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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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Moments of Glory

Oscar Piastri x Brown!Reader

Summary: notoriously calm and collected Oscar meets his match in the outgoing and extroverted daughter of his boss

Note: this is not the maiden win any of us wanted for Oscar but that doesn’t make it any less deserved — McLaren’s ability to jumble strategy should not take away from his amazing drive

The McLaren Technology Centre hums with energy as Oscar steps through the sliding glass doors, his eyes wide with wonder. It’s his first visit since signing with the team, and the gravity of the moment isn’t lost on him. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

As he walks further into the lobby, a burst of laughter catches his attention. Oscar turns to see a group of people gathered near the reception desk, centered around a vivacious young woman with a contagious smile. Your presence seems to light up the entire room.

“And then I told him, ‘Dad, if you don’t make some cuter merch, I’m going to have to support a different team!’” You exclaim, causing another round of laughter from the group.

Oscar finds himself drawn towards the commotion, his feet moving of their own accord. As he approaches, you notice him and your eyes lock. For a moment, the world seems to stand still.

“Well, hello there, stranger!” You call out, breaking the spell. “You must be our new golden boy. I’m Y/N Brown, resident troublemaker and daughter of the big boss.”

Oscar feels his cheeks flush as he stammers, “H-Hi, I’m Oscar. Oscar Piastri.”

You grin, stepping closer. “I know who you are, silly. I’ve been watching your career for years. Welcome to the family!”

Before Oscar can respond, you’ve wrapped him in a warm hug. He stiffens for a moment, unused to such casual physical contact, but then relaxes into the embrace.

As you pull away, you wink at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

Oscar’s eyes widen, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “I, uh ... I don’t ...”

You laugh, patting his shoulder. “Relax, I’m just teasing. Come on, let me show you around. I bet I know this place better than any of the official tour guides.”

As you lead Oscar through the facility, he finds himself captivated by your energy and enthusiasm. You point out various areas of interest, peppering your tour with amusing anecdotes and insider information.

“And this,” you say, gesturing dramatically to a seemingly ordinary hallway, “is where Lando once tried to skateboard down the stairs. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well.”

Oscar chuckles, finding himself more at ease. “I can’t imagine that went over well with management.”

You lean in conspiratorially. “Oh, Dad was furious. But between you and me, I think he was more upset that Lando didn’t invite him to join in.”

As you continue the tour, Oscar finds himself opening up more. “So, how long have you been involved with McLaren?” He asks.

You grin, twirling around to face him as you walk backward. “Oh, pretty much since Dad got hired to run it back in 2016. But I’ve been working here officially for about two years now, in PR and social media.”

Oscar nods, impressed. “That must be exciting, being so close to the action.”

“It has its moments,” you agree. “But enough about me. Tell me, Oscar Piastri, what makes you tick? What drives you to risk life and limb hurtling around tracks at breakneck speeds?”

Oscar pauses, considering his words carefully. “I guess ... it’s the thrill of pushing myself to the limit. The constant challenge of improving, of finding that extra tenth of a second. And the teamwork aspect, knowing that every person plays a crucial role in our success.”

You smile softly, a hint of admiration in your eyes. “That’s beautiful, Oscar. I can see why Dad was so keen on signing you.”

As you reach the simulator room, Oscar’s eyes light up with excitement. You can’t help but chuckle at his reaction.

“Want to give it a go?” You ask, gesturing towards the state-of-the-art equipment.

Oscar nods eagerly. “Can I? I mean, I don’t want to overstep ...”

You wave off his concerns. “Please, you’re part of the team now. Besides, I want to see what you can do.”

As Oscar settles into the simulator, you lean against the doorframe, watching him with interest. He takes a deep breath, centering himself before starting the virtual lap.

You observe silently, impressed by his focus and skill. As he completes the lap, you let out a low whistle. “Not bad, Piastri. Not bad at all.”

Oscar grins, a hint of pride in his expression. “Thanks. It feels good to get a feel for the car, even if it’s just a simulation.”

You step closer, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “Want to make it interesting? I bet I can beat your time.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a hint of competitiveness creeping into his voice. “Oh really? You’re on.”

For the next hour, you and Oscar take turns in the simulator, trading friendly jabs and encouragement. To Oscar’s surprise, you prove to be a formidable opponent, matching him lap for lap.

As you finish your final run, you jump up with a whoop of victory. “Ha! Beat you by two-tenths!”

Oscar shakes his head, laughing. “I can’t believe it. Where did you learn to drive like that?”

You shrug, a hint of vulnerability showing through your confident exterior. “Growing up around racing, I guess. But I never had the nerve to pursue it professionally. Too much pressure.”

Oscar nods understandingly. “I can’t blame you. It’s not an easy path.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the hum of the equipment. Oscar finds himself studying your face, noticing the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and how animated you become when talking about something you love.

You catch him staring and smirk. “See something you like, Piastri?”

Oscar blushes furiously, stammering, “I, uh ... I was just ... you’re really ...”

You laugh, but there’s a softness to it. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “Listen, Y/N ... I know we just met, but I was wondering if maybe ... I mean, if you’re not busy ... would you like to ...”

Before he can finish, an alarm on your phone goes off. You check it and grimace. “Shoot, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. Rain check on whatever you were about to say?”

Oscar nods, trying to hide his disappointment. “Yeah, of course. No problem.”

You start to leave but pause at the doorway. Turning back, you say, “Hey, Oscar? For what it’s worth, I hope you were about to ask me out. Because I’d say yes.”

With a wink and a wave, you’re gone, leaving Oscar standing in the simulator room, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling in his stomach. He takes a deep breath, a smile spreading across his face as he realizes that his journey with McLaren might be even more exciting than he initially thought.

***

The hot Qatar air shimmers around Oscar as he stands before the camera, sweat glistening on his brow. His race suit clings to his body, still damp from the grueling sprint race he’s just won. The interviewer leans in with her microphone.

“Oscar, what an incredible performance today! How does it feel to secure your first sprint victory in Formula 1?”

Oscar’s eyes shine with a mix of exhaustion and elation. “It’s ... it’s honestly surreal,” he says, his voice slightly breathless. “The team did an amazing job with the car, and everything just clicked out there. I can’t quite believe it yet.”

The interviewer nods encouragingly. “You showed remarkable pace throughout the race. Was there any point where you felt particularly challenged?”

Oscar opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say a word, a blur of motion catches his peripheral vision. Suddenly, you crash into him at full speed, nearly knocking both of you off balance.

“You did it! You actually did it!” You squeal, throwing your arms around Oscar’s neck and peppering his sweaty face with kisses.

Oscar’s eyes widen in shock, his cheeks flushing a deep red that has nothing to do with the desert heat. “Y/N! What are you-”

But you’re not listening. You’re too busy showering him with affection, right there in front of the rolling cameras and the stunned interviewer. “I’m so proud of you, you beautiful, talented man!” You exclaim between kisses.

The interviewer clears her throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “I ... um, it seems we have an unexpected guest. Miss, could you perhaps-”

You turn to face the camera, your arm still draped around Oscar’s shoulders. “Oh, don’t mind me! I’m just here to celebrate with the star of the show.” You plant another kiss on Oscar’s cheek for emphasis.

Oscar, for his part, looks like he’s torn between embarrassment and delight. He awkwardly pats your back, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “I’m sorry about this,” he says to the interviewer. “This is Y/N, she’s ... well, she’s ...”

“I’m his girlfriend,” you announce proudly, beaming at the camera. “And the daughter of the CEO, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that this guy” — you ruffle Oscar’s hair — “just drove the race of his life!”

The interviewer, recovering from her initial shock, decides to roll with the unexpected turn of events. “Well, Y/N, since you’re here, what did you think of Oscar’s performance today?”

You launch into an enthusiastic analysis, gesticulating wildly. “It was absolutely brilliant! The way he managed those tires in the closing laps, fending off Verstappen ... I was on the edge of my seat the whole time!”

Oscar watches you with a mixture of amusement and affection. When you pause for breath, he gently interjects, “I think you might be a bit biased, love.”

You turn to him, eyes sparkling. “Biased? Me? Never! I’ll have you know I’m a highly objective observer of the sport.”

The interviewer, sensing an opportunity for a more personal angle, asks, “Oscar, how does it feel to have such passionate support from your girlfriend?”

Oscar’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s ... it’s incredible, honestly. Y/N’s been my biggest cheerleader since day one. Even on the tough days, she always believes in me.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, momentarily subdued by the sincerity in his voice. “That’s because I know how amazing you are, even when you don’t see it yourself.”

The interviewer smiles, clearly charmed by the display. “It’s wonderful to see such support. Y/N, did you have any doubts during the race?”

You straighten up, your energy returning full force. “Doubts? About Oscar? Never! Although,” you add with a mischievous grin, “I did consider commandeering a golf cart and driving onto the track myself when Verstappen started closing that gap in the final laps.”

Oscar chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m glad you restrained yourself. I don’t think that would’ve gone over well with the stewards.”

“Oh please,” you scoff playfully. “I would’ve told them I was delivering a vital message about tire strategy. They would’ve believed me.”

The interviewer laughs along with you. “I have to say, this is one of the most entertaining post-race interviews I’ve ever conducted. Oscar, how do you keep up with such a vibrant personality?”

Oscar grins, his earlier embarrassment fading. “Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that out. Y/N keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You beam at him, then stage-whisper to the interviewer, “He loves it, really. I add much-needed excitement to his life.”

“As if driving a Formula 1 car at over 300 kilometers per hour isn’t exciting enough,” Oscar retorts good-naturedly.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Details, details. Now, are we done here? Because I have plans for celebrating this victory, and they involve a lot less talking and a lot more-”

Oscar quickly cuts you off, his cheeks reddening again. “And on that note, I think we should wrap this up. Thank you for the interview,” he says to the journalist, who’s trying hard to stifle her laughter.

As Oscar begins to lead you away, the interviewer calls out one last question. “Oscar, any final words for your fans watching at home?”

Oscar pauses, considering for a moment. “Just ... thank you for all the support. It means the world to me. And to the team, of course. We couldn’t do this without you all.”

You can’t resist adding your own message. “And remember, kids: if you work hard and believe in yourself, one day you too could have an incredibly attractive partner tackling you with kisses on live television!”

With that, you pull Oscar away from the cameras, both of you laughing as you disappear into the paddock.

Once you’re out of sight of the media, Oscar turns to you, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I can’t believe you did that,” he says, shaking his head.

You grin unrepentantly. “Oh come on, it was fun! And admit it, you loved it.”

Oscar tries to maintain a stern face, but his lips twitch upwards. “It was certainly ... unexpected.”

“Unexpected is my middle name,” you declare proudly.

“I thought your middle name was Trouble,” Oscar quips.

You gasp in mock offense. “Oscar Piastri, are you sassing me? I’ll have you know that Trouble is my first name. Y/N is just a cover.”

Oscar laughs, pulling you close despite the sweat still clinging to his race suit. “Well, Trouble, what do you say we get out of here and start that celebration you were talking about?”

Your eyes light up. “Now you’re talking! But first ...” You lean in, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I believe I was interrupted earlier when I was showering the race winner with well-deserved affection.”

Oscar’s breath catches as you close the distance between you, your lips meeting in a kiss that’s far more heated than the ones shared on camera. When you finally pull apart, you’re both a little breathless.

“Wow,” Oscar murmurs. “If that’s how you react to a sprint win, I can’t wait to see what happens when I win a Grand Prix.”

You wink at him. “Keep driving like that, and you’ll find out soon enough. Now come on, hero. Let’s go find somewhere more private before my dad shows up and ruins all our fun.”

As if on cue, Zak’s voice echoes down the paddock. “Oscar! There you are! Hell of a drive out there, kid!”

You groan dramatically. “Speak of the devil. Quick, hide me in your helmet!”

Oscar chuckles, keeping an arm around your waist as Zak approaches. “I don’t think you’d fit, babe. Besides, I’m pretty sure he already knows you’re here. The whole world probably knows after that interview.”

You shrug, unabashed. “What can I say? When I’m proud of my man, I want everyone to know it.”

Zak reaches you, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. “That was some fantastic racing out there, Oscar. You should be proud.”

Oscar nods, a shy smile on his face. “Thank you. The car felt great, and the team’s strategy was spot on.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Always so modest. Dad, tell him how amazing he was!”

Zak laughs. “I think you’ve done enough of that for all of us, sweetheart. I saw that interview, by the way. Quite a show you two put on.”

You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was merely congratulating our star driver on his well-deserved victory.”

“Uh-huh,” Zak says, clearly not buying it. “Well, try to keep the congratulations a bit more PG in the future, alright? We do have sponsors to think about.”

Oscar looks mortified, but you just grin. “No promises. But I’ll try to restrain myself to just one tackle per race weekend.”

Zak shakes his head, a mixture of exasperation and fondness on his face. “What am I going to do with you two? Oscar, I hope you know what you’ve signed up for with this one.”

Oscar glances at you, his expression softening. “I think I have a pretty good idea. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You feel your heart swell at his words. “Aww, babe. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. Well, second sweetest. The sweetest was when you told me my driving in the simulator was ‘not bad.’”

Oscar groans. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope!” you say cheerfully. “I plan to remind you of it at least once a week for the rest of our lives.”

Zak watches your banter with amusement. “Alright, you two. Oscar, the team wants to debrief before you head out. Y/N, try not to cause any international incidents while I’m gone, okay?”

You salute dramatically. “Yes, sir, Team Principal, sir! I shall endeavor to be on my very best behavior.”

As Zak walks away, shaking his head and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “God help us all,” you turn back to Oscar.

“So, hotshot,” you say, running a finger down his chest. “How long do you think this debrief will take? Because I have some very important plans that involve you, me, and a bottle of champagne I may or may not have ‘borrowed’ from the hospitality area.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Borrowed, huh? You know, as a representative of the team, I should probably discourage such behavior.”

You lean in close, your lips barely brushing his ear. “And as my boyfriend, what do you think?”

Oscar’s arms tighten around you. “I think,” he murmurs, “that I’m the luckiest guy in the world. And that I’ll try to make this the quickest debrief in F1 history.”

You pull back with a triumphant grin. “That’s what I like to hear. Now go, be brilliant, and hurry back to me. I’ll be waiting.”

As Oscar jogs off towards the team garage, you watch him go with a soft smile. Your eyes linger on the PIASTRI emblazoned across his back, and you feel a surge of pride and affection.

“That’s my guy,” you murmur to yourself. “My brilliant, amazing, race-winning guy.”

And as you head off to prepare for your celebration, you can’t help but think that while Oscar might have won the sprint race today, you’re the one who truly hit the jackpot.

***

The Hungaroring erupts in cheers as Oscar crosses the finish line, securing his maiden Grand Prix victory. The McLaren garage explodes with jubilation, team members hugging each other and pumping their fists in the air.

As Oscar completes his cool-down lap, his voice crackles over the team radio, breathless with excitement. “We did it! We actually did it! Thank you, thank you to everyone. I can’t believe it!”

His race engineer responds, emotion evident in his voice. “Fantastic job, Oscar. You drove brilliantly. Enjoy this moment, mate. You’ve earned it.”

Meanwhile, in the paddock, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. You’ve been pacing back and forth, unable to contain your energy as you watched the final laps unfold on the screens. As soon as Oscar crosses the line, you sprint towards parc fermé, determined to be there when he gets out of the car.

You weave through the crowd, your McLaren bomber jacket with Oscar’s number emblazoned across the back drawing curious glances. As you reach the barriers, you see Oscar’s car pull up, the Australian already unclipping his helmet.

“Oscar!” You shout, waving frantically. “Over here!”

Oscar’s eyes scan the crowd, lighting up when he spots you. He clambers out of the car, his legs a bit shaky from the adrenaline and physical exertion. As he makes his way towards you, his gaze locks onto the jacket you’re wearing, and his steps falter.

You notice his reaction and grin mischievously, doing a little twirl to show off the jacket. “Like what you see, champ?”

Oscar’s eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape. “That’s ... wow. Is that my number?”

You nod, beaming. “Sure is. Thought I’d support my favorite driver in style. Although,” you add with a wink, “I have to say, it will look much better on the ground next to your bed.”

Oscar’s face flushes red, and he glances around nervously. “Y/N! We’re in public!”

You laugh, reaching out to ruffle his sweat-damp hair. “Oh, relax. Everyone’s too busy celebrating your win to pay attention to us. Speaking of which ...” You grab the front of his race suit and pull him close, planting a passionate kiss on his lips.

When you finally break apart, Oscar looks dazed but happy. “I could get used to that kind of celebration,” he murmurs.

“Well, keep winning races like that, and you’ll have plenty more where that came from,” you tease. “Now go, do your podium thing. I’ll be waiting to continue this ... discussion ... later.”

As Oscar heads off for the podium ceremony, you turn to make your way back to the paddock. That’s when you spot Lando chatting with some engineers. Your eyes narrow as you remember how a McLaren strategy mistake had allowed Lando to undercut Oscar, nearly costing him the win. Even though it wasn’t really Lando’s fault, you can’t help feeling annoyed at him.

You’re about to march over and give Lando a piece of your mind when you spot something that makes you pause — Fernando Alonso’s unattended scooter, parked just a few feet away. A mischievous grin spreads across your face as an idea forms.

Glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, you casually stroll over to the scooter and hop on. You rev the engine, drawing Lando’s attention.

“Hey, Y/N!” Lando calls out, waving. “Congrats on Oscar’s win! Some race, huh?”

You smile sweetly, maneuvering the scooter towards him. “Oh, it sure was, Lando. Especially that bit where you refused to give the lead back to Oscar until the last minute. That was ... interesting.”

Lando’s smile falters slightly. “Come on. You know it wasn’t my fault. The team made the strategy call.”

“Oh, I know,” you say, inching the scooter closer. “I just thought I’d give you a little reminder about team spirit and timeliness.”

Before Lando can react, you accelerate the scooter, aiming straight for his foot. There’s a yelp of pain as the wheel rolls over Lando’s toes, followed by a string of colorful expletives.

“Oops!” You exclaim with faux innocence. “So sorry, Lando. These things are just so hard to control, you know?”

Lando hops on one foot, glaring at you. “What the hell? That bloody hurt!”

You shrug, still perched on the scooter. “Funny, that’s probably how Oscar felt when you wouldn’t let him by. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

As Lando opens his mouth to retort, a stern voice cuts through the air. “Y/N Brown! What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

You wince, recognizing your father’s voice. Zak strides towards you, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

“Hi, Dad,” you say sheepishly. “I was just ... congratulating Lando on his race?”

Zak pinches the bridge of his nose. “By running over his foot with Alonso’s scooter? Jesus, Y/N. I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

You hop off the scooter, trying your best to look contrite. “In my defense, it was a very gentle running over. Barely a love tap, really.”

Lando snorts, still rubbing his foot. “Love tap my arse. I think you broke my toe!”

Zak sighs heavily. “Lando, go get that checked out by the medics. Y/N, you’re coming with me. We need to have a serious talk about appropriate behavior in the paddock.”

As your father leads you away, you can’t help but call back over your shoulder, “Hey Lando! Next time, maybe think about giving the position back sooner, yeah?”

Zak groans. “Y/N, please. You know Lando was put in a tough spot. You’re not helping your case here.”

You follow your father to a quiet corner of the McLaren garage, trying to suppress your grin. Despite the impending lecture, you can’t bring yourself to regret your actions. Nobody messes with your Oscar and gets away with it.

Zak turns to face you, his expression serious. “Y/N, I know you’re excited about Oscar’s win, and believe me, I am too. But you can’t go around assaulting our drivers, even if it’s just with a scooter.”

You nod, attempting to look suitably chastised. “I know. I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

Zak raises an eyebrow. “Why do I have a hard time believing that?”

Before you can respond, there’s a commotion at the garage entrance. Oscar bursts in, his face flushed with excitement.

“Y/N!” He calls out, spotting you. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

You turn to him, your face lighting up. “Oscar! Congrats, babe! I know I already said it, but you were amazing out there!”

Oscar sweeps you up in a hug, spinning you around. As he sets you down, his eyes once again lock onto your jacket. “God, you look incredible in that,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You smirk, running a hand down his chest. “Oh yeah? Maybe I should wear it more often then.”

Zak clears his throat loudly, reminding you both of his presence. “While I’m thrilled about the win, could you two maybe tone down the PDA a notch? We are still in a professional environment.”

Oscar steps back, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I got a bit carried away.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, come on, Dad. Let the man celebrate! It’s his first win, after all.”

Zak sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Fine, fine. But try to keep it family-friendly, alright? And Y/N, we’re not done talking about the scooter incident.”

Oscar looks between you and your father, confusion evident on his face. “Scooter incident?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little misunderstanding with Lando. Nothing to worry about.”

Oscar’s brow furrows. “What kind of misunderstanding involves a scooter?”

Before you can answer, Lando limps into the garage, his foot wrapped in a bandage. “The kind where your girlfriend tries to maim me, apparently,” he grumbles.

Oscar’s eyes widen. “Y/N, you didn’t ...”

You shrug, trying to look innocent. “It was an accident! Besides, he had it coming after that stunt he pulled during the race.”

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, looking exasperated but also slightly amused. “Y/N, you can’t just go around running people over because you’re unhappy with their racing.”

“Watch me,” you mutter under your breath.

Zak throws his hands up in defeat. “I give up. Oscar, congratulations again on the win. Y/N, try not to cause any more chaos for at least the next hour, okay? I need to go do damage control with the press.”

As your father walks away, Oscar turns to you, his expression a mix of fondness and exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?”

You grin, stepping closer to him. “I have a few ideas. Most of them involve you, me, and licking champagne off each other’s skin.”

Oscar’s breath hitches, his eyes darkening. “Y/N,” he warns, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “What do you say we get out of here, champ? I think it’s time for your real celebration.”

Oscar doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs your hand, leading you towards the exit. As you pass Lando, you call out, “No hard feelings, right, Lando? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before playing dirty on track.”

Lando rolls his eyes but can’t help cracking a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just keep her on a leash, will you, Oscar?”

Oscar chuckles. “I don’t think anyone could keep Y/N on a leash if they tried.”

As you leave the garage, the sounds of celebration still echoing through the paddock, you can’t help but feel on top of the world. Oscar’s first win, your successful (if slightly unorthodox) defense of his honor, and the promise of a private celebration to come — it’s been a perfect day.

You squeeze Oscar’s hand, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So, hero, ready to show me just how much you like this jacket?”

Oscar grins, pulling you closer. “More than ready. But maybe we should wait until we’re somewhere more private. I don’t fancy giving the entire paddock a show.”

You laugh, the sound bright and carefree. “Spoilsport. But fine, I suppose I can be patient. For now.”

As you walk hand in hand towards the team motorhome, you can’t help but think that while Oscar may have won the race today, you’re both winners in the game of love. And that’s the best victory of all.

