skye ( @etherealyoungk ) for entertaining all my ramblings abt this fic <3 shoutout to kae ( @ylangelegy ) because i finished this just to torture u 🙂‍↕️

a BIGGGG thank you to cori ( @seoloquent ), ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ), lou ( @tusswrites ), rae ( @nerdycheol ) and lexi ( @heechwe ) for beta-reading!! u guys helped me bring the fic together 🫂 ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) made this beautiful banner for this fic too!! thank u so much ally <33

and without further ado, glimpse of us gyu!

🏆 this fic is part of the angst olympics collab! check out the main masterlist here <3

word count: 8.1k contents: mingyu x f!reader , photographer!mingyu , heavy angst as u can tell , post break-up , grief , drinking , implied sexual content but nothing in detail , the tragic nature of relationships that crash and burn , mingyu is lowkey an ass , but he's making up for it , the narrative switches between the past and present , flashbacks are in italics , happy ending

it's all wrong.

when mingyu wakes up, a white ceiling presses down on him, the scent of oranges suffocates him, and skin that is brushing against his isn't warm.

he feels uneasy, his skin prickling at all these foreign sensations.

it's all wrong.

he should have been looking up at tattered glow-in-the-dark stickers on a pale blue ceiling. he should have been in the embrace of sweet roses that always managed to make him feel at home. he should have been touching skin that keeps him warm through the coldest winter nights.

he should have done a lot of other things too.

he didn't.

—

"y/n, i know you're in there," comes your best friend's voice. he's teetering on the edge of exasperation, but you can only laugh to yourself.

it's a pathetic sound, and you can only think of when it used to be much happier.

"you better be decent," seungkwan warns, before he's punching in the code to your apartment and letting himself in. the stench of alcohol hits him first, and then his eyes land on you—slumped against the couch, hand clutching an empty bottle of alcohol, and a hazy look in your red-rimmed eyes.

"you promised you wouldn't do this to yourself anymore," seungkwan whispers, biting back all the nagging and scolding when he sees your blank, regretful smile.

"promises aren't a real concept anymore, kwan," you croak out, voice hoarse from all the crying. "they're never real."

you repeat the words like a mantra, sometimes in your head, and sometimes out loud. seungkwan bites his tongue to stop himself from crying in front of you as he helps you get off the floor, drink some water, and sleep in your bed.

"i'll stay the night," seungkwan tells you, already pulling out the air mattress he bought for himself ever since you started drinking to the brink of alcohol poisoning. "tell me if you need anything."

him, you think. i need him. kim mingyu. he's all i’ve ever needed.

seungkwan can read your mind, and he stays silent after that.

you fall asleep without saying anything, and old glow-in-the-dark stars and real laughter haunt your dreams again.

—

it was the most beautiful thing you'd experienced in your life before it became the ugliest.

kim mingyu entered your life like a tornado when he crashed into your car on a sunday morning, four years ago. he left you with a wrecked rear bumper, a rapidly beating heart, his number scrawled across your palm, and a promise of taking you out on a date.

you forgot about the rear bumper quickly after that, and texted the number the second mingyu walked out of the car repair shop.

. . .

you (11:30 a.m.) :

ill be waiting on that date, kim mingyu

mingyu (11:31 a.m.) :

lets go grab brunch together

im still standing right outside

you (11:32 a.m.) :

see you there :)

. . .

it was no surprise that you fell for him as fast as you did.

it was difficult not to. especially when mingyu was the man of your dreams.

he'd hold your hand for every second of your dates, even after you told him your palms get sweaty. he'd remember all the tiny little details about you that only your best friend would know. he'd know exactly what food you dislike, and would never order it for himself either.

mingyu quickly fell for you too.

with every meal at random restaurants. with every movie night spent cuddling under a single blanket. with every touch of your hand, with every press of your lips, with every second he spends with you, he fell.

it took two months after the car crash for mingyu to ask you to be his girlfriend.

when you met seungkwan for your regular catch-up session, you told him about mingyu.

"he's perfect, seungkwan," you sighed dreamily. "i think he's the one."

seungkwan loves it when you're happy, but he hated that you were so blind in your love for mingyu to give all of yourself to him so quickly.

he gave you a silent smile. maybe, just maybe, if you'd taken a moment to reconsider taking things at a slower pace with mingyu, if you hadn't been so swept up in his charming eyes or your strong attraction to him, you would've read the look in seungkwan's eyes.

the look of caution.

—

it's the same look seungkwan is giving you now, as you down your fourth shot of.... something.

"slow down?" you tilt your head, the word feeling unfamiliar on your tongue. "when have i ever taken things slow?"

the night ends the way it ends every other time; seungkwan has to drag you back to your apartment, make sure you don't trip on the unopened boxes of furniture, give you water, and then sleep on the air mattress placed permanently next to your bed.

the next morning starts the way it usually does; you throw your guts up the second your eyes open, and all the wounds the alcohol helped close for you open up once again.

—

back then, despite all of seungkwan's kind warnings, you ignored him. you knew you loved mingyu, and mingyu loved you back. seungkwan never brought up the topic again. he convinced himself that you were an adult, and you knew what you were doing.

for the two years of happiness you spent with mingyu, you thought the same.

it was one of those whirlwind romances people see in the movies.

in month three of your relationship, you shared pieces of your heart with mingyu that you've never shared with other people. you'd fallen in deep.

in month five, you both said i love you to each other. some say it's too soon, but you could only think of how it wasn't soon enough. you fell in deeper.

by month eight, you moved in with him. mingyu started coming home to you cooking him dinner. you'd spend the night washing dishes and then slow dancing in the living room with all the lights turned down low. the two of you kept falling, hurtling downwards rapidly, without any care for when the end might come.

after a year with mingyu, you were already hearing wedding bells and looking up wedding dresses on pinterest.

it's too soon. it's too fast. slow down.

a seungkwan-like voice kept nagging you from the back of your head, but you tuned it out.

what mingyu and you have is true love. true love doesn't need to be taken slow.

—

he's at the club. there's a girl hanging off his arm, her hand splayed across his chest, and the strong scent of lavender makes him want to throw up.

for a second, mingyu almost says, i have a girlfriend, please leave.

but he realises that he doesn't. not anymore.

mingyu forces himself to look at the girl who's been chatting his ear off for an hour, and he feels sick to his stomach when he realises that she isn't you.

no one will ever be you.

still, mingyu finds himself pressed up against her on the dance floor. still, he lets her take him back to her apartment. still, he finds himself touching her.

and still, it's your face, your body, your voice, your presence that haunts him.

mingyu would give up all his senses if it meant that he wouldn't have the image of you burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closes them.

(mingyu’s also a liar, because giving up his senses means giving up the only way he'd be able to see you, now that you've left his life for good.)

—

"will you marry me?" mingyu asks, and the question knocks the air out of your lungs. you're tangled up under the sheets, mingyu's arm draped on your waist, and your leg swung across his hip.

"you're kidding me, right?" you laugh, going back to drawing random patterns on mingyu's skin.

mingyu wordlessly turns around, and you miss the absence of his touch for all of three seconds. you hear him rummaging through the drawer of the bedside table, and for a moment, mingyu's words feel real.

the realization sets in when mingyu turns back to you, a blue velvet box in his hands.

"open it up," he tells you, and with trembling hands, you take the box and open it.

inside, there's a beautiful diamond ring, and your breath hitches in your throat.

"mingyu-"

"i love you, y/n," he cuts you off, and you hear his voice go raspy and high like it does whenever he's on the verge of tears. "you're the only person i've ever felt this strongly for. i know that we've been together only for two years, and people might call me foolish for rushing into things so quickly, but i'm sure of this. this is—you are—all i've ever wanted.."

you feel mingyu shift in bed next to you, and you turn to see him sitting up. he takes your hands in his and pulls you up to sit next to him. he doesn't let go as he takes the ring out from the box and holds it in front of your ring finger.

"i've never been more serious about anything before, so don't think this is just a heat-of-the-moment thing," mingyu says, nervousness seeping into his tone. "y/n, will you marry me?"

think about it. it's only been two years. this is an important decision. take it sl-

"yes."

"yes?" mingyu asks in disbelief.

"yes, mingyu," you nod, tears flooding your eyes. "i will marry you."

the feeling of mingyu slipping the ring onto your finger, the feeling of mingyu pulling you in for a passionate kiss, the feeling of both your hearts intertwining because of this new shift in your relationship outweighs and drowns out the voice of caution in your head.

take it slow.

but it feels so right.

—

"seungkwan, you said you had a friend who asked for my number, right?"

it was a random thursday evening, and seungkwan was at your place, helping you clear out all the boxes in your living room from your shift to a new apartment.

"yeah, his name is wonwoo," seungkwan nods, looking at you with curiosity. "why do you wanna know?"

"you can give him my number," you say, eyes not meeting seungkwan's inquisitive gaze.

"y/n, are you sure?" seungkwan asks, standing up from his corner to go sit next to you. "it's only been five months-"

"you told me i should be moving on, right?" you cut him off. "that's what i'm doing."

