#content marketing all stars

[lunimii]

if they don’t fuck it up i have a feeling ate is gonna be a big album for skz

[fantasticalleigh]

thoughts about the new rey movie and people’s reactions to the announcement

i was gonna reblog a post about this and just slide my opinion in the tags but it’s getting to be an essay so i think it warrants its own post

i’m not trying to attack anybody with this but this has been rampant since the announcement and i have thoughts:

i understand and share in the opinion that ben solo is a wasted character and that he (and TROS and the sequel trilogy in general) was severely mishandled, and i would not be sorry to see more of him. adam was one of the best things about this new trilogy. i was hardly a star wars fan until the day i went to see TFA on opening day. that experience was something i’ll never forget and i fell in love with kylo/ben and rey from the second they both appeared on screen during their respective intros. without them i don’t think i would enjoy SW the way i do now.

i’m so happy for daisy to have this new opportunity to continue rey’s story. She deserves it.

And before you chime in--yes, Ben deserves for his story to be continued, too. No one’s ever really gone, and all that. if he comes back i will be screaming on the way to the theaters with the rest of you.

but i have seen so many people state outright since the announcement that they refuse to watch the movie if ben isn’t coming back.

i understand that sentiment, i do--none of us want to get burned again TROS-style. we want to see the dyad together and alive and happy. we want lucasfilms to get a friggin grip and just--DO BETTER.

and remember, this is my opinion, but it rubs me the wrong way when people say they won’t watch the movie without ben (and i’ve seen it said over and over and over both here and on instagram) because it’s sort of implying that rey has no value without ben, like she is not interesting enough on her own.

now i don’t actually believe that’s what people mean when they say that (at least, not everybody) but that’s the feeling i get from it. i love rey and ben equally and so i’ll take any new content with them in it, even if they aren’t together. will it hurt? will it be bittersweet? yeah. but imagine if the new rey movie gets a really low turnout and then disney execs look at the numbers and go ‘hmm--let’s not do that again’ and then a new possible trilogy is cancelled or any chance we get of maybe a dyad reunion is also gone. bc we all know the mouse listens to money above all.

i love rey. i think she’s a great character who has just as much potential as ben and i can’t wait to see what she can do in a film where she’s top billing (until they throw in a mark hamill cameo because we all know he’ll be in it to some degree) but my point still stands. and daisy is a great actress who brought such depth to rey that i’m so excited to see her return and i can’t wait to see her as rey again.

do i still have a tiny bit of hope that it will be better this time and that ben will return? yes. i’m not gonna lie about it. this clown makeup is tattooed on. but it’s a cautious hope and i’m trying not to feed too much into it, because the reality is that it’s rey who’s back and i love her so i’m going to support her because i think she’s interesting and compelling on her own, just as she was in TFA before she ever met Kylo/Ben.

[mcmansionhell]

namesake mcmansion

Howdy folks! Today's McMansion is very special because a) we're returning to Maryland after a long time and b) because the street this McMansion is on is the same as my name. (It was not named after me.) Hence, it is my personal McMansion, which I guess is somewhat like when people used to by the name rights to stars even though it was pretty much a scam. (Shout out btw to my patron Andros who submitted this house to be roasted live on the McMansion Hell Patreon Livestream)

As far as namesake McMansions go, this one is pretty good in the sense that it is high up there on the ol' McMansion scale. Built in 2011, this psuedo-Georgian bad boy boasts 6 bedrooms and 9.5 baths, all totaling around 12,000 square feet. It'll run you 2.5 million which, safe to say, is exponentially larger than its namesake's net worth.

Now, 2011 was an anonymous year for home design, lingering in the dead period between the 2008 black hole and 2013 when the market started to actually, finally, steadily recover. As a result a lot of houses from this time basically look like 2000s McMansions but slightly less outrageous in order to quell recession-era shame.

I'm going to be so serious here and say that the crown molding in this room is a crime against architecture, a crime against what humankind is able to accomplish with mass produced millwork, and also a general affront to common sense. I hate it so much that the more I look at it the more angry I become and that's really not healthy for me so, moving on.

Actually, aside from the fake 2010s distressed polyester rug the rest of this room is literally, basically Windows 98 themed.

I feel like the era of massive, hefty sets of coordinated furniture are over. However, we're the one's actually missing out by not wanting this stuff because we will never see furniture made with real wood instead of various shades of MDF or particleboard ever again.

This is a top 10 on the scale of "least logical kitchen I've ever seen." It's as though the designers engineered this kitchen so that whoever's cooking has to take the most steps humanly possible.

Do you ever see a window configuration so obviously made up by window companies in the 1980s that you almost have to hand it to them? You're literally letting all that warmth from the fire just disappear. But whatever I guess it's fine since we basically just LARP fire now.

Feminism win because women's spaces are prioritized in a shared area or feminism loss because this is basically the bathroom vanity version of women be shopping? (It's the latter.)

I couldn't get to all of this house because there were literally over a hundred photos in the listing but there are so many spaces in here that are basically just half-empty voids, and if not that then actually, literally unfinished. It's giving recession. Anyway, now for the best part:

Not only is this the NBA Backrooms but it's also just a nonsensical basketball court. Tile floors? No lines? Just free balling in the void?

Oh, well I bet the rear exterior is totally normal.

Not to be all sincere about it but much like yours truly who has waited until the literal last second to post this McMansion, this house really is the epitome of hubris all around. Except the house's hubris is specific to this moment in time, a time when gas was like $2/gallon. It's climate hubris. It's a testimony to just how much energy the top 1% of income earners make compared to the rest of us. I have a single window unit. This house has four air conditioning condensers. That's before we get to the monoculture, pesticide-dependent lawn or the three car garage or the asphalt driveway or the roof that'll cost almost as much as the house to replace. We really did think it would all be endless. Oops.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[wttcsms]

come right on me (i mean camaraderie!)

ᝰ.ᐟ starting a new job is scary, especially when it seems like you can’t do anything correctly. good thing that your manager is always so kind and reassuring and supportive. when a client meeting ends terribly and runs so late that the two of you have to check into a hotel to spend the night, your sweet manager knows a good way to cheer you up… ( fem!reader )

pairing tetsurou kuroo x reader word count 4.9k content contains praise kink, oh no!!! there's only one bed!!!, coworkers/power imbalance (he's your manager, you're the newest and youngest member on the team), slight manipulation from kuroo (he's aware of your crush on him and uses your admiration as leverage), occasionally refers to you as his kouhai, you call him kuroo-senpai, creampie, sex in an enclosed, semi-public space (the office's supply closet), first time blowjobs kinktober masterlist

If you had known that your transfer would have resulted in you getting fucked boneless in the supply closet of the company you work for…

Well, you would have announced your job transfer a little bit sooner.

“Kuroo— Ah!” You let out a helpless yelp as you feel Kuroo’s teeth bite down on the soft part of your shoulder, sure to leave a mark. “K-Kuroo, slow down!”

“Kuroo? Really?” He snarls, lifting his head up to glare down at you. “Tsk, and here I thought you were a star employee. Is that any way to speak to your manager, or is it because you’re moving that you’re deciding to drop the formalities?” 

Your heart drops at the sound of Kuroo seemingly dissatisfied with you. Out of everyone in this office, he’s always been the one to root for you the hardest. You look up to him! Even when he’s upset, all you want to do is make him feel better. Just like how he made you feel better that time after that horrendous client meeting last month…

“Kuroo-senpai,” you mutter out, avoiding staring at him entirely. “I’m sorry.”

You’re bowing your head in apology, but Kuroo merely laughs, shaking his head.

“Don’t apologize. These things happen.” Kuroo is smiling, and from the crinkle of his eye and the carefree tone he’s using, it’s genuine. Kuroo isn’t upset with you, and somehow, this only makes you feel worse.

“But I ruined the meeting.” You remind him. “I stuttered when speaking to the client, and then I totally didn’t know how to properly react whenever he—” 

This is when Kuroo’s friendly demeanor darkens. “There would be no proper reaction to what he said.” The client, an older man who’s been working for so long in corporate Japan that back in his day, women could only serve as secretaries and belittled assistants, had made a less-than-savory remark on you and the way your pencil skirt hugs your figure. It had been a test of self-restraint for Kuroo to remain civil and smiling and to not punch him from across the table, but you don’t know that. “Our company shouldn’t sign contracts with men like him, anyway. I’ll write up everything in the report, and you won’t get reprimanded at all, okay?” He’s back to his normal, cheery self, and you nod.

Kuroo always knows what to do. 

And in your case, Kuroo is always making you feel better for being inadequate. A fresh college graduate, it’s a wonder how you managed to snag a position on one of the marketing teams for Japan’s Volleyball Association. Now, in your head, it’s a wonder how you manage to keep the damn position. You just can’t seem to do anything right, and even your coworkers are no longer shy in shaking their heads and sighing every time you mess something up. 

The only person who doesn’t seem to mind the little mistakes you make or the minor trouble you cause is Tetsurou Kuroo, the official unofficial golden boy of the sports promotion division. He’s a bit older than you, but still one of the youngest members belonging to the JVA’s marketing and promotional division. Already, there’s whispers about how Kuroo is most likely going to move up the hierarchy and soon — the Chief of Public Relations position will be opening up due to an early retirement from the current chief, and everyone knows that Kuroo has connections with a majority of the monster generation; not to mention, he’s charming enough to get everyone to go along with what he says.

You admire your senior colleague greatly, and because of your admiration and the fact that he’s the most sympathetic towards you, causing him trouble always makes you feel ten times worse than when you normally mess up. Even if he tells you everything is alright, you’re still frowning, staring down at your shoes. 

“Ah, shit.” Kuroo curses, staring up at the darkening sky as rain starts to descend down on the two of you. “Looks like the storm is coming early.” 

“It’s more like we’re just running late.” You say miserably. Because of you, the client meeting dragged on for even longer than scheduled, and the two of you were already running on a tight enough schedule as is. The JVA needed to secure a contract with a sneaker company to do some joint collaboration billboards, and even with a major thunderstorm predicted for this evening, the company was convinced Kuroo would be able to wrap up the meeting (successfully) and get the both of you on the train home before the storm came.

Now, though, it’s later than when you two were supposed to catch the train, and with the way the weather is worsening at such a rapid speed, it seems like making it to the train station before the last one runs will be impossible. 

“Follow me.” Kuroo tells you, trying to be heard over the wind. You nod, but you don’t expect him to grab your hand. With the wind whipping in your face and the chill of rain soaking through your work clothes, Kuroo’s hand is surprisingly warm. You allow yourself to be practically dragged behind him as he jogs to the nearest inn. Even in a soaked suit, running against the storm’s wind, Kuroo still manages to hold his own just fine. You’re glad his back is turned to you; at least this way, you can admire his athleticism in private.

Kuroo leads the two of you into a nearby hotel. The place looks fancy; way out of your budget. You feel bad as you practically stand there awkwardly, wetting the nice, expensive looking marble floors of the hotel while Kuroo talks to the woman up front. You notice that she’s biting her lip, eyeing the way the fabric of Kuroo’s suit clings to his body because of the rainwater. It only serves to emphasize the muscles he continues to maintain despite no longer playing the sport he’s paid to promote. Seeing the way she’s admiring him gives you a weird feeling inside, so you turn away, avoiding looking at them. 

“Bad news.” Kuroo runs a hand through the wet strands of his hair. “Turns out they’re fully booked. There’s only one room left, but it’s a couple’s suite.”

“Oh.” It makes sense that the two of you would have to spend the night in the city. The trains have probably stopped running now, and with the storm, it’s only reasonable to just wait it out ‘til the morning. “Well… A couple’s suite should be big enough, right?” 

“Space wise, yes.” Kuroo clears his throat. “But it’s for couples. There’s only going to be one bed.” 

Oh. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks as you let this information sink in. A fancy hotel. A fancy hotel with a fancy couple’s suite. A fancy hotel with a fancy couple’s suite that only has one bed. And you’re with Kuroo, your very kind, understanding coworker. Your senior colleague. Your manager. Your totally hot manager. 

“What should we do?” You peer up at him, looking at him for the solution. You don’t know it, but he loves the face you make when you’re asking him for help. Your eyes go all wide and seek him out, eagerly awaiting for him to guide you.

“You can have the room. This isn’t the only hotel in existence, so I’ll probably head out and try to find a room somewhere else.” 

“No!” You’re shocked he would even want to go back out in this storm. Your exclamation is literally punctuated with the crack of thunder booming from the sky. “You can’t go back out there.” And because you’re aware of how rude your outburst was, you soften your voice. “Kuroo-senpai, I don’t think it would be reasonable for you to put yourself in harm’s way. We’re both adults, right? I… I don’t mind— We can just figure out the sleeping arrangements when we get into the room?” 

Kuroo smiles. 

“My kouhai has a point. You’re always so sharp, [Name].” 

You don’t know why, but despite the chill of your wet clothes and the air conditioning of the hotel lobby, you feel a warmth settling in your tummy and rising all the way to your chest as you let Kuroo’s praise blanket you. 

For a couple’s suite, there really isn’t much space to work with. The bed takes up most of the room, a grand king-sized mattress, plenty of space for two people to sleep on (and with each other). There’s a tiny loveseat in the corner that might just have been there for decoration or the opportunity to try out a different position, you’re not quite sure. The bathroom is connected, and the place has rose petals all over the floor and floral scented candles lit up. 

Kuroo lets out a whistle. “They weren’t kidding when they said couple’s suite.” 

You can only nod in agreement. 

“Do you wanna shower first?” The minute Kuroo suggests this, you’re instantly aware of just how wet your clothes are. Your white blouse is clinging to your skin, and when you look down slowly, you’re horrified to realize just how transparent the material got when drenched. Before you can get too embarrassed over the situation, Kuroo puts you (or tries to, anyway) at ease, just like he always does. “I’m glad no one else was in the lobby when we came, because I’m sure I look a mess.”

A hot mess, maybe. And hot in the sense that Kuroo looks too good right now. He looks like he just came straight out of a designer cologne ad or something. 

“Y-you can shower first.” You manage to squeak out. “It’s only fair. You’re the one who’s been doing most of the work all day.” 

While Kuroo’s in the bathroom, you’re practically spiraling. How are the two of you going to explain the charge of a couple’s suite on the company credit card? It wouldn’t have been so weird if you had been with one of your female managers or vice versa, but you and Kuroo are the closest in age to each other. The meeting dragged out for far longer than originally planned, and you’re worried about how the two of you will be perceived. If anything, Kuroo has the most to lose. Any enemies of his could easily use this as a way to stop him from getting his well deserved promotion. Oh God, you definitely ruined his shot at promotion. You’re terrible. You’re—

“Seems like someone’s thinking a little too hard.” Kuroo’s teasing tone pulls you from your rapid fire overthinking. 

You wish you hadn’t looked up. Standing in front of you is a shirtless Kuroo, his abs tight and glistening with droplets of water left over from his shower. The white towel is wrapped around his waist, but the view he’s providing is already enough to make you acutely aware of the fact that Kuroo is a man. His normally uncontrollable hair is weighed down with water, damp strands hanging in his face. And he has the nerve to just stand in front of you so casually, as if he isn’t practically naked! 

Maybe you’re the weird one. Great. So you’re practically eye-fucking your manager after despairing over how you basically might be the reason why he’s going to miss out on a great job opportunity. Right after you performed horribly during a client meeting, and then made him save you by finding you shelter in a very nice hotel. 

“I’m the worst.” You groan, frowning as you look up at him. 

“Hey, don’t say that.” He frowns right back at you. “That’s not true at all.” 

“You’re just saying that because you’re nice.” 

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “A lot of people wouldn’t call me nice. It’s sweet that you would, though.” 

“How can that be true? Kuroo-senpai is the nicest person to me at work!” 

“Am I really?” You don’t notice how dangerous the glint in his eyes are, but you do have enough intuition to sense a shift in his demeanor. “Do you like that your senpai is so nice to you?” 

You don’t know what you do to him. It’s why you don’t realize how you’re essentially unchaining the beast locked up inside of him as you reply, “I like everything about Kuroo-senpai.” 

“I’m glad to hear that, because I like everything about my little kouhai, too.” 

Your eyes widen at this confession. The butterflies in your tummy are doing cartwheels right now. You can’t believe what you’re hearing, what you’re seeing. Are you hallucinating right now? That’s the only reasonable conclusion, but as Kuroo leans forward, you find yourself leaning a bit further back, just on instinct. He’s so much larger than you, more imposing. You feel like you have to shrink when he starts to close the distance between the two of you. He places his hands on the mattress you’re sitting on, effectively caging you in between his arms as he leans down even closer to you. So close that a drop of water from his hair lands right on your thigh. 

“Do you like me enough to let me kiss you?” 

Apparently, you like him enough to let him do much more than just kiss you. The kisses start off gentle enough. His lips are a bit chapped, but you like the feel of them against your much softer ones. He swallows up your little desperate whimpers, and he moves at a pace you can adapt to. When he notices you getting more confident in your movements, he gets rougher, more aggressive. It’s not just whimpers that he’s inhaling, now, but moans. Even in the heat of the moment, though, Kuroo still has enough restraint, enough decency, left in him to continue to ask for your permission. 

“Do you like me enough to let me do this?” He asks you, fingers prodding at the buttons of your work attire. You nod weakly, dizzy with pleasure from just a few kisses. He takes a sharp inhale of breath when your bra is revealed to him, and then he’s helping you slip out of your skirt, and he has to take a few seconds to admire the matching lace set you’re wearing. “I didn’t know my little kouhai was hiding this underneath her work clothes.” He mutters, and you can’t help but thrive off of the attention he’s giving you. 

He leans down ‘til his mouth is so close to your ear, you can practically feel the heat of his breath as he whispers, “Does my precious kouhai like me enough to let me play with her cute pussy?” 

You think you’re going to faint. You can barely breathe as you nod your permission, but he merely tsks. “Use your words, sweetheart. Otherwise, I won’t know.” 