1K notes · View notes

felassan · 22 days ago

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Sylvia Feketekuty: "To celebrate DA day, I've made a bluesky account that I'll keep active for a few days to talk about my work on Inqusition or Veilguard! After a few days I'll lock the account, because I'm not a social media person. Happy to talk until then though. I want to say straight off: the reception to Emmrich, Manfred, the Mourn Watch, and the Grand Necropolis has been heartwarming for all of us who worked on those people and places. Thank you all very much!" [source, two]

Rest of post under cut due to length and spoilers. [Post Two, Post Three]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "In the meantime, I do want to talk about a couple of things I saw floating around regarding Emmrich: 1. Emmrich being 52 or 50. I think people got 50 from data mining a character file, but we can't do a ranges in those files. As in, I couldn't input 50-60, it had to be a whole number. I put down 50 as an early ballpark, then went more accurate in later audition scripts. 2. Fifty-two is a old number I threw into an early document before his art or character was totally final. (And which caused another developer a headache because they thought it was accurate, I never updated it. Sorry about that.) 3. "Wait, how old is Emmrich then?" Once I saw his final character art, I felt more mid to late 50s. MAYBE early 60s. But unless we specifically state a character's age in the game, it's all malleable. I honestly would just adjust it to your impressions unless stated otherwise. 4. I've also seen comments on how weird it is for Emmrich to act like there's an age-gap in the romance if your Rook is around his age. And you're right. 5. The reason is because Rook WAS younger when those scenes were written and worked on. I felt it'd be odd if I never addressed the May-December aspect, especially as it hooks into some of Emmrich's worries. 6. By the time that shifted, it was really too late to change without catastrophic repercussions to the excellent cinematics and music and other things that depend on line delivery and timing. 7. To be clear: you can feel how you want about the age gap coming up at all! But that's how the discrepancy came about. 8. "Is there a way to reconcile Emmrich acting like my Rook is way younger than him if they're not?" Great question! I have several suggestions: -Accept it's an error. (True, but unexciting) -Emmrich considers a gap of 3-5 years scandalous. (Funny, albeit a bit cartoonish.) -The Mourn Watch has perfected swapping out organs, and Emmrich is nervously hiding that he's way older than he looks out of vanity. (Untrue, but funny.)" [source thread]

User in reply to point 6. above: "I'm personally glad it was too late to change because their argument about it is genuinely my favorite scene in the entire game! 😭💕 It's such an important moment to me" / Sylvia: "Thanks! That one was one where I was all sweatily trying to balance things out, with tone, with pacing, etc. Really glad it came together for you. (Cine and the actors did heroic things there to get it feeling just so!)" [source]

More snippets:

Emmrich's favorite ice cream flavor? Rum raisin [source]

Lots of people on the dev team shared the vision of having a bunch of gothic weirdness in that pocket of Thedas [source] (Necropolis/Nevarra)

Sylvia "especially liked writing the Mourn Watch origin, it was fun to write a fellow nerd for Emmrich to chat with" [source]

Sylvia poured some personal worries and fears into writing Emmrich [source]

On Vorgoth and their nature: "I'm a little leery of saying anything, partly because I'm cowardly avoiding publicly defining anything more until/if I ever need to. And partly because I did want them to be a fresh unknown. Sorry!" [source] "I'm glad you like Vorgoth, but I'm afraid I don't have much for you that isn't in the game. I deliberately wrote them so as to leave room, if we ever revisited them, or for Vorgoth to remain mysterious, if we did not. I'm sorry if that's not a very satisfying answer!" [source] "I will say, it was fun to throw in a few lines about Vorgoth's art collection. Their passion for it is sincere and deep. (I wanted all the Watchers to have a little non-death related hobby or interest, because they can be so singularly focused.)" [source]

Dwarven Mourn Watcher is a rare origin combo for Rook so Sylvia wanted to call it out [source]

On the outcomes of Emmrich's quest: "I tried really hard to make the options equally viable, and more up to the player's interpretation or preferences of what it would mean for Emmrich in their view. It's been interesting seeing reactions to it, which hinge sometimes on various single lines pushing people one way or another!" [source]

"The Grand Necropolis is always eager and ready for a new member of the Mourn Watch to grace its ranks." [source]

User: "I loved Emmrich's view on death and what his personal quest ultimately went on to say about the nature of death itself, and how the beauty of mortality lies in its impermanence and unpredictability." / Sylvia: "I really wanted to dig into those themes, and everyone in cine and art and level design and editing and the whole team honed in exactly on the vibe. The floral stuff especially, I was so thrilled when I played through the Memorial Gardens' with the art and lighting in." [source]

User: "I experience thanatophobia and that first conversation w/ Emmrich was so affirming and helped me describe my own anxiety to others" / Sylvia: "Thanks, the thanatophobia was, as you may've guessed, a personal experience for me too. I'm glad it was something that helped a little." [source] "I suspect that phobia is way more common than people think, and part of the reason Emmrich talks about it was to express that sentiment out loud. I find it helps sometimes just to acknowledge it." [source]

What languages does Emmrich speak other than Trade? "I think he'd be familiar with Tevene, since there's surely many, many old texts about magic written in that language. Kind of like a doctor that knows latin through their work. I also named that MW alphabet "tomb-script", though I'm not sure if it has a spoken component or not since it never came up in-game. If it does, he'd be able to speak that for sure." [source, two]

User: "Playing as a Mourn Watch Rook has been an absolute delight!!!" / Sylvia: "Thank you so much, I really liked writing those branches of the dialogue. Since Emmrich's so focused on necromancy, it was fun having a Rook who could be both casual and knowledgeable about it." [source]

User: "In your opinion, what outcome do you prefer for a romanced Emmrich (lich/non lich)?" / Sylvia: "Interesting question! To be honest, I'm afraid to answer it properly in case anyone takes my answer to be a canonical one. I really wanted either path to feel equally interesting/correct for whatever you decide fits your Rook's relationship with Emmrich. (We're also in the strange waters of meta-reasoning. I GAVE Emmrich his fear of death-Sorry Emmrich!-which makes me feel a little culpable for that, even though he's entirely fictional. And that might prey on my mind when trying to decide. A very odd experience!)" [source, two]

What music genres would Emmrich be into? "Classical music is very much playing to type for Emmrich, but I feel it's also correct. He'd enjoy a nice concerto or an organ recital. Or, if he's feeling daring, a bold new Orlesian opera! But I don't think his tastes are too outré in that area. That said, I saw someone post something like "Leave Emmrich alone, let him attend the Depeche Mode concert" while listening to Depeche Mode's "Violator", for the first time, which made me laugh. (Great album. If he could get over the shock of synths, Emmrich might enjoy "Waiting for the Night".)" [source, two]

When writing Emmrich the devs wanted to try and hit the gothic romance vibe [source]

Does Emmrich mix his own fragrance/cologne? Does he ever vary it by the season? "I think Emmrich goes to some of the many perfumers that have set up shop in Nevarra City around the Necropolis, just because he trusts their judgement and expertise. I hadn't considered him varying it by season, but that's very fun! I certainly think he has more than one bottle of scent." [source]

User: "How does Lich Emmrich have sex?" / Sylvia: "I don't mind the question! But my answer's a bit boring: I generally stay at arm's length on the more explicit romance stuff, just because if it's not stated or shown in-game, I don't want to bring in a canonical answer that might affect what people imagined. My general preference for romantic scenes that get physical is to leave blank space somewhere, so players can imagine what happens next. It's not the ONLY way to do it, I think there's legitimate artistic reasons to go more explicit. But that's how I approached Emmrich (and before him Josephine.)" [source, two]

User: "The scene with the fade glow where he touches your hand haunts me in the best way" / Sylvia: "Aw thank you. Our animators and audio people made that scene way better than I could've hoped! They took such care with everything there. I want to say that little eye-peep from Rook was added in by one of them, which was the perfect touch." [source]

User on Emmrich: "i’m curious whether you think he’d prefer dogs or cats (or both, or neither)" / Sylvia: "I think he'd consider cats and dogs a little too noisy and messy for his tastes. Not like a nice, quiet plant or skeleton! (Weirdly, I actually had a scrap of banter going over this exact subject at one point. It got tightened down to the exchange with Harding about the pig he used to hug when he was a kid.)" [source, two]

Sylvia was trying to tease Nevarra with the Tevinter Nights story Down Among the Dead Men [source]. "It was really fun to tease the Necropolis, so to speak, in TN, and I'm grateful we got to actually let players through its gates at last." [source]

User: "if Rook chooses to save Manfred and keep Emmrich mortal, what would Emmrich wish to become of his body once he did pass on?" / Sylvia: "Good question. I think he'd want to remain active and useful in death. A guide for other Mourn Watchers, or posted as a mystic guide somewhere dangerous, or perhaps an oracle in the library." [source]

User: "when and how was it decided that Emmrich would be romanceable? I remember reading that he would not be a romance option." / Sylvia: "I'm not sure where that came from, because I pitched him and then shortly after that we decided the entire cast was romanceable. That was fairly early on in the development of Veilguard, as I recall it. (Could've been a crossed wire?)" [source]

Trick Weekes: "Sylvia wrote the fantastic Emmrich "the Vol-carnage" Volkarin and everything that happens in Nevarra while dealing with a lead writer whose attitudes about corpses and undead are... not dissimilar from Taash's." [source] / Sylvia: "I still remember when you gave the very accurate feedback "I think we need to give players whose Rooks aren't into corpses some roleplaying choices to express this" and I was all "Ohhh yeaaaaaah." (Thank u Trick, you were right)" [source] / Trick: "Specifically, being able to express this without locking themselves out of the content! (For non-Sylvia folks) Given my issues with corpses, Emmrich as a whole was SUPER Not For Me, so I gave one caveat and then said, "For the rest of my critique, I will be impersonating his target audience." [source]

Sylvia on the secret origins of Manfred: "After I pitched Emmrich, I started jotting down notes and thoughts on his plots, his quirks, all that kind of stuff. It was very early on Veilguard, anything was still possible. We were chatting in the writer's room about it one day, and I think we'd just seen some early concept art for Emmrich. And our lead writer Trick Weekes joked that Emmrich looked like a man who'd have a skeleton named Manfred. And I laughed and went "Yeah he does!" And then I thought about it. It's wild in retrospect, but that one comment spurred a train of thought that led to the core of Emmrich's arc. He may've ended up a very different character without it! tl;dr: I stole it from Trick." [source, two, three, four]

"I got to play with a pretty free palette when defining the way Emmrich and the necromancers view death and spirits. But I tried to keep it within the confines of existing lore. That's one reason why that scene where Emmrich talks about Manfred to Harding goes into "the eternal question" of whether a soul actually returns with the dead or not. Nevarra has distinct beliefs, but I thought it'd be interesting if its people argue over their interpretations of those beliefs." [source, two]

"the other writers also suggested a bit later on that the big choice dig more into Emmrich's philosophies. Initially, it was more personally focused on his fears, which made it 'relatable' but pettier. Without that correction, I think it would've been weaker, I totally needed the team push." [source]

"I have a few guides to graveyard symbology, and it's so packed with references and meaning." [source]

User: "Did any of your own fears & experiences, make it into the writing of Emmrich? If yes, is it information you’re comfortable sharing with us? If it’s too personal to give any details, that’s fine as well. Also, across the other games, who do you think Emmrich will get along with best?" / Sylvia: "some of his fears are absolutely personal. The reflexive-compulsive panic over death is something I'm very familiar with, and I wanted to explore that through him. Because I suspected it was not uncommon, and worth examining. The question of who he'd get along with from the other games is surprisingly tough! Because without asking the other writers about their characters, I wouldn't know for sure. So I can only really speak to Josephine with surety. That said: -I think Josephine would be polite, and grow to like him, but would never entirely be over the ostentatious necromancy. -I think Emmrich meeting Sera would be the funniest match." [source, two, three]

"Peter Cushing was also one of my go-tos as an example of what I wanted Emmrich to be." [source]

"(Huge shout out to all the animators and level designers making Manfred run, quite literally. Like 95% of his personality lives in his movement, I think they nailed it.)" [source]

On Emmrich: "I tried to put a lot of passion and sincerity in his love for the dead, and I admit the Necropolis was THE big place I wanted to see in Thedas myself ever since reading about it in a codex." [source]

User: "Thank you for letting him have that cemetery dream date!" / Sylvia: "Having the date in the cemetery was one of the first things I wanted when thinking about the romance." [source]

"Josephine was the first time I was entrusted with a new character and a new romance at once, and that'll always be special to me." [source]

User: "How much input did you have in Emmrich's appearance in the podcast?" / Sylvia: "In the podcast, none myself. I believe it was handled by a third party but reviewed by a few people at BW, I don't know too much past that. (We did provide a descriptor and character rules. Stuff like "Emmrich never swears" and "always says amongst" and broader, more thematically useful things.)" [source]

User on Emmrich: "Are you planning any other external-media stories for him?" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much, The Flame Eternal has a special place in my heart for being the first time Emmrich got to be center stage in a story. (And very flattering to hear about the cross stitch. That's so cool!) I can't speak to any external-media plans, I'm afraid. That's not an implied hint about anything existing or not, it's just literally outside what I'm allowed to chat about. It'd be fun to do something like that again though!" [source, two]

"I must give full credit to Nick Borraine, Emmrich's voice actor. He got the compassion and tenderness the character needed right away." [source]

"And glad him being closer to your age resonated, I really wanted someone older out on an adventure. No reason that has to stop at any age IMO." [source]

User: "do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" / Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "as someone who shares emmrich's anxiety about mortality, getting to spend time with him, and in the grand necropolis and with the mourn watch, was genuinely soothing" / Sylvia: "Thank you, I'm glad he was a comfort. It's a familiar fear for me too, and I'd hoped he would connect that way with people very much." [source]

On the giant ribcage 'ceiling' in the Necropolis: "sadly, even I don't know all the mysteries of the Necropolis. (Which is to say it's a very cool bit of art but has no stated origin yet. Could be a large dragon, a giant...or something weirder!)" [source]

On TN story Luck in the Gardens: "It was nice change up, writing in first person and with someone so rascally. I've got an enduring affection for the Lords after writing Hollix, the scamp." [source]

User: "I just love his genuine enthusiasm for everything he does. If the other party members had fan clubs Emmrich would be the president of each and I love that for him" / Sylvia: "Thank you! I really wanted him to embody a kind of expansiveness and generosity of spirit, to stand in contrast to the eeriness of his abilities." [source]

User: "What was your inspiration for Josie?" / Sylvia: "My girl! When I came on to Inquisition, there'd already been work done on setting up the spine of the main plot, and figuring out the overall cast. But one of the advisors was a little murkier. It just said "Diplomat" on the white board. We knew we wanted someone in that position, but not who. So in a game where you were out exploring, killing demons, etc., but also had a big organization to run? I immediately wanted to make a Diplomat firmly there for you. Somebody you could hand the keys to the entire Inquisition to while you were out, and know it'd be in good hands. I also thought it'd be fun to have someone from Antiva, since that area wasn't covered yet by anyone in the cast. And I needed her to be polished, smooth, but heartfelt, because of that aforementioned trust. And that was the core of Josephine! Her voice actor, Allegra, brought her to life with such lovely charm, and hearing those early sessions also helped me further hone her tone." [source, two, three, four]

"Our music supervisor Ron Dazo hit it out of the park with Emmrich's music IMO. And so glad you liked Hezenkoss! Just very fun to write as a character." [source]

User: "Did any specific watcher raise MW Rook?" / Sylvia: "Good question! I kind of left that one alone because I wasn't sure if I wanted to let Rook define that themselves, or leave it open, and also I'd have wanted a full conversation on it. In the end that was a little out of scope so I left it unsaid. Which is to say that it COULD be Vorgoth who helped raise your Rook. And that stands until/unless we give a definitive answer (or let you choose from a range of answers) one day." [source, two]

"It was such a pleasure for all of us to finally get to explore the Necropolis, I am very glad we got to throw open the gates." [source]

User: "I was wondering if there were any Mourn Watch details you wished you had more time to explore? I was so struck by some of the ethical implications in your stories" / Sylvia: "Geeze, now that's a question. I mention it with Emmrich, but there's some resentment over the power the Watchers hold as THE mortalitasi of the Grand Necropolis, between them and the other orders. There's something to that situation I liked. There's also questions of how they select people for the order. What their standards are, how closely they work with benign spirits. And how they cultivate those relationships. How deep does that go? I also mentioned in a codex "the lives and bodies of those who tamper with the undead of the Necropolis are forfeit unto the Mourn Watch." which is pretty chilling. What's that punishment like, exactly? And in general, writing about anything weird or unexplained in the Necropolis brought me much enjoyment, and it would be fun to dig around how the Mourn Watch deals with (or what they want out of) all these mysteries and entities." [source, two, three, four]

"Geeking out with Emmrich about spooky stuff was a delight to write." [source]

"I liked writing someone older this time, it was something different for me and rewarding in some unexpectedly different ways. (And thanks especially for the nice words on DAtDM - I was very excited to introduce people to the Mourn Watch there!)" [source]

"Ah, tomb-script. I named it but it was our concept artists who went developed it with the hexagon shape-language of the Mourn Watch, which I loved. Conceptually: I think it's used purely an occult or sacred language. Something for the graves, or books on magic, but not everyday things." [source]

"Some trans people kindly offered their help with some feedback on some of the romance lines and others, which absolutely made them much better." [source]

"Trick Weekes actually wrote a ton of the banter where Emmrich inquires into qunari artifacts and customs, and Taash talks about what it was like to grow up under a scholar. I really dig the dynamic they unearthed between the two there." [source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #dragon age: tevinter nights #dragon age: vows & vengeance #lgbtq

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kingofbodyrolls · 10 months ago

Text

Say I Do (m) | jjk

Summary: you and Jungkook tease each other at your wedding reception.

Pairing: jungkook x female reader (no Y/N and unnamed)

AUs: non-idol!au, wedding!au

Genres: smut– like it’s just smut, nothing else 🤣

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

Word count: 5,2k

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings/tag: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, handjob, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, slightly rough sex, choking, biting, spitting, ass grabbing, impreg kink, degrading names (whore used once).

Author’s note: I made this for my lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7)!!!! SURPRISE!!!! I hope you like it! I was inspired to make this because of our chat, and I just want to say that you are so fucking lovely, sweet and kind 💖 I really hope this isn’t too much, but I just had too 🥹 I really wanted to make it dirty, but it ended up being more sweet instead, I’m sorry! I love talking to you and I just wanted to let you know that I adore and treasure you 😘

Honestly Lua, I just wrote this to tell you how beautiful you are– mind, body and soul. Thank you Lua, I love ya 💜

This is just something very short while I work on ‘My Heart’s Home’. But I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think: my inbox is always open, and I love to hear from you, even a reblog/comment will put a big smile on my face 💜

Also!!! This is written from Jungkook’s POV (well I tried, lol). And normally I don’t describe the reader/MC, but she does have a tiny bit description in this, but I still feel it’s vague enough. But if that isn’t your thing, it’s completely fine 🙂 This is not proofread (because I’m too lazy for that right now).

This has nothing to do with my other fic 'say that again (I dare you)', but if you want to read that I'm not opposed (it's also a jjk fic) ✨

Fancy reading on AO3? 😉

Rising gracefully to his feet, Taehyung's infectious enthusiasm fills the room as he declares, “I propose a toast!” His radiant smile sweeps over the myriad of guests you meticulously invited to your wedding—more than a hundred souls sharing in the joy of your love story.

As he prepares to speak, Jungkook can't help but marvel at the grandeur of the occasion. Despite his personal inclination towards a more intimate celebration, he wouldn't dream of denying you this moment, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family who have come together to witness the union of two hearts.

Despite Taehyung's earnest attempt to capture Jungkook's attention with a throat-clearing preamble, Jungkook finds himself inexplicably entranced elsewhere. Even in the midst of one of his closest friends delivering a heartfelt wedding speech—something he should be wholeheartedly absorbing—but it’s hard. As hard as his dick that you’re palming over his dress pants.

The tantalizing dance of your hand sends ripples of pleasure through him, an intoxicating distraction that eclipses all other thoughts. It's an artful symphony of sensation, each movement crafting a masterpiece of desire within him. The struggle to concentrate on anything else becomes an exhilarating battle. Fuck.

You, the mischievous enchantress, wield your allure like a potent spell.

A tantalizing awareness of your own danger courses through your veins, and you wield it with an expert finesse. Every knowing glance, every sly smile, is a calculated move in the game you effortlessly play. You've mastered the art of ensnaring him, wrapping him around your finger with a magnetic force that compels him to dance to your whims. It's a dangerous dance, but he willingly succumbs to the intoxication of your charm, embracing the thrill as much as he cherishes the intoxicating love he feels for you.

What the fuck is Taehyung saying?

Taehyung’s words dissolve into a meaningless buzz, drowned out by the illicit symphony you're orchestrating beneath the table. The audacious zipper sliding down and the tantalizing exploration of your hand over the fabric of his boxer briefs command all of Jungkook's attention.

Profanity trembles on the edge of his tongue, but it's lost in the overwhelming sensation that eclipses any coherent thought. Your stealthy touch renders him blissfully oblivious to everything else unfolding around him.

Suppressing a low, guttural sound, he clenches his teeth, using every ounce of willpower to stifle the moan building in his throat. As desire courses through him like a wildfire, he willingly parts his legs, a silent invitation for you to explore more boldly, granting ample space for the electrifying touch of your hand over the hardened length of his cock.

He marvels at your audacity, finding it both exhilarating and daring that you'd embark on such a provocative escapade during your wedding reception. Yet, deep down, he acknowledges that it's a reflection of the wild spirit that has always defined your relationship. It's a shared affinity for dancing on the edge, reveling in the allure of danger, and delighting in the thrill of engaging in activities that should, by all accounts, remain private. It's a facet of your relationship that has always been magnetic, drawing you both into a world where the risk of being caught only adds to the intoxicating excitement.

In the blink of an eye, your hand deftly maneuvers beneath the fabric of his boxers, sending a shiver down his spine. A hiss escapes his lips as your long, slender fingers confidently envelop his cock. The warmth of your touch is both a balm and an inferno, and he instinctively tilts his head back in the chair, a silent plea for discretion.

As he surrenders to the delicious sensation, he can't help but cast a furtive glance around, fervently hoping that the clandestine ballet unfolding beneath the table remains a tantalizing secret shared only between you.

Despite the uproarious laughter echoing through the room in response to Taehyung's speech, Jungkook remains oblivious to its contents, ensnared the choreography of your hand beneath the table.

The mirthful ambiance only fuels his curiosity, surmising that Taehyung must have delivered a punchline or shared a humorous anecdote. Meanwhile, beneath the table's concealment, your hand skillfully traces a tantalizing path along his hardened cock, drawing a hushed hiss from Jungkook's lips.

With a steely resolve, he masks any trace of emotion, locking his features in a stoic facade and maintaining an impressive silence. His determined effort is not just to conceal the electrifying sensations your actions are evoking, but also to safeguard the clandestine intimacy you both share from the prying eyes of the unsuspecting guests.

Every fiber of his being is a coiled spring, resisting the urge to yield to the pleasure that threatens to unravel beneath the veneer of his restrained expression.

As his gaze shifts towards you, he's met with an unexpected sight—there you sit, an image of demure elegance in your exquisite white gown.

The fabric caresses your curves in all the right places, accentuating the allure of your figure. The daringly low neckline teases a glimpse of the captivating silhouette of your bosom, leaving him momentarily breathless. The off-the-shoulder design unveils a generous expanse of your soft, tender skin, a tantalizing sight that aligns perfectly with his preferences.

Despite the provocative allure of your attire, your outward appearance betrays no hint of the illicit affair transpiring beneath the table. If he didn't intimately know the secret you were concealing—your hand discreetly exploring the realm beneath his pants—he'd be fooled by the serene facade you present, seemingly absorbed in the captivating rhythm of Taehyung's speech.

In a silent plea of gratitude, Jungkook revels in the fact that the attention of the guests is fixed on Taehyung's speech, sparing him the scrutiny of prying eyes.

Little do they know, the real spectacle unfolds beneath the table, where your touch becomes an exquisite torment.

Every movement of your hand is a tantalizing dance, a blend of ecstasy and torture that threatens to unravel him. With a teasing finesse, your soft fingers caress his frenulum, tracing a path towards the depths of pleasure. The deliberate slide over his slit elicits a shiver of pure ecstasy, leaving Jungkook teetering on the precipice of desire that you expertly navigate.

Your hand envelops him, a cocoon of warmth that intensifies with each skillful stroke. The pleasure coursing through him is undeniably exquisite, a testament to the mastery of your touch. Yet, a lingering awareness tugs at the edges of his consciousness—an impending climax that threatens to unravel the careful threads of restraint. The exquisite sensations you evoke compel him to desperately anchor his thoughts, to redirect the intoxicating focus from the captivating dance beneath the table to Taehyung's speech.

The challenge lies not just in resisting the magnetic pull of pleasure but in maintaining a semblance of composure, navigating the delicate balance between the ecstasy you're orchestrating beneath the table and the public façade demanded by the occasion.

“We’ve been friends for so long, how many years is it now, Gguk?” As Taehyung poses the question, a hushed anticipation envelops the room, and all eyes converge on Jungkook.

Fuck.

All eyes are on him and he can’t think— he’s mind is clouded with thoughts of you.

Taehyung– Fuck. How long have they been friends?

In a sudden stumble of recollection, he breathes out, “17 years,” the weight of the shared history resonating in the room. Yet, the gravity of the moment is unexpectedly intensified as you administer an assertive squeeze around cock. Fuck.

With a chuckle that slices through the tension, Taehyung seamlessly continues his discourse, effortlessly reclaiming the attention of the room and redirecting every wandering gaze back to him. A collective exhale echoes in Jungkook's mind, a silent gratitude for the timely diversion that spares the clandestine spectacle beneath the table from becoming the unwitting center of attention.

Relentless, you maintain the rhythm on his dick, displaying an unwavering determination that hints at an intention to push him to the brink, right under the unsuspecting gaze of the gathered guests.

As the divine caress of your hand propels him perilously close to the edge, a surge of urgency overtakes him. Desperate, he turns his face towards you, eyes silently pleading for respite, but your gaze remains steadfastly elsewhere.

Frustration wells within him, and he attempts to use his hands to guide yours away, only to find your grip tightening in response. The conflicting forces of pleasure and restraint collide within him, his muscles tensing as a hitch in his breath betrays the precarious precipice upon which he teeters.

Leaning in, you bring with you a halo of your natural sweet scent, an intoxicating allure that wraps around him, overwhelming his senses and leaving him slightly dizzy.

Your lips, soft and plush, delicately find his cheek in what appears to be a tender gesture to the outside world. To the unsuspecting onlookers, it's a simple, sweet kiss on the cheek.

Little do they know, in that same moment, your daring move involves not just the gentle press of your lips but the subtle exploration of your other hand slipping under his boxers to fondle his balls.

Fucking hell he’s gonna come.

Ecstasy courses through him like a wildfire, an imminent eruption fueled by the intoxicating cocktail of your skillful touch on his balls, warm breath teasing his ear, and the relentless grip on his pulsating desire. The threshold between pleasure and release narrows to a perilous edge, and he finds himself teetering on the brink, held captive by the maddening symphony of sensations you've orchestrated.

Despite his valiant efforts to remain attentive to his friend's speech, the sheer mastery of your pleasure-inducing touch proves insurmountable. Every deliberate stroke, every strategic squeeze of his balls, propels him further into the abyss of ecstasy. In a moment of surrender, he can no longer contain the torrent of desire, and ropes of his essence surge forth from his throbbing dick. His lips bear the weight of a stifled moan, as you keep stroking him through his orgasm.

Beside him, your chuckle is a symphony of sweetness interwoven with a hint of mischief, a melodic backdrop to the ongoing crescendo of pleasure you expertly administer through his orgasm.

As he traverses the realm of oversensitivity, a low, guttural grunt escapes him, drawing the curious gaze of Taehyung, engrossed in his ongoing speech. Though momentarily caught in a gaze of questioning inquiry, Taehyung forges ahead, resuming his speech with a peculiar stare, unwittingly oblivious to the spectacle unfolding beside him.

Thank fuck both of your parents aren’t seated right next to you. That would have been utterly mortifying and embarrassing.

With a deliberate finesse, you retract your hand from his crotch, guiding it gracefully over the table, where you nonchalantly employ a napkin to erase any lingering evidence. Seated there, you adopt an innocent facade, a picture of angelic composure that conceals the fact that, mere seconds ago, your hand delved into the forbidden realm beneath his pants.

With an audible exhale, he reaches for a napkin, hastily attending to the aftermath on his pants. The damage is fortunately minimal, thanks to your deft intervention that efficiently captured most of his release. Smart girl.

But a mischievous spark ignites in his eyes, a silent vow echoing beneath the surface - oh, he's going to get back at you for that, you little minx.

–

As the notes of the classic wedding waltz envelop the room, Jungkook marvels at the surreal reality—he gets to call you his wife now. The ethereal glow surrounding you transcends the physical, a radiant aura that has always defined you. Despite your humble protestations about your own beauty, he's captivated by the undeniable truth: you've always been, and continue to be, an enchanting vision. Countless times you've confessed to feeling otherwise, but in his eyes, you're a masterpiece. In this moment, as you dance together, you're not just a part of his world; you are his entire universe.

Gazing into the pools of your sweet, doe-like eyes, their exquisite almond shape captivates him, holding his attention in an unbreakable trance. He contemplates the nuances of your beauty, from the enchanting curvature of your slightly upturned nose to the endearing moments when he can't resist playfully poking it during your teasing exchanges. Every inch of you, in his eyes, is a masterpiece, and he pledges to vocalize his admiration every day, a ritual aimed at etching your beauty into your own consciousness.