"that quickly?" seungkwan questions. "y/n, i know you, so you don't have to pretend to be okay. you guys were engaged, and you expect me to believe that you're ready to see other people? it's not fair to you or wonwoo."

"i know what i'm doing," you sigh. "but fine, if you won't set me up with wonwoo, i can just go find another date. it's not that big of a deal-"

"you still love him," seungkwan states firmly.

you ignore him and continue talking. "i can't just mope around and sulk forever. i need to-"

"you're still in love with kim mingyu, don't even try to deny it, y/n," seungkwan stops you again. "i'm your best friend, and i can see it in your eyes. "

your shoulders droop, and you look at a picture frame you picked up from one of the boxes.

a girl was sitting next to a large window, an oversized hoodie draped over her figure. her face was turned away from the camera, and her long hair fell down her shoulders in messy waves.

it was just a picture, but anyone looking at it would feel warmth, and love. when you looked at it, the feelings once associated with it had gone cold a long time back.

your hands run through your hair, now cut short and barely reaching past your shoulders, and you toss the picture frame into the box labelled 'waste'.

—

click!

you whip your head around to see mingyu crouched on the floor, camera held up to his face, and the lens directed at you.

"gyu! my hair probably looks like a bird's nest now," you whine, realizing that he had taken a picture of you. you get up from the windowsill you were sitting on and go over to your boyfriend.

wanting a peek at his sneaky picture, you grab at his arms to steal a glance at his camera, but your attempts fail as he swiftly dodges all of your attacks. with his long arms, he's able to set the camera out of your reach. however, before you can protest, he picks you up in his arms and kisses you softly.

"good morning, love," he whispers against your lips, and you wrap your arms around his neck tighter.

"i wish you didn't have to go," you mumble, pressing kisses to all of mingyu's face.

"i'll be back before you know it," he assures you with a hint of sincerity in his eyes.

mingyu was leaving for a three-month photography tour he had been invited to. it was an important milestone for him, because it meant that he was finally getting acknowledged in the industry. and as his girlfriend, no, fiancée, you obviously had to support him.

but it didn't mean that you were going to miss him any less.

"you need to text me at least thrice a day, send me loads of pictures, and facetime whenever you're free, got it?" you remind him, and he laughs.

"what if you're asleep when i facetime you?"

"i'll wake up to talk to you," you nod resolutely. "i expect daily updates, kim mingyu."

"yes ma'am," he salutes, and you laugh too.

soon, it's time for mingyu to get into a cab that will take him to the airport, and all you can do is wave goodbye and kiss him deeply before he steps into the car.

"i love you," he tells you, and you mouth the words back to him as the window of the car rolls up.

the cab drives away, and you're left standing on the sidewalk, still wearing mingyu's hoodie.

the first two weeks pass smoothly, with mingyu's incessant texts and calls. aside from the fact that you were sleeping alone in your shared bed, and there wasn't anyone to have your meals with, it almost felt like mingyu had never left.

you get a package at the start of week three. it's from mingyu, and upon opening it, you see that it's a framed picture.

the photograph is black and white, and you recognize it as the picture he had secretly taken of you the morning he left.

a note in the package reads:

'this city is beautiful, but i miss the beauty of having you by my side the most. just a couple more months, and i'll be back. with love, mingyu.'

just two more months, you tell yourself, clutching the frame to your chest.

little did you know, two months was more than enough time for your relationship to come falling apart.

castles made out of sand don't last for long, after all; all it takes is one wave for it to be swept off.

—

"can i get another one of these?" you ask the bartender, gesturing to your empty glass, and he nods. you slump up against the bar again, the events of the evening replaying in your head.

you had finally gone out on a date with a guy from work. he had shown interest in you for a long time, but back then, you had a ring on your finger and the vague promise of a wedding looming over your head.

now, however, you were free to date whomever you wanted.

(if freedom meant living without the one person who your heart longs for the most, you wish you could give it up.)

the date had been a disaster.

the entire time, while the guy kept talking about his interests and his dog, all you could see in front of you was tan skin, pointy canines, a mole decorating the tip of the nose, and the warm smile you loved so dearly.

all you could see was mingyu.

no matter how much you tried, you couldn't get him out of your head. it got to the point where your brain tuned the guy out completely, and for a while, your senses stopped working.

all you could feel was mingyu, mingyu, mingyu.

"i have to go," you had choked out apologetically before rushing out of the restaurant and heading to the nearest bar to get shit-faced.

"why am i so pathetic?" you mutter to yourself, a few hours later, in the back of seungkwan's car. "why can't i stop loving him? even after he hurt me?"

"the heart wants what it wants" seungkwan sighs, glancing back at your limp figure in his car.

"you'll be okay, y/n," he tells you, but you're not sure if you ever will.

everywhere you look, all you see is mingyu.

—

by month two of his photography trip, mingyu had stopped texting as frequently, and that's exactly when everything began to fall apart.

your texts went unanswered for hours, and you would get only a few short replies from mingyu over the span of multiple days, so, eventually, you stopped texting him about your day in detail.

he never answered your calls, so, eventually, you stopped calling him whenever you missed him at night.

and then came the next change: mingyu called you, a week before he was set to come back home, only to tell you that the photographer he's idolized all his life wanted mingyu to join him in america for a month.

"it's the opportunity of a lifetime," mingyu said, voice brimming with excitement. "but if you don't want me to-"

"mingyu, you're going to america," you cut him off. "i'm so happy for you, love. and don't worry about me, i'll manage just fine for another month."

"thank god, i expected you to start crying over the phone," mingyu said with a laugh, and it was probably a joke, but the words stung a little more than they should have. "okay, i gotta go. talk to you later?"

"sure, gyu," you replied, trying to tamp down the momentary sadness you felt. "i love y-"

the line went dead before you could finish, and your heart sunk.

mingyu stops saying that he loves you, so, eventually, you stop saying it too.

—

ten months have passed since the breakup, and you're finally getting a hold on yourself. there are some bad days where you can't even get out of bed without crying your eyes out over the absence of him in your life. but on other days, you manage to shower, make yourself breakfast, go to work, and distract yourself from the fact that you're going home to an apartment that feels strange and unfamiliar; a far cry from the coziness of the home you shared with mingyu.

still, you keep pushing through. it's a new beginning, you tell yourself, even though all you want to do is go back to the past.

you tell seungkwan just as much, and all he says in response is, "remind yourself of why you left, y/n. yes, you loved each other, but maybe love isn't always enough."

so, on a particularly bad sunday morning, that marked five years since the day you had first met mingyu, you let yourself remember exactly why you left him.

you don't leave the bed till later that evening, when you have no more tears left to shed, and the scars of past memories have been etched into your skin all over again.

—

five months. it's been five months since mingyu left for his three-month photography trip, and he's set to come home today.

you spent all morning cleaning the house, calling his mother for his favorite recipes, and putting on his favorite dress, just to make everything perfect.

the last text you had sent him had gone unanswered since the previous night, hence you had no idea what time mingyu's flight would land. you wait the entire day for the apartment door to open, but afternoon shifts to evening, fresh food goes stale, and mingyu still isn't home.

it's close to 1 in the morning when you're awoken by another presence in the living room. you had fallen asleep on the couch after eating instant ramen for dinner, but when you open your eyes, all sleep leaves you in an instant.

"mingyu," you whisper, and your fiance sets down his suitcase and bags, opening his arms up for a hug. you rush to him and hug him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck, dirty airport clothes be damned.

"i missed you so much," you whisper, and mingyu only responds with a kiss to your shoulder. he pulls back first, and you see the exhaustion written all over his face.

"can we talk in the morning?" he asks, giving you a small smile. "i'm really tired now."

"of course," you nod. mingyu kisses your forehead as a small thank you before leaving to shower. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel disappointed when he didn't even hold you in your sleep that night.

it's alright, he's just tired, you tell yourself. and that night, you still shiver in the cold bed, even though mingyu is back in it.

—

the talk never happens the next morning. mingyu leaves for a photoshoot right after breakfast, and you haven't even had the chance to kiss him properly ever since he came back home.

the talk never happens at all. you both move past it, as if the last four months of silence and distance hadn't affected your relationship at all.

it was wishful thinking on your part to think that you and mingyu could bounce back from the last four months unscathed. you tried so hard to not to overthink how mingyu wasn't the same anymore.

he'd work longer hours, and when you asked him about his day, he'd just give you short answers. he'd rarely say the words 'i love you' back to you. his smiles stopped reaching his eyes. his body stopped seeking your touch.

it felt like with every passing day, the chasm that had formed between you and mingyu grew wider, and you had no idea how to cross over it.

one year passes after mingyu proposed, and he never even brings up the wedding.

you delete the wedding pinterest board on your phone.

—

it's been a year since the breakup, and you're driving to meet seungkwan for sunday brunch, when a sudden push from the back jostles you, and you hear the loud crunch of metal.

shit.

you're immediately rushing out of the car to assess the situation. your rear bumper has been completely destroyed, and the owner of the car that bumped into yours is already apologizing frantically, when you realize—

"mingyu?" your voice is a strangled thing as you bring your eyes up to look at the man standing in front of you.

he seems just as shocked as you, his face immediately turning pale and his eyes widening almost comically.