He’s toying with you now. There’s a purpose to him asking his questions the way he does; he wants to see how far your admiration, your devotion, to him runs. A workplace crush might let him get away with a few kisses, but what about pounding into your sweet cunt? Do you like him enough to let him do that? 

Apparently, you do. Because you’re getting over your shyness. Because you’re whispering, “Yes. I l-like you enough to let you play with my pussy.” 

“Atta girl.” 

He’s on you within milliseconds. The pretty panties you’re wearing are now on the floor of this hotel room. He’s quick enough to figure out how to unclasp your bra, and that’s thrown to the ground as well. Laying completely bare and exposed, your work senpai wastes no time in having his hands explore your body, feeling out all the curvatures and angles that make you you. 

He takes a finger to pet at your cunt, humming approval when he already feels traces of slick gathering on the pad of his ring finger. “Did you get wet just from a couple lil’ kisses?” 

You don’t want to answer him, turning your head to the side in embarrassment because yes, you did, but his grin only widens. He presses a kiss to your cheek, finding you downright cute. “Don’t be shy. You did nothing wrong.” 

You did nothing wrong. 

He’s always telling you this, and the kind words never fail to make you feel all warm inside. That’s one of your favorite phrases to hear, but somehow, it hits differently whenever he’s pairing that heartwarming phrase with his finger in your cunt. 

“Ah, fuck, you’re so tight, baby.” He grunts out, moving his ring finger in and out, in and out. “You know what I think you need? I think you need your senpai’s help in loosening you up. It’ll be good for you, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod your head enthusiastically, and because you think he might like to hear you say it, you admit what he already knows. “Kuroo-senpai is right. You always know what I need.” 

“Good girl.” The praise has you tightening around his finger, and your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. He smirks, pleased with how sweet and pliant you are for him. A few bits of praise thrown your way, and you become a slut for him.

It’s a good thing your senpai cares about you so much. He cares about you so much that he’s adding his middle finger to the mix, curling the two fingers against your walls, relishing in your little mewls of pleasure. He’ll have to stretch you out, get you all nice and prepped for his cock. He cares about you, which is why he’s going to let you cum. 

“Feelin’ good?” He asks, knowing that from your moans of pleasure, you definitely are. His fingers work wonders within you, and Kuroo can’t help but admire how cute you are, his little kouhai. What would you do without him, hm? He loves the way your knees jerk and how you whimper every time his fingers curl right up against that sweet spot inside of you, the one your tiny fingers can’t seem to reach no matter how hard you try. Your cute little cunt is already so wet, so ready for his cock, that neither of you can seem to ignore the squelching sounds it’s making as he continues to work his fingers in and out of you. When he presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing tiny figure-eights on the bud, you cry out his name, tacking on that familiar honorific he loves to hear falling from your sweet lips, as you cum all over his fingers. You cum so much that your essence is dripping onto his palm, trailing down to his wrist, and he thinks that this is exactly where you should be, where you always should be. 

“You’re so good for me. Look at how much my good girl came.” He coos, and you should be embarrassed about the mess you made, but when he sings out his praise for you like that, you can’t help but feel a tiny bit proud. 

“Can my good girl make me even prouder? Can you take my cock right now, [Name]?” 

Even if you couldn’t, you still wouldn’t have denied him. It’s a lucky thing, then, that you’re so desperate for him. You spread your legs even wider, inviting him, and who is Kuroo to leave such a precious girl waiting and wanting? It’d be cruel to. 

Which is why he doesn’t make you wait. 

Instead, he plunges his bare cock right into your pussy, groaning with satisfaction as he feels you clamp down on him. Of course you’d be clinging to him; you’re always clinging onto him, always following after him. Such a sweet girl, his lovely, adorable junior colleague. The kouhai who likes him so much, you’d allow him to fuck you nice and hard, to really make use of this couple’s suite and its obnoxious sized bed. 

He quickens his pace almost instantly, giving you no time to adapt to his girth and length. He grins when he sees your little fucked out expression, the way your tongue peeks out from between your pretty, pink lips and the way your cheeks are flushed, your hair a mess. The soft, breathy moans that escape from your mouth. You’re going dumb on his cock, and that’s perfectly fine by him. Let him do all the thinking, anyway. 

Kuroo places a hand on your lower belly, trying to gauge just how deep he’s thrusting into you, and when he finds out, he applies more pressure, pressing down on your soft skin, forcing you to take every inch he has to offer. He’s wringing out soft “ah ah ah!”s from you, and your legs wrap around him almost instinctively as you warn him that you’re about to cum once again. 

“So soon?” He grunts out, grinning meanly. “Normally, senpais don’t expect such slutty behavior from their coworkers, but since it’s me you’re going stupid for, I’ll let it pass.” Your legs are closing in on his body, your whole body jerking a bit as you start to lose control. “Go ahead and make me proud. Cum all over my cock like a good kouhai.” 

The minute the request leaves his mouth, you do. You cum all over his length, as he instructed, and he lets out a short laugh at how devoted you are to him.

“Good girl, my best girl.” He grunts out, fucking your cunt at a leisurely pace now before stilling, letting his own cum flood inside your perfect pussy. “My perfect little kouhai. You did so good for me.” 

And with your cunt full of your senpai’s cum, his cock still plugging you up and keeping everything tucked safely inside, he gives you a rather chaste forehead kiss that has you swooning.

Honestly, you don’t expect much to change between the two of you. It’s not like you think Kuroo’s just going to get down on one knee and let you take his last name or anything. You’re still trying to convince yourself that that night wasn’t some hyper-realistic dream, and the only proof that it was real was the remainder of his cum still settled inside your pussy when you woke up the morning after. 

Kuroo is still a good work senpai, always coming to your defense and fixing your mistakes. 

But you can’t help but wonder if he thinks that night he fucked you is just another work mistake of yours that he has to fix. Because of this, you’ve gone out of your way to avoid him as much as possible. So when the director of your team calls you to his office to let you know that the transfer request you put in months ago, way before that night at the hotel, finally got approved, all you can do is bow your head in thanks and return to your cubicle in a daze.

You don’t know what to do, and the person you would normally come to for guidance is the one person you’re trying to minimize interaction with.

However, word of your transfer spreads fast. After all, it’s a cause for celebration when the weakest link of the team is finally moving far, far away. Your coworkers are all being much kinder to you, and in the middle of them congratulating you on your move, you look across the room and lock eyes with Kuroo. His facial expression betrays nothing, but he quickly mouths supply closet before sneaking out of the office.

Five minutes later, you manage to follow him, gently opening the door to the closet, only to be dragged in immediately. The click of the door locking is loud, heard even above your rapidly rising heart beat, and that’s how you find yourself being ravished by Kuroo, during work hours, at your workplace.

When he chastises you for addressing him so casually, you immediately feel terrible. 

“Kuroo-senpai,” you mutter out, avoiding staring at him entirely. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah?” He growls out, keeping you pressed firmly against the wall. “What’re you so sorry for? For avoiding me, or for withholding the fact that you’re going to move all the way to Kyoto?” 

You shake your head, tiny droplets of tears gathering up in your eyes. When you look at him like that, like a little puppy who just got kicked, it only makes him want to ruin you some more, if only so he can have the honor of being the one to piece you right back together again. 

“Senpai, I-I didn’t know what to do.” You wail out. “I was scared that that night at the hotel didn’t matter to you, and I was embarrassed of how I acted then, and I applied to transfer to the Kyoto office ages ago, and when they finally approved it, I didn’t know if it would be smart to pull back my request. I’m sorry, Kuroo-senpai. Please don’t be mad at me.” 

He leans down, pressing his forehead against your own. “Not mad, baby. I was just a bit upset, that’s all.” He rests a hand against your hip, toying with the waistband of your skirt. “You shouldn’t have been embarrassed, though.”

“R-really?”

He nods. “Yeah. I fuckin’ love my little kouhai’s reactions. You shouldn’t be embarrassed around me.” He looks you in the eyes, tugging down your skirt and enjoying the hitch in your breath. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I was hurt.”

“I’m sorry!” You squeak out again, and he sighs. 

“If you’re really sorry, you’ll show me.” 

Apparently, the proper way to show him you’re sorry is to get down on your knees, ignoring the cold tile of the closet, and to unbuckle his belt, pull down the zipper of his slacks, and tug at his briefs in order to free his cock. He’s already hard, the tip of his cock an angry red with pearly white droplets of precum already gathering at the head. You shouldn’t be nervous; you had the full length of his dick inside of your pussy, but somehow, the task of taking him down your throat seems rather daunting. 

“C’mon, [Name]. Is my little kouhai getting shy again?” Kuroo teases, gently nudging his cock against your parted lips. Your tongue reflexively comes out, and before you realize it, your giving tiny kitten licks, getting your first taste of salty precum. You must make a face, because he laughs, before carding his fingers through the locks of your hair and suddenly, very suddenly, pushes you forward. 

He isn’t rough, but the presence and pressure of his hand is firm. He doesn’t push you down any further, but the first few inches of his cock is now resting against your tongue, and he’s savoring the warmth of your mouth, groaning as he feels the vibrations of you mumbling something in surprise. 

“Mm, this is a good starting point for an apology, don’t you think?” He muses, knowing that in your current position, you can’t really reply back. “Such a good kouhai for me. What am I gonna do when you move to Kyoto?”

His voice gets a bit huskier as he forces you to take more of his length into your mouth. When he starts thrusting gently, slowly getting you used to the feeling of him fucking your mouth, he lets out a groan. “So good, baby, so good. Do you normally let your senpais fuck your mouth like this?”

You mumble something, finding enough room to shake your head. 

“No?” He says, picking up his face. Every time he thrusts back in, he hits the back of your throat a bit harder, forces more of his length in. “You’re so good at taking my dick right now, though. Don’t tell me that this is your first time?” He looks down at you, eyes lighting up and a smile brightening his expression. “This is your first time sucking off a cock? Of letting someone fuck you like this?” He laughs, the sound full of genuine joy. 

“You’re the fucking best.” He tells you, before tightening his grip in your hair and pushing you down onto his cock. This is the only warning he gives you before you feel spurts of hot cum flooding into your mouth, and your eyes widen in surprise at the sheer amount that’s being poured into you. He lets out a little groan, tilting his own head back in pleasure as he keeps your head pushed down. The stimulation from you gagging around his girth only prolongs his climax, and you still can’t find relief when he pulls out of your mouth because he’s instantly demanding you open up and show him what a mess he made inside of you. 

You whimper, giving into your senpai’s request. You open up wide, sticking out your tongue to reveal the thick globs of white cum coating the appendage. Fuck, just the sight of you all submissive, on your knees, teary eyed and ready to please, mouth full of his cum… It’s enough to get him hard again. 

“You’re the best kouhai in the world.” He hums, patting your head, and you swallow up his praise just like you do his cum. 

[centrally-unplanned]

We (somewhat rightly) mock the 2000's era fansub translation notes for their otaku fixations and privileging of trivia over the media, but they should be understood as serving their purpose for a bit of a different era in the anime fandom. Take this classic:

Like, its so obvious, right? Just say "pervert", you don't need the note! Which is true, for like a 'normie' audience member who just wants to watch A TV Show - but no one watching, uh *quick google* "Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne" in 1999 is that person. The audience is weebs, and for them the fact that show is Japanese is a huge selling point. They want it to feel as 'anime' as possible; and in the west language was one of the core signifiers of anime-ness. 2004 con-goers calling their friends "-kun" and throwing in "nani?" into conversations was the way this was done, and alongside that a lexicon of western anime fandom terminology was born. Seeing "ecchi" on the screen is, to this person, a better viewing experience - it enhances their connection to otaku identity the show is providing, and reinforces their shared cultural lexicon (Ecchi is now a term one 'expects' anime fans to know - a truth that translator notes like this simultaneously created and reflected).

But of course your audiences have different levels of otaku-dom, and so you can't just say 'ecchi' and call it a day - so for those who are only Level 2 on their anime journey, you give them a translation note. Most of the translation notes of the era are like this - terms the fansubber thought the audience might know well enough that they would understand it and want that pure Japanese cultural experience, but that not all of them would know, so you have to hedge. The Lucky Star one I posted is a great example of that:

Its Lucky Star, the otaku-crown of anime! You desperately want the core text to preserve as much anime vocab as possible, to give off that feeling, but you can't assume everyone knows what a GALGE is - doing both is the only way to solve that dilemma.

This is often a good guideline when looking at old memetically bad fansubs by the way:

This isn't real, no fansub had this - it was a meme that was posted on a wiki forum in 2007. Which makes sense, right? "Plan" isn't a Japanese cultural or otaku term, so there is no reason not to translate it, it doesn't deepen the ~otaku connection~.

Which, I know, I'm explaining the joke right now, but over time I think many have grown to believe that this (and others like it) is a real fansub, and that these sort of arbitrary untranslations just peppered fansub works of the time? It happened, sure, but they would be equally mocked back then as missteps - or were jokes themselves. Some groups even had a reputation for inserting jokes into their works, imo Commie Subs was most notable for this; part of the competitive & casual environment of the time. But they weren't serious, they are not examples of "bad fansubs" in the same way.

This all faded for a bunch of reasons - primarily that the market for anime expanded dramatically. First, that lead to professionally released translations by centralized agencies that had universal standards for their subs and accountability to the original creators of the show. Second, the far larger audience is far less invested in anime-as-identity; they like it, but its not special the way its special when you are a bullied internet recluse in 2004. They just want to watch the show, and would find "caring" about translation nuances to be cringe. And since these centralized agencies release their product infinitely faster and more accessibly than fansubs ever did, their copies now dominate the space (including being the versions ripped to all illegal streaming sites), so fansubs died.

Though not totally - a lot of those fansub groups are still around! Commie Subs is still kicking for example. They either do the weird nuance stuff, or fansub unreleased-in-the-west old or niche anime, or even have pivoted to non-anime Japanese content that never gets international release. But they used to be the taste-makers of the community; now they are the fringe devotees in a culture that has moved beyond them. So fansubs remain something of a joke of the 90's and 2000's in the eyes of the anime culture of today, in a way that maybe they don't deserve.

[saerotonins]

actor!toji headcanons

ft. fushiguro toji x reader

content warnings: fluff, parent!reader, megumi is yalls son, just overall cuteness

wc: 918

note: this is my apology for that nanami angst i posted days ago heh

jjk actor au masterlist

as an actor:

very intimidating man, from his aura to his build, oh boy, who wouldn't be scared

but to everyone's surprise, he's actually just a really goofy and adorable man with a really good resting bitch face lmfao

is actually a household name in the acting industry! definitely those types of actors that once casted into a show, it's guaranteed to get hella VIEWS AND RATINGS

has been in the acting industry for YEARS and has a ton of experience but is still very humble

is actually very shy when his co stars tease him whenever his fans thirst for him whenever he's on screen and he's just a blushing mess LOL

i mean he's a literal dilf so 

believe it or not, this man has been in more romance shows and movies than action, especially as a VILLAIN

his fans couldn't believe it either

so when he was first casted in jjk as a villain who kills CHILDREN they were so ecstatic!

and boy were they so happy when toji SURPASSED their expectations because he was so good!

also so happy that he was casted together with his son, megumi, in the same show!

they usually go to the shoot together and even when he doesn't have a scene to shoot and only megumi does, he drives him off to the shooting site whenever his time permits

it's actually so adorable 

in contrast to jjk!toji, he's really a hands on father to him and is actually very supportive of megumi going to the same career path as him

megumi is also the definition of nepo babies who deserved what they got but that's another discussion 

at first though, he is kind of hesitant especially knowing how toxic can it get with the industry but when he saw his son's determination, he eventually gave him a green light and supported him along the way

this man is so fucking strong OML the producers are so grateful the most of the time he helps cleaning up with the equipment once filming is done

literally lifts them up like it's nothing BYE

listen, this old man is RIPPED and really likes to work out 

he's like pedro pascal who is like really chill but really cheeky when it comes to fanservice LOL he is so adorable 

megumi is kinda cringing though 😭 it's understandable though because that's literally your father trying to act cute and he's a teenager so i don't really blame him

also a big gentleman, again, contrary to his role, he is actually very good with the ladies and often checks with his co stars especially when a fight scene is being filmed

profusely apologized to satoru when their fight was filmed because he literally has to do the stunts himself and make everything believable as much as possible 

has ig and twitter but barely posts unless it's a promotion or a thank you post for the team

he's very active in stories though 😭

and i mean VERY VERY active

you know that point where a person posts too much stories and the lines above almost look like dots??? 

yeah that's him 😭

mostly posts the behind the scenes and his family there!

has a pet chicken that he posts there too

no he's not vegan... he just doesn't eat chicken 😭

as a husband:

oh yeah another married man on set sorry ladies he’s off the market

a very romantic and private lover

especially when you're the only one in the family who is not involved in show business

looks forward to coming home to you all the time

the type of husband who says, "i miss my spouse," on set out of nowhere and his co stars just sigh in faux annoyance 

this man is WHIPPED 

his lines is always and SHOULD always be practiced with you, because aside from his fans (not really though since he's already an established actor), the only approval he looks for is from his lover

is really happy and giddy (almost like a teenage boy like SIR you guys are already married for YEARS) when you praise him and has this really boyish smile which happens very often btw

he's such a fucking sap please

as mentioned, he is kinda shy about the thirst but is not uncomfortable and actually goes along with it

you on the other hand GO HAM with it LOL

you're one of the fans lmfaoooo

a very BIG ONE

unlike him who is not active on twitter, you actually reply to fans and agree what they were saying and fangirl/boy with them which is actually so adorable LOL

his fandom is having a field day of you gushing about your husband like you're not married to him and have a literal CHILD with him bye

both megumi and toji, especially toji, are very protective of you so any slanderous rumors from the tabloids and any defamation will immediately face a lawsuit 

and fans love it when y'all fight back!!

if they stan either toji or megumi, it's immediately a given that they also stan you LOL

your boys both find it cute that even you have a very supportive fanbase like theirs

[creamflix]