He dreams that with each affirming word, he'll weave a tapestry of self-love around you, until the day you see yourself as he does—undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

As you dance, your eyes ablaze with an unmistakable love, he luxuriates in the intensity of your gaze. A daring current of desire propels his hand, gliding with deliberate intent down your body until it boldly claims your ass.

Uninhibited, he seizes it with audacious confidence, the bold move oblivious to the watchful eyes surrounding you. A soft, mischievous squeeze elicits a sweet chuckle from you, a harmonious note in the symphony of shared amusement that reverberates through the party, as the crowd collectively succumbs to the captivating allure of your uninhibited dance.

As the soft strains of the music envelop you both in a waltz, your heads draw nearer, the enchanting melody echoing the tender dance of your hearts. With the song nearing its end, he seizes the moment, leaning in intimately close to your ear. The hushed promise that escapes his lips carries a tantalizing undercurrent, his warm breath grazing your skin as he vows, “I'm going to get you back for earlier, babe.”

He senses the subtle shiver coursing through you as his touch lingers, a silent testament to the shared electricity between you. As the final notes of the song fade into the applause and cheers of the crowd, seizing the perfect moment, he leans in, embracing you in a sweet and passionate kiss.

As the rhythm of a more upbeat song invigorates the dance floor, he seizes the opportunity to whisk you away from the lively crowd. Amidst the pulsating beats and the vivacious laughter of the guests, he guides you outside the building, their merriment gradually fading into the background.

In the crisp night air, he asserts a sudden dominance, pressing you against the sturdy wall. His gaze, infused with an unmistakable hunger and need, locks onto your beautiful eyes, creating a magnetic tension that reverberates between you.

“You are a little minx, you know that?” His words, not laced with anger but rather a dangerous undercurrent of arousal, hang in the charged air. Your chuckle, a sweet symphony that further stirs the tempest within him, prompts a hiss as he succumbs to the magnetic pull, diving fervently into the captivating abyss of your mouth.

The kiss intensifies, a collision of passion that is both hard and rough, fueled by an undeniable need. In the urgency of the moment, he can't afford to wait, the impatience palpable in every fervent press of lips.

You envelop him in the embrace of your arms, fingers intertwining at the nape of his neck, while your gaze rises to meet his. In the depths of his eyes, once warm brown orbs now transformed into pools of near-black intensity, a reflection of the potent arousal coursing through his veins.

Your hand embarks on a daring journey, descending to the front of his pants once more, and the response is instantaneous – hardness reignites, a testament to the insatiable flame you kindle within him. Desire for you pulses like a constant current, an almost permanent state of arousal that defies logical explanation. Whatever enchantment you cast upon him, it's an irresistible force that weaves a tantalizing spell, leaving him perpetually captivated by the mystique of your touch.

Breaking away from the embrace of your soft lips, he wears a smirk laden with both warning and allure. “You're playing with fire, babe,” he remarks, the subtle edge in his voice echoing the intoxicating dance of danger and desire that swirls between you.

In a hushed whisper that flutters against your ear, he breathes, “You've been a naughty girl.”

The words, laden with an undercurrent of sultry authority, send a shiver down your spine, awakening a cascade of tingles that traverse the landscape of your entire body.

Descending to the delicate expanse of your neck, he peppers it with soft, almost teasing kisses, each touch a prelude to the symphony of sensations. Then, in an abrupt shift from gentle caresses, he bites down, coaxing from you a loud moan that resonates through the air—an intoxicating sound that echoes in the depths of his desire, a melody he'll never tire of hearing.

Continuing his explorative journey, he ventures further south, his lips descending to the curve of your breasts. With a deliberate tenderness, he places a kiss atop the soft expanse of your tender tits.

Gracefully sinking to his knees, he gazes up at you with a mischievous smirk, the air thick with a heady mixture of desire and anticipation. His tongue darts out, grazing his lips in a provocative dance of anticipation, signaling the imminent exploration of pleasures yet to unfold.

With an assertive grip, he seizes the front of your dress, drawing it away in a swift, purposeful motion. Despite the abundance of fabric, he deftly bunches it up with ease. “Hold your dress, please,” he directs, handing you the end of the gathered fabric.

“Hmm. Nice lace stockings, and that girdle—what are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing blend of desire and fascination. His gaze lingers appreciatively on your beautiful thighs encased in nude stockings adorned with lace at the top, fastened to a concealed girdle on your waist.

His eyes widen with a mix of surprise and arousal as they land on your wet and glistening pussy, the evidence of desire trickling down your thigh. “Oh my god. You're not wearing panties?” he breathes out, his voice carrying the weight of both revelation and anticipation. A subtle lick of his lips betrays the intensity of his reaction.

A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you hover above him, and without a moment's hesitation, he immerses himself in the intoxicating warmth of your desire. His lips eagerly find their destination, tracing a decadent path from the delicate folds to the pulsating essence of your clit.

The sensation ripples through your body, igniting a shiver that becomes an involuntary response to the electrifying dance between tongues, pleasure, and the shared yearning that binds you together.

He embarks on a tantalizing journey of tongue and suction, starting with teasing caresses that send tremors of anticipation through your body. His hands, strong and purposeful, find purchase on your thighs, holding you in a firm grip as he orchestrates a symphony of pleasure with his skillful tongue, creating an intoxicating dance that blurs the lines between sensation and desire.

A throaty moan escapes your lips as his nose delicately brushes against your pulsating cl*t, his tongue delving as deep as its voracious hunger allows. The exquisite sensation of his exploration elicits an involuntary clenching around him, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs, unable to withstand the intensity, succumb to a tremor, trembling beneath the intoxicating caress of pleasure that consumes you.

His dexterous fingers ascend to your throbbing clit, and with a skillful touch, he sets in motion a rapid dance of pleasure, causing your entire body to quiver with newfound intensity. The quickened rhythm of your breath becomes a symphony of desire, a telltale sign for him that you're teetering on the precipice of ecstasy.

Eager to reciprocate the pleasure you bestowed upon him within the confines of the reception, he fervently laps at your tender folds. Simultaneously, his fingers engage in a deft dance around your throbbing clit, orchestrating a symphony of sensations that echoes the pulsating rhythm of desire between you.

With the harmonious fusion of his skilled tongue and nimble fingers, he orchestrates the unraveling of your senses. As ecstasy courses through you, your body convulses in euphoria, your walls clenching around his tongue, and the pulsating rhythm of your clit intensifying under the spell of his fingers.

Waves of pleasure surge through you, causing your body to quake, and in the throes of ecstasy, you release a high-pitched, strained moan that bears his name—an intimate symphony of pleasure that lingers in the air.

Breathless and overwhelmed, you gasp out his name, a plea woven into the words, “Fuck, Jungkook. I can't stand up anymore.” As he gracefully withdraws from your core, his gaze rises to meet yours, locking in a shared moment of intensity.

He chuckles, the rich timbre of his laughter lingering in the charged air. “I know, babe. Do you want me to fuck you against the wall?”

You draw in a sharp breath, and he keenly observes the subtle clench of your hand, the fabric of the dress tightly gathered within your grasp.

“Fuck yeah,” An unbridled affirmation escapes your lips, a primal declaration of desire. As he rises to his feet, a surge of urgency propels him to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss. The taste of your own release lingers on his lips, creating an intimate communion of shared pleasure that binds you together in the aftermath of passion.

As he engulfs you in a fervent kiss, the symphony of desire playing out between you, his hands deftly navigate the zipper of his dress pants. With a purposeful movement, he unveils his throbbing cock, stroking it in rhythmic cadence.

His hands, driven by a primal urgency, seek out the contours of your a*s with a possessive intent. “Jump up, babe,” he commands, the resonance of his voice weaving a spell of anticipation. As you obediently jump, he effortlessly lifts you, cocooning you against the wall.

In a brief struggle against the bulk of your dress, both of you grapple with the fabric, pushing it away from the front of your entwined bodies. A shared chuckle hangs in the air, a lighthearted interlude in the midst of fervor. But as the fabric yields to your efforts, Jungkook seizes the opportunity, moving in with an insatiable hunger to bite at your neck once more.

With a sultry whisper, he breathes, “I'm gonna fuck a baby into you, would you like that, hmm?”

The words, pregnant with promise, glide against your ear, and the responsive clench of your legs around his waist speaks volumes. A knowing chuckle escapes him as you endeavor to pull him even closer, the shared desire resonating between you in the charged space.

“Please,” your plea, a desperate yet fervent entreaty, escapes your lips, a poignant melody of desire that resonates in the charged air. The subtle smirk that graces his lips is both a testament to your undeniable need for him and an acknowledgment of the power he holds over your cravings.

With a deliberate touch, he locates his throbbing cock with one hand and skillfully aligns it with your dripping entrance. The tantalizing dance begins as he teases your slick folds with the head of his pulsating dick, creating an electrifying friction that amplifies the anticipation between you two.

“Gguk, please,” you plead with a mixture of desire and frustration, your voice echoing the urgent need for him to bridge the gap between anticipation and fulfillment. However, he remains steadfast, skillfully teasing your slick folds without granting the entry your body craves.

With a desperate plea escaping your lips once more, he finally relents. The moment stretches with anticipation before he forcefully thrusts his thick cock into your eager pussy. The collision is met with an audible impact as your back forcefully meets the wall.

He forgoes the customary pause for adjustment, intuitively aware that you relish the exquisite stretch when he enters you so abruptly. Without hesitation, he plunges deep into your core, reaching the furthest recesses, his thick length grazing against your cervix.

“You’re so big, the stretch feels so good!”

You gasp breathlessly against his body, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. The intoxicating stretch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, a visceral reminder of the intensity between you two. Determined to fully immerse yourself in the sensation, you pant against him, actively striving to ride the wave of pleasure, desperate to fuck yourself on him, the relentless pursuit of ecstasy evident in every ardent movement.

He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a force that resonates against the unyielding wall of the building. The symphony of your combined panting echoes in the air, a melodic accompaniment to the unbridled passion unfolding. Jungkook, captivated by the primal symphony, savors every delightful noise escaping your lips—a harmonious blend of desire and surrender, heightening the intensity of the fervent connection shared between you.

As he thrusts into you, each powerful motion striking your cervix, he elevates the intensity by trailing one hand up to your neck. With a gentle yet possessive touch, he wraps his fingers around your throat.

He knows you like it dirty and rough, and fuck he does too.

His taunting words, laced with a playful yet provocative tone, cut through the charged air. “Did you enjoy the little game with your fingers down my pants while Tae was making his speech?” The rhetorical question hangs between you, a teasing challenge that elicits a subtle clenching reaction around him.

In a sultry revelation, he whispers, “'Next to your bridesmaid and your parents. You naughty girl.” The hand steadying against the wall takes a firm hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh with deliberate intent. A resonant moan of pleasure escapes your lips, harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of his thrusts as he skillfully targets your sweet spot.

“So naughty,” he breathes, punctuating each fervent thrust with a rhythmic intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “You enjoy getting off in front of your friends, huh?” His words, infused with a seductive blend of desire and provocation, become a tantalizing soundtrack to the relentless grind of his dick into you.

“And getting me off too? Whore,” he seethes into your ear, the heated accusation leaving a scorching trail of desire in its wake. Your response, a shiver against his body, fuels the intensity of the moment.

As he continues to fuck you with an unrestrained force, your breasts bounce in a mesmerizing rhythm that captivates him. So fucking perfect.

“Stick your tongue out,” he commands, his eyes intently fixed on you as you obediently roll out your tongue, anticipating the act you relish. The charged moment lingers, pregnant with expectation. With a deliberate move, he spits on your waiting tongue, and you, the embodiment of submission, dutifully swallow it.

Damn it, he knows he won't last much longer if he continues to be entranced by the rhythmic bounce of your enticing breasts—they possess an almost hypnotic allure over him. And that tongue of yours, oh, it's pure seduction.

“And you can't even wait until we reach our hotel suite to be fucked. So fucking needy, and I love it,” he declares, a blend of admiration and desire lacing his words. The deliberate clench of his fingers around your throat follows, a subtle yet potent assertion of control. His gaze remains fixed on your eyes, watching with a predatory intensity as they dilate even more.

As he tightens his grip, the sensation of his fingers constricting around your throat elicits a primal response—your walls clenching around his cock. The synchronized symphony of pleasure and control intertwines, and a guttural groan escapes him, an audible testament to the ecstasy coursing through his veins.

Driven by an insatiable desire, he redoubles his efforts to fuck you even deeper.

“My filthy wife,” he pants into your ear, the possessive term dripping with desire, a declaration that ignites a primal response within you. The sultry proclamation elicits a moan of his name from your lips, a vocal affirmation of the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through your body. His acute awareness of your nearing climax manifests in the rhythmic clenching around his dick, a tangible sign of the intimate dance between you two.

“Fuck, Gguk. I'm so close again. Fuck!” you pant fervently against the curve of his neck, the words laced with desperation and desire. He senses the mounting intensity in your voice, a symphony of passion reaching its crescendo.

Yet, he's attuned to the nuances, recognizing the subtle signs that your body, though on the brink of ecstasy, bears the weight of fatigue, having navigated the day in those tantalizing heels.

“You crave an audience, don't you? Want people to watch you, to hear you,” he moans into your ear, the words a sultry declaration that fans the flames of desire between you two. The acknowledgment of your shared exhibitionist desires ignites a fresh surge of pleasure, prompting an instinctive clench around him.

“Then scream my name, let everyone in the damn party know how damn good I'm fucking you,” he commands, the intensity of his voice sending shivers down your spine. As your walls clench with even greater fervor, pulsating around his dick, a wave of your liquid envelops him, transforming the intimate connection into a slippery dance of shared pleasure.

You unleash his name with a primal scream, the sheer force of your ecstasy reverberating through the open air outside. Your head drops against the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in the haven of his embrace as the waves of pleasure cascade over you.

He relentlessly thrusts his dick into you, the urgency palpable as he seeks his own release. “I'm gonna give you a baby, just like we've always dreamed of.”

“Ahhh, fuck, yes!” The exclamation bursts from your lips, a little too loud, as an uncontrollable surge of pleasure courses through you. Your teeth instinctively seek refuge on his shoulder, sinking into the firm flesh in an unbridled act of both ecstasy and restraint.

“Fuck, babe, I'm gonna come,” he confesses with a guttural moan, each subsequent thrust punctuated with the desperation of impending release. His rhythm stumbles, an involuntary response to the intensity building within him as he hurtles towards the precipice of his orgasm. And then it hits him.

The rhythmic bounce of your tits in his face, the soft and sweet scent that envelops him, and the melodic cadence of your voice—all converge to cast a spell on his senses. In the midst of your lovely moans, he succumbs to the intoxicating blend of sensations, unleashing a torrent of white-hot semen deep inside your spent pussy.

Panting and gasping, you both struggle for precious breaths, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat acquired in the throes of passion. Amidst the shared exhaustion, a mutual chuckle reverberates between you, an intimate exchange that encapsulates the postcoital atmosphere.

With your head nestled against his, you gaze into the depth of his eyes and confess, “I love you, Gukkie.” The words, tender and raw, bridge the physical intimacy you've just shared with the emotional vulnerability of a heartfelt declaration.

“I love you too. Every damn inch of you, you're so beautiful,” he pants, a declaration infused with both desire and admiration. As he smiles at you, the post-passion glow accentuates the sincerity in his eyes, turning the exchange into a powerful affirmation.

He'll never tire of professing his boundless love and adoration for you, vowing to weave those sentiments into the fabric of each passing day. The promise to remind you, with unwavering devotion, echoes in his commitment to articulate his love every damn day.

Please let me know if you liked it with a comment, reblog, and ask or whatever 💜

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pantheresssy · 6 months ago

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being art’s little secret was everything you knew. he would take you to whatever place he was at, would hide you in a hotel room away from tashi and her mother and sneak there for the night.

you weren’t allowed to see him play on court, but you watched him on tv and oh… his moans did everything for you. seeing him sweating, looking so concentrated and hot send a sharp to your cunt all the time. you just wanted him to be on top of you looking just like he did there.

art couldn’t gave up on you. you were just so good, everything about you drove him crazy. he couldn’t let that feeling slip. he might be in love, or addicted, or obsessed, he didn’t care about the right terms. all he cared about was being deep inside you every night, every day. you were so receptive to his cock, always taking everything he gave you and asking for more. you were meant for him just like he were meant for you.

“your lookin’ so pretty baby,” he whispered in your ear, speeding up his hips when you moaned. your walls were hugging him tight, squeezing him every time he touched your g spot.

his lips went for yours, his tongue dancing with yours in a way that made your clit throb. you couldn’t say anything, only having the strength to moan and whimper. he made you so good, so dirty. art donaldson was the first guy to drive you crazy that easily, not taking more than one look and smile. you knew you were addicted since day one, when you meet him on your way to watch a match.

art knew exactly the sighs of when you were going to cum and felt that he was going there to. his trusts became more sloppy but continued at the same speed and strength. cumming inside you was his guilty pleasure. knowing that he was marking you as his in a more intimate way, that anything could result from it made him shiver and cum only with the thought.

but even when your chest was heavy with your breath, he kept going, feeling his cock hardening again when your hips squirmed. it was his way of always reminding you of who made you feel so good.

art was lost in you and your pussy, you were not only his dirty filthy little secret whore, but the only one he would throw everything away for too.

#🎾’.#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers x reader #challengers #challengers x y/n #perv!art is the best #feeling that the writing isn’t good

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johnbrand · 5 months ago

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The Basement

With @next-pharaoh

“Richie?” Billy called out into the hazy basement. “Richie, are you down here?”

Billy had never thought of Richie as a religious kind-of-guy, nor a Muslim for that matter. What other reason would he have had to come down into the creepy, old mosque? Heck, Richie’s whole family was Catholic, the stereotypical devout Latin family. Billy’s too, although of a Polish heritage instead. That was probably why they had always gotten along so well–they could bond through trauma.

“Richie?” Billy asked once more. The basement was rather small, just a single room with a twin mattress, a few sheets, and a tiny window shining the bare minimum amount of sunlight into the space. The place was covered in dust, something Billy unfortunately had not noticed until he had patted down his all-black outfit, surprised to find it covered in the pale powder.

“Alright, that’s it,” Billy grumbled. “I can’t even get reception down here anyway.”

That was how this had all started. Billy had received an emergency text with a location from Richie that he had been locked and needed help. However, that text had taken over 24 hours to deliver. Billy had rushed over here as fast as he could, but now he could not find Richie anywhere. Perplexed, he made his way back to the basement’s door, not expecting to find it locked.

“No…” Billy spoke to no one in particular. “No, no no!”

Frantically, Billy pulled at the handle, hoping, praying that it would come off. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, it would not budge. It was times like these that he wished he would have participated in some athletics throughout his schooling career, rather than focusing on communications and the arts.

“Hello!” Billy shouted, banging on the door. “Can anyone hear me?!” He grabbed his phone and quickly sent out a text to his friend, not surprised when it was unable to go through. Backing away from the door, Billy began to consider what he could do. Someone would have to find him eventually, right? Phones had tracking devices, so it would not take long before people questioned where he was. And the window, maybe from there he could-

“Oh-!” Clumsily, Billy fell back onto the twin bed, so preoccupied in his thoughts that he had not paid attention to his footing. The dust flew up in a cloud around him, slowly cascading over his body. The particles coated his sandy-colored hair and fair skin as if he had been hit by a bag of flour. A bit embarrassed, Billy coughed, inhaling some of the dust.

“Gosh, what is this stuff…?” Billy questioned, his head suddenly a bit dizzy. “Is it…powdered salt…?”

Slowly, Billy’s body fell back onto bed, an encroaching weariness enveloping him. Within moments, he was fast asleep while the dust began carefully absorbing into his being.

———

Rashid unlocked the door to the mosque’s basement. He already possessed the keys to the lock, and he knew not to reopen the door until at least daybreak. Well, at least not while the current convert is awake. It was necessary for Rashid to go in while the convert was resting to provide the necessary materials.

“Ah, I see you are awake,” the strong, proud Muslim announced in Arabic as he swung open the door. “And already studying the analysis of the Hadith book I provided you with.”

“Yes, thank you brother,” the reply came back, also in Arabic.

“Do the pants fit you alright, Bilal?” Rashid asked.

“They will carry the load.” With his massive hand, Bilal cupped his mighty Arab meat to emphasize his point. Rashid took a once over of Bilal, taking in the bronzed alpha and confirming the dimensions he had hypothesized in his head. Bilal was tall, muscular, a perfect specimen of Islamic masculinity. His chest would ideally slide into the thobe Rashid had ordered for him, and his wide feet would easily fill the Nike sandals Rashid had set aside.

“Now Bilal, are you ready to promote the genetic Arabization of the world?” Rashid demanded. “To defend Arab interests, to sacrifice individuality for global brotherhood?”

Bilal immediately nodded, his fate had already been sealed.

Rashid smiled, “I assume you have already left your past behind?”

Smirking, Bilal motioned his head towards the drying white splurge behind him. By the afternoon, it would become just another part of the basement’s transformative dust.

With a nod, Rashid ushered Bilal up, and the two made their way out of the basement and back into the mosque. They prayed together, feasted together, and were preparing to leave the mosque just as a frightened Asian-American boy rushed past them.

“Billy? Billy!” His shouts echoed throughout the hall as he dashed into the religious hallways. Rashid and Bilal exchanged knowing smiles. They held hands and bid farewell, the keys transferring between their hands.

#male tf #male transformation #jock tf #unintended results #arabization #arabophile

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hwallazia · 6 months ago

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OCEAN, BED, TATTOO – 정우영

synopsis . in which wooyoung tattoos your skin with ink... and with his lips.

pairing . jung wooyoung & fem! reader

genre . smut (mdni!), fluff & comfort, established relationship, tattoo artist! wooyoung

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle @vampzity @iykyunho | comment your username if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist! ♡

word count . 2,1k

DISCLAIMER! dom! wooyoung (he’s a teasing menace here) sub! (and very whiny) reader, fingering, clit play, light scratches, unprotected sex (boooo👎), tattoos involved, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, petnames (my love, sweetheart, youngie & more). lmk if i missed anything.

NIC’S NOTES hey, i’m back at the game again after a long month full of exams !! i’m soo glad, i missed writing so much ♡ well, enjoy <3

tattoos aren’t as bad as people say. they look cool on your skin and they are aesthetically gorgeous. when you were about nine years old, your older sister, a few months after she came of age, got a tattoo of a beautiful, fine mandala on her right leg, and from that moment on, you were committed to tattooing your skin—probably the forearm, you often thought.

and you finally did it when you turned 20. with your sister’s company, you arrived at the tattoo parlor in search of a certain “wooyoung”, who would be the artist who would draw the permanent (and hopefully pretty) lines on your skin.

“excuse me. um, we’re looking for wooyoung? he’s supposed to be the tattoo artist for my sister.” your sister said to the man behind an old oak desk that seemed to be some kind of reception, her body leaning against the wood, elbows resting on it.

“guess you’re looking for me then” a voice not participating in the conversation intervened. since you heard it coming from behind you, you turned around. just to meet the most good-looking, jaw-dropping, mouth-watering man you’ve ever seen, his figure leaning against the door’s frame that seemed to lead to his studio with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his notoriously pump chest.

“you must be yn.” he continued as he approached you and your sister’s position. “hi. i’m wooyoung.” he extended his right arm, placing his left hand under it. oh, he looks like a prince, a tattooed prince, but hush. “well, do you want to come in alone or do you want your sister to accompany you?”

fortunately, your sister could read you like a book. so when she saw your momentary inability to formulate coherent sentences —she’d later study the reasons why you suddenly were flabbergasted— and before you could say whatever thought your short-circuited mind processed, she answered for you. “go on. i’ll wait here. sometimes you gotta face situations without your dear older sister’s help, right?” she said as she ruffled your hair playfully, slightly messing up your hairstyle. an annoyed huff escaped from your lips with a small pout in reply.

a cute, quiet snort came from wooyoung, your embarrassed heart racing a little at the sound of it. “come on, then” he tilted his head sharply indicating you to enter his studio. you walked side by side towards its door and before you both could pass the threshold, he stepped aside the door’s frame and extended his arm, his fingertips pointing to the inside of the room.

“ladies first” he uttered in a honey-dripping tone that made your heart skip a beat. and the warm smile he gave you after you locked gazes? double kill. heat flushed through your cheeks, now turning into a more reddened hue. when wooyoung saw your adorable, bashful face turning into a cute tomato, his eyes closed even more. two beautiful, heartwarming crescent moons decorating his eyes. you bowed your head slightly at the embarrassment and entered the studio. abstract art pieces hanging on the wall; a melting-type clock on the side of one of them; a few framed diplomas embellishing a narrow decorative table located below a large window, which gave the most beautiful view of the busy downtown of seoul and, at the same time, allowed the entry of divine natural light, changing the ambience completely. he also had some plants here and there.

“so, what did you have in mind for today?” he spoke as he reached for his chair, grabbing it by its back and pulling it to him so he could sit on it. his arms finding support on the top of the chair as his upper body vaguely leaned against it. “is it your first time?” he asked and turned around to prepare the tattoo machine by grabbing the black ink he’d possibly need.

“yes, um. it is, actually” you stuttered, trying to sound as clear and understandable as possible. “i thought about tattooing the word ‘resilience’ on my forearm. is that okay?” your eyes wondered between wooyoung’s fingers and the veins that came from them, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol in his right hand.

“of course it’s okay. you’re the boss in here.” he chuckled a little at your stammering tone. ‘well of course it is, you’re the one getting the tattoo and paying for it anyway, so duh’ a bothering voice in your head replied to you, a soft huff from you was heard. “so, do you have an idea of how you want it to look?” he continued while he stretched the latex glove on his left hand and then replicating the action on his right.

“yeah, let me get my ph-” you started to say as you touched your upper body, and then your hips, and then your pockets, and then your pants... you had totally forgotten your phone, in which you kept the idea you saw on pinterest the other day of the tattoo you wanted to get. a murmured curse coming off your lips when you realized. “i, uh. i don’t have my phone with me right now. i... forgot it at home.”