"it's- it's you," the words fall from mingyu's lips, and you feel your eyes fill up with tears embarrassingly quickly. you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying in front of your ex, and keep your tone calm and composed as you say, "don't worry about the bumper, i'll take care of it. bye."

you're turning away to get back into the safety of your car to cry your heart out, but mingyu stops you.

"y/n, can we talk? please?" he pleads, and you shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to meet his. you're afraid of what you might do if you look into his eyes again.

"there's nothing to talk about, mingyu," you shake your head. "we- whatever was there between us is over now."

"so we don't have to talk about the fact that you packed your things up, put your ring on the kitchen counter, and left my life? without any explanation?" mingyu presses, and you gather the courage to face him.

you regret your decision to do so, because all you can think about when you look at him is that one day, a year ago, when you decided to leave.

—

it's a random tuesday morning — or maybe it's thursday, you're not sure. ever since your relationship with mingyu started feeling more like a connection shared by strangers rather than lovers, the days seemed to be bleeding together.

mingyu is all over the apartment, his formal shirt untucked and not fully buttoned, socks mismatched, and his movements rushed. he goes into the bedroom to get a tie, then goes into the closet to get his shoes, goes back into the bedroom because he forgot his watch, and the process continues.

you sit on the couch, scrolling through your emails and not paying attention to mingyu. maybe a year ago, you would have joined in on the chaotic mess, but right now, mingyu's groans of frustration are nothing but annoying to you.

"y/n, have you seen my watch? the new one?" mingyu asks, approaching your figure on the couch.

you simply shrug your shoulders, looking up at him for a moment and shaking your head. "you keep telling me not to touch your stuff, so i wouldn't know."

mingyu bristles at your response. "why do you sound so petty? the only reason i told you that is because you misplaced my memory card!"

"it was empty! it wasn't like you lost any of the photos on it," you bite back. "and it was a mistake, mingyu. i'm human.”

mingyu pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply to calm himself down. "fine, let's forget about that. could you please just tell me where the watch is?"

"i don't know where it is, mingyu," you repeat, going back to your phone.

"well, would it kill you to get off the fucking couch and help me find it?" mingyu snaps. "you know that i have an important event to attend. why are you being so difficult?"

"maybe i don't want to help!" you retort. "you just use me as some personal assistant who makes you meals, does the laundry and makes sure everything is in perfect condition for you. it's like i'm not your fiancée anymore!"

"you know what, i don't have time for this," mingyu fumes. "you're being unreasonable, and i don't know why-"

"you don't have time for me at all, anymore," you scoff. "it's always events, meetings, shoots. you're going ahead in your career but you're leaving me behind."

"that is so selfish of you!" mingyu lashes out. "do you expect me to drop my career and spend all my time with you?"

"i expect you to at least acknowledge my presence, mingyu!" your voice cracks with the weight of the past year suffocating you. "i've always supported your career. i've always wanted the best for you, but you just discarded me to the side! do you know how pathetic it feels?"

mingyu's expression falters, realization flickering in his eyes. "y/n, i didn't- i never wanted you to feel like that, i-"

"i've had enough of your excuses," you stop him. "i've had enough of this mingyu. just- just go attend your event, okay?"

mingyu gulps, the guilt flooding his body. "let's talk when i get home? please, y/n."

you don't give him an answer, and before mingyu can plead again, he gets a call from his assistant, who informs him that he needs to leave as soon as possible.

"i have to leave now, but i'll come back and we'll sort this out, yeah?" mingyu tells you, having calmed down significantly. "i'll see you later, y/n. i- i love you."

the last three words are like a knife twisting in your gut. you can only watch as mingyu hastily finishes getting ready and leaves the house. the second the door shuts behind him, you go into the bedroom and start packing all your clothes and shoes into suitcases.

you stuff in some other important things, like documents, pictures, jewellery, everything you brought with you when you moved into mingyu's house.

you leave behind the pink fuzzy slippers that had a matching blue pair. you leave behind the ugly paper mache statue you made with him. you leave behind the matching 'his' and 'hers' mugs you both drank coffee from.

you leave behind the engagement ring on the kitchen counter.

you walk out the door in two hours, both your ring finger and heart empty.

—

you snap back into the present, where mingyu's frame is still towering over you.

"i thought that argument was all the explanation you needed," you mutter indifferently, trying to tamp down the tears that were trying to escape.

"it wasn't, y/n. it just left me confused and-"

"then imagine how i felt," you let out a dry laugh. "imagine how i felt when you came back home from your photography trip and didn't say a word about all the missed calls and unanswered texts. when you never brought up our wedding and kept me waiting for some shitty happy ending i wanted with you. you left me in the dark, like i was nothing but some old childhood toy you shoved away in the attic to collect dust."

"that trip changed a lot of things for me too, y/n,” mingyu shoots back. “i was reaching the peak of my career, and it kept making me question whether i was ready to settle down then. i was scared and confused because i had never felt for someone the way i felt for you, but i also wasn’t sure if us getting married that quickly was going to be a good choice.”

"why didn’t you think about all this before you proposed?" you argue. "and why did you never talk to me about any of this? we would’ve figured out something that worked for the both of us."

"y/n, i-"

the loud honk of a car behind the both of you interrupted mingyu, and you take that as a cue to leave the conversation.

"look, we're past all the excuses now," you look away from mingyu. "what we had is in the past, and we both need to move on."

"i can't," mingyu says, and those two words knock the breath out of your lungs. you turn around to look at him again, hoping to find some ounce of a lie in his words, but the look in his eyes says it all.

he isn't lying.

"i've tried moving on, y/n. i've tried to forget you but it never works. i've tried so hard, but no one is you. i'll never love anyone as much as i love you, and that scares me," mingyu chokes out.

the car is still honking, but you can't seem to move from your spot.

"you'll- you'll move on someday," your voice is shaky and barely sounds convincing to even you. you don't know whether your heart is happy or broken at what mingyu just said.

"i know i won't, because what i feel for you is true love," he says with conviction. "y/n, our relationship may have been brief. we may have taken things too fast and fizzled out, but i know my feelings are real."

"how can you say that? we only hurt each other in the end," you shake your head. "it can't be true love if both of us ended up with broken hearts."

"my heart still hurts every day when i wake up and realize you're not there," mingyu sighs. "i still make two cups of coffee, and one goes down the drain because you're not there. i still call out your name when i can't find my goddamn keys, but you're not there. it still hurts so much, even after all this time has passed.'

"and i know i was the one at fault," mingyu continues. "i haven't stopped beating myself up about how stupid i was to ignore you and your needs like that. i wish i had admitted the truth to you, and i regret not doing that every day. god, y/n, i cry myself to sleep every night thinking about our wedding and how i was the one who went and ruined it all."

the tears finally spill, and by now the car has already turned around to take another route. your chest heaves with how much you're crying, and you realize that you should’ve reached out to mingyu too.

you waited and waited for mingyu to say something, but you never said anything either. you pretended that everything was okay when it really wasn't. maybe if you'd said something-

"stop, i know what you're doing in there," mingyu breaks your train of thought. "you- don't blame yourself. relationships end and hearts break, but that doesn't mean they don't deserve a second chance."

"mingyu, i- i don't know how i can trust you again," you speak, your voice hoarse. "you said it yourself. we- we crashed and burned. we hurt each other with our love, and i can't go through that heartbreak again."

"let me earn it back," mingyu pleads. "let me make up for my mistakes, y/n. i'd die regretting losing you without having a chance to tell you how sorry i am for doing that to you."

there's two voices in you.

one tells you to let down your walls and let mingyu in again.

the other one curls up in your lungs and it tastes like the bitter alcohol you drank almost every night to forget mingyu. it tells you that you're going to get your heart broken again.

a third voice breaks through the noise, and it's mingyu.

"please, y/n. let me make things right," his voice has dropped to a whisper, and the conflict in your mind stops.

"i'll consider it, if you pay to get the rear bumper fixed."

—

"what if we break up some day?" you ask mingyu when he brings up plans of growing old with you in the countryside of france.

"we've been dating for a year and you're already thinking of breaking up with me?" mingyu gasps, which makes you giggle. "i'm hurt, babe. i'd never do that to you."

"but what if you did? or if i hurt you?" you ask, the question not wanting to leave your mind. "everyone tells us we're going too fast. that we're going to crash. what happens then?"

mingyu exhales deeply before turning to face you. he cups your face with his hands and looks deep into your eyes.

"even if we end up crashing, even if we end up leaving each other, i promise to find you again," he says sincerely. "if it's my fault, i'll apologize till my last breath, till i know that you've forgiven me. and if it's your fault, well — as long as you show up in my life again, i'll forgive you."

"that's not fair to you," you laugh. "you shouldn't let me off the hook that easily."

"to be honest, i would," mingyu disagrees. "because i know that staying away from you would kill me. if you ever decide to come back into my life, i'll welcome you with open arms. i'd rather be hurt with you by my side than die a slow death without you."