UNSCRIPTED — toji fushiguro x female reader [chapter 1/5]

summary: you’re a faceless author of scandalous smut — great at writing steamy scenes but totally clueless about real-life romance (and with no one to match your freak). enter toji fushiguro, a hot stranger you (accidentally) throw up on during a drunken night out. surprise! he’s also the future voice actor for your smutty novel’s main character. can you survive the awkwardness of your disastrous meet-cute while keeping your identity (and dignity) a secret? welcome to the chaos of your own erotic fantasy romcom!

content warning & tags: (erotic) voice artist! toji, (smut) writer! reader, smutty content!! [will be added over the course of the series], sort of workplace romance, secret/anon identity, slight social media au, meet-cute, virgin!reader, single dad dilf! toji, kid! megumi, strangers to lovers (?), she fell first but he fell harder, mentions of other characters (satoru gojo, suguru geto, megumi fushiguro, shoko eiri, brief mentions of ryomen sukuna)

notes: hi friends !! wow, been a hot min since i wrote something of this caliber. feels good to be back in biz ;D did you all miss persephone! suguru? because there's a LOT of him here >_< i really wanted to publish this as a oneshot but....tumblr hates me so now it's gonna be a chaptered series! oh , joy! ps @nappingmoon i got u bae, this one is for you.

read on ao3! ● series masterlist

➤ related au: persephone [business tycoon! sukuna x reader]

you never really set out to be the face of smut-lit. 

in fact, you weren’t even really a face at all — just a “faceless” author penning scandalous stories for fans who devoured them, and haters who, well… tried to eat you alive.

you’d started out innocently enough, scribbling down your little fantasies and tropes that no self-respecting romance book would touch. then one day, a friend dared you to post one on booktok. 

you thought, "fuck it" and uploaded a snippet of your latest brainchild: a steamy billionaire x star-crossed chef fic called hunger games: not that kind of hungerer. it was, admittedly, extra spicy. 

and oh, did the internet have thoughts.

soon, your comments section and dm’s became a battleground for all opinions on “what qualifies as literature.” gems included:

who even writes this crap? did a middle schooler steal her mom’s laptop? i can feel my brain cells self-destructing as i read this 💀 girl hasn’t even been within a mile radius of a dick and it SHOWS

you'd had to admit… the last comment was right. but hey, they only added to the fuel. 

like moths to a flame, they kept coming back, and the trolling just made your followers skyrocket. a lot of people secretly liked the outrageousness, the drama, and the absolute audacity of it all. before long, your books were trending, and you were raking in numbers (and dollars) most “serious” authors could only dream of.

soon, you found yourself the subject of headlines you never thought you’d see:

the faceless queen of spice: how one unknown author is reshaping romance. trolled online, loved in secret—author sells millions in ebook downloads. social media says she has no idea what she’s talking about, but her bank account says otherwise.

and the kicker?

you’d never had sex with anyone, let alone…well, rocked worlds like your characters. 

here you were, a smut writer with zero real-life experience, who’d single-handedly created booktok’s, bookstagram and hell, even the people down at twitter's guilty pleasure.

but the day big publishers started knocking on your door, it was surreal, to say the least. 

you’d been fully prepared for the anonymous online fame — hell, you’d leaned into it, posting “faceless author life” videos and doing question and answer sessions where you dropped zero identifying details, save for some vague hand gestures and blurred-out backgrounds. but now, major publishing houses wanted in on the action.

“we think your stories have broad market appeal,” one exec had said on a zoom call, trying to make “billionaire mafia love quadrangle” sound dignified. “if we could get them on shelves, we’d reach an audience beyond booktok. international appeal is the goal here!”

suddenly, your filthy, albeit occasionally cringey, tales were going global. they got translated into french (where your enemies-to-lovers series got a fancy new title: l’amour et la haine). your spicy chef saga was reborn in italian as sapore di te, which roughly translated to taste of you (and made you blush, honestly). 

and when your personal favorite, the billionaire’s forbidden touch, hit the japanese market, they titled it 禁断の夜 (which… you didn’t even want to know the translation of, because you knew it was even worse than the original).

you had to admit, though, seeing these books spread worldwide made your head spin. what started as a joke online was now somehow sitting next to classics in international bookstores, becoming a hot commodity for fans everywhere.

but the cherry on top? 

oh, that came when you opened an email from none other than gojo-sonic, the world-renowned audio company best known for its highly specialized audiobook recordings. they’d taken smut literature to the next level, hiring voice actors who sounded like they were in the room with you, all breathy whispers and seductive baritones. people had raved that these audiobooks were “too real” — like they’d been recorded in a closed room with dim lights and a whole lot of… commitment.

they offered you a multi-million dollar deal to turn your books into experiences.

one of your friends, absolutely losing it, texted you as soon as they heard the news:

homegirl [5:21 pm]: “OMG OMG so you’re gonna do it right?? u realize this means ppl will be hearing ur lil virgin brain’s fantasies out loud in their headphones right” you [5:21 pm]: “no kidding. i’m freaking out. this feels illegal.” homegirl [5:22 pm]: “but u gotta!! pls this is ICONIC.” you [5:24 pm]: “they’re giving me millions. you think i’m saying no? lmao.”

it still felt surreal that soon, the whole world would hear your books come to life with professional voice actors — ones who knew exactly how to tease and breathe and make listeners feel like they were right there.

“bring my fantasies to life, huh?” you muttered to yourself, flipping through the contract that would secure your financial future, all because of your fictional men and their, uh, moves. 

who the hell were you to say no to that?

it was surreal enough to get an email from gojo-sonic, but now, sitting across from the ceo himself, gojo satoru, you were starting to wonder if this whole experience was some fever dream.

the man was stunning in an obnoxious, immaculate way. snowy hair, piercing blue eyes, and sunglasses balanced on his head like a headband. and, okay, you had to admit: it was a little weird that he’d named his company after himself — though, frankly, it just fit.

you tried not to laugh when he introduced himself. gojo satoru, ceo of gojo-sonic. the narcissism was off the charts, but so was his charm. as a quick google search before the meeting had revealed, gojo sonic had an impeccable reputation, and there was apparently not a single scandal tied to its name.

“nice to meet you,” you said, shaking his hand and trying to keep your cool. “kinda surprised a guy is running a… company like this. no offense.”

“none taken!” he replied, leaning back in his chair with an easy grin. “if i’m honest, i’m probably the last guy anyone would expect here. but,” he shrugged, “it works. my employees say i’m a ‘girl’s girl,’ whatever that means.”

the way he said it so nonchalantly made you smirk. apparently, the term wasn’t a throwaway nickname, either; the gojo-sonic gossip mill painted him as the absolute dream boss. rumor had it he’d given his whole office a free day off because his assistant had been dumped, and when a writer complained about unisex bathrooms making her uncomfortable, he’d personally had a “feminine touch” added to every single stall, complete with pink hand soap and luxurious lotions. he was kind, considerate, a man who just got it.

“people say i’m probably gay,” he added, laughing as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “and you know what? let ‘em think what they want.” he gave you a wink. “as long as they keep buying the goods, i couldn’t care less.”

honestly? the guy made a point. did it matter who he was taking home at the end of the day? not at all, as long as your bank account kept racking up zeros.

“speaking of,” he continued, “we’ve got the full studio ready for tomorrow. you’ll meet the voice actors, go over a few sections, and give input as needed. think of it like a live theater production, except it’s your book.”

“oh, i get to… watch them record?” you asked, wondering how mortifying it might be to sit there, watching actors give their all to lines like, “you’re mine tonight, darling.” 

yeah, you’d written it, but watching someone breathe life into it was a different level of… embarrassment.

“even better,” gojo grinned, looking far too amused by your nervousness, “you’ll get to guide them. they’ll take direction from you — however you want the line delivered, that’s how they’ll say it.”

“you mean i can… like… make suggestions? on delivery?”

“exactly!” he said with a small clap. “we want it to be perfect. i’ve already arranged for our top voice actor, toji fushiguro, to voice your main character.”

toji fushiguro?

if gojo-sonic was the industry’s top company, toji was the crown jewel of voice acting. the guy was a legend. 

he had that smoky, velvet tone that could turn a mundane grocery list into a full-on romance scene. he was also notoriously elusive; some people waited months to get him to even consider their projects. and you — the virgin author who’d stumbled into fame thanks to trolls and booktok — had him voicing your main character?

“wait, toji fushiguro is doing this?” you asked, jaw practically on the floor.

gojo chuckled, looking far too pleased with your reaction. “yep! i think you two are going to work great together. he’s intense but flexible; really good at taking feedback.”

you tried to imagine giving feedback to toji fushiguro of all people. 

“um, maybe say ‘you’re mine’ with more… conviction?” 

“can you sound a bit more possessive on that line?”

“i, uh…” you managed, trying to swallow your nerves. “okay. yeah. sounds… good.”

“great! i think you’ll be amazed. toji’s professionalism is unmatched, and he’ll bring exactly the level of…” Gojo paused, grinning, “intensity you need to really make your character come to life.”

“good luck tomorrow! i’ll make sure everything’s set up perfectly,” gojo had assured you with a big grin as you left the office. “don’t stress about a thing. our identities are always kept top secret here. toji’s included! he’s never done a face reveal, and your privacy is just as ironclad.”

oh god. tomorrow, you were really going to sit there while toji fushiguro acted out lines you’d written on a whim in your pajamas.

sure, not stressing sounded like a logical plan. but after that surreal conversation — and the realization that tomorrow morning, you’d be face-to-face with the one and only toji fushiguro, hearing him breathe life into your raunchiest fantasies — you did what any responsible, mature adult would do.

you headed straight to the nearest bar and got sloshed.

by the time you were three cocktails deep, the reality of tomorrow’s “firsts” hit you like a ton of bricks. first real direction on an audiobook, first time meeting a voice actor, first time dealing with your own steaminess out loud, and — oh god — the cherry on top, it was toji fushiguro himself.

sure, you thought, sipping from your fourth drink and trying not to scream as lana del rey sings “it’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you,” i might be slightly freaking out.

another cocktail slid your way. you squinted, unsure if you'd ordered it or if the bartender was just reading your general mood, because yeah, you did look like someone who needed another round.

“tough night?”

“tough tomorrow.” you swirled your drink, laughing to yourself. “i mean… you ever written a, uh, totally inappropriate novel and had to watch a famous guy turn it into audio?”

“…can’t say that i have.”

you shrugged, downing a bit more of the drink, when the song on the speakers switched to avril lavigne’s complicated. fitting, given that your life had just become exactly that.

“why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?” avril sang, like she knew.

the bartender, apparently used to the types who showed up for existential crises alone, leaned against the counter. “sounds like big stuff tomorrow, then. what kind of work do you do, anyway?”

“oh, just… smutty novels,” you said, letting it slip before you could stop yourself. “just… page after page of absolutely shameless, absurd filth. and now i’m, y’know, supposed to direct the guy. to make it sound like he’s really, um, in the moment.”

the bartender chuckled, raising a brow. “sounds intense.”

“you have no idea.” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “he’s this insanely talented voice actor. i mean, they’ve got toji fushiguro in there, which is like… god. if he knew who i actually was, he’d probably laugh.”

why’d you have to go and make things so complicated? avril continued wailing, her words your accidental anthem.

“well, whatever happens,” the bartender said, passing you a glass of water with a grin, “sounds like you’re about to have a pretty interesting morning.”

“i’ll drink to that,” you muttered, clinking your cocktail glass against the water. you downed it, hoping that somehow, it might chase the nerves away.

and as everytime we touch, i get this feeling started blasting on the speakers, you couldn’t help but shake your head with a groan. if there was a playlist made for romantic embarrassment, it was definitely playing tonight.

in your half-sloshed state, it seemed like a good idea to turn to the stranger who’d just sauntered up to the bar — a ridiculously hot stranger, tall with dark hair, and a scar slashing right across his lip. it was the kind of look that would’ve inspired an entire chapter in one of your books, but as of right now? it was just inspiring some truly regrettable choices.

“goodness gracious, great balls of fire,” you muttered to yourself, just loud enough to catch his attention, which felt smooth, in your totally buzzed opinion. so, of course, you swung around on your stool, plastering on what you hoped was an alluring smile.

oh god, here we go. “hey there, handsome…” you paused, hiccuping “… you come here often?”

the stranger raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, leaning an elbow against the bar with a smirk that could kill. “depends,” he said, voice low and rough. “you, uh, always this friendly after a few drinks?”

oh god. 

oh god. 

but you couldn’t stop now. 

you were committed. 

you were bold. 

with all the poise of a drunk giraffe, you propped your elbow on the bar and leaned in closer, pointing a finger at his chest — totally unintentionally, because your depth perception was off by, oh, about a mile. “well, what can i say,” you replied, attempting a sultry grin. “good-lookin’ guys like you… don’t come around often enough, mister.”

“it’s like i’m drunk off your love,” played from the speakers, not helping your case at all. 

oh god, this was actually happening. 

he actually laughed, a warm, deep chuckle, as he watched you struggle through whatever pickup line was about to escape your lips.

he tilted his head, that smirk turning up a notch. “should i be flattered?”

“you should!” you exclaimed, with a bit too much enthusiasm. “you’re like… i dunno, like one of my… you look like a… a fictional character.” 

smooth, real smooth.

“oh yeah?” his smirk widened. “so, what am i, a prince?”

“more like…” you bit your lip, trying to focus, “an antihero with a… tragic past and just enough softness in his heart to make him dangerous in all the right ways.”

he looked you up and down, bemusement clear in his eyes. “dangerous in the right ways? is that your type?”

you gave a shaky wink, nearly missing because the world was swimming a bit. “maybe.”

he chuckled, his voice all rich and velvety, and leaned in closer. “so… you’re here alone? i mean, besides all the fictional men you’re envisioning.”

“for now,” you replied, trying to sound mysterious, but it just came out as a bit… wobbly.

the bartender set the stranger’s drink down with a raised eyebrow, and he took a sip, watching you with amused interest. “you know, maybe you should slow down before you scare all the good guys away.”

“oh, trust me,” you replied, hiccuping again. “i don’t scare easy.”

he shook his head, clearly entertained, and you felt yourself glowing under his gaze. you were about to continue — just as soon as the world stopped spinning — when you felt the slightest bit queasy, your stomach reminding you that you’d had one cocktail too many.

the stranger’s amused smirk softened. “you alright there?”

“i’m…” you swallowed. “perfectly fine. just, you know… making sure you’re… getting the full effect of my…” you barely managed the word “…rizz.”

he laughed outright this time, low and warm, like he genuinely couldn’t believe you were real. “is that so? lucky me.”

it was all going so well — okay, not well, but you were holding your own, kind of. you had him laughing, after all, which for someone with approximately zero charisma was an accomplishment! but then the first chords of firework by katy perry blared through the speakers, and as if on cue, your stomach decided to join in the grand finale.

“do you ever feel like a plastic bag,” katy crooned, but for you, it was more like a “do you ever feel like you’re about to ruin your night by barfing on a hot stranger?”

before you could process what was happening, the tequila-fueled fireworks decided to erupt all over this guy’s very expensive-looking shoes.

oh god. oh god.

you looked up, mortified, to find him staring down at his shoes, eyebrows raised. wow, would you look at the time? 

run.

“oh… oh no. i… i’m so sorry, i swear this never happens.”

he raised a brow, still looking somewhere between amused and horrified. “well, that’s… comforting?”

you grabbed a napkin, fumbling, still buzzing enough to not know if you should laugh, cry, or just make a run for it.

“guess that’s, uh, one way to make an impression,” he murmured, lips twitching in a smirk even as he assessed the disaster on his shoes.

“oh god. really, i’m… i’m so sorry.” you dabbed helplessly at his shoes with a cocktail napkin, somehow making things worse. “if it helps, i… i normally only vomit on hot guys.”

he chuckled, though you were sure it was mostly at you, and shook his head. “well, it’s one hell of an icebreaker.”

“baby, you’re a firework,” katy sang passionately in the background, but you were already ready to crawl under the bar and disappear forever.

you were surprised — actually, you were shocked — that the stranger hadn’t ditched you after the whole public-vomiting-on-his-shoes fiasco. instead, somehow, he was still right there, leaned in close and casually sipping his drink, just as much a mess as you were. hours had passed, and you’d been rambling about anything and everything, lost in an alcohol-fueled bubble that had turned the night into something you’d never have dreamed of.

maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was the guy’s ridiculously calm attitude, but you’d opened up about your career, the absurdity of writing spicy novels as a faceless author, and even your terror about tomorrow. he’d listened with a smirk, offering the occasional snarky remark or grunt of approval. in return, he’d told you a bit about himself too — well, at least, you thought he did. at some point, the details got hazy.

“so, what do you do?” you asked, squinting at him like it was going to make his face stop swimming in your vision.

he shrugged, swirling his drink and giving a lopsided grin. “something kinda like… acting. you know, nothing glamorous.” there was a hint of amusement there, like he was in on a joke you weren’t.

you squinted harder, your mind pulling up images of random professions. “oh, so like… theater? or like, movies? or wait — commercials? are you one of those guys that has to pretend he’s in love with a bowl of soup?”

he let out a deep laugh, and the sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. “sure, something like that. though i’d like to think i’m a bit more convincing than a soup guy.”

you grinned, leaning in closer, your curiosity fully piqued despite your state. “convincing, huh? so you’re a good actor, then?”

“i do my best,” he said, voice low, that amused glint in his eye again.

“you have to be really good to make people believe in, like, totally unrealistic things, y’know?” you babbled, waving your hand. “like, imagine trying to voice —” you cut yourself off, feeling a hint of embarrassment as you remembered why you’d gotten so sloshed in the first place. the irony of tomorrow, and how this entire conversation felt like it was straight out of one of your own stories.

but before you could get too in your head about it, he tilted his head, looking genuinely interested. “voice what? i’m curious, princess.”

princess. the nickname sent a bolt of something dangerously warm straight through you, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “oh, nothing…” you said, waving him off. “just, you know… the usual. people who… um, make people fall in love with their voice.”