“oh. well don’t worry! it happens to me more times than i’d like.” he laughed not too exaggeratedly. he wasn’t trying to piss you off by giggling at your disgraceful situation; he was comforting you in the best way he could because, after all, you were strangers. “hm. so do you wanna reschedule or-”

you didn’t think twice before responding by shaking your hands in front of you. “no! i trust you with it! it’s just a word anyway.” the words easily slipped out of your tongue, not a hint of doubt in the spark that glimmered in your orbs.

“but it’s your first tattoo-” wooyoung replied with notorious insecureness in his tone and you, unbothered, interrupted him.

“come on!” you spoke as you lifted your dark purple oversized sweater’s sleeve, revealing your soft skin to his fox-like eyes which doubted for a second before resting his slim, latex-covered fingers on your exposed skin. you were able to see a very close-up of the touch of his fingers against your skin, your hair standing on end as a result. his fingers sent shivers and sparks down your whole anatomy, a weird feeling forming in your belly and chest. you felt how his touch dragging flowers through the meadow of your complexion, creating the most beautiful garden.

who would say that that boy who marked your skin for life with his art would now be the one with whom you wake up every day, the one to whom you trust your most intimate secrets, the one whom you love and kiss every day. the one that makes you see stars.

like now, fucking his fingers sloppily from all the right angles into your wet cunt.

“youngie, wait i- hgh- i don’t wanna cum yet.” you whine as you grip the silk, champagne-colored sheets underneath you. he has spent a generous amount of time prepping you, playing way too much with your sensitive clit. and that has brought you to the brink of abyss. you want to cum when he finally fills you with his rock-hardened cock, but wooyoung seems to have no intention of stopping. he is a hundred-percent committed in making you cum as much as you physically can.

“huh? what’s that, sweetheart? didn’t quite catch that.” he mocks at you, deepening his index and middle fingers inside you and putting his thumb to work on your bud’s stimulation. a desperate cry bubbling out your throat. “but stop crying, baby. so you can respond.” his non-working hand releases its firm grip on your hip and moves up to your cheek to stroke it in the most gently way.

your voice lets you down, your tone drowning in the blubber that erupts from your lips once your body feels the consequences of wooyoung’s incessant thumb swaying over your clit. the palms of your hands sheltering your reddened cheeks.

he chuckles at the sight of you, “covering your face when you’re dripping all over my fingers?” he withdraws his fingers from your warm interior, your walls clenching around nothing due to the nostalgia of being satisfyingly full. he then covers your hands with his and takes them away from your blissed expression and pecks your lips briefly. “shameless.”

he gets on his knees in between your legs, his hands pushing them apart before he bends over your figure, trapping you between his strong, tattooed arms. you have tried in the past putting your legs on his shoulder; and yes, he does push further than usual, but it was an uncomfortable and painful position for you. so you opted for simpler things, nothing so difficult so that it replaces pleasure with pain. wooyoung always puts your satisfaction over his, doing everything he can to give you the most toe-curling orgasm every time. and he never fails.

your hands instinctively find comfort on his back, your fingers mindlessly stroking his back tattoo. “i’m putting it in, love.” he murmurs against the crook of your neck as he pushes in further and further, your nails digging onto his bare back. the combination of a masculine grunt and a whimper floats in the air, which is getting heavier and heavier.

“holy shit- ah, wooyoung. you’re so.. fucking deep.” you blubber as you feel his cockhead faintly rubbing your g-spot. his thrusts are precise and strong, driving you quickly over the edge. his sighs blowing on your face as almost invisible clouds because of the humidity generated by the situation.

“fuck baby. you feel so soft and warm. and tight” he exhals, some strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. he does some kind of push-up to come down your face and kiss your swollen, red lips frantically. your tongues fighting and his winning over yours. “wanna stay inside you forever. ah.” wooyoung pants out his words, hips still going and knocking a little more roughly against your cunt with every push.

“i know you can give me a little more, though” he pants raspily, totally out of breath. your fucked-out mind can only process something about ‘wanting more’ or something like that, you don’t know, way too gone to even say your name without stumbling with your own words. you can only understand what he says when his very familiar touch lingers strokes on your clit, so swollen and tired of overstimulation. the cute, pleasured sounds coming out of you only encouraged him to speed up his fingers and his hips as well. he practically is wanting to break you completely until you aren’t able to even recognize where you are, your name or how much is two plus two. and wooyoung finds your current state quite amusing, so he starts to imitate you, mocking your broken sobs and pathetic mewls exaggeratedly.

“if only you could listen to you right now. but you aren’t even listening to me, are you, doll?” he teases, enjoying a bit too much the tears that pitifully stream down your face profusely. your eyebrows furrow together, your thighs shake more than usual and you start feeling lightheaded; you’re about to fall into the abyss of pleasure and wooyoung is more than happy to receive your warm, dripping juices.

“oh fuck, youngie. ’m gonna cum. you’re gonna make me cum. please let me... fuck... please, i—” you give up on the rambling begging and let yourself just helplessly whine and mewl.

“i know, my love. go on, cum for your youngie. make me proud, angel.” he encourages you, his fingers keeping a steady pace on your bud as well as his thrusts. three or four more are more than enough to melt you under his divine touch as your throat lets out the very last shriek of the night. “ah you’re so good, so fucking tight for your youngie, aren’t you? ugh” he shakes above you as he lets out a moan that sounded more like a cry. he quickly, but carefully pulls out, your body shuddering at the sudden emptiness, releasing hot shots of cum over your belly, painting your navel’s surroundings with pearl-like spurts.

he finally lets his body surrender to the overwhelming tiredness, collapsing above you.

“wooyoung. love. get off of me, i can’t breathe.” you speak, receiving a drowned and unbothered ‘mm’ as a response. you chuckle with the little strength you have left, “at least get off of my arm?” you try to negotiate with him the dumbest thing ever. but he finally does as told and moves a little to the side, releasing your right arm from his weight, “there you go. see? it wasn’t that hard.”

“hush. i’m sleepy. and tired” he mentions separately in a grumpy tone. of course, how could you forget the grumpiness that wraps your boyfriend when he runs out of energy?

“fine, babygirl.”

“don’t call me that!”

| masterlist

#© hwallazia #ateez #ateez smut #jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #wooyoung os #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic

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noira-l · 3 months ago

Text

Just the Two of Us

chapter summary: The onsen's heat melt away your coldness, while the festival's treats sweetened your heart. But it was Satoru, with his fiery passion and childlike joy, who truly made you feel alive again.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

wc: 16,4k

warnings: MDNI, smut with plot, so much tension, establishing relationship (?) public intimacy (onsen), summer festival motives (traditional clothing, games and foood), lovemaking, dry humbing, p in v, oral/fingering (f reciving), unprotected sex, creampie, intense at the end, dirty talk, teasing, namecalling (sweetie, wifey etc.), dacryphilia, tooth rotting fluff, soft, spicy and touch starved Satoru.

author's note: oh dear, that loooong, but we are finally here. I couldn't finished this chapter in a month, it was eating me alive. I'm a virgin when it comes to writting smut scenes, so please be gentle. Hope you enjoy it in the end, your pulse will quicken and your heart will sugar coat ;3

s.masterlist

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 '𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭'

"Mr and Mrs Gojo, we are pleased to welcome you to our establishment, we wish you a pleasant stay." the woman at the front desk beamed, her smile broad and a little too wide as she handed over your wristbands. Her eyes darted nervously to Satoru, who stood next to you, his presence undeniably commanding the room. Naturally, a faint blush crept onto her cheeks.

You felt a familiar weight as his hand settled on your waist, possessive yet gentle.

"Thank you." Satoru replied, his voice filled with that infectious enthusiasm "My wife and I are looking forward to a time full of relaxation!" his tone was warm, but it carried that undercurrent of determination, the kind that always made you wonder just how seriously he took even the most mundane things.

You couldn’t help but notice the effect he had on the staff around you. There was a collective intake of breath, and you watched as the women at the reception seemed to hold it, eyes wide and dreamy. It was, frankly, a bit embarrassing. You’d seen this reaction countless times, but it didn’t make it any less disconcerting when it happened right in front of you.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like when he actually started using the spa. The baths, the onsen… you winced internally at the thought. You already regretted booking the full package. Satoru was a magnet for attention- talkative, charming, and with looks that could make anyone pause. What had seemed like an idyllic, relaxing retreat was starting to feel like an exercise in patience.

It had all sounded so good when you read about it: relaxing massages, body treatments, the tranquil atmosphere. And part of you was still excited; you'd been waiting for this for what felt like forever. But now, seeing the ladies at the front desk practically swooning at the sight of him was… well, let's just say it was a little annoying.

The location itself was well decorated. You walked away from the reception area for a moment, as Satoru started talking to another staff person. It was quite a distance away from the village where you had an accommodation, but it was close enough to the surprise you wanted to take him to in the evening. You could see that everything was well-maintained and quite fresh, as if a renovation had taken place here not long ago. Ceremonial ornaments adorned the walls, trimmed bonsai trees stood as miniature sentinels in each corner, and the view from the wide windows was breathtaking, the landscape rolling out in serene waves of green and stone. You could feel a sense of calm settling over you despite your earlier irritation.

There weren't many visitors at this time of day. You guessed that was partly because you'd arrived in the afternoon, and partly because most guests were likely preparing for the evening's festivities. Your gaze wandered to a lacquered painting on the wall, depicting a serene scene of a man and woman submerged in water, their backs turned to each other. The art was surprisingly well-preserved, capturing the beauty and tranquility of the surrounding area.

"Ready?" you felt a hand embrace you from behind. You nodded your head.

"Do you know where to go and what to do?" your gaze fell on his eyes, he threw a towel over his shoulder.

You'll probably never get used to the shifting shades of blue that swirl in his sparkling eyes.

"I asked the staff about a few things." he said in a melodic voice. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder.

"Good, I'll meet you after the treatments and when you've finished bathing, if you'd be early, then don't leave without me, I'll wait for you here." he gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up, his signature grin spreading across his face.

"Have fun." he added before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the entrance to the men's changing room, a dark blue curtain swaying gently as he slipped behind it.

You watched him go, a mixture of exasperation and affection welling up inside you. With a small sigh, you turned on your heel and made your way to the women’s section, pushing aside a curtain as red as the blush still warming your cheeks.

----

Oh yes.

That's what you needed.

You don't remember when you felt so relaxed. You felt your whole body eased and your head pleasantly calmed. Your aching hip and shoulder blade, which had suffered an injury after your last mission, finally experienced proper treatment. A complex of massages prepared your body, while scrubs and regenerating masks gave your complexion a healthy glow. You liked to take care of yourself. As you rose from your seat, finishing your last massage with some special stones, you heard a quiet whisper from behind the curtain.

"Have you seen the white-haired guy?" this question set your ears ringing.

"Yes, handsome and charming." the giggle of the other voice was terribly loud.

"But apparently he's married."

Your feet found the ground, yet you remained still, your ears attuned to their every word, each syllable a slow drip of poison.

"Ah, what a shame, wasting on such an uncute woman." Pity, right? you furrowed your brow at this comment, sudden breath catching.

The words struck like a blade, your breath stuttering in your chest, a flare of heat rushing to your face.

"But are you sure? He didn't have a ring." Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms, the silk of the robe whispering against your skin as you fought the urge to rip through the curtain.

"Yes, at the desk, he said the woman next to him was his wife." the tone had shifted, dripping now with mockery, each word a taunt that twisted the knife deeper.

"But you know what they say, no ring no problem."

You opened the paper door to your cubicle, not wanting to wait for the next treatment or hear what these old maids had to say.

Out in the corridor, the air was cooler, less stifling, yet it did nothing to quell the fire simmering just beneath your skin. The air thick with the lingering scent of oils and herbs. Each word you had overheard replayed in your mind, an echo that rattled in the silence around you. The pity, the mockery, the casual cruelty of their voices scraped against your thoughts like nails on glass.

Uncute woman. The phrase curled around your mind like a serpent, squeezing until it left marks that stung with each breath.

You didn't want to spoil your mood, even though it had somehow gotten under your skin anyway. You just hope that the hot water will wash it out of you.

The wooden floor creaked under your step. The colours of the glass slowly changed, revealing the sunset outside. After pulling back the white curtain at the end of the corridor, you were shown one of the most stunning views.

The hot spring lay before you, a hidden oasis cradled by the forest. It was framed by rugged stones and ancient trees, their branches bowing gently as if in reverence to the sacred waters. A traditional torii gate loomed at the edge, draped with sacred Shinto ropes and tassels that whispered secrets to the evening breeze. In the background, rocks and trees wove into the scene, and just beyond, a small wooden temple stood, its silhouette blurred by the rising mist. Lanterns glowed in the encroaching twilight, casting a warm, flickering light upon the surface of the water, illuminating the steam that curled into the air like ghostly tendrils. It was a scene of tranquility, an invitation to forget, to cleanse.

The overall scene set you in relaxation and some sort of spiritual cleansing.

You let your towel slip from your grasp, draping it on the cabinet before stepping into the milky water. It lapped against your ankles first, sending tendrils of heat spiraling up your legs. Slowly, you eased further in, each step a deliberate act of immersion, the water climbing higher, coaxing the tension from your muscles with each passing second.

Finally, you lowered yourself until the water barely kissed the tops of your breasts. You spotted a small wooden bucket resting on one of the stones nearby and reached for it, the wood warm against your fingers. You poured the water over your hair, again and again, the heat cascading down your shoulders, soothing the raw edges of your thoughts. It was a ritual, a cleansing, and as the water soaked into your skin, you felt the weight of the day begin to dissolve, leaving behind a languid heaviness that settled deep into your bones. Now, you felt it, how heavy and warm were your muscles.

But then, you felt it—a presence. It pressed against the edges of your awareness, a shift in the air that made you alarmed. You turned, the water rippling around you, and your eyes met his.

"What are you doing here?" your voice was pretty quiet. It didn't need to be louder since you were surrounded by silence or a quiet hum.

Satoru stood there, half-shrouded in shadows at the entrance to the water, his form outlined by the soft glow of the lanterns. A towel hung low around his hips, and a flush painted his cheeks, stark against the usually pale skin. His gaze was fixed on you, wide and unblinking, as if he had stumbled upon something he wasn’t meant to see. He blinked once, then twice, before his eyes finally rose to meet yours.

You glanced down and covered yourself from him with your hands, doing this surprisingly slowly.

"It's konyoku." he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as his eyes flickered downward again, tracing the path of water droplets as they trailed down your skin.

"What?" now you were beginning to blush from the weight of his gaze on you. You felt warmth spread across your cheeks, an echo of the blush that colored his face.

His eyes moved with agonizing slowness, drinking in the sight of every glistening drop on your skin. A different kind of heat simmered in the water now, not from the spring, but from the way he looked at you. You were hot, but not just from the water - you could feel the fire in the way his eyes devoured you.

"Konyoku, a mixed bath." you were sure his voice cracked slightly.

Realisation has struck you, hard.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I thought that since the spa was divided into sections, it would be the same with the onsen." shame twisted in your chest, tightening around your ribs, and you averted your eyes, feeling the heat of embarrassment mingle with the warmth of the spring. You felt that you were making everything awkward right now by missing such an important detail.

"Calm down, I don't mind." his voice was low, soothing, as if trying to ease the tension that thrummed in the air between you. A smile flickered across his lips, a familiar, comforting expression that quickly faded when he noticed how much you were trying to cover yourself.

He took a step forward, his hand reaching out toward the towel hanging loosely around his waist. You turned your back to him instantly, instinctively, giving him the privacy you assumed he wanted. The movement sent ripples across the water, the sound echoing softly in the silence.

You felt the water move more and more as he approached you step by step.

"Are you ashamed of your spouse?" his voice came from right behind you, dripping with that familiar arrogance that always seemed to unsettle you in ways you couldn't quite explain. You felt the heat of his breath against your ear, and a shiver raced down your spine despite the warmth enveloping you "I thought you didn't mind seeing me after so long." his tone was teasing, but it was the way he said it, the dark edge to his voice, that made your cheeks flush not in pink, but crimson.

"Your view doesn't bother me." you replied, although your voice was not laced with confidence.

"Then why are you looking away?" his voice dropped, a whisper that sent a jolt of electricity through you, your breath hitching involuntarily. You could feel the shivers dancing over your skin, and you clenched your hands tighter, trying not to let him see how much his proximity affected you.

"I'm not used to seeing you like this."

"Like what? After all, I sleep in just my underwear many times." his breath ghosted over your neck, the moisture on your skin amplifying every sensation. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on remaining calm.

"But you're naked now."

"And so are you." his hands found your hips, his touch gentle but firm, fingers pressing into your skin as if he wanted to feel every inch of you. He pulled you closer, and you felt it- him -pressing against your lower back. A gasp escaped your lips, your mind spinning.

What is he doing? He had never been this bold before.

You felt his lips graze the back of your neck, a featherlight touch that ignited sparks along every nerve. His mouth moved with an agonizing slowness, gliding over your most sensitive spots, while you struggled to keep your hands steady, to stop them from reaching out and pulling him even closer.

"I've changed you into your pyjamas many times.." he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against your ear "When you came back from missions, battered or when you fell asleep on the sofa." his hands parted in two different directions, easing you. One hand finding its place on your thigh, stroking around the inside of it, the other gently cupped your breast, gliding small circles with his thumb over the hardened nipple. Warm hands made you feel pliant under their touch "I know your body." his nose nuzzled against your neck, his breath warm and heavy, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"Doesn't change the fact that it turns me the hell on." his words were a low growl in your ear, just before his teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shockwave through you. You couldn't hold back the moan that slipped from your lips, and you couldn't stop pressing your body back against his, feeling his hardness against you, eliciting a sharp hiss from him.

He tightened his grip around you, his hips pressing closer, moving in a rhythm that made your head spin. The friction between your legs pulsed with every subtle movement, and your skin felt like it was on fire, molten under his touch. His hand slid from your thigh to your chin, tilting your head back. When you looked up, his eyes were on you, half-lidded, burning with hunger. It was like staring into a blue inferno, his gaze devouring you whole. His hair was damp, sticking to his temples, his cheeks flushed, his lips slightly parted as he breathed heavily. The sight of him, so undone, sent another wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You bit your lip glancing up at him.

The world around you faded, the fact that you were in a public space evaporating from your mind. There was only him, the way he looked at you, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he leaned in. The pounding in your ears matched the rhythm of the pulse between your thighs, and you felt the last thread of restraint slipping away.

He leaned in, his lips hovering over yours, so close you could feel his breath mingling with yours, warm and sweet. You parted your lips, waiting, wanting -

A sudden, violent splash shattered the moment, the water surging against your bodies. You both turned your heads, alarm breaking through the fog of desire. The water was roiling with movement, a hand breaking the surface, followed by a head gasping for air. Instinct took over as you pulled away from Satoru, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

Without thinking, you rushed toward the figure struggling in the water, hands slicing through the hot spring as you fought your way through the resistance.

"I'm coming! Please hold!" you grabbed a hand sticking out of the water and pulled hard, fishing out a very old gentleman who was coughing and gasping for air.

"Are you alright, Sir?" you asked looking at his face seeking confirmation. "Please be more careful, there is no barrier here and it is easy to slip." your tone was gentle yet firm, a blend of concern and reprimand.

"I'm totally alright. I apologise for myself." he croaked out, his voice thin and rasping as he tried to catch his breath. He offered a weak smile, his eyes clouded with age yet warm "I came here because it's my late wife's birthday today." he murmured, a toothless grin spreading across his face "I wanted to remember…" he caught his breath unevenly "…to remember…. of her favourite place…" his voice wavered, breaking on the last word. You guided him to one of the stones by the shore, seating him carefully as you submerged yourself in the water again, trying to offer him and yourself some dignity.

"This place has always looked like this… and my dear Suki…. loved to sit here…" he continued, his voice now more of a murmur, eyes distant. He began to recount his memories, fragments of a life filled with love and loss, perhaps as a way of thanking you for saving his. You listened, your attempts to excuse yourself gently rebuffed or entirely ignored. Every time you tried to retreat back to Satoru, the old man would draw you back in, his stories weaving a net of nostalgia that held you in place.

You glanced over at Satoru, a silent plea in your eyes. He was sitting on a stone, arms crossed, a scowl etched into his face. His eyes were dark, drilling into the old man as if sheer willpower could make him disappear. He didn't even try to mask his annoyance. You gave him a helpless smile, one that said - 'please, do something.'

He didn’t move. You could see the irritation rolling off him in waves.

Gojo was not happy that he was getting the biggest cockblock, from a guy who can't even walk. On the other hand, he was full of admiration for your nature and how ingrained you are in helping others. That's one of the qualities he really admires about you. Even if it means running to help someone, naked.

Finally, after what felt like ages, you managed to extricate yourself from the old man's grasp. With a quick apology, you slipped away, ignoring his attempts to pull you back into conversation. You swam over to Satoru, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off the elderly man. His scowl deepened, his jaw clenched as you approached. He looked like an angry kitten.

"Did he at least thank you?" Satoru's voice was low, edged with irritation that he didn’t bother to hide.

You sighed "No, but he did apologise for himself." you sat down next to him, on the rock below, water now reaching your neck. You leaned back, resting your head against the rough surface of the rock. A wry smile tugged at your lips. "I guess that counts as a thank you."

Satoru glanced away, his eyes shifting to one of the lanterns flickering in the deepening dusk. He was avoiding your gaze, staring off into the distance with a tight expression. The silence between you was thick, the weight of unspoken words pressing down like a heavy fog. It got quite dark and the light from the lantern became more visible. You opened your mouth to say something.

"About earlier- " you began, but were interrupted by.

"Nah, it's nothing. I just got carried away…" tone casual, too casual. He turned his head even more you to not face you. "Don't think about it too much, okey?" his tone sounded normal, but he still didn't look at you.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest, an ache that spread like a crack through a fragile surface. You could literally hear it. Not enough to shatter, but enough to leave a clear mark.

He just got a little carried away, huh?

So much for that. Just a moment of oblivion. Nothing more.

"I just shouldn't have... sorry." he dropped his arms to his sides, his body language mirroring the sudden distance between you

"That's okay." you forced a smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Nothing happened, right?" the phrase stung on your tongue, echoing words from the past, reopening wounds that had never fully healed. Your 5th anniversary. You chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow in the dim light.

Long moment pases.

He shifted uncomfortably beside you, his eyes darting around for an escape from the unbearable tension.

"How did you like the spa?" oh, this conversation is going to be awkward. You can see that he wanted to change the subject quickly and drop something that you both could loosely chat about.

"Oh… em…" you gathered your scattered thoughts, grasping for something to say "The treatments were nice, especially the peelings. The massages also helped a lot on my muscles and bones. And this place…" Your eyes flicked to his jawline, the water droplets clinging to his skin. "It’s relaxing."

"How about you?" you smiled, trying to keep the conversation going to avoid the awkwardness and painful thoughts that were simmering in your head.

Bitter, sore are your thoughts.

He sighed, his gaze fixed on the rippling water before him.

just got carried away just got carried away just got carried away

The words looped in your mind, each repetition a fresh sting.

"I liked everything." he admitted quietly and smiled a little "Mushiburo was kinda cool. So were the facial treatments and that deep tissue massage." he rested his cheek against his palm and his hand against the stone beside "I'm surprised you got everything so right for my preferences." you raised an eyebrow, managing a small, humorless smile.

"What is so surprising about this? I've known you for years, besides, you often steal my sheet masks." you giggled akwardly. Sometimes you'd purposely buy ones with nice scents, or with cute patterns on the material.

He chuckled, a faint smile breaking through his sullen demeanor.

"It's not my fault that they produce such good cosmetics. And with you, my pores keep opening up." you nudged his side playfully, and for a moment, the mood lightened, his usual toothy grin returning. Conversation immediately became lighter.

"And I still have to use earplugs to sleep." you teased, the mock irritation in your voice genuine enough to draw a laugh from him.

"You said you got rid of them years ago! Did you lie to me?" he gasped in mock horror, dramaticly raised his voice a little.

You shrugged, a wry smile on your lips "No, you just stopped talking in your sleep."

For a moment, laughter filled the space where tension had been. Yet, even as you shared that fleeting levity, you couldn't shake the shadow lingering in the back of your mind, the weight of the moment that had almost been, and the hollow ache of what it had meant to you compared to what it seemed to mean to him.

----

The two of you walked side by side down the dimly lit corridor, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and cedar. Your fingers brushed against each other briefly before you pulled your hand away, shoving it awkwardly into the pocket of your robe. Satoru didn’t seem to notice - or maybe he did, but he made no move to close the space between you.

The reception area came into view, its soft glow inviting but distant. You could see the receptionist standing behind the counter, busying herself with some paperwork, her eyes flicking up occasionally to check the room. As you and Satoru approached, the sounds of hushed voices and the distant hum of soft music greeted you, a stark contrast to the stillness of the onsen.

"Thank you for your visit." the receptionist greeted with a warm smile as you reached the desk. Her eyes shifted between you and Satoru, lingering for a moment on the tension that seemed to hang between you like a veil "I hope we provided an execptional service, you enjoyed your time here."

Satoru nodded, his face a mask of politeness. "Yes, it was... relaxing." his tone was measured, the usual playful lilt absent. Her smile never faltering, as both od you were giving her towels and accesiories.

"I’m glad to hear that. Would you like to schedule another appointment in the future?" her gaze shifted to you, expectant.

You hesitated, glancing at Satoru out of the corner of your eye. He was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable. "I think we'll have to see about that." you replied, offering a polite but noncommittal smile "It was a lovely experience, though."

Satoru cleared his throat "Yeah, we'll see. Thanks for everything." He gave the receptionist a curt nod, already turning toward the exit.

"You're very welcome." the receptionist said, her smile remaining as she escorted Satoru to the exit with her shining eyes. She glanced back down at her paperwork, as soon as he leaves.

You followed him toward the door, feeling the weight of everything that had happened - and everything that hadn’t - settle onto your shoulders. The cool air hit you as you stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the warm, cocooning atmosphere of the spa. A very late evening greeted you with its light. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging clothes, tighter as you walked silently toward the small, barly lighten path.

Satoru walked ahead, his hands shoved into the pockets. His eyes met yours, and for a second, you thought you saw something there, a flicker of emotion, maybe regret or confusion. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by that casual mask he wore so well.

"So..." he started, his voice almost too casual "that was… an interesting expierience."

You let out a short laugh, the sound brittle and devoid of humor. "Interesting. Yeah, that’s one word for it."