"you're so sappy," you roll your eyes. "i hope you know that i won't forgive you that easily."

"i told you, i'd spend all my life making it up to you if i ever hurt you," he vows. "what we have is true love, y/n. it only comes around once. i'll be damned if i ever lose you."

in that moment, you hadn't thought much about mingyu's words. but little did you know, that somewhere down the line, mingyu would really keep his promise to win your trust back.

—

it's been eight months since mingyu crashed into your life all over again, and this time around, you've really taken things slow.

he's still working on gaining your trust back, which you appreciate, because it assures you that he truly means his apology and that he's here to stay.

this time around, you feel hopeful. maybe, if your heart heals, you'll try again. you love him too much not to at least try once more.

on a tuesday evening, just as you reach home from work, you get a text.

. . .

mingyu (7:15 p.m.) :

you free friday evening?

you (7:37 p.m.) :

yeah i am

why?

mingyu (7:38 p.m.) :

i have an exhibition for my photos on that day

it wouldnt feel right without you there

you (7:50 p.m.) :

i'll be there

mingyu (7:51 p.m.) :

thank you :)

. . .

—

the exhibition gallery is packed with people as you walk into it on friday evening. you feel a little overdressed in your wine red, knee-length dress amidst a crowd of people wearing sweatshirts and jeans.

still, you walk forward confidently, you find yourself getting captivated by the sheer magnitude of the exhibition.

there's large displays of streets in different cities bathed in the warm light of the moon, birds soaring in the sky, random people going about their daily lives, and so many small, unseen moments that mingyu always had the knack for capturing.

the composition of all the photographs makes you stare at them in awe. mingyu is extremely observant, which allows him to focus on the finer details others would skip over. paired with meticulous editing, the final photographs are nothing short of stunning.

you spend a lot of time with each frame, reading the captions mingyu has penned down for each of them. you're so engrossed in each picture that you don't even realize that the crowd in the gallery has come to a stop in front of one particular frame.

you try your best to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the photo, but to no avail. finally, when some of the crowd clears out, you move closer, and then the world stops.

it's the picture you tried to throw out but ended up keeping it on your nightstand. it's the picture you had received in a package from mingyu when he was away.

it was the last picture he had taken of you.

tears pool in your eyes rather quickly, and you walk closer to the picture of you displayed on the wall. it's huge in size, bigger than all the photos, as if this is the one mingyu wanted everyone to see. the one mingyu loved the most.

and it's titled — her.

'the last photo of this exhibit is a picture i clicked of my muse. before her, photography never had an end goal for me. all i did was click pictures of whatever i saw. after her, i began looking for pieces of her in every sight i took in. i tried to capture the warmth of her smile, depth of her love, glow of her presence, and the special feeling she stirs in me. everywhere i go, i find a glimpse of her, and every picture i take till my last breath, she will be the inspiration behind it.'

there's the sound of a mic coming to life, and you whirl around to see a tall figure standing on stage.

he's dressed in a pressed black shirt and slacks, the sleeves rolled up, hair parted to perfection, and posture confident.

but only you can find a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

it melts away when they meet yours.

"good evening everyone, my name is kim mingyu, and i would like to thank all of you for attending my exhibition," he speaks into the mic, and the crowd bursts into loud applause.

"as you all know, photography is not only my career, but my passion. it's what i live for. last year, however, was a rough patch for me. i lost all interest in photography. i hadn't touched my camera in months. it was like the colors of the world had faded away," his voice, although confident, sounds a bit shaky. his eyes are still locked onto yours, almost as if every word’s meant only for you.

"people told me that it was normal to feel that way. maybe it was burnout, or maybe the reality that photography was just a hobby. but, only i knew the real reason all along. all artists have a muse, without which it becomes difficult to breathe life into their art. i too have a muse. she is the reason i'm here today and able to show you what i've done."

"last year, i went into a slump because she left my life. it was my fault; i was too caught up in the lens of my camera to notice that i was hurting her," mingyu's voice is strained and raspy, and you know that tone all too well. sure enough, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but he powers on.

"for that one year without her, i lost all my drive and creativity. i couldn't look for the details in nature because my vision felt blurry. it felt like she had taken a part of me with her when she left. by some stroke of luck, i found her again. and this may sound cliche, but, the second i saw her, it felt like the world existed in technicolor again."

"she's here tonight, even though i don't deserve it, even after everything i put her through, and this time, i want to show her that i've changed. that i don't care about all these pictures, not if i don't see her in them. that one day, if she'll ever forgive me, if she'll ever give me another chance, i won't let her down."

you're sure that your makeup is ruined by how much you're crying, and there's a few tears streaming down mingyu's face too. the crowd is muttering sadly, wondering who the girl could be, but no one in that room will ever know that it's you.

"my muse, this exhibition is my whole heart, and tonight, i give it to you. you can take your time to accept it, i'd wait a lifetime for you anyway. and to everyone who attended, thank you once again."

as mingyu steps off the stage, you can only hope he doesn’t notice you slipping out of the gallery and into the cold night.

—

when you hear the door to the terrace you snuck into open, you think that it’s a security guard telling you the location is off-limits.

you turn around to apologize, but your breath catches in your throat when you see mingyu standing there, tear tracks similar to yours glistening under the pale moonlight.

“mingyu, i-”

“i thought you left,” he chokes out, and your heart squeezes uncomfortably. “you were there the entire time i was speaking, but then you were gone, and i thought that it was done for good. i thought it was the last time i’d see you, and i felt so scared.”

you can see how his chest is heaving, and his shoulders are lined with tension. there’s this urge in you to close the gap between you two so that you can take that stress away.

“i’m sorry, i should’ve told you before i left,” you gulp nervously. “i just- i needed some air.”

“i’m sorry too, for springing all that on you,” mingyu says. “i just had to tell you everything, even if you wouldn’t forgive me at the end of it all.”

“did you mean everything you said tonight?” your voice is quiet, almost as if you're hoping mingyu won't hear you and your words will disappear into the air.

“of course i did,” mingyu replies without skipping a beat. “everything i did before you and after you has no meaning, because you weren't there. our love was what inspired me the most. it's the truth, y/n.”

you take a moment to process his words, letting the weight of them fully land on you. seeing you go silent, mingyu steps forward, his eyes searching yours.

“if i- if i asked for you to forgive me, for you to give me a second chance, would you say yes?”

you already know the answer, but you bite your tongue to stop yourself from blurting it out. you pretend to think about it, as if mingyu can't read your expression. 

“i never stopped loving you,” is what you say. “even when we weren't talking for a whole year after the photography trip. even after we broke up. even now, after you came back into my life. i've never stopped loving you, mingyu, but you're still the person who broke my heart.”

you can sense mingyu about to apologize again, so you bring your hand up to stop him.

“you're the one who broke my heart, but you're also the one my heart wants. the only one,” letting these words out makes the burden on your shoulders feel lighter, but the tension of the moment still remains heavy. “and that's what scares me. because even if you break my heart again, i'll still love you. i don't think i know how not to.”

“i won't, y/n,” mingyu shakes his head. “i won't make that mistake again. i just want to earn your trust again and show you that i'll be better to you. we can take it slow and figure things out, but-”

“fuck taking things slow,” you cut him off. at some point during the whole conversation, your bodies have gravitated towards each other, and mingyu is close enough for you to reach out and cover his mouth with a hand.

“it doesn't matter if we go slow or fast, i just want you,” you tell him, looking into his eyes so he knows that you're speaking the truth. “i want us to work out this time.”

mingyu's eyes widen with surprise, and he gingerly lifts your hand off his mouth.

“do you really mean that?” his voice trembling.

“i forgave you a long time ago, mingyu,” you let out a laugh, eyes welling up with tears. “i forgave you when you paid for wrecking my rear bumper. again. i just needed time to know that this was real. that we wouldn't crash and burn again. and tonight really sealed it for me. i could see it in your pictures, mingyu. i could see how much love you look at the world with. back then, i thought that your love for photography was more than what you felt for me, but now i know that it's not true.”

“my love for you is what makes me love capturing the world in my lens,” mingyu completes. “i'm sorry i had made you feel otherwise.”

“we're done with the apologies now,” you shake your head. “let's leave the past in the past and start afresh. does that sound good?”

“i guess i'll have to crash your car one more time, then,” mingyu jokes, and you laugh. this time it's a loud, genuine sound; one mingyu had missed hearing. one you had missed hearing.

“maybe let's find a less destructive way?” you giggle, but it quickly turns into a gasp when mingyu cups your face with his hands. 

“as long as it's with you, i don't mind anything,” mingyu says, and then you see it.

a look of sincerity and hope flashing across his face. you know it for sure, because you feel the exact same way.

mingyu's eyes flick down to look at your lips, still hesitating to make a move.