“and what if i told you,” he leaned in even closer, smirking as if he’d just had the best idea ever, “that i could probably do that?”

you rolled your eyes, not believing him one bit. “oh really? think you could pull it off?”

“depends,” he said with a shrug. “what kinda character am i playing?”

you didn’t realize it, but you’d inched even closer, like you were hanging on his every word. “someone… someone rough around the edges,” you started, your voice dropping, completely lost in the moment, “but with a softness underneath. someone who could make the world stop with just a whisper…”

he smirked, eyes never leaving yours, and for a second, you felt like he was taking every word way too seriously. “i think i could manage that.”

you blinked, feeling a blush rise. 

this stranger had charisma — like, the kind of charisma you’d thought only existed in your characters. 

oh god, maybe you should write him into your next story. you shook yourself, blinking the daydreams away just as he started talking again.

“... and that’s why,” he was saying, “there’s a bit of an art to saying things just right. people think it’s all about the words, but it’s the way you say them that makes it real, y’know?”

you nodded, trying to focus on his words as the room spun just a bit. “so you’re telling me, it’s all in the delivery?”

“exactly.” his gaze dropped to your lips, and he smirked, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “even the… dirtiest lines sound good if you say ’em the right way.”

oh no. that dangerous warmth was back.

somewhere between his intense gaze and that slow, lopsided smirk, dancing queen by abba blared through the bar speakers, jarring you out of your tipsy trance. the upbeat, disco-infused rhythm filled the room, all but laughing at the “moment” you thought you were having with this too-hot-for-reality stranger.

was this a moment? or were you just ridiculously drunk? did he even have a name? or were you just too far gone to have bothered asking?

“you can dance, you can jive,” abba sang, practically mocking you as you stared, wide-eyed, at the man across from you, his scarred lip twisted in a little grin as he watched you piece it all together. he must’ve seen the dawning realization on your face, because he chuckled, reaching for his drink again.

“something wrong, princess?” he asked, leaning forward with a glint of amusement.

oh, great. i’ve already been promoted to ‘princess’ by a guy i might not know the name of. you were seconds away from facepalming.

“uh, nothing,” you said, waving a hand as casually as you could manage. “just, uh, thinking how ironic it is that dancing queen is playing while… we’re, you know…”

“... having a moment?” he teased, clearly enjoying himself.

“well,” you cleared your throat, cheeks blazing, “if you can call me drunkenly staring at you while abba serenades us a ‘moment.’”

“hey, it’s a solid soundtrack choice,” he replied, looking like he was suppressing a laugh. “besides, don’t pretend this isn’t kinda perfect.”

“you think dancing queen is perfect for this?”

he shrugged, sipping his drink. “come on, you’re hammered, i’m here keeping you company, and we’re both, what… living in the moment?” he quirked a brow, his smirk widening as he eyed you, like he was daring you to argue.

and then, maybe out of pure liquid courage, or maybe because the absurdity was too much, you laughed. “yeah, living the moment… with some guy whose name i don’t even know.”

“toji,” he said, offering his hand with a lazy grin, like he’d just handed you a secret.

“toji,” you echoed, shaking his hand. he held on for a second longer than necessary, his gaze never leaving yours.

 oh, this guy was trouble, and you were in so deep.

“and you?” he asked, still holding your hand.

you barely managed to whisper your name, but it came out like a sigh, and he repeated it back like it was something precious. “well then,” he said, smirking, “guess that makes two dancing queens tonight.”

“toji…” you muttered, the name slipping off your tongue again as you tried to place it. there was something familiar about it, like you’d heard it before, but in your tequila-drenched state, nothing was sticking. 

toji, toji… where had you heard that name?

he cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused as you stared at him like he was the world’s most frustrating puzzle. “something on your mind?”

“n-no,” you stammered, then immediately backpedaled. “wait, actually, yes. toji, right?”

he nodded, a playful gleam in his eye. “that’s the one.”

“toji… toji…” you repeated, squinting at him as if a clearer view would magically connect the dots. and then, it hit you — toji fushiguro. 

the voice actor who would be bringing your spicy, shamelessly dramatic main character to life. 

the same guy you were supposed to meet tomorrow, the guy who was probably used to making everyone’s knees buckle with just a whisper.

“no way…” you whispered, clutching your head, and you could practically feel the blush creeping up your cheeks. “you — you’re… that toji?”

he gave a slight tilt of his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “what, surprised that i could be both hot and talented?”

you sputtered, trying to backtrack and failing miserably. “no! i mean, yes, but i just — tomorrow —  you’re… you’re the guy who’s voicing my main character?”

he leaned back with a smirk, clearly enjoying the whirlwind of emotions he was putting you through. “didn’t think the universe would give you a sneak preview tonight, huh?”

your fuzzy brain struggled to compute this twist of fate. you were drunk, mortified, and beyond flustered, sitting in a bar with the man who’d soon be giving voice to all your filthy, shameless words. this was almost too much.

“oh my god,” you muttered, sinking back in your seat. “i literally threw up on my main character’s shoes.”

toji let out a hearty laugh, patting your shoulder. “hey, if anything, i’d say it’s on-brand for the kind of night you’d write.”

just as you were processing the sheer, ridiculous insanity of the situation, a fresh wave of nausea hit you like a freight train. before you could even react, you leaned forward and… splattered the floor with a decidedly not-dignified stream of bile. this time, it was almost cinematic, complete with a dramatic gagging sound that had you doubling over.

you watched in horror as you once again spewed your insides onto the floor, narrowly missing toji’s shoes but definitely adding a new layer to the already mortifying scene. 

you’d probably just hit rock bottom.

“oh, god,” you groaned, covering your mouth with your hand as the bile burned your throat. “i swear… i’m not normally like this.”

toji chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he handed you a stack of napkins the bartender had generously supplied. “i’m starting to think i’m just a little too overwhelming for you, princess.”

you shot him a sheepish look as you wiped your mouth. overwhelming was an understatement. 

“yeah, maybe we can leave that out of tomorrow’s team introductions,” you mumbled, trying desperately to pull yourself together.

toji chuckled, tossing a few more napkins your way. “no judgment here. it’s a rough night for a first ‘meet-cute,’ but hey, you’re nothing if not memorable.”

you gripped the napkin, willing yourself to hold it together, at least until you could make a semi-dignified exit. “i don’t even want to know what story you’ll tell people about this.”

toji just laughed, completely unbothered, as if getting vomited on was a regular night for him. “don’t worry, i’ll keep it discreet.” his voice dipped, lowering to a murmur. “for a girl with secrets, i figure you’d appreciate that.”

he lifted his drink and gave you a small toast. “to first meetings — and unforgettable nights. and hey, maybe tomorrow, you’ll surprise me and keep it down.”

oh, god, you thought, as you attempted to bury yourself in your napkin. if only i could crawl under the bar and hide forever.

normally, you wouldn’t wake up with “dancing queen” stuck in your head, but as you nursed the remnants of a truly terrible hangover, it felt almost... pleasant? the upbeat melody cut through the fog of your brain, and you couldn’t help but hum along, even if the lyrics felt like a cruel reminder of your embarrassing escapades from the night before.

“you can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life...”

wait, why dancing queen of all songs? you squinted at your alarm clock, your heart racing as the memories started flooding back like a poorly written rom-com. oh.

OH.

your eyes widened as you bolted out of bed with a speed that could make an olympic runner blush, frantically throwing on whatever clothes you could find — did you seriously still have a piece of glitter from last night stuck in your hair? gross! but no time for a shower; you had a meeting to get to at gojo-sonic, and you were about to meet — erm, remeet — toji fushiguro.

“ooh, see that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen...”

as the lyrics blared in your head like an incessant movie soundtrack, you dashed out the door, praying you’d catch a cab in time. the universe couldn’t possibly let you walk into this meeting looking like a hot mess — especially when your main character's voice was waiting on the other side.

“you’re a tease you turn ‘em on…leave ‘em burning and then you’re gone…”

you rolled your eyes at your own ridiculousness. who cared if you’d practically thrown up on the guy? all you had to do was survive your own personal dance-off with fate and hope toji didn’t remember the lovely little details from last night.

you took a deep breath, determined to channel all the confidence you could muster. today was going to be great. right?

as you walked into the meeting room, gojo practically huffed an air of relief. you couldn’t help but think it was a little dramatic — like, it’s just a meeting. you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the last remnants of your hangover and the lingering embarrassment of last night’s vomit-venture.

the room was brightly lit, filled with a few familiar faces, including toji, who was leaning casually against a table with that annoyingly charming grin plastered on his face. 

great. you’d somehow forgotten just how hot he was in the light of day. 

toji’s presence made your stomach flutter and flip, but you shoved that feeling down — this was business, after all.

you scanned the room and spotted gojo-sonic’s most valued investor suguru geto on a screen in the corner, his hair tied back and eyes sharp as he joined the meeting online. wow, great first impression! with a sudden wave of panic, you could almost hear the dancing queen lyrics mocking you in the back of your mind. what’s next, bursting into song?

“hey, look who finally made it!” toji said, amusement dancing in his eyes. perfect. if he was going to make light of your grand entrance, you had to think fast to steer the conversation away from the disaster that was last night.

“sorry for keeping you all waiting,” you replied, forcing a smile that hopefully didn’t look too forced. “i had... a crazy night.”

toji raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “crazy night, huh? did you bring us any stories?”

you shot him a warning glance, your heart racing as you internally pleaded with him not to say anything that could ruin your career. thankfully, he just chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back, letting the moment hang in the air without any revealing comments.

“i think we’d all like to hear that,” suguru said, his tone teasing as he adjusted the camera. “but let’s save the fun stuff for later, right? we’ve got work to do.”

you nodded, grateful for suguru’s timely intervention. “yes, absolutely! so, uh, about the voice work —”

the atmosphere shifted as the others exchanged knowing glances, and you knew you’d have to tread carefully. this meeting was crucial, and you couldn’t let last night’s incident derail everything you’d worked for. with any luck, maybe you could just keep your foot out of your mouth for the rest of the meeting.

toji always knew he was hot.

i mean, how could he not? 

with a jawline that could slice bread and a smirk that could charm the pants off anyone, confidence practically dripped off him like a cologne commercial. but the real question was: how to channel this hotness and turn it into something lucrative? great question! 

being a single dad to wasn’t easy, and running from odd job to odd job just to scrape enough money for the brat’s school was proving to be tiresome. until one day, a certain gojo satoru decided to drop a bombshell on him.

“toji, you ever think about using that voice of yours for something... more creative?” gojo asked, leaning back in his office chair, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“creative? what, like narrating my life as a sad single dad?” toji replied dryly, rolling his eyes. “because let me tell you, it’s not exactly a page-turner.”

“no, no, hear me out!” gojo insisted, practically bouncing in his seat. “i’m talking about voice acting — specifically, erotic audiobooks. it’s the next big thing!”

toji blinked, momentarily stunned. “you mean to tell me that the former bouncer at an elite club would be voicing erotic audiobooks? saying those weird, cringey lines that women seem to love? you’re insane.”

“think about it! you have the looks, the voice, and the whole mysterious vibe down pat,” gojo urged, waving his hands dramatically. “besides, you need the cash, and i need someone to bring a little... heat to my company.”

“you really think people want to hear me read lines like, ‘take me, you wild beast?’” toji quipped, snorting.

fast forward to his first recording session, where everything seemed to be going smoothly until disaster struck. toji was deep in character, delivering his best sexy voice when — bam! — the bathroom pipe exploded in his tiny flat.

“oh god, yes, just like that —” he started, voice dripping with sultry charm, when suddenly, a muffled splash! interrupted him, followed by megumi’s wail from the other room.

“dad! there’s water everywhere!”

toji cursed under his breath, trying to maintain his composure. “i’m coming! just... give me a second, i’m — ah, it’s getting so hot in here!” he struggled to continue, desperately trying to block out the chaos around him while the sounds of the pipe gushing water filled the audio.

but it turned out hormones took over the technical difficulties, because when the snippet was finally released, women and men of all ages were devouring it like it was the last slice of pizza at a party. it even went viral on tiktok, with cringe-worthy wannabes trying to recreate his sultry lines, failing miserably while toji sat back, amused.

“really? you think you can pull this off?” he chuckled to himself, watching one kid awkwardly mimic him. “nice try, kid. but good luck sounding this good while your mom’s screaming at you for hogging the bathroom.”

because toji wasn’t just a househusband — house father — anymore. he was a household name, and everyone knew him. his rise to fame was a wild ride, but hey, at least now he could afford to get the bathroom fixed — one line at a time.

he could hardly wrap his head around how he’d managed to move out of his tiny, crumbling apartment and into a much better place for him and megumi. it was like waking up one day and realizing he’d accidentally won the lottery. “wait, how did i end up here?” he’d mutter to himself, staring at the pristine walls and polished floors. “and how the hell can i pay megumi’s school fees on time without dodging dirty glares from the accounts office?”

he’d walk into the school, head held high, while megumi proudly puffed out his eight-year-old chest. “my daddy’s an actor!” he’d announce to anyone who would listen. toji couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. i mean, the kid wasn’t wrong. he was acting — acting like he had his life together, at least!

but did his new job stop toji from being a little hoe? oh, hell no. 

if anything, the fame went straight to his head — both up and down there, mind you. toji was like a kid in a candy store, and he was using his newfound charm to siphon money from literally every sugar mommy he could find. 

and daddies, too, if he was feeling daring. 

because people would die to be known as someone “close” to the toji fushiguro.

“oh my god, is that him?” a passerby would whisper, nudging her friend as they walked past toji at a private event.

“i think it is! i heard he’s dating someone famous,” her friend would respond, leaning in as if they were sharing a juicy secret. “i’ve seen him at that new club downtown. he’s just so... magnetic.”

“totally! i mean, if i could get him to call me ‘sweetheart’ just once, i’d die a happy woman,” the first friend would say, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically.

toji would smirk to himself, sipping his drink while casually overhearing their chatter. “yep, you’re right. i’m as available as a 24/7 convenience store,” he’d think, reveling in the attention. "i could probably charm the pants off a rock if i tried."

another group of giggling fans would walk by, whispering amongst themselves, “i met him at that charity event last week! he was so sweet! like, did you see the way he talked to everyone? he’s definitely a heartthrob.”

“sweet? you mean hot, right?” one of them would tease, and they’d all burst into laughter.

“please, if he looked at me, i’d die!” another would declare, all starry-eyed.

toji’s smirk widened. “keep it coming, ladies. i’m just here for the show.” he couldn’t deny it; being the center of attention was intoxicating, and he was loving every second of it.

with a wink and a little wave, he’d keep strutting through life like a runway model, knowing full well he had the power to turn heads and keep wallets open. “who knew being a hot voice actor could be this fun?”

great that you’d ask what toji did with all that sweet, sweet cash! save it all for his brat of a son, of course, even if he wouldn’t admit it. beneath that rugged exterior and playful swagger, he had a soft spot for the little sucker.

just the other week, megumi had been rambling on about wanting a really cool new video game console. “but daddy, alllll my friends have one! it’s so unfair!” he’d whined, big blue eyes practically shimmering with hope. toji had rolled his eyes, trying to act tough, but the moment he saw the kid's face, his heart melted like butter on a hot skillet. “fine, but only if you promise to finish your homework first.”

the next day, megumi had unwrapped a brand-new console, complete with all the latest games, and toji had basked in the sheer delight radiating from his son. “this is the best day ever!” megumi had screamed, wrapping his arms around toji’s waist. “thank you, daddy!”

toji grinned like an idiot, pretending to be unimpressed. “yeah, yeah, don’t go losing it on the first day, alright? and remember, no playing after eight!” he was basically a walking contradiction: a grumpy dad who secretly loved being the cool parent.

then there was that time megumi had been obsessed with this rare action figure from his favorite show. toji had seen the way his son’s eyes lit up every time he spotted it in a store, but it was always sold out. so, naturally, when toji found one online at a steep price, he didn’t hesitate. “i’ll just skip my overpriced rum for a week. totally worth it.”

when megumi had opened the package, he’d literally jumped in the air, screeching like a siren. “no way! you got it for me!?” and toji had played it cool, shrugging his shoulders. “what can i say? your dad’s a generous guy.”

of course, this indulgence didn’t go unnoticed by gojo satoru. the six eyes — er, eyes! — of the man always seemed to be on toji, especially when he noticed his friend was splurging just a little too much on himself — like that new leather jacket that looked ridiculously good on him. 

“i need a jacket like that,” gojo had muttered to himself, glancing at his own wardrobe with disappointment.

whenever toji treated himself, gojo would quietly slide a check over to him, nonchalantly muttering, “just a little something for megumi’s school expenses.”

some people would have viewed it as offensive or patronizing, but not toji. he’d always laughed it off, feeling grateful instead. in his mind, gojo was like a guardian angel — “if guardian angels wore sunglasses and had a taste for expensive sweets.” he saw it as gojo looking out for megumi, which made toji’s heart swell with warmth. “who else would want to help raise my kid? might as well accept it.”

“just don’t make a habit of it, alright?” toji would say with a teasing grin. “i don’t need you spoiling him more than i do.”

“too late,” gojo would quip, already plotting ways to sneak more gifts into megumi’s life. “it’s my new hobby.”

so, when gojo casually dropped the bomb that toji would be voicing one of the hottest, trending smut book — “mating with the demon king” or something equally ridiculous — toji shrugged it off. “simple enough job,” he thought. “and it must be good if they came to me for it.”

but when gojo suggested he read the book to get an idea of the material — “just a little prep work,” he’d said with that infuriatingly charming grin — things took a wild turn.

big mistake, toji would later reflect as he flipped through the pages, his eyebrows shooting up higher than a roller coaster. “who writes this stuff?” he muttered, half-laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

the content was downright depraved. there were scenes that had him questioning his entire existence. 

“‘he thrust into her like a man possessed, each stroke igniting a fire within her’ — what even is that?” he read aloud, only to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness. megumi, playing quietly in the other room, wondered why his daddy was cackling like a madman.