You walked down a stone staircase down a small mountain, the forest that surrounded you seemed to grow brighter with every step you took.

He shifted his weight, looking down at the ground. "Look." he said after a pause "I don’t want things to be weird between us."

Your heart twisted.

Too late for that, you thought, but bit back the words.

Instead, you took a deep breath and forced a smile. "It doesn't have to be weird." you replied, though even you could hear the strain in your voice. "We’re adults. We can just... move on, right?"

You didn't want to spoil the mood for the rest of the trip.

You still had something grand in store for him, a surprise that should have been the highlight of his day. He deserved to enjoy it, to lose himself in the moment, and not be tethered by the cloud of your mood. You knew how to rein it in, knew your limits. This wasn’t the first time you'd found yourself in the midst of such a tangled situation, and you told yourself things would fall back into their familiar rhythm soon enough. They always did. Or at least, they were supposed to.

The real conversation, the one that weighed heavy on your mind, could wait. It had to wait. This was your one escape, your only holiday together, a time meant for joy and laughter, not for words that could splinter the fragile peace you'd managed to grasp. So you pushed it down, buried it deep, determined to leave it untouched until later. Not now. Not when you both should be basking in the moments that you had left.

He nodded, though his expression didn’t change "Right. Move on." he repeated the words, but they sounded hollow, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

A silence settled between you, awkward and heavy. You shifted on your feet, glancing around the stones, searching for anything to fill the void that had opened up.

"So, what now?" he asked, the question hanging in the air between you.

You glanced away "Well, we still have time." you admitted "Maybe we should just… go along the plan. We can already approach one place and get ready."

He ran a hand through his damp hair. "Yeah. Rest sounds good."

You were just a step away from the car when Satoru came to a halt. You paused beside him, the air thick with everything unsaid.

"You know." he began, his voice low, his gaze fixed somewhere in the darkness ahead "It’s okay to... talk about things, if you need to."

A tightness gripped your throat, choking off the words that clamored to escape. They lodged there, a heavy, unspoken weight. "I know." you whispered, barely managing the words. "But... maybe not now. Not tonight."

He inclined his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Not tonight." he echoed, the words hanging between you like a fragile thread.

He turned his eyes to you then, seeking, searching for something in your expression - some reassurance, some bridge across the chasm that had opened between you. But you didn’t have it to give. Not now.

So you forced a smile, a faint, fragile curve of your lips. It wasn’t much, a mere shadow of what you used to share, but it was all you could muster in that moment. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough for now.

----

Satoru stood in the dimly lit guest room, the scent of incense and freshly laundered fabric lingering in the air. The room was small but welcoming, its walls adorned with intricate patterns that spoke of the village's traditions. He glanced around, eyes catching on the various spools of thread and bolts of fabric neatly arranged in the corner - evidence of the woman’s craft. She was a tailor, and judging by the way the room seemed to hum with her skill, not just any tailor but one with years of experience and a touch for detail.

The elderly woman, now in her twilight years, had greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She had disappeared into another room and returned with the yukata draped over her arm, a beautiful navy blue garment adorned with delicate white clouds that cascaded into a soft gradient near the hem. The fabric shimmered faintly in the candlelight, each thread carefully woven to form an elegant, almost ethereal piece.

Satoru stared at it, his breath catching for a moment. There was something mesmerizing about the simplicity and grace of the design. The woman approached him, gesturing for him to take off his robe. He hesitated briefly, then complied, handing her his worn spa robe. She handed him the robes with a gentle nod.

As he held the garment, it felt impossibly light in his hands, the fabric soft and cool against his skin. He slipped his arms into the sleeves, feeling the smoothness glide over his skin. The elderly woman moved closer, her hands deftly adjusting the fabric over his shoulders. He let her work, dressing him layer by layer, standing still as she fastened the material around his waist, her movements practiced and precise.

Satoru glanced down at himself as she tied the obi, a dark navy sash that matched the garment perfectly. It cinched his waist securely, but not uncomfortably so, creating a sleek silhouette that felt almost regal. The yukata fell to his ankles, the hem brushing lightly against his skin with each breath. He turned slightly, catching his reflection in a small, polished bronze mirror hanging on the wall. The sight took him by surprise.

It fit perfectly. The yukata hugged his frame in all the right places, the sleeves hanging just so, the length tailored to his height with almost eerie precision. It was as if it had been made specifically for him, down to the smallest detail. He turned again, the fabric flowing with him like a second skin. It looked more beautiful than his clan robes.

He glanced at the woman, who watched him with a satisfied smile. "It suits you,." she said in a voice roughened by age but filled with pride. Her eyes gleamed with a knowledge that made him pause.

He wondered then, how much of this had been orchestrated by you. How quickly you must have moved to arrange this, to involve the village tailor, to ensure everything was perfect down to the last stitch. The realization sent a chill down his spine, not of fear, but of awe. How meticulous, how precise you were. It was both astounding and, in some quiet way, frightening.

But Satoru liked a scery women.

He chuckled to himself.

Gojo shifted his gaze back to the mirror, his lips curving into a faint smile. He could picture you now, working behind the scenes, your mind a whirl of details and plans. You had always been that way -considerate to the point of obsession, ensuring that everything was seamless, that every experience was as perfect as it could be. It was something he admired about you, even if it unsettled him at times.

He let out a soft breath, the tension in his shoulders easing as he took in the garment once more. This was so like you. To think of everything, even the smallest details, to make him feel… special. Seen.

The elderly woman stepped back, her work finished. She bowed her head slightly, a gesture of both respect and completion. "You wear it well, your wife sure has taste." she murmured, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Thank you." Satoru said, his voice softened, almost reverent. His fingers brushed over the fabric, feeling the texture under his fingertips. It was more than just a piece of clothing - it was a piece of you, a glimpse into the lengths you would go to for him.

He turned toward the door, ready to step out and show you. As he moved, the yukata flowed around him, its fit and design a testament to the care that had been put into it. And as he opened the door, a thought lingered in his mind, warm and unsettling: How well you knew him, how easily you could shape the world around him without him even realizing it until he was standing there, wrapped in it. He smiled again, this time a little wider, though the unease remained at the edges.

For now, though, he let it slip away. Tonight was meant for you and him, and the thought of seeing your face when you saw him like this… that was worth setting aside every other concern.

Satoru stood outside the small house, the evening air cool against his skin. He let out a slow breath, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the village lights began to flicker on, painting the landscape in hues of dark purple and pink. In the distance, the colored lanterns swayed gently, strung up between trees and around the central square, casting a soft, inviting glow. It was mesmerizing, the way they shimmered in the dusk, a quiet prelude to something that felt almost magical. He wondered if this was it, if this was the surprise you had meticulously crafted for him. The thought made his chest tighten with a mix of anticipation and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name.

He glanced down at himself, smoothing his hand over the navy blue fabric of his yukata, tracing the gradient of clouds that faded into the darkness near his feet. It felt different on him, not just because of the craftsmanship, but because of what it represented- a piece of you, woven into every thread. He took another deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in his stomach. How long had it been since he felt this way? Nervous, excited, all at once.

The door behind him creaked softly, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned, eyes widening as they fell on you. For a moment, the world seemed to still.

You stood framed in the doorway, a vision of grace and elegance. The yukata you wore was a delicate pink, adorned with painted mountains and flowers that spread across the fabric like a whispered dream. Higher up, sakura petals floated as if caught in an invisible breeze, dancing toward your shoulders, adding an air of ethereal beauty to your silhouette. In your hand, you clutched a small handbag, its design mirroring the motif of your attire. Your hair had been styled with care, adorned with floral decorations that sparkled faintly with small beads, catching the light with every movement.

Satoru felt his breath hitch. For a heartbeat, he forgot where he was, lost in the sight of you. It was as if the world had been painted around you, a living canvas that paled in comparison to the figure stepping toward him. The quiet confidence in your steps, the way the fabric of your yukata moved with you, it took everything in him not to reach out, to pull you close and keep you there, a part of this moment forever.

You approached him, the soft rustle of your garments the only sound in the stillness of the evening. As you drew nearer, he could see the faint smile on your lips, the way your eyes gleamed under the lanterns' glow. You stopped just in front of him, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to hum with unspoken words.

He swallowed, searching for something to say, anything that could capture what he felt.

"You look..." his voice trailed off, the words faltering on his tongue. Perfect. Stunning. Ethereal. None of it seemed adequate. He chuckled, a nervous sound that surprised even him "You look beautiful." he finally managed, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.

Your smile widened, a soft blush coloring your cheeks, and for a moment, he could see it, everything you had put into this, the care, the thought, the effort to create something that would make him feel... special.

It made his chest ache.

"Thank you." you replied, your voice soft, almost shy, a contrast to the confidence in your appearance "I see they found something that fits you perfectly." your eyes roamed over his yukata, taking in the way it hugged his frame "I was a bit worried about the measurements."

He glanced down at himself, then back at you, a grin tugging at his lips.

"I have to admit, it feels like it was made just for me. You really went all out, didn’t you?" there was a teasing lilt to his voice, but behind it, there was something else, an awe, a gratitude that he wasn’t sure how to express.

"Maybe I did. You deserve it, sometimes." you shrugged lightly, a playful glimmer in your eyes.

You reached out then, your fingers brushing against his sleeve, adjusting a small crease in the fabric. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent a warmth spreading through him, settling somewhere deep in his chest.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the air between you charged with a quiet intensity. Satoru let his gaze drift back to the horizon, where the lights continued to dance in the distance.

"Is that where we’re headed?" he asked, nodding toward the colorful glow.

You followed his gaze, a secretive smile playing on your lips.

"Yes." you said, turning back to him. "But it's more than just the lights. It’s... everything. I wanted tonight to be special."

He felt his heart skip a beat at your words, the sincerity behind them. You had always had a way of turning the simplest moments into something extraordinary. It was one of the things that drew him to you, that kept him tethered to this feeling, even when everything else felt uncertain.

"Lead the way." he said, offering his arm to you. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it, your hand slipping into the crook of his elbow. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it was enough to send a thrill through him, a silent promise of what the night held.

As you walked together toward the lights, the village around you seemed to come alive, lanterns flickering to life one by one, guiding your path. Satoru couldn’t help but glance at you from the corner of his eye, the soft smile that graced your lips as you looked ahead. He wondered how he had managed to deserve this, to deserve you. And as the cool evening breeze brushed against his skin, he found himself hoping, wishing, that this moment could stretch on just a little longer.

And it didn't even started.

In the back of his mind, that familiar unease stirred, a whisper of fear at how much you could move him, how deeply you had woven yourself into his world. But for now, he let it be.

Tonight was yours, a carefully crafted world of color and warmth, and he wanted to lose himself in it, if only for a while.

----

As you walked together down the lantern-lit path, the air grew sweeter, carrying with it hints of caramel, fruit, and sugar. The colors ahead became more vivid, the soft glow of lanterns giving way to brighter lights that adorned the festival grounds. When you reached the entrance, Satoru came to a sudden halt. His eyes went wide as he read the banner hanging above the gate, the words written in an elegant script illuminated by string lights.

Regional Candy Festival

Satoru blinked, processing what he was seeing. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the scene before him, the entrance gate decorated with multicolored paper lanterns and ribbons that fluttered gently in the evening breeze. His eyes flicked to you, a mixture of surprise and wonder playing across his face.

"You... brought me to a sweets festival?" he asked, almost in disbelief. He had a soft spot for sweets, you knew it, you spoiled him with them.

You stepped in front of him, a grin tugging at your lips. "Yep. It happens once a year, and it's a big deal for the locals. They prepare for months, bringing together candy makers from all over the region. It's more than just sweets, it's a celebration of tradition and community."

He murmured something under his breath, his eyes flicking back to the festival grounds, where the lights twinkled invitingly. You watched as a faint blush crept up his cheeks. There was a boyish excitement in his eyes that he tried to suppress, but it was impossible to miss. His gaze darted back to you, still in a state of half-disbelief.

"Come on." you said, not giving him a chance to linger in his thoughts. You grabbed his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. He tensed for a fraction of a second before letting you pull him forward, his longer strides quickly matching your pace as you led him through the gate and into the heart of the festival.

The grounds opened up before you, a sprawling array of stalls lined up along winding paths, each one bursting with color and life. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and the occasional clink of glass jars being opened and closed. Rows of booths were adorned with streamers, paper flowers, and hanging lights that bathed everything in a warm, inviting glow.

The festival grounds were bustling with life, a vibrant tapestry of people woven together by the allure of sweets and the warmth of community. Everywhere you looked, there were clusters of families with children darting around, their laughter ringing out like music against the hum of the crowd. Parents called out to their little ones, balancing bags of candy and festival toys as they tried to keep up. Children with sticky hands clutched cotton candy or candied apples, their faces smeared with sugar and joy.

The stalls themselves were a feast for the eyes. Wooden tables were piled high with every kind of confection imaginable. Glass jars held rainbow-colored rock candy, shaped like precious gemstones that glittered under the lantern light. Trays were filled with handcrafted mochi, their surfaces dusted with delicate powders of matcha, strawberry, and kinako. You pointed to a booth displaying intricately molded sugar sculptures, delicate flowers and animals crafted with such precision they looked almost too beautiful to eat.

Couples strolled hand in hand, their expressions softened by the lantern light and the shared experience of this magical evening. They lingered at stalls, heads bent close together as they sampled sweets and whispered in each other’s ears. Some took turns trying their luck at the game booths, while others simply wandered, soaking in the sights and sounds. You watched as one couple fed each other small bites of mochi, laughing when powdered sugar dusted their noses. Another pair stood near the goldfish scooping game, the woman holding her breath as her partner carefully scooped up a tiny fish, cheering when he finally succeeded.

The festival was a haven for both locals and visitors alike. Groups of tourists mingled among the crowd, their eyes wide with delight as they explored the rich tapestry of traditions laid out before them. They snapped pictures of the stalls, the lanterns, and the intricately crafted confections. Some had even donned yukatas provided by the villagers, their vibrant fabrics blending seamlessly into the colorful scene. You could hear the mix of languages and accents, adding an extra layer to the festival’s melody. For many of them, this was a rare glimpse into the heart of the village, an invitation to share in something deeply cherished.

It was a beautiful chaos, a symphony of life and light, where every face held a story, every voice contributed to the joyous chorus. You and Satoru were just two among the many, woven into the fabric of this moment. But as he turned to you, his eyes reflecting the colorful lights around you, it felt as though the entire festival was just a backdrop to the world you two had created together tonight.

"Look!" you said, dragging him over to a stall where a candy maker was busy spinning fresh cotton candy into intricate shapes -dragons, flowers, butterflies -all infused with subtle flavors like lavender and yuzu. Satoru's eyes widened as he watched the man's hands move skillfully, weaving sugar into art. He bought it immidietly.

He was practically vibrating with excitement, his crystal blue eyes darting from stall to stall, each new sight triggering a fresh wave of childlike joy. It was like he had stepped into a wonderland of flavors and colors, and he was determined to try everything. His usual aloofness was nowhere to be found - instead, there was a wide smile on his face, pure and unfiltered, as he grabbed anything that caught his attention.

"Look at this!" he exclaimed.

The next stall you passed was filled with traditional Japanese sweets, wagashi in all shapes and sizes. Sweet bean paste and chestnut filling were encased in delicate, pastel-colored mochi. Some were shaped like tiny cherry blossoms, while others resembled seasonal fruits. Satoru couldn’t help himself - he reached out and picked up a small sakura-shaped wagashi, examining it with a kind of reverence before you nudged him to take a bite.

The moment he did, his eyes fluttered shut, a soft hum of pleasure escaping his lips as he melted into the taste. "It's so… delicate." he murmured, almost in awe, his usual animated demeanor replaced by a quiet appreciation.

You could hardly keep up with him as he moved through the festival, drawn to every colorful treat and sizzling skewer. He grabbed your hand again, and before you knew it, you were being pulled along, laughter bubbling up in your chest as you tried to keep up with his boundless enthusiasm.

Further down, you found a stall selling caramelized fruit, the skewers of glossy red apples and candied strawberries glistening under the lantern light. Without hesitation, you picked up a stick of candied strawberries and held it out to him, watching as he hesitated only for a split second before leaning forward to take a bite.

The moment the sweet and tart flavor hit his tongue, his eyes widened in surprise, and a delighted smile broke out on his face.

"Oh, this is amazing!" he said, his voice muffled slightly by the bite still in his mouth. He chewed quickly, the taste clearly captivating him. "It's like... sweet and sour magic on a stick!" he exclaimed, looking at you with eyes that sparkled with glee.

"You like it?" you teased, unable to stop smiling at his sheer enthusiasm.

He nodded vigorously, his gaze already drifting to the next stall lined with treats. His eyes were wide with wonder, darting between the rows of colorful mochi, the crackling sound of caramel being spun into cotton candy, and the steam rising from buns filled with savory or sweet fillings.

When he reached the booth with the caramelized fruit, he watched the vendor's hands intently as they dipped apples and strawberries into molten sugar, his eyes wide with fascination. "This… this is art." he murmured, almost reverently, before taking a bite of a candied apple, his expression turning blissful as he chewed.

You couldn't help but laugh softly as he moved through the festival, completely absorbed in every new experience. Satoru was such a foodie. He grabbed anything that caught his eye, his excitement so pure and infectious that it made the night even more magical.

You continued to wander, stopping at a stall where the vendor demonstrated how to make traditional hard candies, pulling sugar into thin, colorful ribbons before shaping them into delicate lollipops. You watched, captivated, as Satoru leaned in, utterly absorbed in the process. When the vendor handed him a lollipop shaped like a fox, his eyes lit up with the kind of joy you rarely saw, unguarded and genuine.

He moved through the festival grounds like a whirlwind, his eyes alight with curiosity and excitement as he surveyed the array of sweets laid out before him. It was as if every new sight, every fragrant scent, pulled him deeper into a wonderland of flavors. You could hardly keep up as he darted from stall to stall, his enthusiasm spilling over with every new discovery.

You laughed, charmed by his enthusiasm, as he moved on to a nearby stand selling mitarashi dango - skewered rice dumplings coated in a glossy, soy sauce glaze. Satoru took a skewer, eyeing the dumplings curiously before popping one into his mouth. His expression shifted through a series of reactions, starting with surprise, then contemplation, and finally pure satisfaction.

"It's sweet and savory at the same time." he marveled, licking the sauce from his lips. "The dango is chewy, but the sauce... it's got this depth to it. It's not just sugar -it's like... umami?" he looked at you as if seeking confirmation, his brows raised in excitement. "How do they make it so good?"

Before you could answer, he was already reaching for another treat - a yatsuhashi, a thin, cinnamon-flavored rice flour pastry wrapped around a dollop of sweet red bean paste. He bit into it, the cinnamon adding a warm spice to the sweetness of the bean paste. He let out a satisfied sigh, chewing slowly as if each bite needed to be fully appreciated.

"This one's so delicate." he said, holding it up to examine the thin layer of mochi encasing the filling. "The cinnamon just... wraps around the sweetness in this really comforting way."

You watched him with a fond smile, your heart swelling at the sight of him so genuinely happy. For all his power, all his strength, there was a part of him that remained untainted by the world - a part that found joy in the sweet and the simple.

And in that moment, you couldn't help, but fall a little bit more in love with him.

As you made your way through the festival, his hands never left yours. You sampled sweet potato candy, bean paste-filled pastries, and even shared a warm taiyaki filled with red bean paste, the crispy shell cracking open to reveal the sweet, steaming filling inside. Satoru's laughter mingled with yours as he stole bites from your hands, his eyes sparkling in the glow of the lanterns.

Hours seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, filled with laughter, sweets, and the simple joy of being together. At one point, you found yourselves standing in front of a booth that sold soft, fluffy daifuku. You insisted he try one filled with fresh strawberries and cream, and he obliged, taking a bite and closing his eyes to savor the taste.

Satoru looked like he was on the verge of a sugar-induced bliss, his hands full of various confections he had yet to finish. He turned to you, his cheeks flushed with excitement, his eyes shining. "I don’t think I can eat another bite." he admitted, laughing. "But... one more daifuku wouldn't hurt, right?"

You laughed.

"Right." you agreed, because watching him this happy was worth every indulgence in the world.

"I can't believe you found this place." he murmured, looking at you with an expression that was equal parts awe and gratitude. "You planned all this... for me?"

"I wanted to make you happy." your heart skipping a beat at the warmth in his voice.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at you, the noise and bustle of the festival fading into the background. "You did." he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You smiled, a quiet happiness settling over you. The festival continued to buzz around you, the air alive with the scents of sugar and joy.

----

The festival grounds were alive with a hum of activity, each game station vibrant with laughter and the bright clink of prizes being won. Paper lanterns hung above each booth, casting a warm, welcoming glow that made the whole scene feel like something out of a dream. Satoru's eyes scanned the array of stalls, and a mischievous grin spread across his face as he took in the possibilities.

"How about a little friendly competition?" he suggested, his tone teasing, as he nudged you toward the first game booth: the ring toss.

The ring toss booth was simple yet enticing, with rows of bottles lined up behind a wooden counter, their tops painted in different colors. The goal was to toss rings and land them around the necks of the bottles. Prizes hung above the stall - stuffed animals, wooden trinkets, and even small bags of candy, each prize depending on the difficulty of the toss.

Satoru paid for a handful of rings and handed half of them to you.

"Let's see who wins more." he said, his grin wide and confident. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips.

You went first, taking aim at the closest bottle. The ring left your hand in a neat arc, clattering around the neck of the bottle with a satisfying clink. Satoru raised an eyebrow, impressed but undeterred. His turn was next. He flicked his wrist, the ring soaring through the air before landing perfectly around a bottle in the back row, the more challenging target. He turned to you with a smug smile.

"Beginner's luck." you muttered playfully, determined not to be outdone. The competition escalated from there, with each of you aiming for the most difficult bottles, laughter spilling over each time a ring missed its mark or clattered to the ground. In the end, Satoru managed to land more rings than you, and he leaned against the counter, grinning.

The vendor handed him a choice of prizes, and instead of picking something for himself, he turned to you.

"Your prize, wifey." he said in an exaggerated formal tone, selecting a plush fox with bright eyes and a bushy tail. You accepted it with a grin, hugging the soft toy to your chest.

Next, you made your way to the shooting gallery, where small paper targets were lined up on moving tracks. The air rifles were simple, old-fashioned models, but the challenge was in the steady hand and precise aim required to knock down the targets. Satoru stepped up confidently, glancing at you with a raised brow.

"Care to join me, or do you want to watch a master at work?" he teased.

"Master, huh?" You shot back with a smirk. "We'll see about that."

The booth attendant handed you each a rifle, and the game began. You both took turns aiming and firing, the sound of popping balloons and the clang of knocked-over targets filling the air. Satoru was annoyingly good at it, hitting the bullseye almost every time, his focus and sharp reflexes evident. But you weren’t far behind, managing to knock down several moving targets yourself.

In the end, Satoru won by a narrow margin. He turned to the vendor, pointing at a small, intricately painted porcelain fox figurine. He picked it up and turned to you, holding it out with a gentle smile.

"You spoil me." you replied, taking the figurine carefully. His only response was a casual shrug, but the way he looked at you, eyes softening in the warm light, said more than words could.

Moving on, you came to the goldfish scooping game, a traditional stall where delicate paper scoops were used to catch darting goldfish in a shallow pool of water. The challenge lay in the fact that the paper would tear easily, making it a game of patience and skill.

"Watch and learn." Satoru announced confidently, kneeling down by the pool. He dipped his paper scoop into the water, eyes tracking the fish. For a moment, it looked like he would succeed, but just as he went to lift a fish out of the water, the paper tore, and the fish slipped away. You burst into laughter, watching his confident expression crumble into one of playful annoyance.

"Not as easy as it looks, huh?" you teased, taking a scoop for yourself.

You bent over the pool, moving the scoop slowly through the water. You felt Satoru’s eyes on you, watching intently as you coaxed a small, golden fish into the scoop. With a delicate lift, you managed to catch the fish and place it into the bowl beside the pool. Triumph surged through you as you glanced up at him, a victorious smile on your face.

He shook his head, grinning. "Beginner's luck." he echoed your earlier words, making you both laugh.

The night continued with more games. At the dart-throwing booth, you took turns popping balloons pinned to a wooden board, Satoru effortlessly hitting the hardest targets.

That dammed Six Eyes.

When you missed a shot, he playfully nudged you aside, throwing his dart with dramatic flair and popping a balloon right next to yours. The booth attendant offered a variety of prizes, and once again, Satoru chose something for you - a delicate glass jar filled with colorful, star-shaped sugar candies.

Then there was the strength tester, a tall tower with a mallet that needed to be struck to send a metal weight up to ring a bell.

"Should I use my cursed energy?" he asked, feigning seriousness. "Or should I give everyone a fair shot at winning?"

"You mean to tell me you're so weak that you need to use your powers to win a festival game?" you shot back with a playful smirk, raising one brow in challenge

He feigned an offended look, but couldn’t hide the amusement twinkling in his eyes. He chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. Without a word, Satoru hefted the mallet, swinging it with ridiculous ease. The weight rocketed to the top, hitting the bell with a resounding clang that echoed across the festival. The crowd cheered as he turned back to you, flexing his arm in mock arrogance.

"Show-off." you muttered, though your smile betrayed your amusement. Crossing your arms, you shook your head, trying to play unimpressed, but he was just too... him.

"Your turn." he said, holding the mallet out to you.

You took it, feeling a little weight of it in your hands. The crowd murmured, clearly intrigued to see if you could match the previous performance. You swung the mallet with a little efford. The metal weight shot up, reaching the top, drawing a round of applause. Satoru clapped the loudest, his eyes shining with pride as he pulled you into a quick, impulsive hug.

"That's my wife!" he proclaimed proudly, his voice carrying over the crowd. He was practically bubbling over with pride, and you couldn't help but smile at his excitement.

A few men in the back exchanged wide-eyed, almost intimidated glances, clearly taken aback by the display of strength.

You shrugged it off casually, feeling a little embarrassed by all the attention. "It was nothing special." you said, trying to play it cool.

"Who's the show-off now?" Satoru teased, his eyes glinting mischievously. He knew your strength well, of course - you were a sorcerer, just like him. But the opportunity to see you take center stage, to let the world witness a glimpse of the power he admired so much in you, made his chest swell with a little pride.