“just kiss me already,” you sigh, and mingyu doesn't waste another second. with one swift movement, he's swooping you in for a kiss. a kiss so soft, yet so deep, it makes you feel like you're floating amongst the stars in the night sky looking down at love blossoming again.

when mingyu pulls away, you're both breathless for a few minutes, the reality of the moment sinking in.

the moment doesn't need any more words or touches. you can see everything you need to know in his eyes, and you hope he can read yours too.

its unmistakable; the glimpse of love that you see in him.

you feel yourself falling all over again, hurtling towards an end that may catch you by surprise, but this time it doesn't feel daunting.

not when you know that mingyu will be there to catch you.

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[punk-a-cat]

I've lived on a farm several times, but thankfully the only time I had to manage the farm work it was drystock (non milking cows raised for meat and a couple of VERY dumb sheep) so I was not in fact forced to wake early. Bear in mind this was a SMALL farm, and I was not required to fix fences or do anything apart from feed out hay (winter feed) and check the stock was all healthy, and move them to a new paddock once the grass was looking a bit too chewed on (no strip grazing on this farm, the farmer who owned the farm didn't believe in it, and liked mixed forage feed -so not single grass like rye) .

However, I did have the misfortune to live on a farm that ran dairy stock for a short while, and the owner of THAT farm got up at 4am to milk, and would milk again at 4pm. He would shout at everyone and anyone who he saw sitting down during the day, hated if anyone had the audacity to READ because (apart from the newspaper) reading was a useless waste of time, and was generally the single most unpleasant asshole I have had the non joy to have worked for. He had an afternoon nap and went to bed at 8pm, but everyone else who got up at 4am with him was considered lazy (I was not one of them, 4am does not exist in my vocabulary).

There are two types of farmers....

[saetiate]

with you, my heart-known home.

itoshi sae x f!reader smut tags: afab reader, established relationship, oral f!receiving, praise, p in v, fluffy domestic sex. genuinely no warnings, just full of love from him to you. dirty talk except it’s sae so it’s His Version of it ahaha. he gets hard when you say i love you wc: 3k

He's staring at you.

A grueling six weeks, a flight, and a shower. It's nothing new, he's the one that told you not to wait up.

But seeing you asleep in his bed after all this time makes his cock twitch in his shorts. He groans to himself, wiping a hand down his face.

Only you would have this effect on him, heavy on his heart, imagining your pussy around his cock when you're right next to him.

Whatever. He should probably get some sleep.

He wraps the blanket around you both, takes the extra time to make sure you're properly tucked in, before wrapping his arm around your waist. Because he did miss you. It's clear in the way he squeezes you tight, presses a kiss to your cheek. You smile in your sleep as if knowingly, tucking his hand into your chest.

What does it say about him that he feels himself get harder at the sight?

He leans his head down into your shoulder. Fuck, you're so warm. You smell like you and the bed and he can't imagine anything sexier. Like home, in a way no other place has truly been.

You turn to him, still half-asleep. He really, really, didn't mean to wake you.

"I know, baby," you mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Welcome home."

He doesn't really understand it when he's with you, doesn't try to either. Because now you're here, and he's pressing his body over yours, kissing you in your sleep-laden state. He's filled with something deeper than desire, heavier than love, more pulling than devotion. He presses kisses down your neck gently, his hands at your thighs, moving up to your waist, pushing your shirt up so he can feel the plush flesh there, everywhere.

"Sae, Sae, baby, aren't you tired?" you cup his face in your hands, soft skin under your fingertips, half-hooded eyes staring back at you. "You just got back."

He stops at that, his own breath coming heavier than he'd like to admit. "Are you tired? You don't have to do anything."

Your windchime laugh muffles against his chest, makes his heart flip-flop like a fish in the cavern. "If you want me, you can have me. In whichever way you want."

In whichever way you want. A dangerous offer, for a man like him. He’ll take you up on it, again and again and again. He'll have you, completely.

You kiss him like that, with a softness that he thinks must come naturally to you, with the way you wake up everyday just to blanket him in it. Sae adores it, feels a twinge of guilt with the way he wants to devour it. Lips move into tongue that move into teeth, nipping at your lower lip. His hands know your skin, they feel like they’re covering you everywhere, hot and aching as they delve under your clothes, up to your breasts, cupping them softly and running his thumb right over your nipple, swallowing down a gasp from you.

He only separates from you to look at your reaction, love-bitten lips with a sheen of saliva like gloss, eyes focused on him alone, how your chest rises and falls under his hands.

He takes your top off carefully, like a reveal, gaze stuck to you, tongue wetting his lips before he brings his mouth right to your sternum. He can feel the flutter of your heartbeat underneath, proof of you underneath him, proof of the effect he has on you after all these years.

"Pretty," he mumbles into your skin, both hands cupping either sides of your breasts. He tilts his head to the side, bringing one nipple into his mouth, his hand sliding under your back as you arch into it, fingers over the dip of your spine.

He takes his time, despite the way his cock throbs in his pants. "You're pretty."

You flush at the attention. "Sae."

He lifts himself up to pull your pants down and off, his eyes following every move, your exposed body beneath him in the dark of the room. It almost makes him wish the lights were on, so that he could really admire you, watch as he makes you squirm under his touch.

He'll do that anyways. "Stay still."

His arms wrap around your thighs, his hands lacing through yours over your hips — a gentle affection, like a ribbon wrapped around a present. And then his mouth is on you, kissing your clit first, then teasing you by bringing his tongue along one side of your slit, from the bottom all the way up until he's just shy of your clit, then repeating on the other side.

"Sae," you try again, breath hitching.

"Do you touch yourself when I'm not home?" He takes in the way your clit exposes itself past the petals of your folds, puffy and waiting, beckoning him like a ship to a lighthouse.

"Answer me." You can feel his mouth moving over your core as he speaks.

"I- sometimes?" You answer breathlessly. That grants you closer to what you want, the flat of tongue lapping over from the bottom to the top of your slit.

"What do you think about?" He's both relentless and holding back, too slow to grant you reprieve but too persistent with his tongue to let you properly think. A perfect balance that only he knows, that only he can sustain with you, that keeps you holding onto him like a lifeline.

"You. You, always you."

(He has to make you feel like this. It's the only way he can feel like there's been due diligence in your dynamic — you, finally knowing some part of how he feels. Like you own him.)

He hums in response instead, vibrations against your core, tasting each drip of wetness you give him, drinking you in.

"Like this," you continue. "I think of you like this."

Long laps of his tongue turn into kitten licks, starting at the bottom and working his way up. Every second he takes to get to the top feels drawn out, taffy being pulled until his tongue finally swirls over your clit, like burnt sugar snapping.

"Is it like how you imagined?"

"Better." That has a ghost of a smile forming over his lips, a little reward given to you for it with kitten-licks against your clit. "You're- Sae-," you don't know how you're supposed to hold a conversation like this. You try to thrust your hips to quicken the pace only to no avail, his grip tight on you, and even that has heat slinking through you.

"How." His tongue digs through your folds despite the question.

"Wha-" Another gasp leaves your throat before you can finish.

"How is it better." He wrings a whine out from you, pressure building inside you like a dam, his hot breath over your cunt as he speaks. "Tell me."

"It's- you do it slower. You're not in a rush. You take your time." The words race out of you in a single breath, all you're able to give with how quickly your mind starts to feel cloud-stuffed, devolving into whimpers and gasps, muscles in your legs wound tight.

He responds to you in the worst way, by slowing down. Bringing you to the edge only to keep you there, forcing every nerve inside you to feel like it's gone haywire.

"That's- Sae, please. Not- not what I meant." Your breath comes short, your whines filling the air, shaking in his grasp.

"Oh, no?" You swear you can feel him smirk below you, you look down to find that glint in his darkened eyes.

He gives in, then. He always does with you, inevitably, like how the tide moves with the moon. Presses your body down with ease before you can buck your hips, tongue lathing over your clit in circles and kitten laps until your hands squeeze his and your back arches. He moans into your cunt, and even that soft sound from him has you reeling closer, your clear effect on him makes you feverish.

"That's it," he rasps, a beckoning that you can't help but respond to. His mouth covers over your core, his hot breath and tongue an onslaught as you teeter towards the edge, your slick seeping into his mouth.

Just as you warn him you’re about to come, he slides his fingers into you, has you clenching around his long fingers and he tilts them up in a way that has you tensing even further and crashing down so fast, pretty noises filling the room as heat rushes through your body, your thighs clenching tight, your slick coating his hand.

He doesn't stop, even then, with your slick dripping down his chin. His tongue is relentless and unwavering over your clit, something you start to register slowly as feeling returns to you and your legs kick out uncontrollably. You're gasping into the air, every swirl of the muscle over the sensitive area is a pleasure that leaves you struggling to breathe, so sensitive that it's bordering on painful. His eyes smile with how cute he finds it, the way you thrash in his hold. There isn't a world where he doesn't let you bite into his heart and eat it raw. Your palm presses against his forehead, pushing him away with the overstimulation. He grabs at your hand, giving a wet kiss to the back of it.

"Good," he says it with a sigh of relief, like certifying something is to his satisfaction, pleased with your reaction to him, a hidden metric only for him to decipher. His tongue wets his lips just slightly to taste the rest of your essence, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "Good girl."