“uh, daddy? why are you reading that out loud?” megumi had peeked in, eyes wide with curiosity. toji quickly scrambled to shut the book. “uh, just… learning about, uh, cooking techniques!” he stammered, trying to play it cool. “you wouldn’t get it, buddy.”

but the laughter continued to bubble out of him, and he couldn’t help but read some of the more ludicrous lines. “‘his lips found her collarbone, trailing heat like a wildfire’ — who even talks like that?” he shook his head, utterly bemused.

by the end of the chapter, he was howling. “‘she gasped as he swept her off her feet and into a world of ecstasy’ — oh please!” toji chortled, clutching his stomach, imagining how this would all sound through a microphone. “my kid is gonna think i’ve lost my goddamn mind.”

but hey, if this job was going to pay the bills, he figured he could endure a little humiliation. “it’s all in a day’s work, right?” he muttered to himself, finally accepting that he was now the voice of “mating with the demon king.”

all that reading really took its toll on toji — physically, mentally, spiritually even. after hours spent tripping over lines like “pressed against the throbbing heat of his desire” (yeah, that one took five tries to get through without laughing), he needed to clear his head. so, he found himself at a bar, halfway through a drink, hoping to numb the embarrassment he’d just endured in the name of rent money.

then stumbles this stranger — a cute, very tipsy stranger who quickly parked herself right next to him and started chatting him up, wide-eyed and slightly unsteady. great, drunk people, he thought, resisting an eyeroll as she grinned at him, looking ready to either start a fight or profess her love. 

maybe both.

of course, what are the odds she’d go ahead and throw up on his shoes? yes, his brand-new shoes, because, apparently, the universe had decided that tonight, toji fushiguro would be the world’s personal punching bag. “can’t even get through one drink without some shit happening,” he muttered to himself as she looked up at him with a horrified expression. “we’re off to a great start here, huh?”

after some water and some awkward apologies (mostly her apologizing, mostly him trying not to laugh), they fell into surprisingly decent conversation. she was rambling about her job, the stress, the weird demands — stuff he could sympathize with, honestly. 

and that’s when he dropped it, just for fun: “i’m a voice actor.”

her eyes sparkled with recognition — a little too much recognition, actually, which made him narrow his eyes. “wait, what’s your name?” she asked, suddenly all ears.

“toji. toji fushiguro.”

the second he said it, her face went from curious to horrified to... oh yeah, she knew exactly who he was. “wait,” she gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. “you’re... you’re the voice actor for my book.”

toji raised an eyebrow, deadpan. 

so this was the writer, the one who wrote all that nonsense he’d been struggling through for days. well, wasn’t that just the cherry on top. not only was this his boss but also the very person responsible for phrases like “pulsing need” and “moans spilling like honey.” and she’d just puked on him. 

talk about a power move.

“small world,” he said, his tone dry as desert sand. wonderful, he thought. my boss threw up on me. but, hey, the night was still young. 

he took a long sip from his drink, hoping she wouldn’t take this as an excuse to unleash some kind of creative critique.

“i... i didn’t know you’d be here,” she stammered, a shade redder than before, probably realizing what this made her look like — her, the lady behind the “throbbing heat of desire” shtick.

“don’t worry,” he said, giving her a smirk. “i won’t tell anyone the literary mastermind responsible for all that... romance has a weak stomach.”

you probably don’t remember much after you composed yourself following that second round of projectile embarrassment — but don’t worry, toji remembers. the man’s got a steel trap for the kinds of memories you’d prefer stayed buried. once he’d figured out that you weren’t exactly in shape to be left wandering around, he made the executive decision to get you home. yeah, he’d just met you a couple hours ago, but somehow, through the boozy haze and questionable life choices, he’d managed to catch your address. 

impressive detective work, really… or, well, you may have blurted it out mid-ramble about how “the streetlight outside is the only thing lighting up your lonely hallway.” 

a touch dramatic, but, hey, it worked.

so he got you back to your place (no thanks to the cab driver’s judgmental side-eye), got you up the stairs without you faceplanting, and, after propping you up long enough to unlock your door, he even went the extra mile and tucked you under the covers. you, meanwhile, mumbled something about “tequila being the devil,” blissfully oblivious to the poor guy who’d just witnessed more of your personal life than your closest friends. toji took one last look before heading out, chuckling to himself as you drifted off, probably already dreaming of whatever literary nonsense you’d be writing next.

but what really stuck with him? the damn “dancing queen” chorus ringing in his ears from the bar. maybe it was still playing somewhere out there in the night, or maybe you’d just cursed him with it. because as he walked home, hands shoved in his pockets, there it was, looping over and over in his head. 

“you can dance… you can jive…” 

great, now he’d be humming it for days.

both you and toji were snapped back into the fluorescent-lit reality of the conference room, where gojo was still going on about… royalties? percentages? to be honest, the entire spiel sounded more like corporate white noise to you. 

toji, on the other hand, was leaning back in his chair, looking as disinterested as humanly possible without actually falling asleep. across the screen, suguru appeared in one of those stiff, all-business modes, nodding along to gojo’s speech. his eyes had that telltale sparkle that only appeared when money was the topic — “stakeholder perks,” as gojo would call it, though it just meant suguru got to rake in extra cash on the side.

“and once the audiobook’s live, the split from the sales will be recalculated quarterly, yadda yadda, yadaaa —” gojo’s voice broke into a sing-song, clearly amusing only himself. “anyway, you guys will see some real sweet checks from this.”

“royalties…” suguru interjected, a bit too smoothly, “remind me what those projected percentages were again, satoru?”

toji suppressed a snort. here they were, with the man himself who could barely be bothered to read a weather report straight, much less your raunchy magnum opus. good luck explaining earnings, gojo.

“oh yeah, royalties!” gojo cleared his throat, launching into a number-laden monologue that seemed to somehow both explain everything and nothing at once. toji barely listened, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. it was only when gojo pivoted, with a suddenly very pointed look, that toji actually tuned back in.

“so, did everyone do their, ah, homework?” gojo grinned as his gaze swept across the room, his eyes landing on you with a bit too much knowing amusement. “read the… material?”

you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat, and every other voice actor in the room suddenly found the table, the wall, or their own shoes very interesting.

all except toji, of course, who stretched back with the most obnoxious smirk you’d seen yet.

“homework?” he drawled, deadpan as always. “yeah, got right into it. wouldn’t want to miss a single word of that… fine literature.”

a few of the others exchanged awkward looks, clearly unsure how to respond to the dead-serious way toji said fine literature without a shred of irony. meanwhile, you shrank a little in your seat, not exactly loving the fact that the guy you threw up on was apparently the one voice actor who actually read your work cover-to-cover. not to mention, this was toji fushiguro, the voice actor who’d taken the world by storm with a single, leaked snippet. you'd heard your fans say that he was some kind of god-tier talent — practically a household name. and now? 

he was casually staring you down like he'd just read your diary.

“it’s… it’s not that bad,” you muttered defensively, feeling a prickling heat rise up your neck.

toji raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “oh, didn’t say it was bad. just, uh… thorough.”

you felt the blush intensify, but before you could reply, gojo jumped back in, undeterred. “great! since everyone’s read it now, we’ll dive into scene breakdowns tomorrow, with input from our illustrious author here.” he winked at you in that annoyingly playful way of his, as if he’d just orchestrated the whole thing for kicks. “it’s all about bringing your vision to life, yeah?”

“looking forward to it.” toji’s tone was smooth, with just enough emphasis to hint at the mischief lying behind his calm expression. you could swear there was a glimmer of challenge in his eyes, and the fact that he’d actually read the book — a book that you wrote in a creative haze, no less — was beginning to feel less like a weird coincidence and more like some cosmic joke at your expense.

suguru’s voice broke through, “and let’s hope that translates to success, right, gojo? my dividends would certainly appreciate it.”

“oh, don’t you worry, sugu bear.” gojo leaned in with that shark-like grin of his. “with toji voicing this masterpiece, and the author right here to guide us? we’re printing money already.”

with a dramatic flourish, gojo clapped his hands together, instantly breaking the tension. “alright, dismissed! snacks are out front — help yourselves, or not! more for me, after all,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye as he clearly envisioned his sugary hoard.

suguru took this moment as his graceful exit cue, giving a short nod before the screen blinked off. gojo sighed theatrically, clasping his chest. “oh, suguru, leaving so soon? you wound me! who’s going to discuss ‘dividends’ and ‘royalties’ with me now?”

nobody had the heart — or possibly the patience — to answer that question, which suited gojo just fine as he spun on his heel, making his way toward the snack table. 

you, meanwhile, considered vanishing altogether, at least until the next segment of the day when you’d actually need to make yourself useful. judging by the energy in the room, none of the other voice actors were in a rush to strike up a conversation with you. 

ouch. apparently, being the creator of their next project wasn’t that much of a social asset.

you edged toward the door, already halfway to freedom when, like clockwork, a deep, familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. “leaving so soon?”

you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. obnoxious didn’t even cover half of it. “just… thought i’d give you guys a break from me,” you muttered, gripping the strap of your bag tighter, hoping it looked casual instead of like an attempt to bolt.

toji’s laugh was low, almost teasing. “a break? i don’t mind the company. in fact, i think the others are just shy.” his words were smooth, but there was a mischievous lilt to them, like he was very aware of just how uncomfortable you probably were.

“right,” you deadpanned, summoning every ounce of sarcasm you had left. “they’re all just shy.”

he chuckled, falling into step beside you as you made your way to the snack table. gojo was already there, unabashedly sampling a tray of tiny cupcakes. he shot you both a grin that was, in all honesty, more threatening than friendly. 

oh god, why is he looking at us like that?

“so!” gojo swiped another cupcake, leaning back against the table as he took in you and toji with an almost too-pleased expression. “getting along, are we? i mean, it’s not every day you get to work so closely with the voice behind your book, right?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, as if trying to ignite some sort of spark just to make things interesting.

toji, unbothered as ever, shrugged. “she already threw up on me. might as well be friends after that, huh?”

oh my god. 

you felt the flush rise to your face instantly, a mix of embarrassment and horror. he did not just bring that up in front of gojo, of all people.

“aww, how cute!” gojo crooned, looking absolutely delighted as he clapped his hands in that overly-enthusiastic, not-at-all sincere way. “bonding over bodily fluids. you guys are practically soulmates!”

“please, kill me now,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at the snack table like it might provide an escape hatch.

toji leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper, and you could practically hear the smirk in his tone. “don’t worry, author. i’ve seen worse.”

“great, that’s… comforting,” you muttered, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as you grabbed a snack at random. at this point, you were ready to make a quick exit, potentially before the day’s work even started if it meant escaping this scene.

“now, don’t run off too fast,” gojo added, wagging a finger at you with a sly grin. “i’m expecting all of us back here in an hour, nice and energized. don’t want any excuses!”

toji shot you one last look, equal parts teasing and unreadable, before he turned to grab a coffee. “guess you’re stuck with me for a little longer,” he murmured, a faint glimmer of humor in his eyes.

wonderful. absolutely wonderful. well, at least there’s cupcakes.

it’s only five minutes into the recording session, and you’re already wondering if there’s a job market for earth-burrowing positions. if there is, you’d gladly take it. anything would be better than this…circus.

the sound booth is packed with voice actors delivering line after line of your book’s carefully crafted (painfully cheesy) smutty dialogue. you bite your lip, both cringing and resisting the urge to laugh out loud as one of the actors, a slender guy with an unfortunate tendency to over-dramatize every vowel, reads his line with a tragic sigh.

“i can’t help it… i just want to devour you.”

devour you? you want to throw yourself into the nearest trash can. before you can stop yourself, you lean forward into the mic, managing a half-apologetic, half-pleading tone. “uh, could you maybe… ease up on the ‘devour’ part? like, less dramatic, more… suave?”

he nods seriously, doing a quick vocal warm-up before trying again. “i can’t help it… i just want to devoooour—”

“nope! nope, nope, nope!” you blurt, a little louder than you intended, the cringe spiraling out of control. you quickly clear your throat, trying to sound as professional as possible. “let’s, uh, maybe just skip to the next line.”

from the corner of the room, you catch sight of gojo, who’s grinning so widely you’re genuinely concerned his face might stay that way forever. he’s watching you with an infectious enthusiasm that’s bordering on manic, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement. you’re half-expecting him to yell, “surprise! this is an snl skit!”

you rub at your temple, wishing the earth would do you a solid and open up beneath you, while the next actor — a petite, sweet-looking woman who’s visibly uncomfortable — takes her turn. she clears her throat, looking down at her script, and delivers the line in a barely-there whisper, “i… i want you to take me… take me as if…”

“um…” you grimace, instantly feeling the heat rise to your face. “maybe a bit louder? but, you know, sensual.”

she blushes, muttering something under her breath before raising her voice, though it’s still trembling. “i… i want you to… take me… as if…”

toji, who’s been watching the whole scene from his seat, chuckles lowly, and his smirk sends a jolt of embarrassment through you. “jeez, author, why don’t you just hop in there and show ’em how it’s done?” he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm, though it’s not unkind.

you throw him a flat look, biting back an eye roll. not like i wanted to be here, you think to yourself. it’s just that somehow, the universe decided that today you’d be responsible for turning lines you’d never want to say out loud into something even remotely palatable.

and it only gets worse. 

another actor — a deep-voiced, well-meaning guy in his mid-40s — leans into his mic and reads out, in a gruff voice you can only describe as a rejected batman impersonation: “you’re driving me… wild.” his tone is so intense it’s like he’s threatening to fight the listener in a parking lot.

“okay… we might want to dial it back a little,” you say carefully, hoping to mask your horror with politeness. “just… a little less ‘supervillain,��� more… warm?”

you hear toji chuckle behind you, low and rumbling, clearly reveling in your suffering. and as you glance over your shoulder, you find gojo, once again, looking like this is the best entertainment he’s had in years. 

at this point, he might actually cry from laughing.

just when you think it can’t get any worse, toji stands, giving you a wink as he heads into the booth for his turn. he takes the mic, his face blank and unreadable as he starts reading the next line.

“i need you… right now,” he purrs, his voice oozing that lazy, sensual charm you’d envisioned for this character. it’s… almost unfair, really. 

there’s not an ounce of irony or overacting. 

toji’s delivery is so smooth, so confident, that it catches you off guard, a flush rising to your cheeks.

gojo lets out a low whistle, giving you a teasing look as if to say, see? was that so hard?

“finally,” you mutter under your breath, swallowing the lump in your throat. gojo raises a brow, clearly enjoying every second of your awkwardness.

you sigh, mentally bracing yourself for the rest of the recording. if nothing else, at least one actor seems to have nailed the tone — much to your embarrassment and gojo’s endless delight.

you clear your throat, attempting to regain some semblance of control over the recording session, which is proving to be harder than herding a pack of caffeinated cats. “right, everyone, let’s, uh, keep moving and go ahead with recording the dragon king’s lines. toji, if you’re ready?”

but you barely finish your sentence before gojo claps toji on the shoulder with that all-too-annoying bromance energy, grinning from ear to ear. “our star is ready, aren’t ya, toji? i mean, look at this guy! look at him! can’t believe i found this gem for gojo-sonic!” gojo’s voice carries that infuriatingly proud tone that practically drips with smug satisfaction.

you stifle an eye roll, and even the other actors exchange glances, half-annoyed, half-amused at gojo’s over-the-top fawning. but before you can jump in to cut gojo off, toji just smirks, sliding comfortably into the mic like he was born to deliver cheesy lines.

“alright, alright,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “let’s see what you’ve got, mr. dragon king.”

toji adjusts the headphones, his lazy smirk already primed. 

and then he begins, voice low and sultry, hitting each cringe-worthy word with the same ridiculous gravitas that has the whole room mesmerized.

“i have waited eons for a beauty like yours to grace my realm. come… be mine, and together we shall rule the heavens.”

you can practically feel everyone holding their breath, transfixed by the sheer sincerity in his tone, despite the line’s absurdity. you, too, can’t help but feel a blush creeping up your neck, which is just unfair given you wrote these lines. 

you knew what they were meant to sound like, but this? 

he’s delivering them like they’re damn poetry.

toji doesn’t stop there, though, his deep voice carrying each line as though he’s serenading the mic. “my heart burns with a fire only you can soothe. take my hand, and i swear to guard your heart with my very life.”

gojo is practically fawning, batting his eyelashes like a proud parent in the corner. “see, people, this is how it’s done! let the dragon king here show you amateurs how it’s really supposed to sound!”

you resist the urge to chuck something at gojo as the other actors’ eyes widen, watching in awe.

one of them mutters under their breath, “no way we’re topping that.”

and then, toji’s voice dips even lower, the next line coming out in a growl that somehow manages to be both dramatic and, disturbingly, kind of… enchanting.

“you are the breath in my lungs, the flame in my veins. without you, i am but a shadow… a beast in the dark.”

the room is dead silent. 

you’re all fawning, gushing messes, and you’re not even sure how it happened. it’s like toji’s somehow turned this trial recording into an absurdly hot moment. you can barely believe you’re hearing the same lines you once labeled “ridiculously cringey” in the draft.

finally, he leans back, looking pleased with himself, as if he hadn’t just left everyone a little breathless. gojo practically beams with pride, nudging you. 

“so… i think you’ve found your dragon king, wouldn’t you say?”

you nod, still stunned, half in disbelief, half in begrudging admiration. if this was just the trial recording, you could only imagine how many blushing, starry-eyed listeners this final audiobook was going to leave in its wake.

the moment the trial recording session wraps up, gojo is the first one on his feet, clapping his hands like he's just watched the performance of a lifetime. “brilliant!” he practically shouts, pulling out his phone faster than you can blink. “suguru needs to hear this,” he mutters, already dialing his business partner like a kid who can’t wait to brag about his latest toy.

sometimes you really do forget that gojo is the ceo of a multi-million dollar company — an erotic audiobook company, no less. 

is he this passionate about the art, or is it just the money? either way, watching him fanboy over his own employee leaves you a mix of amused and exhausted.

there’s a charm to it, though, even if it’s a little baffling to witness in real time.

as the energy in the studio starts to mellow, you find yourself actually breathing a bit easier. for once, things seem to be going smoothly. 

maybe this whole collaboration wouldn’t be a disaster after all. 

you let yourself relax, even if a small part of your brain chides you with a quick reminder: next time, skip the cheap caffeine fix when you’re pulling an all-nighter writing smut. 

or… cheap anything, really. 

yeah, you don’t actually smoke, you remind yourself — except, well, that one time in college, but hey, that was a whole different you. one that should stay buried in the relics of questionable decisions, right next to your spiral-bound notes of embarrassingly bad poetry.

just as you’re praying to the universe that this is all going to wrap up without any extra drama, you hear it. the sound that’s become both your nightmare and… okay, maybe, a little less than that.