You shot him a playful glare, but your lips betrayed you with a smile. "Still you." you replied lightly, bumping your shoulder against his. "I just don't have to show off as often."

He chuckled, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you both turned to leave the booth.

The two of you moved from game to game, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the festival. The evening was filled with moments of light-hearted competition, Satoru trying to outdo you at every game, and you refusing to back down. He won more often than not, but each time he did, he chose a prize that he thought you would like - a stuffed animal, a small wooden charm, a delicate bracelet with tiny bells that jingled softly whenever you moved.

He wasn't just winning; he was showing you, in his own way, how much he cared. With each prize he handed you, his eyes held a tenderness that made your heart flutter. By the time you finished with the game stalls, your arms were filled with tokens of the night- small treasures that would remind you of this moment for a long time.

----

The crowd had thickened as the night wore on, and at some point, you and Satoru had gotten separated in the bustling festival grounds. He had turned around to say something to you, only to find an empty space where you had just been standing. His heart skipped a beat, a sliver of panic settling in his chest. He scanned the throngs of people, his height giving him a slight advantage, but he couldn’t catch a glimpse of your pink yukata amidst the sea of colors.

And he has a really good eyes.

Satoru moved through the crowd, his eyes darting from face to face. The festival was loud and bright, filled with laughter and chatter, but it felt strangely hollow without you beside him. A frown creased his brow as he began to retrace his steps, weaving through the clusters of families, couples, and friends. Where could you have gone? He wondered if you’d wandered off to one of the game stalls or perhaps been drawn to something that caught your eye.

Minutes felt like hours as he searched, his mind racing with a dozen possibilities. A part of him knew you were capable and safe, but the thought of you being out of reach, even for a little while, unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He turned a corner near a booth selling candied fruits and finally, he saw you.

You were walking toward him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Relief washed over him, mingling with the faint annoyance he felt for letting you out of his sight. As you drew closer, he noticed that you were holding something behind your back, hiding it coyly.

"Where did you run off to?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light, but unable to mask the concern in his eyes.

"I didn’t run off." you replied teasingly, "I just got a little... sidetracked." you stepped closer, finally revealing what you had been hiding. In your hands were two matching bracelets, each coiled neatly with a small collar and string.

Satoru blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The bracelets were simple yet elegant. The one in your right hand was a deep blue, the color of the evening sky just before nightfall. It had a smooth, round collar of polished metal that shone subtly under the lantern light. Attached to it was a braided string, also blue, interwoven with fine silver threads that glimmered softly. The bracelet in your left hand was pink, a soft blush hue that mirrored the shade of your yukata. It too had a small collar, this one in a warm rose gold, with a braided string of pink and gold threads.

"I won these at one of the game stalls." you explained, your voice laced with pride. "Thought they’d be a nice little keepsake." you held them out to him, your eyes searching his for a reaction.

Matching.

They were matching, and it hit him with a warmth that spread through his chest. He reached out and took the blue bracelet from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. It was lightweight but sturdy, the kind of thing that wouldn’t break easily even if worn often.

"You got these for us?" he asked, his voice softer now, the earlier worry dissolving into something more tender.

"Yes." you replied simply. "I thought... it would be nice to have something to remember tonight by." You held up the pink one, showing it off with a small flourish. "This one's mine." you added with a smile.

He couldn’t help but smile back, the knot of tension in his chest loosening. He slipped the blue bracelet over his wrist, the string settling comfortably against his skin. The metal collar gleamed faintly, catching the light. It felt right, somehow, to have this - something small yet meaningful, a token of the time you had spent together.

You fastened the pink bracelet around your wrist, the rose gold collar glinting as it caught the reflection of the lanterns. For a moment, the two of you stood there, the noise of the festival swirling around you, yet feeling like it was just the two of you in that instant. He glanced down at your wrist, then at his, a small chuckle escaping him.

"Matching bracelets, huh?" he said, his voice teasing but his eyes warm.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. "Well, I thought there were cute." you said lightly, though your eyes held a depth that made his chest tighten.

He took a step closer, lifting his wrist to brush against yours, the two bracelets touching, their colors a striking contrast. "Thank you." he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "For this... and for everything tonight."

You smiled up at him, your eyes reflecting the colorful lights around. "You're welcome," you whispered, the simple words carrying the weight of all you felt.

----

As midnight approached, the festival grounds began to shift in mood. The stalls were still alive with chatter, but a palpable sense of anticipation hung in the air. People moved in the same direction, gathering toward the open space near the edge of the festival grounds where the fireworks would soon light up the sky. Families found their spots, children clambering onto their parents' shoulders for a better view, while couples huddled closer, whispering excitedly.

Satoru nudged your arm gently, drawing your attention away from the crowd.

"How about we get a better view?" he suggested, tilting his head toward a small hill that overlooked the festival. The slope was gentle and dusted with wild grass, illuminated softly by the glow of the lanterns scattered across the grounds below.

You nodded, letting him take your hand as he led you away from the crowd. The climb was short, the grass crunching softly beneath your sandals. You reached the top just as the first firework burst into the sky - a single golden streak that shot upward, hanging for a heartbeat before exploding in a shower of shimmering light.

From the hill, the view was breathtaking. The night sky stretched out above you, a canvas of deep indigo speckled with stars. It was vast and open, the kind of sky that seemed to pull at your very soul. The moon hung low, a silver crescent cradled against the horizon, its pale light mingling with the colors that now blossomed in the air.

Another firework followed, this time a bouquet of red and gold that spread wide before cascading down like a waterfall of sparks. You stood side by side with Satoru, your fingers still entwined, he didn't let your hand go feeling the soft evening breeze play with the edges of your yukata.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing how you gazed up at the display, your eyes wide with wonder. The colors danced across your face, painting your skin in hues of emerald, sapphire, and ruby with each explosion. Your lips parted slightly, a soft smile forming as the sky above you came alive in bursts of color and light.

Satoru’s gaze softened as he watched you. He had seen fireworks countless times before, in different places and under different circumstances, but tonight felt different. It wasn’t just the beauty of the fireworks that captivated him - it was the way you seemed to lose yourself in the spectacle, the way your eyes sparkled with each new burst, reflecting the colors that lit up the sky. He found himself more drawn to you than to the display, your presence grounding him in a way that made the world seem a little less chaotic.

The fireworks continued, each one more magnificent than the last. Spirals of green and blue shot up, followed by crackling gold that spread across the sky like a phoenix spreading its wings. Some fireworks were loud and thunderous, their echoes rolling across the valley, while others were silent, fizzling into tiny stars that lingered for a moment before fading into the night.

You sighed softly, tilting your head to rest against his shoulder. He stiffened for a brief second before relaxing, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable for you. He glanced down at you again, subtly, as if trying not to disturb the moment. The way you leaned into him, trusting, at ease, sent a warmth flooding through his chest.

More exploded, this time in a sequence of vivid purples and pinks, creating shapes that wove and twisted through the sky. The crowd below gasped and cheered, but up on the hill, it felt like the show was just you two, a private spectacle shared in the quiet space you'd carved out together.

Satoru's eyes flickered back to the sky for a moment, then back to you. The reflection of the fireworks in your eyes made them appear like two bright, endless galaxies, full of depth and life. He couldn’t look away. He wondered if you realized how radiant you looked in this moment, how the joy and serenity on your face seemed to eclipse even the brightest fireworks above.

The finale began, a rapid succession of bursts that filled the sky with color and light. Golds, blues, reds, and greens overlapped in a cacophony of brilliance, trailing sparks that lit up the entire valley. It was as if the heavens had opened, showering the earth with a celebration of light.

You inhaled sharply, your hand tightening slightly around his as the sky was filled with an intricate dance of sparks. In that instant, you turned your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. For a heartbeat, the fireworks ceased to matter. It was just you and him, standing there, the world around you a mere backdrop to this fleeting, perfect moment.

He offered you a small, genuine smile, one that reached his eyes and softened his features. Without a word, he lifted his free hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering near your cheek. The final burst of fireworks illuminated the sky in a blinding flash of gold, and in its light, you saw the sincerity in his gaze, the quiet depth of what he felt but left unspoken.

As the fireworks faded and the sky darkened once more, the echoes of the display drifting away into the night, Satoru leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple.

"Beautiful." he murmured, his voice low, though you weren’t sure if he was talking about the fireworks or something else entirely.

----

As the final crescendos of the fireworks show began to die down, the sky settling back into its inky darkness speckled with the faint glow of stars, you felt a familiar energy stir within you. It bubbled up, almost unbidden, a restless desire to add your own touch to the night’s spectacle. You glanced at Satoru, his gaze still turned skyward, his expression a blend of awe and contentment. For a moment, you hesitated, not wanting to disturb this serene moment. But then, a small smile tugged at your lips, and you decided you couldn’t help yourself.

You raised your hand slowly, focusing your energy into your palm. A soft light began to gather there, a warm, luminous glow that pulsed gently, growing brighter with each heartbeat. The positive energy bent and twisted under your will, taking form as it pooled into a delicate, shimmering shape. Satoru sensed the shift in the air and turned to look at you, his eyes widening slightly as he watched the light in your hand begin to transform.

Before him, the light morphed into the shape of a bird, its wings outstretched, its body composed of gold radiant. It was intricate and beautiful, each feather outlined in a soft, golden hue that seemed to pulse with life. For a heartbeat, it stayed there, perched in your palm, glowing brightly against the darkened sky.

Satoru stared, his eyes wide, breath held as he watched the luminous creature you had crafted. He didn't know you manage to lern how to create posivitve energy. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, a pure manifestation of enegry, delicate and awe-inspiring.

With a gentle exhale, you lifted your hand and let the bird go. It took flight, rising gracefully into the air, its wings moving fluidly as if it were a living creature. It soared upward, leaving a faint golden trail behind it, weaving through the night sky with an elegance that took the breath away. The crowd below gasped as they noticed this new light, their eyes following the bird as it glided over the festival, casting a warm glow upon the faces of the people gathered.

Satoru couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. His usual composure cracked, revealing a look of raw wonder that you rarely saw on his face. His lips parted slightly, his eyes reflecting the hue of the bird as it climbed higher into the sky, the positive energy within it growing more intense. It was as if you had captured a piece of the stars and given it wings, a living embodiment of the night’s magic.

The bird flew above the festival, a graceful arc that seemed to bless the gathering below. It soared higher and higher, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a final, powerful beat of its wings, the bird exploded in a brilliant burst of sparkles.

The sky lit up with the most stunning shade of gold the world had ever seen, a color so vivid and warm it felt like sunlight breaking through the dark. It spread across the horizon, an eruption of light that outshone the final fireworks, cascading down in a rain of shimmering sparks that slowly faded into the night.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their voices echoing across the festival grounds. They didn’t know where this last miracle had come from, but it didn’t matter. To them, it was simply the perfect ending to a perfect night.

Satoru stood frozen beside you, his eyes fixed on the fading light in the sky. Slowly, he turned to you, his expression one of utter astonishment. "You…." he began, his voice low and almost breathless. He struggled for words, his usual confidence slipping away as he tried to grasp what he'd just witnessed.

He didn't know you can bend energy like this. This was hard, for an average sorcerer this would took forverer to uderstand, or to even create it, but you just created a bird from it. Something so hopeful, full of light, to contrast the curses and darkness that you normally conquer or exorcise.

"You did that." he finished, his voice carrying a mix of awe and disbelief.

You looked at him, a playful glint in your eyes "I couldn't help myself, sometimes I want to show off too." you admitted, a small, sheepish smile on your lips. You glanced back up at the sky where the golden sparks had lingered, now just a faint memory in the dark.

He continued to stare at you, his gaze intense, as if trying to etch this moment into his memory. Then, to your surprise, his expression softened, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It wasn’t his usual teasing smirk or the sly grin he often wore - it was a smile of pure, unguarded admiration.

"That was amazing." he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made your heart flutter. There was no pretense, no hint of the usual banter. Just those simple words, spoken with a sincerity that made your breath hitch.

He reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his hand found yours. His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and firm, grounding you in the reality of this moment. His eyes holding yours.

You felt a warmth spread through you, different from the power you had just wielded. It was softer, deeper, something that came not from within you, but from this quiet connection between you and him. You squeezed his hand, your smile widening as you gazed up at him.

"Thank you." you murmured, the words barely audible over the cheers still ringing from below. But you knew he heard you, saw it in the way his eyes softened further, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand.

"Not a show off, yeah?" he teased. You just smirked at that comment.

The night sky was dark again, the fireworks over, the golden light faded. But for the two of you, standing there on the hill, the brilliance of that moment lingered, glowing quietly in the space between you.

----

Your friend’s car hummed softly as it navigated the quiet, winding roads back to the rental house. The festival was now a distant glow behind you, the sounds and lights fading into the night as the car drove through the peaceful countryside. Satoru sat beside you in the back seat, his gaze fixed out the window, lost in his thoughts. The soft glow of the dashboard lights cast gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the mix of emotions that swirled within him - contentment, tenderness, something deeper that twisted his heart with an almost painful ache.

You sat quietly next to him, the bag of prizes resting on your lap. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather a quiet after the storm of the evening, a shared stillness that spoke of the connection forged throughout the night. Occasionally, you glanced at him, catching the reflection of the moonlight in his eyes. Each time, he seemed to be miles away, caught in the lingering magic of the night’s events.

When your friend pulled up to the rental house, you turned to him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you so much for the ride." you said, your voice soft. He gave you a warm smile in return, waving off your thanks with an easygoing shrug.

"No problem." he replied, glancing at Satoru with a nod. "You two have a good night. Get some rest."

Satoru mumbled his thanks, distractedly opening the car door and stepping out. You followed, carefully gathering all the prizes he had won into your arms - the plush fox, the porcelain figurine, the small glass jar filled with sugar candies, and all the little trinkets that had come to symbolize the memories of the night. Satoru reached over to help, his hand brushing against yours as he steadied the tower of items. For a brief moment, your eyes met, and you both smiled, a quiet understanding passing between you.

"See you around." your friend called out before driving off, leaving you and Satoru standing in the driveway, surrounded by the stillness of the night. The rental house loomed ahead, dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the festival. You both moved towards it, carrying the night’s treasures with you.

Inside, the house was cool and dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You walked into the living room, carefully placing all the prizes on the small wooden table. Satoru watched you from the doorway, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his heart feeling strangely heavy. You moved with a quiet grace, arranging each item on the table with care. The sight of it - the plush toys, the small trinkets, the delicate bracelet still on your wrist made something in him twist painfully.

He felt raw, like every barrier he had carefully constructed around his heart had been stripped away by the night. Watching you smile softly at the collection of prizes, your eyes glowing with the warmth of the evening, he felt a surge of emotions that left him feeling fragile.

Vulnerable. Eager.

A deep yearning for tenderness, for some word or touch that would ground him in the storm of feelings swirling inside.

You glanced up at him, catching the look in his eyes, so open, so full of unspoken things and you felt your own chest tighten. You gave him a gentle smile, one that didn’t need words, before turning toward the bedroom, carrying a small bag with you.

"I arranged with the seamstress to pick up the yukata tomorrow." you said over your shoulder as you entered the room. "We can leave them here tonight." your voice was light, matter-of-fact, but the simplicity of the statement seemed to pierce through him, highlighting the fleeting nature of it all. The night, the festival, the moments of connection, it would all end with the dawn, leaving behind only memories and the ache of what once was.

He stood there, rooted in place, feeling like he could shatter with the slightest touch. The need for some form of closeness, some affirmation that this wasn’t just a dream, burned within him so fiercely it was almost painful. He watched as you placed the bag down on the small table in the bedroom and you began to take off your hair decorations, the fabric of your yukata rustling softly in the quiet.

Satoru swallowed hard, his throat tightening around the words he couldn't bring himself to say. The house around him felt both too large and too small, the space between you a chasm he desperately wanted to cross. Every step you took, every soft movement, felt like it was tearing him apart with a longing he could barely comprehend.

You turned back to face him, sensing the shift in the air.

He was standing in the doorway, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath catch. There was something in his eyes, that dream like blue gazing, something raw and unguarded that you had never seen so openly in him before. It was as if all the walls he had built up over time had crumbled, leaving him exposed and yearning for something he couldn’t quite name.

"Satoru, is eveything okey?" you whispered, taking a step towards him. You were so caring, so devouted, so... His name on your lips was a lifeline, a tether to reality in the midst of his tumultuous emotions. He watched you close the distance between you, feeling the vulnerability within him flare up, a stark contrast to his usual self-assured demeanor.

He didn’t know how to ask for what he needed, didn’t even know if he could.

But as you stood before him, your eyes soft and searching, he felt a glimmer of hope, that maybe, just maybe, this tenderness he craved wasn’t out of reach.

Satoru stood there, every emotion crashing against him like relentless waves. The gentleness in your eyes, the way you looked at him with such unguarded warmth, made his heart twist painfully in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you. The need to touch you, to feel the solidity of you against him, was so strong it hurt.

He had spent so long keeping parts of himself hidden, maintaining that cool facade, but this night had unraveled everything deep within him, leaving him raw and aching for more.

You stepped closer, sensing the turmoil within him, the battle waging behind those intense crystal eyes. Your hand moved almost instinctively, reaching up to brush a strand of his hair from his forehead. The touch was feather-light, but it was enough to break something inside him. He inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, as if savoring the feel of your fingers against his skin.

When he opened his eyes again, the vulnerability there was unmistakable. He didn’t try to hide it. Instead, he let you see everything, the longing, the fear, the desire for something more than words could express. You felt the weight of his gaze, the way it bore into you, pleading without a single sound.

"Satoru?" you asked, whispered his name again, your voice a soft anchor in the storm of his emotions. It was a question and an answer all at once, an invitation for him to close the distance if he wanted to.

And he did. God, he did.

He reached out slowly, his hand trembling slightly as it cupped your cheek. The warmth of your skin beneath his palm sent a jolt through him, a reassurance that this was real, that you were here with him. You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. It was so simple, yet it held the weight of everything he had been yearning for all night.

His other hand found your waist, hesitantly at first, then with more certainty, pulling you closer. He needed to feel you against him, needed to know that this connection wasn't something that would fade with the night. Your bodies came together with a quiet sigh, fitting perfectly in a way that felt like the culmination of every unspoken word and stolen glance.

Satoru pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut as he breathed you in, the scent of your hair, the warmth of your breath against his lips. It was overwhelming and grounding all at once. He didn’t move for a moment, just held you there, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

"I..." he began, his voice hoarse, choked with the rawness of everything he felt. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words.

How could he tell you that you made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying, yet so breathtakingly beautiful?

How could he explain that you made him feel more alive than he had could ever imagine?

But you didn’t need him to say it.

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with understanding, with the same mix of emotions that were tearing him apart. You brought your hands up to his face, cradling it gently, your thumbs brushing softly over his cheeks. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut once more, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.

" 'toru.." you whispered, the sound of his nickname a soothing balm against the rawness of his heart. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

He opened his eyes then, staring down at you, searching your face for something - permission, maybe, or reassurance that this wasn’t a dream. And what he found in your eyes was everything he needed. Acceptance, tenderness, a silent promise that you were here, truly here, with him, in this moment.

Unable to hold back any longer, he closed the remaining distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. It wasn’t hurried or rough - it was a quiet plea, a soft surrender to the feelings he had kept locked away for so long, that sometimes slipped from him in his weakest moment. His lips moved against yours with an urgency born from the fear, that this might slip away if he didn't hold onto it tightly enough.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. You kissed him back with the same intensity, meeting his vulnerability with your own. It was as if every touch, every breath you shared was weaving you both closer, binding you in a way that felt unbreakable.

He pulled you tighter against him, his hands moving from your waist to wrap around your back, holding you as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened, slow and aching, filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that neither of you could fully express. In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no rental house, no onsen, no festival, no past or future - only this shared space between you, warm and safe.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged, his eyes still closed as if savoring the lingering taste of your lips on his. He felt fragile, like he might shatter at any moment, but in the most beautiful way possible. You had cracked him open, and for the first time, he didn’t want to close himself off again.

"I just..." he started, his voice breaking slightly. "I just needed this." his words were almost a confession, a quiet acknowledgment of the vulnerability that had overwhelmed him.

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Me too." you whispered back, your voice steady and full of a certainty that eased the tightness in his chest. You were here with him, present and real, and that was enough.

He let out a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening for a moment before he relaxed into the embrace.

"Stay." he murmured a plea. He didn’t mean just tonight. He meant here, in this space you had created together, in this fragile yet undeniable connection.

And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that was exactly what you intended to do.

Satoru's breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to keep control. Every nerve in his body was on fire, every inch of his skin tingling with the need to be closer to you. The kiss, the way you held him, had set something loose inside him.

"I... I can't hold it anymore." he confessed, his voice low and raw, edged with an emotion that made your heart skip a beat. He swallowed hard, his breath hot. His eyes were intense, a storm of desire, fear, and longing swirling within them. "I just... can't."

He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening as if realizing how close he was, how tightly he was holding you. He stepped back an inch, his hands dropping from your waist, as if he had been burned. His gaze flickered with uncertainty and something close to panic.

"I'm sorry." he blurted out, his voice cracking. "I didn’t even ask... if I could... if you wanted this... if I could ever touch you like that."

Well, he didn't asked it at onsen. Not that it mattered, when you craved it so much.

It was so unlike him - the confident, arrogant Satoru you knew - standing there with his shoulders tense, his eyes searching yours desperately for reassurance. He looked fragile, his usual facade stripped away to reveal a man who was vulnerable and uncertain, terrified of crossing a line that would push you away.

You felt your heart squeeze painfully at the sight of him like this. Without hesitation, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a firm, reassuring embrace. His body went rigid for a heartbeat before he melted into your hold, his hands coming up to clutch at your back as if you were his lifeline.

"It’s okay." you murmured into his ear, your voice steady and soothing. "I want you to touch me. I want this." you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your gaze soft but filled with certainty. "I want you, Satoru."

Something shifted in his eyes at your words, the fear giving way to a rush of relief and desire that made him shudder in your arms. He let out a shaky breath, his hands moving up to cup your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if he was still trying to believe that this was real. His eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he leaned in again, capturing your lips with a hunger that left you breathless.

This kiss was different from the first, a torrent of passion and longing that had been held back for too long. His hands moved with more confidence now, sliding down to your waist before finding the belt of your yukata. He paused, his lips hovering over yours, his breath warm and ragged.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." he whispered, his voice a mix of command and plea, his eyes locked onto yours.

You shook your head, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Don’t stop." you replied, the words barely a breath "I don’t want you to stop."

He needed no further encouragement. His fingers deftly untied the belt of your yukata, the fabric loosening around you. He kissed you again, harder, faster, as his hands slipped beneath the material, pushing it off your shoulders in a slow, deliberate motion. The fabric slid down your arms, pooling around your feet in a soft whisper. You felt the cool air against your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat radiating from him as he pressed his body against yours.

You gasped into his mouth, the sensation of his hands on your bare skin sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. He pulled back slightly, his eyes tracing the line of your collarbone, the curves of your body now exposed to him. There was no arrogance in his gaze, no smugness, only awe and reverence, as if he was seeing you for the first time, even if he saw you over the course of years together so many times.

It made you feel beautiful, cherished in a way that went beyond the physical.

Your hands moved to his waist, finding the belt of his yukata. You paused, your eyes meeting his in a silent question. He nodded, his gaze dark and intense, silently giving you permission. With trembling fingers, you untied his belt, letting the fabric fall open. He shrugged off the yukata, the material slipping from his broad shoulders, revealing the hard lines of his body.

He stood before you, every inch of him laid bare. His body was always a perfect view to admire. For a moment, you both stood there, the weight of what was happening sinking in.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you against him. Skin against skin, his warmth enveloping you entirely. You let out a soft sigh, your hands finding their way up his chest to rest on his shoulders.

He bent his head, his lips trailing down the side of your neck, leaving a line of fire in their wake. His hands roamed your body with a mix of urgency and tenderness, exploring every curve, every contour. You arched into his touch, your own hands sliding up to thread through his hair, holding him to you.

"Satoru..." you breathed, his name a whisper on your lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours. They were dark with desire, but there was something more there - something that made your heart ache. Vulnerability, tenderness, the look of a man who had finally allowed himself to want something deeply, fully.

"I need you." he said, his voice barely more than a rough whisper, his hands tightening on your waist. "Can I?"

You answered him with a kiss, pouring everything you felt into it -your desire, your acceptance, your own vulnerability laid bare. You pressed closer, letting your bodies meld together, the world around you fading into nothingness. There was only the two of you, standing there in the dimly lit room, skin against skin, heart against heart.

Slowly, he guided you back towards the bed, his movements careful and deliberate. Every touch, every kiss, was an unspoken promise, a silent declaration that this was real, that this was more than just a fleeting moment. As you sank onto the bed, he followed, his body hovering over yours, his eyes locked onto yours with a gaze so intense it made your breath catch.

He kissed you again, softer this time, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart swell. He held you like you were something precious, something fragile that he never wanted to let go of. And in that moment, as his lips traveled down your body, as he worshiped every inch of you with his touch, you knew that this was the start of something you both had been waiting for to happend again, something that went beyond words, beyond the night.

His body was bathed in the soft, dim light of the room, the contours of his muscles standing out in sharp relief. You had seen him like this before in passing years with him, but in glimpses, that had never lingered. But now, with nothing between you, there was a quiet intensity to his presence. He was beautiful, every inch of him carved with a kind of grace that took your breath away.

His hand reached for the clasp of your bra behind you and undid it in an efficient motion. You wondered for a second, how much practice he got out of you, over the years you'd spent together, if he'd learned that smooth move through you.

His gaze returned to you, his eyes raking over your body, now laid bare almost before him.

His hands moved tentatively at first, fingertips grazing the delicate skin just beneath your collarbone, tracing downward toward the swell of your breasts.

You could see the way his throat worked as he swallowed, his pupils dilating with every inch he explored. His fingers were warm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before they finally settled, cupping your breasts gently. He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, his gaze softened, filled with something deeper than just desire.

The way he looked at you made your skin prickle with heat, not from embarrassment, but from the sheer power of his desire. It wasn’t just lust in his eyes, it was an admiration, a raw need that made your heart thud in your chest.

"So beautiful." he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and husky. He leaned down, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the curve of your breast, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. The tenderness in his movements was at odds with the intensity in his eyes, as though he were fighting a losing battle to savor every second without rushing.