That has you bringing a hand up to your face, hiding the expression he knows so well, only for him to catch your hands in his and press a wet kiss to your cheek, so cute under him that he can't resist this little act of affection.

He lets his pants drop, wrapping a hand around his cock, leaking with pre as the head presses against your core. His hands slide up and down the inside of your thighs, your supple skin giving way under his touch, pressing down and spreading them open wider.

So he can see, you realize. Watch the way you open up for him. You whine at him in embarrassment.

"Behave," he hushes with a pointed look that has you obeying without thought, staying as still and relaxed as you can as he pushes in. There's a pretty sigh he makes as your warmth envelops him, his eyes fluttering shut, looming over you and dropping his forehead to yours.

You're all pliant under him, ripe fruit his for the taking, leaking juices over his member. You claw at his shoulders, his name babbling over your lips over and over. Even with the way he prepped you, the stretch is still there. Nothing compares.

He slides in and out of you in short strokes, the fullness of it reaching deeper and deeper as each inch pushes into you, has you trying to remind yourself to take deep breaths. Until his hips meet yours, earning from you a desperate mewl.

"You're doing good," he presses a kiss to your hairline, chest to chest with him so you can both feel the way the other heaves. The validation makes your cunt flutter around him, opened up for him with a familiarity. Your slick coats his cock with a sheen as he pulls out and pushes back into you in slow thrusts.

"I think of you too." He tells you this as his cock presses impossibly deeper with each press of his hips.

"What?" You pant.

"When I'm away."

That does something to you, makes you leave crescent moon indents from your nails into his skin. "You should — ah — call, next time."

"Yeah? Why's that, hm?" His thumb runs in circles over your waist, a gentle gesture that makes your heart drip with your cunt as he's thrusting into you.

"Wanna- wanna hear you." You tell him this as he rocks into you over and over again, gentle and caring, full of his cock and his love all tied up in one.

Sae huffs. "You wouldn't like it."

"I- I like it. It's you."

"I'd make you wait." He emphasizes it by bringing his hand down between your legs where you're connected, tapping the pearl of your clit. "Make you touch yourself until you're begging to come."

He'd need to hear you beg. To know he has even half the effect on you that you have on him. To make sure you're as heavy with craving as he is.

"Sae," it's more a chant than a complaint, makes him want to tease you just a little more. But then your arms are wrapping tight around his neck, your ankles high on his waist and looping behind him.

"Missed you," you whisper right against his ear, your voice more pitched with each word. "Missed you so much. I love you."

He feels the swell of your words both in his mind and his cock. He can't process what this does to him. Makes his head so heady with lust, like being drunk from the sight and sound of you. He takes your hand in his, laces his fingers through. Kisses you chaste, a warning.

And then he fucks you hard. Until the bed shifts against the wall. Until your whispers and moans become sobs and silent screams. The tip of his cock brushes against your cervix on every other hit, numbing your mind completely. That's how he wants you. So dumbed out on his cock that you can't speak, can't think. So mindless below him that you only know him, feel him, need him.

He'd smile at the lack of retort on your tongue if he could. Instead, he finds himself panting through gritted teeth at how you tighten around him. He strains to focus past the feeling and on your voice, on the way you say his name over and over again, how your tone pitches higher, a sure sign of the wave that will overcome you both.

"Good, fuck, that's it," he can't deny your effect on him, not like this, not with your walls fluttering around him. But more than that, is feeling you. You in your entirety, your body against his, your warmth that he missed so dearly, your love that you encompass him in — the irreplaceable feeling that pulls him so much closer to the edge, so much faster than he can help.

"Good girl," he says it in lieu of something more, with a shaky breath and the stuttering of his hips. His fingers, coated with your slick, runs circles over your clit, pleasure hot in your veins. He swears again when he looks down and sees that foamed ring at the base of his member, how the honey-drip of your essence wraps around his cock in a gleam. It surges something possessive in him.

"Come for me," it's something between a command and a plea. Let me hear it, let me watch you fall apart under me. What is attention, if not some sort of prayer? All of his focus, of heart and of mind, is on you. Something like revelation settles deep in his mind, something so heart-known, as what he feels for you bubbles to the surface. "I love you. Come for me."

It's your undoing, a desperate whine, your entire body tensing, taut like a bowstring. He doesn't stop, never falters, not with how beautiful you look as your breath comes short and every fibre of your body only knows him. He whispers your name, as gentle as the rain, and you jerk up into his hold, gushing wetness around his hard cock, the fullness of it inside you so acute as your walls clamp down.

He's not much farther off after that. He has to watch you, first. Has to feel satisfied with the strength of the orgasm you give him before he's fucking into you again, fast thrusts that come with a swear, that follow with your name so pretty on his lips again, that has him spilling inside of you, his body shuddering with the intensity of it.

He stops himself short of collapsing completely on top of you, his hand resting against the headboard, the rise and fall of his chest against yours with every deep breath. His other hand cups right under your chin, pulling you in for a deep kiss, your cheeks slightly squished in his hand as he takes your breath and breathes you in all at once.

Your shaky legs drop onto the bed, gliding your legs against his and pulling him in close. He parts from you only to lay his forehead against yours, craves your closeness with a soreness in his chest that makes him hold you that much tighter in his arms.

The morning light starts to glide past the curtains, casts a halo around you, an angelic bloom, a sharp light-strike across the high of your cheek.

He loves you so much with no real way to describe it, no vocabulary that he has spent building up for this moment the same way he built his skills up for his career. He won't ruin this moment with you with some half-hearted effort at trying to process his feelings into a language. It is better, in his mind, to leave this untouched by words, to show you instead.

When he kisses you deeply again, it feels like a question. Can I tell you how much I love you, even without having to say it?

And when you kiss him back, pull him in closer, it's like an answer, knowing and bright as the light. I speak your language. I hear it from you everyday.

author's note: hello, thank you for reading <3 more sae from yours truly. i wrote this with a lot of love and heart <3 i hope it comes across

[arkhamsbrat]

even before he met you jason knew he loved you. the little box hidden under the floorboards at Wayne manor was proof enough. the sheets were folded neatly, stacked in the order he wrote them in an old sneaker box. letter upon letter upon letter to his future spouse that were long forgotten after his death.

when he was younger, he hoped he’d be able to to give it to someone one day. sat and prayed for the day that the right person would come along that he could make happy.

when he came back, he still dreamed about it. jason just didn’t think he deserved it. a love worth those letters would never be in his cards.

then you came along, with your bright smile, sweet words, and patience. god, your patience had to be strong dealing with all of his baggage. he didn’t think he deserved it, but you refused to give him anything else.

was it patience or were you just too stubborn to let go of him? jason didn’t really care about the difference.

he spent nights with you, tangled in the sheets just letting you love him. his mind calms, slowly, with all of your words, your touches- you. it takes nearly a year for him to even believe you really do care about him, without any ulterior motives. he’d found himself too attached to you to worry if there were any, anyways. if he was going to die again, he’d hoped it would be you that killed him.

jason realized he loved you when he woke up to your fingers pressed gently against the pulse points on his neck. sweat beaded along your hairline, eyes wide. “what the-” he couldn’t help the twinge of fear in his gut. what the fuck were you doing?

his hands wrapped around your wrists rougher than he probably should have as he sat up, heart beating against his ribs. he took a deep breath, fighting off every single thought of how you could kill him so easily right now. there was no reason for him to think you’d hurt him, you would never.

your breathing was just as uneven, heart stuttering with every half second. “i-just… had a dream.” you whispered , barely audible against the buzzing of the ceiling fan. “you died. i needed to… make suure.” your eyes flickered away from him as your tears started to fall. the nightmares that plagued your mind normally stopped around jason, but they broke through your safe space tonight.

the look of shock he was giving you made your skin crawl. jason was normally so sweet to you. did you overestimate how much he could handle? you took a deep breath and wiped your cheeks. “i didnt mean to wake you up, i’ll-” jason shook his head and let your wrists go, pulling you to his chest.

he steadied his breathing and shut his eyes tight , chin resting against your head as you sobbed against him, apologizing over and over again because you might lose him now. the fear in your eyes wasn’t because you got caught. it was because you loved him. this was somehow his first realization that it was real for you too. your whispered apologies slowed as he soothed you to sleep “not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.” he whispered before you fully dozed off. “who’s gonna take care’a you if im gone?”

things between you two felt… different after that. better, but different. it wasn’t until two weeks later that it solidified. Alfred had called him to grab lunch together, and came with a beat up box. jason didn’t recognize it at all until Alfred opened it and pushed it towards him. “I thought it was Master Bruce’s at first, but…” jason scanned over the top letter, eying his old chicken scratch. he shut the box and pulled it close to his chest, wondering if you’d be home before him. “thank you, Alfred..” the old man nodded with a smile. jason knew you were it for him, no questions asked. the letters had always belonged to you.

the minute you were home he sat you down and set the box in front of you. “read them. please…” you eyed the box carefully before reaching out and grabbing the first letter. barely halfway through it and tears were streaming down your cheeks. before he even knew you, he wrote letter on letter on letter about how much he dreamed about being with you. how deep in his soul, he knew he’d find you no matter how long it took. it wasnt chance that these letters found their way to you- it was fate. everything in them perfectly described you, how you spoke to him, acted around him. everything about you is exactly what he’d always wanted.

he eyed you carefully from the opposite end of the couch, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. “so?” he mumbled once you finished. “so!?” you sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “do you… like them?” you nodded once, fighting back the shock of it all. “jayce, these are…” he let out a nervous laugh. “cheesy? yeah. just thought the person i wanna spend the rest’a my life with should have ‘em.”

reading that was one thing, but jason saying it out loud? “are you sure?” you asked, scooting closer to him. he cupped your cheeks and smiled at you like you hung the stars just for him. “never been so sure about anything else.”