“well, princess,” toji’s voice rumbles, his tone as amused as it is teasing, “got anything else you want from your dragon king?”

you close your eyes and will the ground to open up beneath you, but nope, nothing. 

nothing but the sound of your heartbeat doing an awkward little tango in your chest.

of course he’d pick now to resurrect that ridiculous moniker from last night. like it wasn’t humiliating enough when he threw it out there while you were a couple drinks deep and all but glued to your seat at the bar. 

oh, you’re practically begging the universe to put you out of your misery — well, actually, now that you think about it, maybe being wrapped up in those beefy arms wouldn’t be the worst fate…

wow. get a grip, girl. this is the caffeine deprivation talking. 

definitely that.

but then toji smirks at you, an eyebrow raised, as if he’s just dared you to respond. and all you can think is… oh, lord, this man is trouble.

"c’mon, just a drink,” toji insists, flashing that devil-may-care grin that both ruins and improves your day within a matter of seconds. he’s leaning back like he’s got all the time in the world, casually ignoring how you definitely don’t. 

“trust me, princess, it’ll settle your nerves.”

it’s not like you need a reminder of the mess that was last night. every foggy memory swirls in your head, like life’s own cruel version of a mocktail — one garnished with shame, regret, and a generous helping of last night’s tequila. 

if anything, adding more drinks to this equation feels about as smart as walking blindfolded into traffic.

but toji’s already up, stretching like he’s completely unaware of the chaotic memories this whole “outing” is summoning. “just a quick look around gojo-sonic, yeah?” he says, nodding toward the maze of hallways beyond the studio door, his face the perfect picture of innocence.

“you’re new here, and it’s… important to know the lay of the land. work reasons.”

you can practically hear the quotation marks around that “work reasons.”

“you know,” he adds with a wink, “never hurts to see where the magic happens.”

yeah, right. you have a feeling the only magic here is him somehow dragging you deeper into your personal nightmare.

you don’t even get the chance to respond with a yes, no, or a “maybe next century” when toji’s phone lights up and his whole expression darkens. not exactly the look you expect from the guy whose voice practically ruined half the internet last month with that infamous line about... well, yeah, better not go there right now.

“satoru, the brat got into a fight,” he growls into the phone, and suddenly, satoru’s jaw hits the floor with such force you can practically hear it from across the studio. toji doesn’t stick around for a reply, though — he’s already striding toward the door like a man with a purpose, ignoring satoru’s spluttered, “the what did who?”

and somehow — god knows how — you find yourself tagging along like it’s the most natural thing in the world. maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s the thrill of seeing toji in full boss mode, or maybe it’s just because, oh, y’know, “responsible adult and responsibilities” instincts or whatever. 

but the further you walk, the more you realize that toji doesn’t mind you following one bit. in fact, he’s practically matching his pace to yours, as if you’re part of some unofficial escort mission to... whoever this “brat” is.

which, speaking of, who the hell is megumi?

you’re still trying to wrap your head around how this was supposed to be a “quick tour” of the office and not, somehow, an impromptu escort mission to the world’s sleekest car, a porsche 911 turbo — yep, that’s right, the kind of car you’ve only ever seen in movies where the bad guy’s got a mysterious, sexy side. all you can manage is, “you own this?”

toji shrugs, slipping his keys into the ignition with an air of pure, unbothered cool. “you don’t?”

oh. okay. 

you barely have time to process this response before he’s peeling out of the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a stray cat, a snail-paced truck, and an old lady who’s almost sacrificed her wig to his driving style. but hey, all part of the thrill, right?

definitely not questioning life choices here.

by the time you pull up to a cutesy primary school — you know, the kind with pastel-colored gates and cartoon murals of bears and rabbits — you’re genuinely confused. 

toji seems like the last guy who’d be here unless it was some undercover op. and “megumi,” whoever he is, sounds like he could be the school’s playground menace.

“wait, this is where we’re headed?” you ask, eyeing the building like it might suddenly make sense.

but toji’s out of the car, moving so fast you practically have to jog to keep up. the school secretary gives you both a wary glance, likely sensing the storm of exasperation radiating off toji, as he strides straight into the principal’s office. there, sitting on a chair with his arms crossed and an unimpressed scowl that screams “mini-toji,” is a little boy with spiky hair and an air of quiet defiance.

without missing a beat, toji asks, “megs! did you win?”

the principal, a kindly-looking woman whose expression is rapidly shifting from “calm mediator” to “i don’t get paid enough for this,” clears her throat. 

“mr. fushiguro, your son wasn’t... in the wrong, per se. it appears he was, um, defending his honor.”

defending his honor? you blink. what kind of second grader even knows what that means?

“that true, ‘gumi?” toji says, arms crossed, looking every bit the unbothered, proud dad of the year.

“he said my dad was a... weird voice actor,” megumi mutters, then shrugs. “so i said at least my dad works.”

you nearly choke, partly from stifled laughter, partly from the sheer absurdity of all this. here you were, thinking “honor” meant, like, taking down a playground empire or something. 

but no, megumi’s just a kid with a sharp tongue and a little too much of toji’s attitude.

“damn right, kid,” toji says, patting megumi’s head, then looking over at you with that familiar, annoyingly smug grin. “raised him right, yeah?”

“...sure,” you say, because what else can you even say at this point? it’s like you’ve stumbled into the weirdest sitcom ever, and the laugh track is somehow missing.

the principal’s expression morphs into something almost painfully polite as she addresses you, tiptoeing around the word wife with an impressive mix of caution and curiosity. 

“are you, ah... megumi’s guardian?”

and then, in perfect, unplanned harmony, you, toji, and megumi all blurt out, “no.”

the unity, the instinctual synchronization — it’s like you’re all on the same wavelength, for better or worse. soul-level understanding, or something. 

what the hell is happening right now?

with a polite smile and a “let’s never speak of this again” nod, you three finally leave the principal’s office. megumi, looking more bored than reprimanded, flicks at a speck of lint on his uniform, while you and toji attempt to navigate the hallway swarming with concerned teachers and worried front-desk ladies. and by “concerned” and “worried,” it’s more like they’re curious about toji’s parenting style and, let’s be honest, probably toji himself.

“oh, mr. fushiguro!” one particularly invested teacher coos, “we heard about the incident. is everything all right?”

toji, of course, laps up the attention, chuckling low and throwing in a wink here and there like he’s starring in some kind of action-movie dad role. the ladies are practically falling over themselves to get a response from him, their questions barely veiled as they assess you with raised brows and sideways glances, a classic “who’s she?” written all over their faces.

“and you are...?” one of the front-desk ladies finally asks, voice all sugar-coated and sharp.

toji slides in smoothly, cutting off whatever half-formed, awkward introduction you were about to stammer out. “oh, she’s a colleague,” he says, his tone effortlessly suave, like introducing a perfectly respectable coworker and totally not the author of his last, extremely explicit audiobook project.

you’re almost grateful until it hits you — this is the same guy who made a whole production of calling you “princess” in the recording booth just yesterday. 

as if he hasn’t played one of your absurdly corny dragon kings in all his full-throttle intensity. 

and now he’s here, all casual and cool, giving you a proper, respectable title like he hasn’t spent hours voicing content these people probably keep hidden under their pillows at night.

but at least he didn’t out you as the actual author of those… creative pieces. 

that’s something.

toji is out here, doing his social service to society. and no, it’s not about lending his voice to steamy audiobooks, thank you very much. 

today, he’s serving the community by providing these teachers with a generous five minutes of his attention, which they’ll probably be replaying in their heads until the next parent-teacher meeting. and — oh, what a surprise! — that’s exactly what they’re talking about now, circling back to how he must come to the next one for a “serious discussion” about megumi.

toji’s stance? why bother? if the kid’s acing his tests, staying out of trouble (mostly), and keeping a lid on the whole “honor” thing, why does he need to sit through hours of polite lecturing from the pta?

while he’s busy justifying his lack of parental enthusiasm, you feel a pair of eyes on you. glancing down, you meet megumi’s steady, curious stare. 

it’s oddly intense for a kid his age, but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. you narrow your eyes, feigning a critical, assessing look, and he visibly falters, going slightly pink around the ears.

ah, kids.

as you three make your way out of the building — toji still being all socialite with the staff and probably postponing that pta date indefinitely — you suddenly find yourself in a mini interview  with megumi. it’s as if this eight-year-old has appointed himself the gatekeeper of his dad’s life and has decided you’re the latest applicant.

“so… what’s your favorite color?” he asks, with an unblinking, serious stare.

“uh…” you pause, realizing the weight of your answer here. “blue. like, uh, light blue.”

he nods, considering. “good answer.”

a pause. “favorite superhero?”

“batman?” you try, glancing at him for a sign of approval.

“hmm. fine. but iron man would’ve been better.”

noted, you think, as he then moves to cereal brand, favorite animal, and even your preferred subject in school. you navigate each question as best as you can, almost feeling the burn of a final exam.

then, in a moment of quiet, just as you think the quiz is over, megumi looks down and asks, voice barely a whisper, “did i… do the right thing? defending my… my hone-er?”

“your… oh, honor?” you say, a smile twitching at the corner of your mouth as you catch his wide-eyed, earnest gaze.

he nods, cheeks tinting a bit as he scuffs his sneaker on the ground.

“megumi,” you say, kneeling a little to get on his level, “defending your honor is important. just… maybe don’t go for all the punches next time? sometimes words work too.” you give him a playful nudge.

he nods, seeming satisfied with that answer, then glances over his shoulder. “and don’t tell daddy i asked.”

“your secret’s safe with me,” you whisper back, giving him a conspiratorial wink.

toji’s arms were crossed, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched the little interaction between you and megumi. 

he was always careful about the people around his kid, fiercely protective to the point that very few in his line of work even knew megumi existed. the only ones who had ever met him were gojo and geto — and that was already a stretch.

but something about how you handled the kid’s questions, actually entertained them with the same patience he’d usually summon up himself, caught him off guard. the way you knelt down to answer him, even kept a straight face through the hard-hitting topics of favorite superheroes and cereal brands... it was surprisingly nice. 

almost… reassuring?

ugh, what was he even thinking? you were still the same girl who’d written, and he mentally cringed as he remembered the line, 

“dragons may have claws, but they’re nothing compared to the grip i have on your…” 

yeah, yeah, he really didn’t need to finish that thought. the memory alone had him chuckling under his breath, shaking his head.

of course, that earned him a suspicious glance from both you and megumi.

“what’s so funny?” you asked, brow raised.

“yeah, daddy, why’re you laughing?” megumi chimed in, clearly puzzled.

toji waved a hand dismissively, realizing he’d just blown his cool for no reason. 

“nothin’, don’t worry about it. just thinkin’,” he mumbled, aware he’d probably looked a little unhinged just then. 

maybe he really needed to work on his awareness — or maybe he just needed to get a grip, period.

toji’s mind was doing somersaults, genuinely debating if he could manage both you and megumi tagging along for the afternoon. megumi’s insistence didn’t help; kid was determined that toji should keep you both company for the rest of the day, despite having school hours left. 

“you’ve got work, right?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious. “aren’t you supposed to be off doing big, important actor things?”

toji only smirked, whipping out his phone with the sort of confidence that made it clear he had a workaround for everything. he tapped open a message to gojo, fingers moving fast.

you [11:31 am]: hey. kid’s dragging me to the arcade. need a few hours off. gojo s. [11:33 am]: need or WANT, toji? ;)) you [11:31 am]: like i said, KID is dragging me. gojo s. [11:33 am]: oh sure, blame megumi. what, does he have you wrapped around his little finger or something? you [11:31 am]: think whatever you want, but you’re handling my schedule for the rest of the day. gojo s. [11:33 am]: wait, are you with...the AUTHOR? ;)) you [11:31 am]: quit smiling through text, it’s creepy. gojo s. [11:33 am]: i’ll allow it. but only cause i’m such a good friend.  gojo s. [11:33 am]: tell megumi uncle gojo says hi  gojo s. [11:34 am]: and he owes me 20 bucks. you [11:35 am]: he doesn’t owe you anything. gojo s. [11:35 am]: fine, but bring me something from the prize counter.

satisfied, toji pocketed his phone and shrugged. 

“all right, kid. we’ll hang out for a bit. but i swear if you drag me into any embarrassing games —”

“arcade!” megumi interrupted, not even giving him a chance to finish. “i can show you both that i’m the best at every game! daddy taught me how to play, so you better watch out!”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the kid’s enthusiasm.

“all right, let’s go. but you better not make me look bad, kid,” toji said, smirking down at his son, who was now practically vibrating with eagerness.

“arcade!” megumi yelled again, nearly bouncing as he grabbed your hand and began to lead the way.

megumi barely lets you settle into the leather of the passenger seat before he’s bouncing in the back, practically vibrating with energy as he plugs toji’s phone into the aux. you’re trying to wrap your head around being in toji fushiguro’s car, the man who not only voices the romantic lead in your steamiest, most dramatic book but also owns a luxury car that could probably pay off your loans twice over.

"so, uh... passenger princess, huh?" toji smirks, catching you in mid-thought.

"i… what?" you stammer, feeling the heat creep up as he settles a hand on the wheel with all the nonchalance in the world. “i, uh —” but you’re cut off by megumi excitedly blasting his choice of artist: korn.

"your son listens to korn?" you blurt out, giving toji a mix of awe and disbelief.

toji just raises an eyebrow, deadpanning, “yours doesn’t?”

ouch. okay, fair point. 

because no, you do not have a kid, or a husband, or even a boyfriend…or any romantic prospects, really. 

toji’s question leaves you fidgeting as you try to muster a dignified response.

meanwhile, megumi is full-on screaming to the lyrics of "freak on a leash," and you catch snippets like “something takes a part of me!” which, yeah, relatable — korn is honestly hitting the mood. but of course, toji catches you staring out the window, attempting to look casual as he throws you a side-eye.

"so, what’s got you without a boyfriend?” he asks, way too casually, as if this was a natural segue from whatever korn-fueled karaoke session is happening in the backseat.

you practically choke on air. "what, me? no, i’m...," you laugh awkwardly, shifting in the passenger seat. “besides, i don’t meet many guys. i'm just… you know… doing my thing.”

megumi, pausing his headbanging just for a moment, turns and looks at you with an exaggerated ‘yikes’ face, as if being single was the worst possible fate in his young, eight-year-old eyes. 

but then he shrugs, clearly uninterested in this adult drama and goes back to screaming, “feeling like a freak on a leash!”

toji, still watching you, smirks, “so, doing your ‘thing’ includes no boyfriend, no husband... what, are you just swearing off men?”

"uh, no!” you say quickly, too quickly, and feel your face heat up. “just haven’t... y’know, met anyone worth dating. been busy.”

toji gives a low chuckle, clearly entertained. “busy doing what, writing your ‘torrid love stories’?”

you make a face, biting your lip. 

“they’re not that torrid.” but even as you say it, you hear the echo of a particularly cheesy line you’d written for his character in your novel, which, mortifyingly enough, involved the phrase “my darling flame, you set my very soul alight.”

toji chuckles, as if reading your thoughts. “maybe i’ll get to hear one of those lines in real life someday, princess.”

“can we not call me that while megumi’s in the car?” you mutter, glancing back, only to find megumi fully engrossed in his self-proclaimed vocal talents.

“noted.” toji snickers, shooting you another mischievous look as korn plays on, megumi happily singing about “breaking down” in the back.

“but hey,” toji says smoothly, hand resting on the gearshift, “just so you know, even my son knows a good band when he hears one.”

you roll your eyes at him, managing to mumble, “at least one of you is a bit mature.”

the porsche pulls up to the arcade with enough fanfare that heads start turning even before the engine purrs to a stop. not that the onlookers were ready for what steps out next: a towering, chiseled man looking like he’s on his way to a modeling photoshoot, a cute kid in full confidence mode, and, well… you.

still feeling a little dizzy from the korn concert that just took place, you barely register megumi bolting out of the car with a grin, leaving you and toji to get your bearings. his energy’s practically crackling by the time toji pays for the play card, and you’re pretty sure if he has to wait even one more minute, he’s about to combust.

“okay, okay, slow down, megumi,” you say, trying to keep up as he yanks you to the nearest neon-lit game. 

but the kid isn’t hearing it. he’s already dragging you to one machine, and then the next, moving faster than you can process where you even are. each one is seemingly more intense and blinding than the last, and you’re hit with a sensory overload of neon lights, retro game sounds, and the feel of the arcade carpet sticking just a little too much to your shoes.

toji’s watching the whole ordeal with a bemused smirk. you and his kid are like a whirlwind of neon and laughter, barely stopping to catch your breaths between games. the sight is somehow… comforting. like a scene from a life he hadn’t planned but couldn’t help finding strangely compelling.

but then he catches himself. seriously? 

he shakes his head. this is not the time to get all sentimental over his kid’s new ‘playdate’ or whatever. 

he’s just here because megumi insisted, and maybe he thought it’d be amusing to watch you get dragged around by an eight-year-old with zero restraint. that’s it. 

nothing more.

yeah, right. his internal grumbling comes to an abrupt stop as he watches megumi take your hand and pull you over to a classic claw machine. the kid’s looking up at you with the widest eyes you’ve ever seen, all excitement and pure innocence, like winning one of those knockoff plush toys is the pinnacle of existence.