Slowly, he reached out, his fingers grazing the curve of your waist, trailing down your hip, and finally, over your thigh. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued to explore your skin, his hand moving with a mixture of awe and possession.

"God." he murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "You’re... perfect. You always were." there was an almost pained quality to his voice, like he was struggling to find the right words to express what he was feeling.

You reached up, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. His muscles tensed under your touch, a subtle shudder running through him as you traced the lines of his body.

Satoru moved then, his body pressing against yours, skin to skin, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. He kissed you again, harder, his lips claiming yours with a fervor that made you dizzy. His hands slid down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs as he shifted, pulling you closer to him, as if he couldn’t bear even the smallest distance between you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, drawing him nearer. His body pressed against yours fully now, the heat of him sinking into you, making you arch into his touch. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged against your lips as he rested his forehead against yours. For a moment, you both just breathed, the rhythm of your heartbeats filling the space between you.

"I’ve wanted this." he confessed, his voice raw and strained. "I’ve wanted you... for so long. Again."

You didn’t reply with words, there were none that could capture what you felt. Instead, you pulled him down to you, your lips finding his again in a kiss. The way you moved against each other, the way you fit together, felt like a completion, the rubbing against eachother, like something that had been missing had finally fallen into place.

You felt him everywhere, his presence overwhelming, consuming, and you surrendered to it completely.

Satoru suddenly went down. Each kiss sent shivers down your skin. Kissing your belly, lower abdomen and the inside of your thighs. Until he came to the place that needed it most, covered in a thin material. His white hair tickled your delicate skin.

"You are so wet." he gasped, mesmerised, running his finger over the soaked fabric. Shame crept onto your face, you wanted to hide your face, but you couldn't take your eyes off the fascination and hunger his face expressed. He played with the slippery material for a while, charmed by your reaction as you wriggled and shook slightly, waiting for more. You thought you were going to burn, that you couldn't stand the friction, which sent waves of heat and anticipation into every cell of your body. His hands glided down your legs, pawing at the material of your underwear and finally slipping it off, showing him a sight that was finally not covered or obscured by anything.

“I missed this view.” he placed one tiny kiss on you, on that tender spot, eliciting a gasp from you, making you come alive.

He was so focused. Watching you shine all over there for him. One finger slipped suddenly into you, bringing out the gasp from your lips. He slided in so easily, that you should be ebarressed by this easiness. You tightened your fingers on the fabric of the sheet.

He pumped it inside you a couple of times, stretching the walls slowly, like he was exploring. Then added another, pumping a little faster and firmer. He searched for tempo, angle, rhythm that would elicit as much sound from you as possible. Your moans and gasps filled the room, as he finally observed, what made you tremble and your toes curl. His fingers were perfect, long, so wonderfully filling.

You couldn't comprehend how perfectly they straddled your walls, how perfectly they hit all your sensitive spots, that you dreamed of targeting every time you let your tension ease. Without success.

He started working his mouth too, kissing, sucking and licking with such ferocity, that you thought you could see stars from every move his mouth made. You couldn't concentrate, the world felt dizzy, you bit your lip to keep quiet, not wanting to sound stupid from the pleasure you felt.

This encouraged Satoru to increase the intensity of every thing he performed on you. His fingers began to slide in faster and deeper, even though you thought it was impossible. His tongue licked a bigger chunk of your flesh, and his mouth sucked harder, eliciting shivers from the orchestration that was happening on you.

Your other hand weaved into his hair, catching a large chunk of white curls and pressing his head slightly, against you. He growled lightly, pressing himself closer to you. His nose rubbed against your clit with every movement of your hips, which caught a rhythm of their own, chasing something you longed to reach. Your legs shook and you could feel everything inside you building, swirling looking for a way out.

"Please, please…" you begged breathlessly, absolutly drowned in pleasure. You wanted it so badly. He made you wanted it. So much that you didn't think about what you were talking about, that you didn't know where you were. You only knew that he, his touch, was driving you to the edge.

It all grew inside you, higher and higher, until it finally shattered you, arching your back and tightening your thighs against his face. Orgasm spread over you like a wave, leaving you shaken and vulnerable. Stronger, than you could have imagined.

You squeezed your thighs tighter instinctively, somehow trapping his face between your legs, as he guided you through the whole process extending your pleasure to the end.

Satoru didn't seem to mind, growling and moaning a little. More than once he joked about how he could die between your legs, but you never took his words seriously. Until now.

Your chest rose and fell in heavy, irregular breaths. A haze of bliss clouded your senses, leaving you utterly dazed. Your hands, once clenched tightly in the sheets, now lay limp at your sides, your body sinking into the bed, as if it could melt into the warmth that enveloped you.

Satoru watched you with a satisfied, almost smug expression, his lips curling into a flirtatious smile. There was a gleam in his eyes, a mixture of pride and possessiveness, as he took in the sight of you, completely undone, caught in the afterglow of the pleasure he had drawn from you. He raised a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully, while his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He could still taste you on his tongue, a taste that lingered, rich and intoxicating.

He had tasted so many sweets tonight, but nothing compared to the taste of you. You were, without a doubt, the sweetest thing he had ever experienced.

He moved up slowly, his lips leaving a heated trail along your skin as he made his way back up to you. You could feel every breath he took, the warmth of his exhale sending shivers through you. As he hovered over you, he paused for a moment, his gaze locking onto yours, he wanted to gave you a minute to gain consciousness.

As soon as he noticed the dazed look in your eyes begin to fade, the focus slowly returning, Satoru didn’t hesitate. He moved with swift precision, lowering his head to press his lips against the delicate skin of your neck. His kisses were hot and urgent, trailing along the line of your throat, igniting sparks across your skin.

You gasped softly, your senses still heightened and your body sensitive to his every touch. He kissed you there with an intensity that made you arch into him, each kiss lingering as if he wanted to imprint himself into every inch of you. His lips traveled to the sensitive spot just below your ear, where he nipped gently before soothing the skin with his tongue, drawing a shiver from you.

His hands were not idle, they moved up your sides, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

As Satoru pressed his body closer against yours, you felt something hard, sizable, and warm against your pussy. You could feel it sliding over your wet folds, latching onto your clit teasingly, soaking up your wetness and spreading it all over his member, smearing a white pearl of precum on the tip. You were almost drooling.

It was a sensation you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity, a feeling you'd been yearning for, one that made every nerve in your body come alive. Now, here you were, your body trembling with excitement and need.

His mouth found the curve of your neck, and you felt a gasp escape your lips as his teeth grazed your skin. He hissed softly, the sound a mix of restraint and desire. His hands were everywhere, gliding over your waist, your hips, as he held you close, making you two rub agains eachother with more friction. A soft moans and gasps escaped your lips.

He moved to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his lips pressing firm yet gentle against your pulse point. You could feel the heat of him, the tension in his muscles as he fought to keep himself in check. He pressed himself against you with more force, rubbing against your entrance teasing it, making you hold your voice.

"Look what a mess you've made... of me." he murmured against your skin, his voice rough, almost ragged. He bit down softly, eliciting a sharp inhale from you, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, sending a wave of warmth coursing through you.

Your hands found their way to his hair, threading through the soft strands, holding him to you as his mouth continued its exploration. Each hiss against your neck, each brush of his lips, sent sparks of electricity shooting through your body. It was as if every nerve ending was attuned to him, responding to every little touch, every sigh against your skin.

When he finally lifted his head to look at you, his blue eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. He held your gaze, his lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow.

"Tell me." he whispered, his voice barely more than a husky murmur, his eyes searching yours. "Tell me what you want."

There was no teasing in his voice now, no playful smirk on his lips, just raw honesty and a need for you to guide him, to let him know this was what you wanted too.

With a shuddering breath, you tilted your head slightly, baring more of your neck to him in answer.

"I want you." you whispered, your voice trembling with the emotions swirling inside you. "I want all of you."

The tension was unbearable, every second stretched into eternity. You felt like you were going mad, the need consuming you, overwhelming every thought until you could barely stand it anymore. Your voice, breathless and trembling, broke the silence.

"Satoru." you whispered, your voice thick with desire. "Stop teasing." a bashful command. Your words, so raw and urgent, sent a shudder through him.

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as though savoring the power of that moment, of your need for him, but the look in your eyes must have driven him over the edge, as he lifted your leg slightly, making more room, and guided the tip to your entrance, pressing gently against it.

A short moan broke from your lips as you felt him stretch you. Satoru wanted to slide in slowly, giving you time to get used to it, but you were so wet, so eager, that you accepted him at once. That suprised you both, as you gasped for air.

He didn't even know that he had pushed his hips all the way in unconsciously, too lost in the pleasure and the feelings he had inside to think logically. His eyes softened, his expression changed, his brow furrowed and his mouth opened, letting out a sweet moan.

"F-fuck, so tight... so wet…" moved gently backwards and pressed himself to the very end "A-ah, fuck!"

He filled you up so well. You put your legs around him pressing him closer to you, wanting to feel every last bit of his member. Satoru definitely let himself be carried away by the pleasure, pressing his lips to your neck and rolling his hips in a slow rhythm at first.

Every thrust he made you shiver and pleasure spilled from your lower abdomen to your entire body, dulling your mind. The rythm was nice and slow. His cock reached to the deepest parts of you kissing your cervix with every move.

It didn't take long before his movements began to speed up. Thrusting into you faster and with greater intensity, making you unable to control the moans that were coming out of you. His member lapped deeper, deeper and deeper, until you drove your nails into Satoru's back from the sensation, as he hit your g-spot. He whined, as you dragged your nails across his back.

"That's the spot, huh?" he said with an exhale of broken breath.

A few moves like that and you were both drunk on pleasure. He was so vocal, moaning, whining, gasping, complimenting how wonderful you were to him, how good it felt, how you take him so well.

He shifted, his body moving against yours with more precision, as he adjusted the angle of his thrusts to hit the sensitive spot inside you every time.

You could feel the tears coming to your eyes. It felt so good, so wonderful, as his cock penetrated your insides, meeting a point that took your breath away and made you dumb with pleasure.

You were so cockdrunk you were begging for more.

"Plase, more.. aaahn~" your eyes rolled back "j-justlikethat… ah 'toru.. please!" you repeated his name like a prayer, as he fulfilled your every little request - on more, on harder, on faster.

His thrusts were relentless and the sound of skin slapping against skin was everywhere.

You could feel the second orgasm gathering inside you, even more intense than the last one. Satoru must have felt it too, because he lowered himself to your ear to whisper a question.

"Where…?" he gasped, another moan breaking out of him as you pressed his hips with your legs, making his head fall onto your shoulder, helpless from the amount of pleasure you both felt.

"Inside." you cried, as he began to kiss away ever tear that fell down your flushed cheeks.

You were so close, you felt like you're gonna burn until nothing's left. What send you over the edge was his thumb, making it's way between your colliding hips and rubbing your sensitive clit that send another wave of pleasure that compleatly washed you away. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving marks for him to admire later.

He felt how you tighted against him, he growled, feeling he is going to bust in just a few seconds as well.

He kissed you hurriedly, swallowing your moans, as he rapidly pounded into you with everything that has left in him. He pulled away from your lips. For moment he rested his forehead against your, as his movements began to be stutter.

"Please sweetie, take me there." his voice sweet from pleasure "I want it so bad.. please."

A few harder thrusts and his body tightened against you. A loud moan escaped his swollen lips, as pressed his hips as far as he could into you. His cum painted your walls white, everything spilling inside you like warm lava.

His head fell numbly onto your breasts.

His chest rose and fell in sync with yours, each breath a quiet testament to the intensity of the moments just passed. You lay there together, your bodies tangled in the sheets, the air around you warm and still. Your breathing was slowly starting to calm down.

Slowly, you reached out, your fingers seeking his. The moment your hand found his, he squeezed it gently, a silent exchange of everything that words couldn't capture.

A soft smile crept onto his face, one that spoke of contentment, satisfaction, and something deeper that had been unspoken for far too long. He turned his head to look at you, eyes softening as they met yours. There was a glow to him now, a tenderness that made your heart beat faster.

You turned your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, feeling the sweat-dampened strands of his hair against your lips.

He pulled out of you, leaving behind a feeling of emptiness, his cum leacking from you, staining the sheets, but now coulnd't care less.

You will clean it later. Maybe.

Satoru shifted beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a gentle, but firm embrace. He pulled you closer, tucking you against his chest, as if he needed to feel every part of you pressed against him to believe this moment was real. You snuggled into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck, his warmth enveloping you completely.

For a moment, you both simply lay there, breathing in the calm that had settled over you like a warm blanket.

Then, you lifted your gaze to meet his, and he was already looking down at you, his eyes soft and bright. There was a glimmer of something playful in his eyes, something so unmistakably him.

A small giggle bubbled up from his chest, and before you knew it, you were both giggling softly. It was the kind of laughter that came from a place of pure joy, a sweet, almost childlike sound that filled the room. His laughter was warm and contagious, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you.

"You're such a dork." you whispered between giggles, unable to stop smiling.

He let out a breathy laugh, pulling you even closer "Says the person who’s giggling right along with me." he teased back, his tone light and filled with affection.

You both dissolved into another fit of soft laughter, your foreheads pressing together as you shared this small, tender moment.

Satoru's lips moved gently over yours, soft and unhurried, as if savoring each kiss like it was the first. His hand cupped your face, fingers tracing light patterns on your skin, while your own hand absentmindedly stroked his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. It was calm, peaceful, the perfect kind of afterglow, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

But then, reality began to creep back into your mind, and with it, the thought of what came next - what people would think, especially those closest to you. You let out a soft sigh against his lips, pulling back slightly to rest your forehead against his.

"What do you think Megumi’s going to say when he sees us like this?" you murmured, a hint of amusement in your voice, though the thought gnawed at you a little.

Satoru chuckled, the sound low and warm, vibrating through his chest. His eyes glinted with that familiar playfulness, the corners of his lips curling into a small, teasing smile "Megumi?" he echoed, tilting his head to look at you "He'll probably think some curse took over us." he said, his voice light with amusement "Either that, or he'll just roll his eyes and pretend he's not surprised."

You couldn’t help, but laugh softly at that, the image of Megumi standing there with his usual unimpressed expression coming to mind "He would, wouldn't he?" you replied, shaking your head "I can already see the look on his face."

"Yep." Satoru continued, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead "He'd just sigh and probably mutter something about how troublesome we are. But you know he wouldn't really mind. Deep down, he'd be happy for us."

You smiled at his words, letting them settle over you. It was true, Megumi had always been quietly supportive in his own way "Yeah." you agreed softly, your fingers tracing random patterns on Satoru's chest "But still... it feels strange, like we've been hiding this part of ourselves for so long, and now it’s just... out there."

Satoru hummed in agreement, his lips moving against the side of your temple.

"Maybe." he admitted "But we were never really hiding, were we? We were just... finding our way here." his hand moved to your back, stroking it gently, a soothing rhythm that made you relax even further into his embrace.

"It is real." he murmured against your skin "And maybe it's a little strange, and maybe Megumi will think we’ve lost our minds, but this is us. And I think we’re exactly where we’re meant to be."

You closed your eyes, feeling the truth of his words settle into your bones. It was real, and it was beautiful in all its strangeness.

"Yeah, that true." you whispered, turning your head slightly to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks."

Satoru grinned, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light "Exactly. And if anyone asks, we’ll just tell them the strongest sorcerer finally met his match." he wiggled his eyebrows playfully, earning a laugh from you.

"You really are impossible." you teased, shaking your head.

He just smirked, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against yours again "Only for you." he whispered, his voice soft and full of warmth.

He continued, his expression slightly changed.

"But honestly, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re my wife - not just on paper anymore." his eyes softened as he looked at you, the weight of his words sinking in "We've been each other's since we took care of one another, and now… now we’re really together." he continued "I've always been yours, I was too scared to accept this. Now.." his blue gaze still focused on you "I'm not afraid."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the moment, but everything to do with the feeling of finally being seen and claimed in the way you had always longed for. You cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone as you looked at him with a softness that mirrored his own.

"And you’re finally my husband. We’re finally together. The way we were always supposed to be." you replied, your voice trembling with the emotion of that truth.

It had taken eight years, eight long years of pretend marriage for you both to truly become this - a union that was more than just a title, more than just a piece of paper, more than friendship and sharing duties. It was real now, tangible in every kiss, every touch, every word shared between you.

He grinned at that, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and relief "We have the rest of our lives to make up for lost time." he added, his voice tender, his thumb continuing to stroke your cheek. "No more half-measures, no more walls, no more running away. "

You nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but they were happy tears, tears of finally being seen, of being loved the way you had always longed to be.

"Just us." you whispered back, leaning into his touch, letting the warmth of his hand anchor you.

"Yeah." he murmured, his lips brushing yours in the softest of kisses, sealing the promise between you. This was where you were meant to be, where he was meant to be. Together, in the quiet after the storm, finally, undeniably, whole.

"Just the two of us."

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1920sladydectective · 4 days ago

Text

Best Friend's Mother Ch.6 (Finale) 6.8K MDNI 18+

Here she bloody is, my darlings!

All done, finally, giving me room to write even more Ambessa stuff. Next stop Professor Medarda!

That being said, I've loved writing this story and feel so honoured by the reception it has received. Thank you especially to @shinyshayminflower for the initial prompt, @uselessbard1031 for the endless support and @chocolate-quotes for the stunning cover art which I adoreddddddddddd.

Love you all, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Degradation, Name Calling, Overstimulation kinda? Lots of alcohol idk I'm British and this is set at Christmas okay.

Chapter 6:

You’d failed at the first hurdle, the first second, the truest and largest fuck up possible of a New Year’s resolution. Bubbles fizzed in your blood, common sense popping like a thousand little sparks.

She tasted good, like whisky and regret and those tiny chocolate puddings on the trays at the party. The party you couldn’t quite remember or reconcile, the party that faded to blurring noise as she consumed you.

Ambessa’s mind was screaming at her. This was not how she’d intended the evening to go. Rather the opposite. She was going to kiss one of Cassandra’s uptight friends, unwind them a bit and then take her drunken gaggle of children home.

Instead she’d been ripped to shreds by her daughter and was now eating the very forbidden (but no longer?) fruit she had tried to avoid.

You pulled away merely to breathe, but it was enough, like a shock of cold water. Tears, hot and angry sprung into your eyes almost immediately.

“What was that?” You snarled, gulping in air.

“I-“ Ambessa coughed slightly, “A mistake,”

You scoffed, shoving her, “You can say that again,”

“No,” She backtracked, muddled, “I just meant-“

“Do me a favour and fuck off, okay?” You wiped your mouth viciously with your sleeve, panic heavy in your heart as you rushed past her without another word. Drunk and distressed, you made your way into a random corner and stayed there.

You’d tell Mel in the morning, you told yourself with trembling hands, but right now it would be too much.

Ambessa was having the most tiring evening ever. Nothing was happening in the right order, as if she’d been given the smaller part of every wishbone in existence.Her mouth was a villain, intent on ruining everything. Glancing in the reflection of one of Cassandra’s crystalline statutes, she saw her massacred face, red smudges everywhere.

“Well,” Cassandra Kiramman’s smug voice rang out, “That was a damn sight better than seeing you kiss my child like last year,”

Muscled shoulders seized, wide golden eyes meeting cool grey ones, “Lovely party,”

“I think that’s the first time in twenty years you’ve said that,” She snorted, “I needn’t lecture you about how stupid that was, we both remember what happened with Maddie,”

“She isn’t Maddie,”

“Evidently,” A click of teeth, an outstretched hand holding cloth “I’ll see you on the 14th, I can take your money and your secrets then,”

Ambessa sighed, wiping her face of lipstick and taking a regrouping breath. There was little to do but sober up and figure out a battle plan. Divide her stupidity and hopefully conquer her love. Or some other battle analogy she was too pissed to think of. “Thank you,”

“There’s no need for that,” She smiled, rolling her eyes at her friend, “You’re hosting the women’s luncheon in February,”

Fuck.

You were sitting in a fancy taxi, a snoozing Mel on your shoulder as Kino rambled about the artwork in Caitlyn’s house. You didn’t care about the fact that the frames were worth as much as the art, or that some of them had taken years to find. You didn’t care about anything at all really, save the brooding woman in front of you. She seemed so cold, so distant, and you found that it did not suit her. You’d never be rid of her, that understanding had set in as you stumbled out of the car and into the front porch. She was like Japanese knotweed, strong and thriving and made to rot the very foundations of life. Here you were, a three time offender of succumbing to her, despite your morals and your strength and your hatred.

Deft fingers attempted to grab your wrist as Kino and Mel waltzed arm in arm up the staircase, but her hold found nothing but air. A snap, a growl, something animalistic as you trailed quickly after your friends, the third of the good little wolves and nothing more.

Sleep was easy due to alcohol, though all it really did was lock you in dreams. Tender kisses and bitter words fighting for the spotlight, leaving your mind a flashing drunken strobe. Sweaty, distressed turning and rolling until dawn beckoned and you lay shivering in the fetal position. No amount of fancy heating systems could rid your bones of the chill, heavy limbs freezing you in place.

It took several hours and a minor pity party to make it into a different pair of less sweaty pyjamas, another hour to make it downstairs and fifteen seconds for your hopes of sorting this out as soon as possible to be crushed.

A series of texts from Mel. Mel and Kino had left twenty minutes ago, a sibling breakfast tradition you had been omitted from due to your lack of appearance. Fuck. Just her, somewhere, lurking.

The kitchen was safe, paprika crisps settling your stomach as you brewed some longjing tea. A plan was formed, tell Mel, pack your shit and stay with your cousin until the housework finished later this week. It was solid, grounding and allowed you to get the fuck out of this weird fantasy land. Nothing felt tangible here, all consequences smashing down as soon as the spell of the upper class echelons was shattered by travelling 20 miles north. You holed yourself up in one of the spare sitting rooms, avoiding where she thought you’d be in favour of unfamiliar cream sofas and animal artwork.

It wasn’t enough.

Tentative footsteps, her arrival heralded by Mina, like a slow marching procession. There was no escape. One way in, one way out. The oak door clicked shut softly. You did not, would not, give her the satisfaction of looking up.

Your name on her lips, measured and calm, as the sofa to your right dipped with her body weight. A loud clunk, your gaze meeting a bottle of artisan Olive Oil.

“Olive branch?” She muttered, “We were out of breadsticks,”

You looked at it, still not her, nose twitching. Her charm, though flavoured now with hesitancy, was viscous and wrong as it lapped at your skin. “That implies there’s a conversation to be had here, and there isn’t,”

“Look at me,” Soft but impatient.

Your eyeline did not move. Her arrogance astounded you.

“I was thinking-”

“No, Mrs Medarda,” You snapped, formality and fury, making the cat jump, “There is nothing you can say, I am going to tell Mel and then I’m going to get away from you, as fast as possible,”

“A tad dramatic,” Cryptic, passive smile, “Mel knows, darling,”

“What?” This had you meeting her gaze, “You told her?”

“Not yet,” A sniff, “Not exactly,”

“Well then she doesn’t fucking know, you twat,”

Ambessa’s lips upturned slightly, “She doesn’t know the specifics, but she knows my motivations,”

“Motivations?” You scoffed, “Your untameable pride and sex drive you mean?”

Ambessa, despite having spent most of the night replaying every interaction you had ever shared under the rosy haze of infatuation, had yet to find a way to piece together her confession. Part of her wanted to wax lyrical, a modern day poet speaking in nothing but nonsense and flowers. But your impatience, borne of hurt and exhaustion, hung heavy above her. She was the one fearing the guillotine’s blade now, she should have learned from history that the revolution always comes in the end. And here it was, the revolt of her own mutinous heart.

“Well?” Her silence unsettled you, those carved brows scrunched inwards, as you fought a mounting urge to backhand her.

“Not quite that,” She muttered, “Wouldn’t have bothered with the olive oil if it was just sex, dear,”

Your eyes rolled, pushing off of the sofa, body fleeing before your blood curdled in your veins.

She grabbed your arm, pulling you back down with a thud, “Stop I-” gasped air, “I’m trying to be honest here,”

“You’re speaking like a Dickens novel and I’m supposed to take you seriously? Three Ghosts come and slap you in the face? Or some New Year’s resolution, is it?” You yank your hand back, skin fizzing and yearning for the calloused warmth to return.

“Yes, actually,”

“What was your Christmas past like then?”

“Troubled,” She quipped, rolling her eyes at you, “It is a resolution, one I indeed to stick to,”

A laugh, grating against your throat, “Didn’t take you for the type, you don’t seem in a rush to change anything about your life,”

“Stop being childish and listen,” She snapped.

“You have two minutes,” You spat, “And then I’m leaving,”

“Two minutes isn’t even enough time to boil an egg,”

“Ambessa,”

Muscles tensed. Fine. Fucking Hell. “I’ve been bad to you,” There, well done Ambessa, a start. Accountability, the sharp blade you must crush within your palm.

Tart and hard, an unripe cherry between your teeth, shock bloomed. There was nothing particularly reassuring about her words, but you jumped all the same.

“I abused your kindness and took advantage of you,” How lovely and romantic, the muted whites of the room shifting to morose greys.

“Old news, cemented about nine kisses ago,”

“I know that,” It was sharper than she’d intended, a sigh rattling out, “I know,”

“If you know, why are we having this conversation?” You grabbed the olive oil, waving it about, “What kind of weak, spindly branch is this?”

“You’re so pedantic, must you have everything spelled out for you?!” She growled, tenderness foreign on her tongue, “The I’m in love with you kind,”

A spell, like a muffling blanket of snow, enveloped the room. Such a tender, sweet truth, with all the certainty and promise of the apple of Eden. Was she the snake or Eve, you could hardly tell. You sat, in stasis, as she swallowed.

FIve minutes. Ten. A brutal, endless fifteen.

“Don’t be cruel,” Acid burned in your mouth, tears smarting your eyes, “Don’t wave that about,”

Snip. Your words cutting Ambessa’s newly found heartstrings, “I wouldn’t,”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No,” It was firm.

“And that’s what Mel knows?” You asked, eyes narrow. You didn’t believe her, couldn’t, wouldn’t. Really, really shouldn’t.

“She insisted upon it, screamed at me in the Kiramman’s bathroom,”

“Wait,” Awe bubbled between your ribs, “Last night?”