[animamii]

letter from lockedup!Toji that goes along with this drabble ‎♡‧₊˚

...Beautiful, I just want you to know; you're my favorite girl...

— Beautiful~~Snoop dogg + Pharrel

‎

Hey, princess.

Got your letter today. Been reading it over and over, like I always do. I swear, these pages are the only thing keeping me sane in here. When everything else in this place feels like it’s closing in, I got your words, your handwriting, the way I can almost hear your voice saying all this to me. It keeps me steady. Keeps me from losing my head.

And that picture you sent? Fuck. You tryin’ to kill me in here? I swear, if these walls weren’t in the way, I’d be home already. You look good, baby. Too good. Almost makes me mad that other people get to see you like this when I can’t. But I know you’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.

You don’t even gotta try, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sitting there, all sweet, all perfect. Makes me crazy knowing I can’t reach out and touch you, pull you into me, feel your skin, hear you laugh in my ear. It ain’t fair. But I guess nothing ever has been for me. Except you. You’re the one thing in this world that ever felt like it was mine. I don’t say this enough, probably don’t say half the shit you deserve to hear, but I need you to know that. You ain’t just my girl. You’re my peace, my home, the only thing I’ve ever been afraid to lose. And that’s saying something.

I laughed when I read about Megumi and his damn ramen obsession. Stubborn little punk. I wonder where he gets it from. (Yeah, yeah, don’t say shit—I know.) Tell him I said to listen to his stepma, eat a real meal, and quit acting like he doesn’t miss me. I know how he is. Pretends he don’t care, but I bet if I walked through that door tomorrow, he’d be the first one running to me. He won’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes. Just like his old man. Make sure he’s eating real food, alright? He might act like he don’t care, but I know he listens to you. Probably more than he ever listened to me.

And you. You better be taking care of yourself too. Are you sleeping? Eating? Taking care of yourself? I know how you get—running around, worrying about everyone else, not stopping to breathe. You always got so much to worry about, but you forget you’re supposed to take care of you too. I don’t wanna hear that you’re running on empty, staying up too late, stressing yourself out. You always act tough, but I know you, baby. I know when you’re holding too much inside. I know when you need me. And I swear to you, I’m coming back.

You tell me you’ll wait. That you don’t care how long it takes. But, baby, I care. Every second in here is a goddamn eternity. Every night I go to sleep thinking about you, and every morning I wake up counting down the days until I can get back to you. And I will. No matter what I gotta do, no matter how long it takes, I will get home to you.And when I do? You better be ready. Because I’m never letting you out of my sight again. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, forever.

Wait for me just a little longer. I love you. More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.

Toji

[thehighladywrites]

you’re just like me

pairing: cassian x crazy stalker reader

summary: cassian thinks of you as his insanely obsessive ex girlfriend who’s downright crazy. you are obviously cassian’s one true love and will eliminate anything that stands in your way.

warnings: murder, dark romance, cheeky little twist👀, stalking, obsessive behavior, sexual content, knives, nasty sex, um also a sick way of getting off just downright crazy, description of murder… um this is just kinda dark. two psychos encouraging each other

amara’s note: so i might be making this into a series bc i have an amazing idea for azriel next😫😫😫 also guys this was a lil dark lol

You couldn’t understand how Cassian had the nerve to walk away from you. There was absolutely nothing wrong with you, not one single thing. People just didn’t get it; love was supposed to be all-consuming, right? Obsession wasn’t a flaw. It was just proof you cared deeply. So what if you knew his schedule down to the minute, memorized the exact scent of his shampoo, or followed him everywhere he went like your very existence depended on it? That wasn’t weird, it was love. Real, burning, raw love.

Cassian must have been confused, that’s all. Poor thing, probably led astray by some outside influence. Maybe someone whispered lies into his ear or cast some strange spell over his mind. Yeah, that had to be it, because Cassian did love you. He did. He just needed to wake up and realize it again.

And when he did , he’d thank you for never letting go, for being the one person who truly saw him, who loved him without limits.

Seeing Cassian sitting next to some water-wraith makes your heart pound harder and harder, fury bubbling under your skin. That’s it — that’s why he hasn’t been his usual self. That wretched wraith is manipulating him, filling his head with filthy lies about you. Poisoning what was meant to be perfect.

You have to stop this. You have to save him. And the only way to do that is to get rid of her. Permanently.

Your hands itch for action, and you’re already stepping forward when a hand clamps around your wrist.

“Are you about to go over to Cassian?” Feyre’s calm voice cuts through your haze of rage. “Don’t cause a scene.”

You tilt your head, offering her a polite smile. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

You tug at her grip, but it holds firm. Feyre’s eyes narrow. “Not so fast. You know Cassian will think you’re crazy if you kill her right here and now.”

Your breath catches. How the hell did she know? Were you that obvious?

Before you can respond, she steps closer, her intoxicating perfume filling your senses. Her voice, low and smooth, sends shivers down your spine.

“If you want that little whore gone, gut her like a fucking fish. I’ll even help you. But not now, it’ll look bad for us.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Never in a million years would you have expected Feyre to suggest murder.

“Why are you so interested in me killing her?” you ask, voice curious.

A wicked smile curls at her lips before she presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “That little bitch tried to fuck Rhys right in front of me. Didn’t even bother pretending she didn’t know who I was. She didn’t care. And now I want her gone.”

Her voice cracks with a manic edge before she smooths it over, composure snapping neatly back into place.

She was just like you, a comfort you took pleasure in, someone who understood that love was meant to be fierce, consuming, and without limits.

—

You did exactly what Feyre suggested — waited until the big meeting with all the courts had ended, biding your time until the wraith was on her way back to Spring. She was alone, vulnerable, just as you had hoped.

Before she could winnow away, you struck. Kidnapping her had been easy, far too easy. And then came the best part: stabbing her over and over until you were drenched in her warm blood. Her look of terror sent a sick thrill down your spine, flipping your stomach in delight. Fuck, it felt good to finally get rid of her. Like being on edge for an eternity and finally getting the sweet, blissful relief you'd craved.

You cleaned up meticulously, disposing of every shred of evidence. No one would ever find her.

Winnowing back to Velaris, you appeared just outside Cassian’s house, dagger still in hand. Breaking in through your usual route was second nature by now. You settled yourself on his sofa, waiting patiently like you always did when he needed a gentle reminder of who truly belonged to him.

The door creaked open, and Cassian trudged inside, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Normally, you'd feel a pang of sympathy for how hard he worked — how much he gave of himself. But not tonight. Tonight, you were kinda pissed.

His eyes flicked toward you, squinting in the dim light. He hesitated, unsure of who he was looking at until he flipped the lights on.

The color drained from his face as he stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell?” His voice wavered. “What are you doing here?”

You tilted your head, offering a sweet, unwavering smile. “Hi, Cassian. Done being a manwhore? Ready to come back to your senses?”

His gaze darted to the blood soaking your clothes, the gleaming dagger in your hand. He shook his head in disbelief, taking another step back, as if distance could protect him from you.

“I said, what are you doing here?” His voice hardens, sharp and commanding.

Yours matches his, cold and steady. “Well, since you seem to be under some delusion that you can get away from me, I figured I’d burst your little bubble and remind you that’s not the case.”

A calm smile spreads across your lips as you lift the dagger, pointing it directly at him. The weight of it feels right in your hand, steady and sure.

Cassian’s chest rises and falls as tension coils through the room. “You’re insane,” he mutters, disbelief lacing every word.

“Call it what you want. Call it love, call it obsession. Call me fucking insane,” you say, taking a slow step forward. “But you belong to me, Cassian. Always have. Always will.”

You shake your head and laugh, a hollow, unsettling sound. “Gods, Cassian. I don't know why you're doing this to me. Stop being so damn difficult and realize there's no one else for you. That water-wraith slut sure knows it now.”

His face goes pale, a hand pressing against his chest. “W-what are you talking about? You... you killed her?” he asks, horrified.

“Sure did.” You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “And I'll end anyone you think can take my place. Am I clear? Either you realize it now, or I keep killing people. It's all up to you.” You shrug nonchalantly, inspecting your nails as if this conversation were about the weather.

There's a long silence, thick with tension, and then something changes.

His voice drops, lower and rougher. “Took you long enough.”