“you got this?” you ask, grinning at him as he lines up the claw with intense concentration.

“of course! my dad showed me,” he declares, like he’s about to go pro in the claw game league.

toji, watching from a distance, feels a twinge in his chest. 

yeah, he’d shown megumi how to play this game ages ago, more to give him an edge over the other kids than anything else. it was a dad-and-son thing, just the two of them. but seeing megumi look up at you with the same pride and excitement makes him feel… something. 

and he doesn’t know if he likes it.

you’re so focused on megumi’s moves that you don’t notice toji’s slight frown, nor do you hear his quiet mutter of, “this is ridiculous.” 

but when he sees the way your eyes light up as megumi successfully nabs a cheap stuffed animal — a lopsided dinosaur, of all things — and the way you celebrate like he’s won an olympic medal, he feels himself relax, just a little.

he chuckles, shaking his head and crossing his arms as you high-five megumi, both of you beaming over a prize that probably cost less than the game itself. but toji doesn’t move. 

he stands there, rooted, as you two bounce from game to game, his thoughts too jumbled to focus on anything else.

but maybe… maybe that’s okay for now.

toji’s phone buzzes just as he’s leaning against the side of a vintage racing game, watching you and megumi practically lighting up the whole arcade with your laughter. he glances down to see satoru’s name pop up on the screen, already feeling a headache brewing.

gojo s. [12:20 pm]: so, arcade? 😏 you [12:20 pm]: yeah, i just told you. gojo s. [12:20 pm]: nah, i mean WHY the arcade? what are we celebrating here, toji? ;)) you [12:21 pm]: why does it matter gojo s. [12:21 pm]: CUZZZZ gojo s. [12:21 pm]: lemme guess, megumi's there with her now, right?  gojo s. [12:22 pm]: bet they’re having the time of their lives, while YOU gojo s. [12:22 pm]: you’re just there all moody on the sidelines😔

toji glances up at you and megumi, who’ve now moved on to a skee-ball machine, both cheering as you score a perfect 50-point throw.

you [12:23 pm]: like i said, work stuff. gojo s. [12:24 pm]: HAHA. work stuff, right.  gojo s. [12:24 pm]: work stuff that has megumi running around grinning like that.  gojo s. [12:25 pm]: bro gojo s. [12:25 pm]: you’re terrible at lying.  gojo s. [12:26 pm]: she’s a keeper if she can deal with YOU you [12:26 pm]: keep dreaming.

he slips his phone back into his pocket, unable to shake off the grin creeping onto his face as he watches you high-five megumi. the kid’s happier than he’s seen in ages, and he…

well, he can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed watching anyone just being with his kid.

toji stands back, taking in the moment — megumi’s laughter echoing through the arcade, your smile as you lift him up with an ease that has the kid giggling uncontrollably — and for some reason, his mind has turned the whole scene into a rom-com montage.

you are the dancing queen…

it’s absurd, really. 

he doesn’t even like abba. but there it is, the stupid song playing in his head, all set to the image of you holding his son, twirling him like he weighs nothing, both of you in fits of laughter.

young and sweet, only seventeen…

and for a split second, his heart does this awkward little stutter. 

he chalks it up to the neon lights. 

or maybe the greasy smell of the arcade food messing with his senses. but as he watches you hold megumi up, almost as if he’s flying, he can’t ignore that ridiculous, cheesy pull in his chest.

feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah...

oh god. 

is he seriously catching himself grinning at the way you’re both trying to get him to join in? megumi’s little hand reaches out, beckoning him over, and you’re giving him that smile, that “come on, get over here, big guy” look.

you can dance, you can jive…

the song hits that soaring note in his head just as he finally gives in and starts to walk over, and his pulse actually picks up, as if he’s not just at some run-down arcade but in the middle of some ridiculously sappy rom-com finale.

having the time of your life…

and then megumi is shrieking again, calling, “dad, hurry up!” like it’s life or death, and you’re beaming at him with that mischievous, encouraging look.

toji sighs, shaking his head at himself. 

just great. 

the two of you have officially dragged him into your world, soundtrack and all.

toji's trying his best to lock in. 

but as he walks out of the arcade — juggling not one, but four oversized plushies, two fancy new lego sets, a slinky, a bouncy ball, some glow-in-the-dark slime, and a rainbow slap bracelet — he can’t help but snort at the sheer ridiculousness of it. 

between his loaded arms and megumi curled up fast asleep in yours, it’s a scene straight out of one of those cheesy family movies.

he shakes his head, trying to push down that weirdly warm feeling creeping up on him. 

stay focused, toji. 

he doesn't need any sappy feelings right now. he's a single dad with a kid and a job, not some washed-up rom-com character, damn it. 

but watching you gently adjust megumi as he drools onto your shoulder, snuggling deeper into the crook of your arm as you carefully slide into the backseat, it’s hard not to feel that tug again.

ugh, he thinks, climbing into the driver’s seat as you buckle up up front, giving him a soft, tired smile. 

“never held a kid before, huh?” he teases, eyes glancing from the road to the rearview mirror, where megumi’s still dozing, soft breaths muffling against your arm.

“nope,” you shrug, but there’s a softness to your voice as you gently rub megumi’s back, “first time for everything, i guess.”

toji’s heart does that weird skip thing again. 

oh god, he thinks, gripping the wheel a little tighter as he tries to ignore the sappy old man vibe overtaking him.

the air in the car feels... charged, but it’s not like either of you are exactly leaning into the tension. instead, you both sit in this weird, awkward silence, save for the quiet hum of the radio, like you’re suddenly too aware of just being there with each other.

and then, as if the universe wanted to toy with you, iris by the goo goo dolls starts playing. 

oh, god. you immediately wish you could just evaporate into the passenger seat.

“...and i’d give up forever to touch you…” the lyrics croon, filling the silence, and you can practically feel the heat crawling up your cheeks.

toji clears his throat, obviously catching it too. “radio’s on a roll, huh?”

“yep,” you say, managing a weak laugh. “i mean, this is classic… everyone listens to goo goo dolls in, uh, total silence in the car with their coworker, right?”

he glances at you, a rare, subtle smile ghosting on his lips. “totally normal.”

“and i don’t want the world to see me… ’cause i don’t think that they’d understand…”

you glance out the window, eyes focused anywhere but on him, biting back a laugh at how the song somehow keeps getting more dramatic. like, who’s writing this scene, seriously?

“just tell me where to turn,” toji says, breaking through your internal monologue, and you do, mentioning a landmark close to home, hoping he’ll take the hint.

but toji only raises an eyebrow. “near it? nah. i’m dropping you at the door.”

“oh, no, that’s really fine —” you start, but he’s already shaking his head.

“don’t worry about it,” he insists, a smirk in his voice. “besides, i remember where you live. from, you know… last time.”

wait. last time? as in… when you were embarrassingly, unapologetically wasted that night?

you want to crawl under the seat as the lyrics continue, “when everything’s made to be broken…”

so when toji pulls up in front of your apartment, there’s this odd feeling hanging in the air. you catch yourself wanting to... linger, just a little longer, even if you’re home. 

and lowkey? 

so does toji. 

it’s like the two of you have hit this weird teenage crush level of awkward — just leaning, leaning, like there’s some invisible string pulling you closer.

he’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him, and you’re both just… stuck there. you can’t even bring yourself to reach for the door handle, and it’s the same for him.

but right as the moment peaks, a tiny, innocent voice cuts through from the backseat. “are you two going to kiss?”

megumi’s question hangs there, blunt and childlike, breaking whatever spell had you both frozen. you both jolt back, blinking as if you just woke up.

“what? no!” you blurt, practically tripping over your own denial. 

your face feels like it’s about to catch fire.

toji coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, just barely suppressing a chuckle.

“kid’s got a helluva imagination,” he mutters, eyes anywhere but on you.

as you finally reach for the door handle, ready to slip out and say your goodbyes, you hear a little sniffle from the backseat.

“wait…” megumi’s voice is tiny, almost shaky. you turn around, and to your surprise, his face is scrunched up, his eyes glistening with tears that he’s trying so hard to hold back.

“hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, twisting around in your seat to face him. “i’ll see you again, kiddo.”

but his lower lip wobbles, and suddenly he bursts into full-on tears, clutching the giant plushie he won at the arcade. “b-but i don’t want you to leave!” he sobs, voice cracking. “can’t you stay just a little longer?”

toji’s eyes widen; he looks genuinely shocked. 

“megumi, you’re fine, she’s not going anywhere forever. what’s gotten into you?” he tries to keep his tone steady, but there’s an undercurrent of surprise. 

megumi doesn’t cry. 

ever. 

this is new territory.

megumi just shakes his head, burying his face into the plushie. “but she’s nice,” he mumbles, muffled but insistent. “and she plays games with me and —” he peeks out from the plushie with red, teary eyes. “and she talks to me like you do.”

you feel something stir in your chest at his words, this overwhelming urge to hug him even though you’d sworn up and down just an hour ago you didn’t know how to handle kids.

“aw, megumi,” you say softly, reaching over and giving his little hand a squeeze. “i’ll still see you, i promise. maybe we can even play again sometime, okay?”

“but you’re leaving now,” he says, his voice quivering, clutching your hand with a desperation that tugs at your heart. 

“and daddy didn’t even kiss you.”

the absolute silence that follows is deafening. 

you feel your face go redder than it’s ever been, and a glance at toji shows he’s equally flustered, mouth opening and closing as if he’s trying to find some way to steer this conversation back to normal.

“whoa, hey now,” toji says, forcing a laugh as he clears his throat. “that’s, uh — that’s not how it works, kid.” he ruffles megumi’s hair a little too hard, clearly floundering. “and hey, don’t go crying over someone just leaving for the night, you’re stronger than that.”

“i don’t care,” megumi sniffles, clutching your hand tighter. “i like her. and she makes you smile.”

toji freezes, the color draining from his face for just a split second. 

makes him smile. 

he doesn’t even realize he’s been smiling, maybe more in one day than he has in months. he glances at you, brow furrowed like he’s trying to make sense of it himself.

“well…” toji’s voice is softer now, almost cautious, like he’s testing out words he hasn’t said in a long time. “

maybe… maybe she could come around again. if she wants to, that is.”

“i do.” you answer without thinking, your gaze drifting to megumi’s tear-streaked face, which immediately lights up.

“really?” megumi’s eyes shine, practically bouncing in his seat. “you promise?”

“i promise,” you say with a smile, giving him a reassuring nod. “as long as it’s okay with you and your dad, of course.”

“’s fine,” toji grumbles, running a hand over his face to hide his slight grin. “besides, someone’s gotta teach you a lesson or two at the arcade next time.”

“is that a challenge, toji?” you quip, smirking. “because if i remember right, megumi here got more tickets than both of us combined.”

“that’s because i taught him everything he knows,” toji scoffs, rolling his eyes as if he can’t believe he’s even entertaining this.

megumi sniffles one last time, his eyes practically glowing with happiness. “then… you’ll come over soon, right?”

“absolutely,” you say, warmth bubbling up in your chest as you meet his hopeful gaze. “but only if you promise to keep practicing at the arcade. gotta keep that winning streak going, right?”

megumi grins, finally letting go of your hand as he settles back with a contented sigh. “deal.”

toji just shakes his head, muttering something about the “drama” gene clearly skipping a generation, though the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.

as you unbuckle your seatbelt, ready to say goodbye, you feel the car click with the unmistakable sound of the child lock. you glance back at megumi, who’s nodding off against his plushie pile, and back at toji, who’s already climbing out to walk you up to your door. 

gentlemanly of him, sure. 

though, the way his eyes linger on you… there’s more to it than that.

“i could’ve walked myself, you know,” you say, falling into step beside him as you head up to your building. “it’s not that far.”

“maybe i just felt like making sure you didn’t trip and embarrass yourself,” he shoots back, smirking as he nudges your shoulder.

“very chivalrous, fushiguro,” you reply, rolling your eyes but grinning anyway. “honestly, you’re like a walking textbook definition of ‘gentleman.’”

“yeah, well,” he clears his throat, looking just a bit smug. “maybe i was raised right. or maybe,” his voice drops a little lower, “i just wanted an excuse to stick around a little longer.”

you blink, caught off guard by the soft rasp in his voice, the way his eyes are just a bit darker under the porch light.

“oh,” is all you manage, though your heartbeat’s doing a little somersault. “well… uh. here’s my door.”

“guess it is,” he murmurs, eyes glinting as he takes a step closer, leaning against the doorframe like he’s meant to be there, like he’s settled in the idea of being right here, with you. 

“y’know… not a bad place to end the night.”

“yeah,” you say, feeling the words catch in your throat as you gaze up at him, taking in every detail, every shadow. “definitely not bad.”

the two of you are just standing there, a little too close, the space between you narrowing with every unspoken word. he glances down at your lips, and your pulse spikes — he’s thinking it too, right? but just as the moment seems to reach its tipping point, toji smirks, a flash of mischief in his eyes.

“you know,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “still can’t believe you’re the same girl who wrote that… what was it again?” he chuckles, clearly remembering. “oh, right — ‘her legs wrapped around him like a vice, his name spilling from her lips like honey’.”

your face goes nuclear. 

that line. 

of all the lines, that one?

“you… you remember that?” you manage, mortified.

“’course i remember,” he says, that smug smirk firmly in place. “you think i just skimmed through your stuff?”

“well — i — ” your words are a mess, barely coherent. “i mean, i just thought —”

“nah, i’ve been reading it all.” his voice is low, almost a whisper as he leans just a little closer, his fingers lightly brushing your arm. “you’ve got quite the imagination.”

“s-shut up,” you stammer, unable to meet his gaze. “i was just… doing my job.”

“i know,” he says, voice soft but unyielding. “you’ve got talent.”

there’s a beat, silence stretching between you, the weight of his words settling over the both of you.

“...and you’ve got this whole heartthrob thing going for you,” you blurt out, finally meeting his eyes with a nervous laugh. “kind of makes it hard to believe you’re my colleague.”

“heartthrob, huh?” he smirks, voice dipping lower as his fingers drift to your chin, tilting your face up. 

“so that’s what you think of me?”

“i — i mean…” you stammer, your heart racing as you look into his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn. “maybe a little. just… a tiny bit.”

“tiny?” he murmurs, his lips barely an inch away. “could’ve sworn you looked a little more than just ‘tiny’ interested.”

“oh yeah?” your voice is a whisper now, almost breathless as you feel his breath on your skin, his gaze never wavering. “what if i was?”

“then i’d probably do this,” he mutters, his hand sliding up to cradle your face, and before you know it, his lips are on yours, soft and warm and impossibly gentle.

your breath catches, and instinctively, you lean into him, letting his kiss deepen, his hand tracing slow, lazy patterns against your cheek. it’s everything you’d imagined and somehow even better, his presence grounding and electric all at once.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes soft but searching. “so… do i still get to be a heartthrob?”

“only if i still get to be the girl with the cringe smut,” you murmur back, grinning like an idiot.

“deal,” he says, chuckling as he pulls you in for another kiss, his lips brushing yours like a promise.

ah, shit.

as toji slips back into the car, he barely manages to close the door before megumi’s voice hits him like a lightning bolt.

“daddy kissed the pretty lady!” megumi shrieks, pointing an accusatory finger from the backseat. “i saw it! you have that weird face on!”

toji’s eyebrows shoot up. “weird face? what weird face?” he tries to play it cool, adjusting the rearview mirror, but the ghost of that kiss is still painted on his lips, his pulse betraying him with every beat.

“that smile,” megumi says, wrinkling his nose in a perfect mirror of his dad’s usual expression of disdain. “you look like a… like a…” he pauses, searching for the right words. “...like a love puppy!”

toji chokes, stifling a laugh. “a love puppy? where the hell did you get that from?”

“it’s a thing, daddy,” megumi huffs, crossing his arms. “you have that goofy look, and your face is all soft. you only look like that when you’re being weird.”

“me? weird?” toji glances in the mirror, catching megumi’s glare. “kid, i think you’ve got this all wrong.”

“no, i don’t!” megumi insists, practically bouncing in his seat. “you were all ‘goo-goo eyes’ and ‘smoochy-smoochy’ and ‘mwah mwah mwah!’” he makes exaggerated kissing sounds, complete with squished-up lips and hand gestures, utterly scandalized by his dad’s sudden transformation.

“alright, alright, enough with the ‘mwah mwah.’” toji tries to suppress a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “you’ve been watching too many cartoons.”

megumi shakes his head, his expression serious. “nope. i knew it. i knew you liked her.” he narrows his eyes, as if seeing through toji’s very soul. “so… are you gonna marry her?”

toji’s eyes go wide. 

“whoa, whoa, hold on. nobody said anything about marriage.”

“but if you kiss someone, that means you wanna be with them forever, right?” megumi asks earnestly, looking way too wise for his age.

toji stares ahead, caught off-guard by the kid’s earnestness. 

that kiss… he didn’t plan it. he didn’t even know he was going to do it until he’d leaned in, felt the spark pull him closer. but now? 

yeah, the idea of just walking away feels… wrong. he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his mind racing.

“kid, sometimes people just… feel things, okay?” he says, his voice softer, more introspective. “even if they don’t really know why.”

megumi tilts his head, watching his dad closely. “so you do like her, then?”

toji snorts, pulling the car out onto the road. “alright, detective, settle down back there. no more snooping.”

they drive in a comfortable silence for a moment, but the radio has other plans. 

as if on cue, the familiar, aching chords of iris by the goo goo dolls come through the speakers, and toji swears he could feel the universe laughing at him.

“and i don’t want the world to see me, ’cause i don’t think that they’d understand…”

toji clenches his jaw, feeling the lyrics press into him, each line stirring something restless and warm in his chest. he’s always been a guy with his walls up, always knew the stakes were too high to let anyone in. 

but tonight… tonight, he let his guard down. just for a second. 

he kissed you, tasted the softness of your lips, and the spark left him reeling.