A begrudging nod, that soft half smile that made you melt. She loved your lip twitches of surprise, your mouth turning over words you couldn’t vocalise.

“Why?”

“She sort of stumbled into it, as did I,” A pause as she pulled a red wine bottle and glasses from seemingly nowhere, “Do you mind?”

“Yes, I do,” You snarked, flicking the cork onto the floor, “But by all means, don’t let that stop you,”

“I won’t,”

You took the glass she offered all the same, settling into the sofa with renewed confidence, petulant hands spilling drops of burgundy onto the cream sofa. “Stumbled, you said?”

Ambessa crossed her legs, Malbec coating her tongue, “She was..frustrated that I had not distanced myself enough from you,”

“I noticed a distinct difference,”

“That’s what I said,”

“Not taking your side,” You swished your hand for her to continue.

“She said I was selfish and many other things, another character assassination,” Heavy chug, “But she wanted a reason, a cause,”

“She always does,” Anticipation was building now, possible half truths and sweet words lingering just out of reach, “It’s the only reason she forgave me, because of how I felt,”

Ambessa nodded, eyes distant, “Did you know I find it harder to sleep now?”

What? You were hungover and hair of the expensive vintage dog was not quite cutting it. Speak plainly you maddening cow, your mind cried. Instead, “Pardon?”

“I miss the weight of you on my chest, and the coldness of your toes on my calves,” She muttered, memory easier than big declarations, “It’s what I thought of when Mel asked me to prove it, to prove it was..”

Monster. Cannibal. Villain. She was gnawing at your bones, words like ambrosia to all the battered, tired shades of you that sat before her. You missed that too, had mourned it like so many other little, luxurious sweetnesses.

“That’s still a physical desire,” You rationalised, lips stained with wine.

A grunt, “Do you need more?”

A nod. Several. Only confirmational overkill would do here.

“I-” Her hand twitched, “find myself trying to force an affinity for apple tea,”

“You hate it,”

“But it tastes of you,” She said, “Sometimes it’s all I can do to stave off the craving,”

“So you miss my mouth? Physical.”

Ambessa pouted, heavy hand overpouring another glass, “What do you want from me? I’ve already said it,”

You laughed, in spite of it all, “I want to know what you’re feeling, not what you miss or crave or imagine,”

It seemed to rent her asunder, her feelings etched in memories, stuck far away from words. Love was one, but it was vulnerable and rough against her tongue. It had only come out via happenstance, sleep deprivation and growing panic. Affection hung in the background, and devotion sat like oil on her smooth skin. How was she to wield them? A great axe pulling her into herself, straining underdeveloped muscles.

“It’s a bit like quicksand,” Her tone was unsteady, “It’s eating me whole,”

“What is?”

“Love,” She snarled, as if it was obvious, eyes ever so slightly glazed.

“The more you fight, the more you sink?”

She nodded, a heady relief in your understanding, light at the end of her confusing tunnel, “Exactly that,”

You downed your glass, “Then I’ll throw you a stick, help you out,” a dismissive sniff, “I hate you,”

“No you don’t,” No hesitation, “You fell before I did, Sweet Girl,”

“And look where that got me,”

“But we’re in it together now,”

“There is no together, Ambessa,” You were sinking, she would not be proven right, “Your love is as dangerous as your indifference, wolves do not cradle their prey tenderly,”

“You aren’t prey,” It was a cry, angry and indignant, as her hands found yours.

“Then why am I covered in your bitemarks?”

She grumbled, “I think we’ve used the full extent of this metaphor, darling,”

“Metaphors, jibs, cold truths, however you spin it, you are an emotionally immature mess,”

“Mel called me an emotionally impotent bitch,” She said, interlocking her warm hands with your trembling ones, “You were kinder about it,”

“I’m always kinder about everything,” You replied, tightening your grip.

“It’s one of the things I love about you,”

“Stop saying that!”

“What?” She smiled, something giving way inside her, “Love? That I love you?”

“I-Yes,” You were chest deep now, thick wet sand eating you, “I don’t know what to do with that, with you,”

Ambessa sat, rhythmically stroking your knuckles, as her head leaned closer to yours, “You let me earn you, my darling,”

Thick sludge, stealing your breath away now, “Earn me?”

“Will you let me try?” Her voice was molasses now, pushing you down into the very bottom of the pit, her brain finally catching up with her body, “Words fuelled by action?”

“L-like date me? And woo me?” Your eyes were fluttering, heart a schism of fear and fancy.

She hummed in confirmation, free hand tucking some of your glitter crusted hair behind your ear, gaze soft.

“Doesn’t seem very characteristic, Ambessa,”

“Yes, well,” A humorous sigh, “You’ve clearly made me sick, some kind of spell or curse,”

You smacked her arm, a nonsensical laugh slipping out. She was ridiculous and stupid and images of her sending you flowers or taking you mini golfing came into your mind unbidden.

“Is that a yes, my darling?”

“What does Mel think?”

“I think you should ask her,” Ambessa’s voice wrapped around you, “Regardless of this, I will not monopolise on your relationship with her,”

“I think you’re suffering from head injury,” She was perfect, she was handing you your dreams on a silver platter, so why couldn’t you take it? “I think I need some time,”

She nodded, ignoring the dark growl in her chest, “There’s no timeline,” Actually, the timeline was she wanted to be between your legs right now, but it seemed the clocks were confused.

With an odd, robotic stroke to her cheek, you stumbled out of the room and back up the stairs. Ignoring your door, you curled into Mel��s room, allowing yourself to be engulfed by frilly bed sheets. She’d find you later and you could have a chat.

Find you she did, snoring and pale in her bed, with wine stained lips and tear stained cheeks. Hungover limbs crawled around you, kissing your forehead.

“Babe!” It was a happy shout, as you flinched awake.

“That was not the only way to do that,”

“It’s the way I chose,”

The conversation that transpired was as follows. You bared your snotty, shattered soul and called her mother all the cruel, loving things you could think of and she nodded sagely whilst stroking your hair. She then decided to take her mother’s side, and say that you should definitely pursue a relationship if you loved her, as if it was that simple. You were now battering her shoulder with a candy cane shaped cushion.

“Hitting me isn’t going to change my answer,”

“It’s not normal to tell your friend to date your mother,” You cried, “The only sane person in this family is Kino,”

“Really?”

A memory of him drizzling a chicken wing with melted chocolate the night before returned, “Christ, okay you’re all nuts!”

“You still haven’t told me what you want,” Mel murmured, taking the candy cane from your grasp, “Just that she’s evil and you feel weak when she smiles, which honestly urgh,”

Uncertain, jittering hands tug at a strand of hair, “I don’t think I know,”

Silence, her hand on your shoulder, as you sorted through the bombed out craters in your mind. Each kiss, fight, and confession had made its mark and the rubble was hard to decipher.

“I think I want to exist a bit, before I commit to anything,”

“You have been through a lot, babe,” Mel was so gentle, you adored her more than she could ever ever know, “Maybe just be you? Mum’ll wait,”

“Will she?” That was your hope and your fear.

“She’ll have to if she’s serious, and if she doesn’t then fuck her, you can find another fish, preferably one I’m not related to,”

“I love you,”

“Damn right,” She kissed your head, “Now can we watch TV or something, my head hurts,”

Three days passed, and she was surprisingly normal. There was no forced affection or ultimatums, just the same smile; considerate and mischievous. You were grateful, the space confirming what you’d said to Mel. You needed to be you, away from the magic and madness of this house, and only then would you really know.

When you told her as much, firelight flickering in the library on your last evening, she let out a long sigh. The grating, dull pain in her heart intensified, but with it so did her plan.

The last dinner felt stupidly biblical, final and massive, as though you may never return. A veritable feast, overflowing plates and glasses, as even Rictus joined you for the meal. Kino was a jester of epic proportions, breaking more than one glass in his pursuit of a punchline. Ambessa sat, quiet but merry, against the carved mahogany chair of the dining room. Mel, as ever, was the master of pictures. You dreaded the thought of the costs to develop that much film, though you placed bunny ears behind Kino’s head as you grinned into the flash all the same. Rictus, though, was the real diamond in the rough of the evening. Strong and well mannered, with your exact sense of humour. He was quiet and yet seemed to fill every silence that threatened to hurt you. You felt sorry to have overlooked him in a way, leaning a heavy head against his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you,”

“Miss my endless free labours?” He joked, a gruff voice above your ear.

“Miss your sanity,” You said, “Miss your friendship,”

“Well, I’m only ever a phone call away,” He replied, “Us furniture have to stick together,”

You laughed, bright and true, as he dolloped another mountain of tiramisu onto your plate.

Slowly, but surely, you all retired to bed, a holiday well spent and a heavy desire to return to normal weighing in the air.

The next morning, as he bundled your endless possessions into Mel’s boot, Rictus called you over.

“Something the matter?”

“Kid,” A sternness, “You’re going to be alright?”

You snorted, “I told you I’d keep in touch, where’s this come from? Delirious from all of Mel’s handbags and shoes?”

“I love Ambessa Medarda very much,” He said out of nowhere, hand stroking your arm, “Don’t let her wants eclipse yours,”

“What?” What the fuck was he on about?

“Speak of the devil, and she appears,” He muttered, stepping away without a further word. Bastard.

Ambessa squeezed Mel with all her might, an acceptance blossoming in a relationship filled with shards of glass and broken promises. “Look after yourself, work hard,”

“Party harder,” Mel muttered, “I know Mum, I’ll see you at Easter,”

She climbed into the preheated Land Rover, just as Rictus wandered back into the Manor with a shout and a wave. Kino had said goodbye over breakfast, nearly breaking a rib, and so it was just her.

The goodbye was stilted, her large hand stroking your hair as she took an audible sniff. It made you giggle wetly, swallowing down the impulse to just collapse into her and let yourself be consumed. You first, her later. That was probably what Rictus had meant, god your brain was slow today.

“Thanks for a lovely Christmas, and everything in between, well most things,” You mumbled, watery smile.

“You’re more than welcome, Sweet Girl,”

“I-I’ll be in touch, when I can,” Her hand was warm in yours, keeping you anchored in place.

“IF you can, Dear,” She corrected, voice caring “I expect you to take this seriously,”

A scoff, as you nodded and pursed your lips. Everyone was treating you like you were suddenly going to go back on your plan and jump her bones against the front door. It was a valid concern, even you hadn’t decided completely if you would or not.

“See you soon,” She said, a throwaway comment, as you let go and climbed into Mel’s car.

Several beats. Your heart full and empty, a weird schrodinger’s joke. A fern tree smell from the little car freshener.

“Well that was agonising to watch,” Mel quipped, shooting her mum a wave and pulling out of the driveway. Manicured nails flicked on a random playlist, 80s rock heavy, as you stared out at the frosty scenery.

The flowers started a week after you had gotten back to Edinburgh. Always different, always perfectly sized for your light green vase and never overwhelming. It was a constant sign of her presence, without the stifling need to be responded to. There was never a note, beyond her initials, and that made each delivery all the sweeter. Sometimes other things would come with them too, after a long deadline or big presentation, there would be wine or a new book. It was a more considerate type of materialism, reminiscent of sand castle buckets and chiffon dresses, as glimmering parts of your old self emerged from the explosion of Her.

Winter socials, dancing around the house in pyjamas singing ABBA with Mel as the world began to thaw.

Valentine’s Day arrived, and with it a little bouquet of roses and a takeaway voucher.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Ambessa x

You too, Sweet Girl x

It was your first point of contact, and you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. She was slowly but surely winning you over from afar, earning you as she’d said and this new, fresh, old version of yourself was happy to let her encroach a bit on No Man’s Land. Plus, this burrito was one of the best things you’d eaten in ages.

Ambessa was smiling widely at her phone, heart a jackhammer. She felt foolish, any acknowledgment sending her into a tailspin, but that soft kiss at the end of a text was enough to solidify her already immense resolve. You were hers, and she was yours, however long she had to wait.

You were granted the funding you needed, your academic success propelling you into spring with tired and happy limbs. Eleven weeks of flowers, a few scattered texts and one slightly drunken nude later, Mel was rambling at the dinner table about Easter plans.

“Dad’s not back till the last week,” You replied around a very hot mouthful of chicken parm, “Presumed I’d spend the rest of the time with you,”

Mel’s eyes glistened, shit eating grin on her glossed lips, “Did you now?”

“Oh come off it,” You snapped, “Ambessa already offered anyway,”

“She has? How nice of her,” Excitement fizzed in her, battling with a bit of sadness at losing her friend’s full attention, “And how is that? Calla lilies this week, I noticed,”

“Why’s that matter?”

“They mean beauty,”

“They have meanings?” Tomato sauce stained your grey joggers, you didn’t care, “What about the others?”

She snorted, “You thought they were just random?”

“I-I” A gulp, “Well, fuck I don’t know I just thought they were pretty,”

Her laughter grated at you, google your true friend in the matter, as you scanned through each message Ambessa had supposedly sent.

Bluebells first - Humility. Ironic start.

Honeysuckle - Bonds of Love

Yellow Tulips - Sunshine in a smile - your heart seized.

Peony - Bashful - not a word you’d really associate with her.

White Hyacinth - Loveliness - Hers or your own? Both, you decided. Both.

Edelweiss - Devotion - a dizzy wave of warmth over your skin.

Red Roses - I Love You - apt for Valentine’s day.

Chamomile - Patience in adversity. How brave she was, how ridiculous.

Forget-Me-Nots - True Love Memories - Her stained grin, garlic bread in hand came to mind.

Red Camellias - You’re a flame in my heart - This coincided directly with her receiving a picture of you in a lacy red bra and thong, courtesy of cheap pints in your favourite pub, and an uncharged vibrator.

Calla Lillies - Beauty.

Your chicken parm was cold now, your mouth hanging open, as your eyes burned slightly.

“You back with me, babe?”

“This is so stupid,” You spluttered into cold marinara sauce, “She’s so stupid,”

“Love makes a fool of us all,” Mel said wisely.

“Is that why you, Viktor and Jayce were curled up last night? I saw you holding hands,”

“Be quiet!” She whined, “Die,”

“Don’t throw stones, Mel,” You mocked, “You’re looking awful glassy right now,”

You would stay for Easter then, you both agreed over chocolate mousse, as you sent a thumbs up to Ambessa’s invitation.

Ambessa, glasses balancing on her nose as she read a novel, scanned the text. Once. Twice. An exuberant third time. Rictus ended up battered with requests for a clear and ornate Easter menu, despite the fact that the holiday was over six weeks away and not at all favoured by the Medarda family. Mina had taken to nibbling her phone but only ever when you texted, and Ambessa was beginning to take it personally.

Your spring deadlines came and went, as April and its gentle rest bite from academia beckoned. The journey was painfully familiar to you now, as was the warm and rough rock sitting in your stomach. You felt you again, which was terrifying as it finally gave some space for her. Something you had come to want so desperately it made your dreams turbulent and your hands shaky. She still had some work to do, but as you flicked through your sparse text exchanges you couldn’t fight the smitten smile.

You loved Ambessa Medarda, and that was okay now. For both of you.

Ambessa had been waiting for three hours by the door like an overexcited dog. Several times Rictus had come to ask her questions or show her things, and each time she was transfixed on the long driveway.

“Mel said they wouldn’t be here before 2,” He said, smirk on his lips.

“She’s never reliable,”

“She is literally compulsively on time,”

“Rictus, do I pay you for these kinds of conversations?”

“No, but you probably should, I was going to bring it up during my next performance review,”

“Ah yes, 31st of April, wasn’t it?”

He laughed, wandering back towards the tower of hand painted easter eggs he was tending to.

2pm on the dot you pulled up by the house, clambering to stretch your legs. As the door opened Mel ran to it, kissing her Mum’s cheek and shooting past her to get to the toilet. Whether intentional or serendipity, Mel had given you the perfect opening to stare like a lovesick fool at her mother.

“Ambessa,” Her name a cry of joy.

“Sweet Girl,” She ignored the thickness in her throat, eyes glimmering at seeing your face again.

“T-Thanks for the flowers,” Unsure hands, “And the messages they sent,”

She smiled, stepping forward and squeezing your arm. “Always, as long as you enjoy them,”

“You’ve been just what I needed,” Affection swelled in your chest, “Present but distant,”

“Like a ghoul?”

You giggled, “Exactly that,”

“You keep comparing me to spirits and ghosts,”

“I actually compared you to Scrooge, not the ghosts themselves,”

She rolled her eyes, snorting, “You must always be right, mustn’t you?”

“Ambessa,” You repeated, gentiler now.

She hummed in question, gaze meeting yours.

“I think I’m ready to try now,” A sharp inhale, “If you are?”

“Well,” Her crimson lips part into a dazzling smile, “That makes me very ha-”

“Princess!!” Kino, dressed in plaid pyjamas, shouted as he ran to engulf you in a hug, “You’re here!”

“Bastard child,” Ambessa grunted under her breath, watching as you cuddled her son and made faces at her over his shoulder.

“Later,” You mouthed, before focusing on Kino, “Hello there, Peacock Prince,”

She wandered back inside with a murderous expression, greeted by Mel halfway through a bag of Quavers, “Kino cockblock you?”

“Mel, I fund your lifestyle,” Ambessa snapped, “Do not antagonise me,”

“That’s a yes,” Her crunchy words said, offering her a cheesy grin.

It took until after dinner that evening for you to get a moment alone together again, your spot in the library occupied as you stared across at her. Kino was out with another lady friend and Mel had common sense, so the air that crackled around you would not be interrupted. It was a good thing too, you’d spent the whole time eating your spaghetti trying to make yourself look alluring. Until Mel had pinched you under the table.

“So,” You started, chest tight.

“So,” She repeated, stroking Mina, “You said you were ready?”

“Yes,” Your decision was certain now, having spent some time back in her presence. You wanted it all, as soon as you could get it. Seemed you were as damned as she was. The devil on your own shoulder.

“We can take it slowly, Sweet girl,” She said, leaning forward, “There’s no rush,”

Your blood was thick and hot, mind whirling, “What if I want to rush?”

Ambessa grinned, chucking Mina away and with one sharp tug moving you onto her large thighs, “Then I’d say, where would you like to start?”

She was solid and seductive and all the things you’d avoided in your time finding yourself. She was as sticky and tempting as always, though her love tempered the fire now. Things were never done by half, and you’d fooled yourself when you planned to build a relationship step by step. Ambessa had laid the foundations, floral and firm, so now you wanted to chuck brick and cement together as fast as you could.

“This maybe?” You half slurred in anticipation, hungry lips meeting hers.

Ambessa was, for once, incredibly surprised. You were devouring her, with no restraint, as if no time had passed at all. But you were different now, she could sense it. Stronger, more certain of your place, your needs and wishes. It suited you, like an attractive new coat. Her hands were roaming about, searching for the best place to land, each patch of skin more perfect than the last.

“Are you sure?” She murmured against smudged lips, holding your chin in place to stop your desperate advance, “I don’t want to push you away again,”

You melted, kissing her palm, “You won’t,” it was breathless, “I promise,”

“I’ll only do this if I get to take you out tomorrow, a nice long day together,” Her honeyed voice muttered, though one hand was already making its way under your shirt.

“So a win-win?”

Calloused fingers grazed your nipple, kissing your neck as she nodded into it.

“Not sure I could ask for a better Easter,” You joked breathlessly, body twitching into her touch.

“That’s why you’re not going to ask for it,” Her voice was dark, a switch flipped, “You’re going to beg,”

Welcome back Ambessa Medarda, you’ve been sorely missed. I hope you fuck my brains out now. “Please?” You quipped.

A sharp pinch to your nipple, a low growl, “Do you think I’m joking, girl?”

You ached for her, mind fracturing, as an earnest apology ripped from your throat. Your pleading was real now, her wet kisses maddening.

Ambessa felt hungry, ravenous in fact, and you had offered yourself like a perfect little dessert. How kind. How naive. It took her a few minutes of pawing at you for all of your clothes to be left on the floor, goosebumps prickling your skin as you rubbed yourself against her thigh. This was perfection, your thoughts slush as she whispered filth in your ear.

“More,” You whined, the pull on your chest not harsh enough.

She twisted until it burnt, making you jolt, as her wet tongue soothed the ache, “That enough pain for you? So desperate for it,”

“I-I”

“Is that why you sent me those filthy pictures?” Her thumb, slick with you, danced in circles across your clit, “Wanting to show yourself off, hmm? A slut in red lace?”

“Ambessa,” You gasped.

“You wanted to drive me mad,” A suck to a sore nipple, “Wanted to corrupt me, after I tried so hard to stay away,”

“It was an accident,” You slurred, stomach tensing as you thrust in rhythm with her touching.

“An accident?” She scoffed, nuzzling against your throat, “That’s what you call spreading yourself for me on camera?”

You were so close, her words like gasoline as you whimpered a confused apology, your mind desperate to keep feeling good.

“Is this an accident too, Sweet girl?”

“Wha-” Your eyes rolled, cunt gushing as your first orgasm slammed into you like a sledgehammer.

She slipped you off her lap, sliding out from under you to the ground, as your bare skin touched the cool red leather chair. She knelt, a devious grin on her lips, between your trembling legs as she watched a soft slickness drip down your thighs.

“You’ve made a mess,” She said, disapproving pout on her face, “Say you’re sorry,”

“S-sorry, Ambessa,” You mumbled, eyes glassy.

“Good girl,” She stroked your thighs, a tight grip on them, tiny crescent moons from her nails, “It’s okay, I’m here to tidy you up,”

She had always been skilled, playing you like an instrument, but as her hot tongue hit your folds you found yourself blank, empty and unsure if you would ever feel anything other than raw, molten pleasure again. Teasing kitten licks lapped up your juices, her golden eyes controlling your every move, as you went limp against the chair. It smelt of her. Everything in this room did. Your body twitched again.

Her tongue drew another two orgasms from your needy body, sweaty hair sticking to your forehead as you tugged at her salt and pepper curls.

At some point you ended up flat on the floor against her fancy Persian rug, legs spread as she sat on your face. She was soaked, your cheeks wet as you ate mindlessly. Her orgasms were like nectar as she came apart above you, stern voice turning airy and dazed.

“Just like t-that,” She panted, fucking herself on your tongue.

Your hummed agreement hit her swollen clit, her tongue lolling out her mouth as an animalistic grunt filled the room.

You were in a bed now. How had that happened?

“Still with me, little one?” She teased, stroking your hair as she loomed above with a long, hard strap-on.

“That looks nice,” You babbled, chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Would you like it?”

A nod.

“Ask nicely then, Sweet girl,”

“Pleasepleaseplease,” You said, sweet as sugar, spreading yourself just as you had in those pictures.

Ambessa Medara was a strong woman. It was her defining feature in fact. Iron will and firm muscle, she prided herself on being a fortress. Here, however, with a whimpering slut beneath her, her resolve shattered like china against marble. You were stuffed before she’d processed the last plea, a surprised gurgle as she worked to destroy you.

Again, and again and again. She fucked that sweet spot in you with relentless efficiency, as cool leather rubbed against your clit in time with her thrusts. You’d long since given up on the idea of being quiet, mewling gasps and shouts of her name leaving you hoarse with fluttering eyes.

“Cum for me,” It was a sudden command, voice harsh and high, as she fell apart with a vicious thrust.

You obeyed, the coil in you snapping again, as her sweat covered skin collided with yours.

You stayed like that, hearts beating in time, as lust faded to contentment and exhaustion. Her slurred praise soothed your battered body as a cold flannel wiped away the stickiness that lingered everywhere.

There was little else to be said that night, words of love and happiness pouring from you both under your shared silken sheets.

She loved you.

You loved her.

How perfect.

Slightly lopsided, with a turtleneck to hide the smattering of bruises across your skin, you made your way to the breakfast table. You’d agreed with Ambessa to tell Kino this morning before your date, the only thing still truly weighing on her out of the way in order for you to have the perfect day together.

He was currently assembling a tower of waffles and bacon, as Mel systematically pushed it over. Rictus stood making more construction materials at the hob, sharing a grin with Mel.

Ambessa, seeing you enter, coughed loudly to silence the squabbling.

You wandered over nervously, resting beside her.

“I’d just like to make everyone aware of something,” She started slowly.

“Someone dead?” Kino muttered, staring at you.

“No,” She held her hand up to silence him, “Nobody’s died,”

“Someone pregnant?” Mel asked. The shit stirrer.

“No I-” Ambessa glared at her, taking a deep breath her hand gravitated towards your shoulder,“I wanted to let you know that we've decided to pursue a romantic relationship,”

“Oh,” Kino’s body tensed, “And when did you make this choice?”

“Last night,” You replied hesitantly, “Why?”

“Fuck,” He groaned to himself, a gruff laugh heard from the hob.

“I do believe we said one thousand even,” Rictus mocked, flipping a waffle onto the boy’s plate.

“You couldn’t have waited another twelve hours,” He grumbled, fishing for his wallet in his coat.

“What is happening right now?” Ambessa said, voice stern.

“I bet yesterday,” Rictus said as if it were obvious, “Wolf pup here bet today, thought you’d need a little time to warm up, silly boy,”

“You’ve been betting on our relationship?!” You cried, eyes wide as saucers.

“I wanted to feel included somehow,” Kino whined, “Everyone was taking me out for breakfast to shut me up,”

Your gaze turned to Mel, who held her hands up, “I knew nothing about this babe, I swear,”

Liar. Her grin gave her away.

Ambessa took the wad of cash from Kino’s hands before Rictus could, taking two hundred pounds from the pile, giving you a hundred and keeping the rest for herself, “Our commission,” Her voice was tiny daggers, “For entertaining you all so thoroughly,”

Both men grumbled, though the sparkle in their eyes told them it was never really about the money, the satisfaction coming from destroying the other's pride.

A pause, as she turned directly to her son, “You’re taking this very well, Kino, despite your usual nonsense, I am sorry for keeping you in the dark,”

“About as dark and subtle as a bat signal, Mum,” He laughed, “I knew you’d tell me when it worked for you.

“Yes, well, thank you anyway,” Her voice was laced with sarcasm, as she kicked down his tower this time.

The loud, nonsensical rumble of infighting filled the kitchen as her hand found yours, a tight squeeze making you smile.

No more secrets. No more sadness.

You were finally officially a Medarda.

#reader insert #ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #arcane ambessa #arcane #ambessa smut

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