Your head snaps up, eyes narrowing in confusion. His pale, horrified expression has melted away, replaced by something darker, more primal. His eyes gleam with something unholy, and his mouth twists into a cruel, wicked smile.

“Was wondering when you’d kill that little wraith,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Gods know it was hard feigning interest.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, almost dizzying. Was this a dream? No way. Cassian matching your intensity, your madness — that was only supposed to happen in fantasies.

“What?” you whisper, barely believing what you’re hearing.

He steps closer, eyes gleaming darkly. “Didn’t think I noticed your stalking? Or the way you conveniently disposed of anyone I talked to?” His smirk widens, sharp and dangerous. “The way you just happened to show up at places I had scheduled? I’ve been onto you since day one.”

Your breath catches, heart thundering. “And?”

“And I knew you were the one the day you snuck into my room and stared at me, thinking I didn’t know,” he murmurs, eyes burning into yours with dark satisfaction.

A shiver runs down your spine, both thrilled and unhinged by his words. “You knew?”

He leans in closer, voice low and possessive. “Of course I knew. Your heavy breathing was a dead giveaway, sweetheart. You looked like you were seconds away from crawling into bed with me.”

You grin, eyes gleaming with madness. “I almost did.”

And it was true. He had been shirtless, skin smooth and golden in the moonlight, hair tied back so his sharp, handsome features were perfectly highlighted. Only years of discipline had kept you rooted to the spot instead of crawling into bed with him like you’d wanted to.

His smile deepens, dark and taunting. “You should’ve.” He steps closer, voice dropping to a low, sinful whisper. “Not the Gods themselves could have pulled me away.”

Your pulse races, wild and electric. This was so not fucking happening. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not tempting you, my love.” he says, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “I’m inviting you.”

He looks down at you, hands settling on your hips as he pulls you so close. Cassian’s heat makes your brain go fuzzy and for a moment you’re lost. Just as he is about to kiss you…

”Wait. So you felt the same I did? Why did you act all high and mighty when you’re literally worse than me?” You step back and raise an eyebrow at him, arms crossed over your chest.

Cassian blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but instead of guilt or surprise softening his expression, something darker gleams in his eyes — intrigue, even delight. “You’re mad at me, baby?”

“Of course I’m mad!” you snap, practically vibrating with frustration. “You knew I’m bsessed with you, and instead of saying anything, you just sat there, playing with me, making me feel insane.”

Your grip on the dagger tightens in pure frustration. “Do you know how many nights I spent plotting ways to keep you? How much blood I spilled thinking you didn’t care?”

His lips twitch, eyes filled with dark amusement.

“You could’ve just matched my crazy from day one, but nooo, you had to be all stoic and mysterious. Gods, Cassian, that’s infuriating.”

He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re adorable when you’re pissed off, ya know? A cute, hotheaded little thing.”

“Adorable? I should stab you,” you snarl, but he only grins wider.

“Do it,” he whispers, his voice dripping with challenge. “I’d love to see what happens next.”

Your breath catches, heart racing as his words sink in. Cassian wasn’t just tolerating your madness, he wanted it, thrived on it, matched it beat for beat.

The realization sends a dizzy thrill through you, but you pout anyway, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “You’re the worst,” you grumble, turning your head away with a dramatic huff.

He chuckles darkly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I was only interesed in seeing how far you’d go. Didn’t know if you’d run for the hills when I told you I murdered Helion’s advicer for looking at you yesterday.”

Your heart skips a beat, then thunders wildly in your chest. A sharp, wicked grin tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You did that?”

“Snapped his neck right before breakfast. Or did I feed him his own fingers then strangle him with his insides? Can’t say I remember.”

A sick thrill courses through you. Man, he was fucking perfect. It was so fucking wrong but your knees went weak and you started throbbing. He killed someone just for staring at you?

That was actually hot.

—

With no surprise, cassian fucked you for so long, so hard so fucking deep. It was so nasty, a reaaaal mess. one hand of his grabs onto your thigh, another gripping your waist while he’s glancing down at your sloppy cunt, what a masterpiece. Cassian decided he needed to see better so he pulled out as you whimpered pathetically.

his fingers smear his oozing cum all over you, from the slit all the way to your, swollen, throbbing clit.

“look at you makin’ a damn mess.” Your shaky hands gripping his wide shoulders start to slip. His arm tightens around your waist before you fall backwards. “fuckkkk, baby, look at how good your pussy was takin’ me, see how fucking wet she is?” you shudder as his fingers go knuckle deep into your cunt, giving you a few pumps before he pulls it right out, stringy wetness coating them.

he places two thick fingers inside of your mouth, you suck them clean whilst still moving against him, silently pleading for him to fill you out.

“shiiit, not fair. you got these killer hips that’ll dumb down any man.” Cassian finally fills you up again, his fat cock gliding against ypur wall just right. “oh-fuckkkk thaaat’s it, slow baby. slow, fuck me good, yeah?”

Cassian’s breath hitches as you tighten around him, his arm hurling behind the headboard. the desperation of having something to hold on to gives you an ego boost. was your just pussy too damn good?

“c-cas,” you moan, feeling his big fingers stroke their way against your waist to the very undersides of your thighs. you made sure to go slow, slow and steady just like he wanted. cassian’s got a sleazy grin, feeling the wetness of your cunt take him with all its might. “g-gonna cum!”

“i can tell, ah shit— you’re squeezin’ the fuck outta me,” He grunts in response as he feels you writhing, groaning at the gummy texture of your walls mightily gripping around him tight.

But it’s not enough. The rush lingers, addictive and gnawing, and you want more — need more. Something to cling to, something to burn into your memory for the rest of the week. A painfully sweet reminder of just how far you’ll both go for each other.

Your lips curl into a sly smile, voice dropping into a breathy tease. Finally, you’d lock in one last time to see if he was really as crazy as you. “Do you want to know,” You pause, your breath hitching in pleasure, “how it felt to kill t-that wraith?”

Cassian’s entire body tenses, his pupils dilating as a spark of something wild flickers in his eyes. His pulse kicks up, thrumming like a war drum. Fuck yeah, he wanted to know. Every sickening, twisted detail. Morality be damned—this was love.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice low and raw, filled with a dark hunger.

You grin wickedly, savoring his reaction. “It was beautiful,” you whimper, letting the memory flood your senses. “The way her breath hitched when she realized she was going to die? Gods, Cassian, it was intoxicating. She looked so helpless.”

His breath shudders as he pumps harder, his voice gravelly. “What did you feel?”

A dark satisfaction blooms in your chest. “Relief,” you murmur. “Pure relief. Like I’d been waiting forever and I was free.”

Cassian’s eyes burn into yours, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect. Absolutely mine.”

Your heart races as you lean in, lips hovering near his ear. “Next time,” you purr, “I’ll let you watch then fuck me right there.”

That’s it. Those few sadistic words are all the power he needs to finish you both off.

“you’re a nasty fucking girl—ughhhh.”

his speed had the bed creaking louder, and cassian’s grunting in your ear was getting louder as you were feeling fuller than ever. with hot pounds of skin against skin roughly slapping against each other after each second, the two of you felt the same pangs of pleasure and fervent dizziness. “inside, cas—fuck, cum inside me!” before an inevitable flood of heavenly pleasure consumes you both.

your cunt throbs the second he spills an entire whopping load inside of you raw, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. “cas—,” you stammer, and your walls were oh so greedy, adjusting to the way your pussy convulses around him, sharp nails dragging over his back. you both cum together as a surge of electricity pulses through each of your veins.

“fuck… ya better take every drop, s-shit,” he groans before slumping back against the headboard, tugging you closer so your face rests on his neck.

This was absolutely perfect. Cassian was yours now—forever. He could never leave you. And if he tried? You wouldn’t just kill him; you’d burn the entire world down with him. If you couldn’t have him, no one could. He simply wouldn’t exist without you.

That was love.

And Cassian being utterly, unapologetically insane? A gift wrapped in chaos. He understood you better than anyone ever could. Maybe you’d push him, see just how far that darkness in him stretched. Because Cassian didn’t get jealous—he got even. He got murderous.

“I love you, Cassian. So, so much,” you sob into his neck, your body trembling under the weight of the confession.

“I know you do,” he rasps, his voice rough as he grabs a blanket, wrapping it around your shivering form. His strong arms envelop you completely, his touch obsessive, possessive. His hand trails down your hair and back with agonizing tenderness as though memorizing every inch of you.

But something gnaws at you—a flicker of unease. Why wasn’t he saying it back? Did he need more proof that you were his literal wife(even if he didn’t know it yet), his reason for fucking breathing?

As if sensing your doubt, his grip tightens, pulling you even closer until you could hear the rapid, frantic beat of his heart. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and raw, trembling with emotion.

“There are no words for what I feel for you,” he says, voice breaking. “Love is too weak, too pitiful. What I feel for you—gods, it devours me whole. It’s a sickness, an obsession that digs its claws into me and never lets go. You are everything. My breath, my blood, my madness.”

His words crash over you, wild and terrifying and utterly beautiful. And you know—he belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

Always.