“when everything’s meant to be broken, i just want you to know who i am…”

“daddy?” megumi’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “do you think… maybe you could see her again? so she could come play with us?”

toji blinks, glancing at megumi in the rearview mirror. “you really like her, huh?”

megumi nods vigorously. “yeah! she’s… nice. and fun.” his face softens. “and… she made you look happy.”

toji’s heart gives a strange, unfamiliar twist at that. 

happy, huh? 

he’s been around the block long enough to know that happiness isn’t exactly his best friend. but sitting here, listening to megumi, feeling that residual warmth from your kiss… it makes him wonder. 

wonder what life could look like with you in it.

but he pushes the thought away, focusing on the road. doesn’t change the fact that you’re just his colleague. right?

“and i’d give up forever to touch you…”

ugh.

he shifts uncomfortably, hoping megumi doesn’t notice his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. 

that kiss wasn’t just some fleeting thing — he’d known it the second he felt the warmth of you linger even after pulling away. the idea of letting you go now feels… impossible. something’s tugging him back, making him want more.

“hey, daddy,” megumi pipes up again, breaking toji’s brooding. “you got that look again.”

“what look?” toji mutters, trying to focus on anything but the goofy grin creeping back onto his face.

megumi smirks, mimicking toji’s soft expression. “that ‘i kissed a pretty lady’ look!”

toji laughs, shaking his head as he glances at megumi in the rearview mirror. “alright, alright. i guess you caught me.”

and as he drives home, the final notes of iris playing softly through the car, he can’t shake the feeling that this… whatever this is… isn’t something he’s ready to let go of.

ah, shit.

as soon as toji sets megumi down on his bed, tucking him in amongst the mountain of ridiculous plushies he’d somehow won at the arcade, he heads back to his room. sliding his phone out, he finds himself doing something he never thought he’d do: texting gojo. of all people.

with a reluctant sigh, he taps out a message, feeling a pang of embarrassment he can’t shake.

you [8:47 pm]: how long’s her contract with gojo sonic?

a moment later, he watches the screen, regretting even reaching out. but, of course, gojo wastes no time with a reply.

gojo s. [8:50 pm]: ohohohohooooo her contract???  gojo s. [8:50 pm]: i knew it. you’re smitten. you [8:51 pm]: don’t start. gojo s. [8:51 pm]: too late! c’mon, dish it out, big guy.  gojo s. [8:51 pm]: you guys had a moment, huh? the chemistry finally snapped? what’d ya do, kiss her?

toji clenches his jaw, hesitating before typing back. his thumb hovers, wondering how much grief he’d get for saying yes. finally, he mutters a curse under his breath and just goes for it.

you [8:53 pm]: ...yeah, i kissed her. happy?

he can practically feel gojo’s cackle vibrating through the phone.

gojo s. [8:53 pm]: WHAT???  gojo s. [8:53 pm]: WAIT.  gojo s. [8:53 pm]: oh, i need details.  gojo s. [8:53 pm]: full play-by-play.  gojo s. [8:53 pm]: like was it one of those slow, cinematic moments?  gojo s. [8:54 pm]: or was it a grab and smooch kinda deal??

toji rolls his eyes, fighting off a grin he refuses to admit is there. of all the reactions, he’d been prepared for gojo’s nosiness, but it’s still as annoying as ever.

you [8:55 pm]: shut it. i already said too much. gojo s. [8:55 pm]: pfffff as if i’m letting you get away with that tidbit and no context.  gojo s. [8:55 pm]: did she look at you all wide-eyed?  gojo s. [8:55 pm]: did you do that thing with your voice??  gojo s. [8:56 pm]: or was it just an accidental, “oh no, we tripped into each other’s faces” sorta thing?

toji rubs his temples, trying to block out how much his stupid heart rate picks up just remembering the way you looked up at him, the softness of your lips, the way it all felt so natural. he shakes his head, forcing the memory aside.

you [8:57 pm]: none of your business, and it’s private.  you [8:57 pm]: don’t you dare send any of this to suguru. gojo s. [8:57 pm]: oh relax! suguru’s not that nosy.  gojo s. [8:57 pm]: okay maybe he is.  gojo s. [8:58 pm]: but he’s a romantic.  gojo s. [8:58 pm]: think of it as getting free relationship coaching!! you [9:00 pm]: i swear to god satoru i’ll leave the company if you spill this.

there’s a pause, and for a second toji hopes that maybe he’s scared gojo off. 

but, predictably, the next message makes his blood pressure spike.

gojo s. [9:05 pm]: ohhhhh no no you’re not getting off that easy.  gojo s. [9:05 pm]: i’m calling dibs on being the flower girl at your wedding. suguru can be the maid of honor.  gojo s. [9:06 pm]: no nvm he’d wanna be the best man gojo s. [9:06 pm]: I’LL GET MEGUMI TO CARRY THE RINGS gojo s. [9:06 pm]: genius.

toji practically growls at his phone, already regretting every second of this conversation.

you [9:07 pm]: i’ll delete this whole damn thread. this never happened, got it? gojo s. [9:09 pm]: aww, toji bear, don’t be like that. i’ll take care of your little love story for you, promise. consider me your personal wingman.  gojo s. [9:10 pm]: now tell me this — when’s round two of smooch central happening? you [9:11 pm]: goodnight, satoru.

and with that, he shoves his phone onto his nightstand, rubbing his face with a hand. he can still feel the lingering warmth of that kiss, the way his heart skipped, the unexpected tenderness that’s lodged itself in his mind. 

stupid.

he shouldn’t have even told gojo.

but as much as he regrets letting it slip, he doesn’t regret the kiss itself. 

not even a bit.

as soon as you slam your door shut, you just… stand there for a minute, heart racing, and press your fingers to your lips like it’ll somehow reverse what just happened. 

you kissed toji fushiguro. 

the toji fushiguro.

colleague extraordinaire, with biceps that could probably benchpress your entire life’s savings, and that smirk… oh god, that smirk that had you in a daze.

but the problem? 

there was a mini him there. 

a little him with matching black hair and a sharp gaze. 

you thought he was, like, the cool uncle? but… he’s a dad? 

and if he’s a dad… does that mean he’s married? are you the other woman?!

you pace around, practically stomping into the carpet. 

“okay, okay, let’s think this through,” you mutter, putting your hands on your hips. 

“he… he could be a single dad, right? it’s 2024, it’s not that weird for people to have kids without, like, commitment commitments. but then again, he does look like the type who’d… i don’t know, maybe be exclusive? probably?”

your brain is racing, and you’re spinning yourself into circles. 

“i mean, i haven’t seen a ring on his finger… but maybe he just doesn’t wear it?” you plop down on your couch, practically sinking into it as you cover your face with both hands.

ugh.

“did i just kiss a married man? or worse… what if he’s, like, engaged? or has a live-in girlfriend? or — oh my god, what if he’s in some high-profile relationship and i just stepped into the middle of it? —”

you groan, flopping back. “but he… he definitely leaned in first. i’m not hallucinating. he did! but then, if he’s that willing to kiss me, does that mean he’s… a cheater?”

you sit up and shake your head, wide-eyed. “okay, no, i refuse to believe that toji fushiguro, mr. brooding and brooding-er with a kid who listens to korn, is a cheater. there’s no way… right?”

your own voice is almost pleading as you try to convince yourself, pacing again. 

“i mean, maybe he’s just… really, really committed to… being mysterious. yeah, that makes sense. he’s keeping everything a secret, so that just leaves me spiraling about him… perfect. just perfect.”

you smack a hand against your forehead. “why couldn’t i have asked literally any of this earlier?” you shake your head. “right, because i was too busy kissing him.”

you throw yourself back onto the couch and stare at the ceiling, the whole thing replaying in your head. 

that look he gave you, the warmth of his hand on your back…

stop.

but it’s too late. your brain keeps running with it.

“what if… what if he has no idea i’m freaking out?” you frown. “oh, he probably doesn’t. and here i am, making a whole drama out of one kiss.” you let out a deep sigh.

you flop onto your bed, heart still pounding, and stare up at the ceiling, fingers absently grazing your lips. 

burning loins, they said. melting from one kiss, they said. 

well, no one exactly said that — except every steamy novel you’ve ever read or written, but that’s beside the point.

you groan, kicking your feet up in frustration. this isn’t one of your own novels! it’s supposed to be real life! but now here you are, in the aftermath of what was arguably the best kiss you’ve ever had, practically combusting at the memory of it.

“if one kiss with toji — no, any man — can get me this hot and bothered, how am i supposed to handle it if i ever… you know…” your voice trails off, and you turn over, burying your face into the pillow as if it’ll smother the absurd train of thought. 

but then, just as you start to get your mind off it, his face pops back up in your head.

“oh god,” you mumble, pulling the pillow over your face. “this is pathetic.” you roll over again, laughing helplessly to yourself. 

if this is what one or two kisses do to me… what’ll happen if we actually have sex?

your eyes snap open. “okay, no. no! i didn’t mean toji, i meant, like… any guy! any guy at all! but, oh god, why is it always him?!”

you stare at the ceiling, huffing as your brain keeps looping back to him. 

his stupidly attractive smirk, the way his hand was firm but gentle on your back, how he looked at you as if you were his next breath. 

girl, get a grip.

“this is ridiculous,” you mutter, swatting at your face like it’ll erase his image from your mind. but it doesn’t work; he’s right there, all hot and smug in your imagination. ugh, this isn’t fair!

it’s like all those countless hours you spent spinning erotic fantasies are coming back to haunt you — and in the most inconvenient, infuriating way possible. you scrunch up your face, realizing with mild horror that maybe… just maybe… you wrote this scenario into existence for yourself.

“oh no… is this karma?” you groan, curling up and swatting the air in helpless embarrassment. “girl, this is not supposed to happen in real life. or with toji.”

but there it is: his face, and your wildly racing heart, and the undeniable, excruciating heat pooling in your belly that refuses to quit.

but even with the spiraling, there’s one thing you can’t deny: as much as it’s driving you crazy, as much as you’re practically scaring yourself into thinking you’ve just made the worst mistake of your life…

you kinda don’t regret it. and that’s the scariest part.

ah, shit.

you step into gojo-sonic, clutching your bag with a little more intensity than usual, and it’s as if you’ve entered an alternate dimension. 

the energy is somehow… different. you expect to be greeted with the usual casual nods and waves, but instead, gojo is practically skipping toward you, arms spread wide like he’s welcoming the new queen of the recording studio.

“there she is! our star of the show, our resident heart-throb wrangler!” he coos, louder than necessary. his grin is blinding, and you’re caught between the urge to backpedal out of the building or dive under the nearest desk.

“uh… good morning?” you reply, more like a question than a statement, glancing around to see if anyone else is picking up on his hyperness. it’s like he’s had twelve cups of coffee or ten bags of skittles. “gojo, you’re… kind of extra today.”

“extra? extra?” he throws a hand over his heart, eyes gleaming. “honey, i’m never just ‘extra.’ i am exactly the right amount of gojo for the occasion.”

“and what occasion is that, exactly?”

“oh, nothing much, just a certain someone having an… enlightening encounter last night,” he says with a wink so exaggerated it looks like he’s trying to shoo a bug off his face.

you stiffen. “wait, how do you…?”

“oh, come on,” he waves it off, laughing. “you think you can keep something like that from me? i mean, i might be blessed with an enormous amount of talent, looks, and charisma, but i also happen to have eyes and ears everywhere.” he taps his temple, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

“seriously?” you glance around, your stomach sinking a little, looking for any sign of smirking coworkers or curious eyes, but everyone’s just… normal? going about their business, not sparing you a second glance. relief washes over you, only to be swept away by gojo’s piercing stare.

“oh, don’t worry. i haven’t shared your scandalous rendezvous with the world. only i am privy to this delightful information — for now,” he adds, wagging a finger. “and don’t look so shocked! nothing juicy stays hidden from me for long. i know all the company secrets.”

you feel heat rise to your cheeks, equal parts exasperated and embarrassed. “gojo, it wasn’t even that big of a deal. it’s not like…” you trail off, realizing he’s hanging on to your every word, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“uh-huh,” he drawls, drawing the word out. “not a big deal, you say? then why do you look like you’re about to start sweating bullets?”

“i’m not sweating bullets,” you say through clenched teeth, then give in and sigh. “look, we just… it was just a… i mean, we’re colleagues, and things got a little… friendly. it doesn’t have to mean anything!”

gojo gasps, mock-horrified. “oh, but darling, this is precisely why it’s so interesting! you, of all people, getting caught up with toji fushiguro? and here i thought you’d sworn off office romances.”

“it’s not an office romance,” you insist, voice practically a whisper. “we just… kissed. once. or twice. maybe. but it doesn’t mean anything!”

gojo leans in, conspiratorially. “and yet you look ready to combust from the inside out just talking about it.”

you huff, throwing him a half-hearted glare. “maybe it’s because someone is making this into a bigger deal than it actually is.”

“you wound me!” he presses a hand dramatically to his chest, giving you an exaggerated pout. “but don’t worry, your little secret is safe with me. i only told you so you’d know that i know. and, you know, to make things extra awkward in case mr. heart-throb walks in.”

“oh, so you’re really just out to make my life difficult?”

he grins, all teeth. “precisely.”

just then, as if summoned by some cruel twist of fate, toji strolls in. he’s the absolute picture of normalcy, no hint whatsoever of last night’s… moment. 

in fact, he gives you a polite nod, a polite nod, as if he hadn’t had you pressed against your own door just hours ago.

“morning,” he says casually, voice smooth, tone nonchalant. he doesn’t even so much as smirk.

you nearly choke. polite nod? normal greeting? did he forget the entire thing? 

“oh, morning,” you manage, clearing your throat, feeling like you’re about to combust again.

gojo, however, is having the time of his life. he’s practically vibrating next to you, watching the exchange with glee.

“morninggg, fushiguro,” he greets toji, voice syrupy with unrestrained glee. “any exciting news today?”

toji raises an eyebrow, shooting him a confused look. “uh, no? everything’s pretty normal.” his eyes flick over to you, calm, almost neutral, as if he hadn’t kissed you senseless just last night.

you clench your jaw. is he really going to act like this? you nearly feel like gaslighting yourself into thinking last night never happened. maybe you just dreamed it, right?

toji’s gaze flicks away from you, unperturbed, as he moves over to get his things ready for the day’s recording. and that’s when gojo leans over and mutters under his breath, “you sure you don’t want to just… remind him?”

“i hate you,” you mutter back, trying not to smile, knowing that he’s secretly rooting for you to fall flat on your face with this whole ordeal.

“i live for your misery, my friend,” he replies with a wink.

meanwhile, toji was absolutely in another dimension of romcom chaos himself, feeling like some kind of high school kid who just had his first crush. he woke up grinning, actually giggling as he got dressed. 

giggling. when was the last time he did that? 

he nearly skipped out the door, and on his drive to work, he found himself humming, humming, to his car stereo like some lovestruck fool. and he didn’t stop there. oh no. 

by the time he reached gojo-sonic, he’d already run through a few extra vocal warm-ups in the car — something he never did this early. he cleared his throat and ran through his usual lines twice, even testing his pitch a bit. no, not because he wanted to be extra smooth today, of course not. he was doing it for the… for the paycheck. 

definitely.

but as soon as he walked into the studio, and he saw you standing there beside gojo, looking all kinds of pretty and polished… he practically heard violins. except no, it wasn’t violins. 

it was, somehow, worse.

his mind cued up dancing queen.

“no. nope. nope.” he muttered under his breath, trying to swat the ridiculous soundtrack out of his mind. but it wouldn’t stop. 

“dancing queen, feel the beat from the tambourine, oh, yeah….”

why, in the name of all things sacred, was his brain doing this to him? he was toji fushiguro, not some idiot falling over his own feet for a girl at work. he gave himself a good shake, squared his shoulders, and tried to keep his composure. yet every time he caught your eye, his chest did a little flip — and dammit if he didn’t want to just pick you up and give you another kiss right then and there.

“morning,” he forced out, nodding as casually as he could.

and there you were, gaping back with that hint of nervousness, looking like you might combust from just a regular “good morning.” 

god, it was almost cute enough to make him actually laugh out loud.

“she’s just a colleague,” he reminded himself, over and over again, as he worked to keep the grin off his face. “a colleague. not some romcom lead you just made out with in front of her apartment.”

yet the way dancing queen kept droning in his head, as if mocking his every move? toji was seriously questioning whether he’d woken up in some kind of alternate reality.

and he just knew gojo was watching the whole thing with a smug look, likely dying to crack a joke, or worse, belt out dancing queen if he somehow figured out what was in toji’s head. 

and knowing gojo? he probably already had.

the studio door clicked shut as gojo swept out with an exaggerated bow, holding up his finger in a silent “one minute” before he launched into his call with suguru in a voice loud enough to be heard two floors down. gojo was probably already going on about the “incredible chemistry” between his favorite team members, or whatever nonsense he’d decided on for today. 

and with him out of the room, it was just you and toji. 

alone. 

in silence.

you shifted on your feet, eyes darting everywhere except directly at him, yet somehow landing right back on him. it was like your brain had a toji magnet switched on, and no matter how hard you tried to look elsewhere, you found yourself glancing back at him.

finally, the quiet got so charged that you both ended up blurting out at the exact same time —

“are you single?”

you both froze, then looked at each other, wide-eyed, like you couldn’t believe you’d just asked that out loud.

“uh,” toji coughed, scratching the back of his neck. “well. yeah, i am. single, that is.

“oh.” you tried to act cool, but it came out as a slightly breathless squeak. “good to know.”

“and you?” he asked, voice low, almost cautious, as if bracing himself for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

“also single,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. “which… is also good to know.”

there was a beat of quiet where you both just kind of looked at each other, a half-smile creeping onto his face as you kept shifting on your feet, practically melting under the intensity of his gaze.

“so…” you cleared your throat, your hands fidgeting a little as you gathered the nerve to ask the next thing. “didn’t know you had a kid.”

“oh, yeah.” toji chuckled, a hint of fondness lighting up his expression as he thought of his son. “he’s my kid, alright. handful and a half, that one.”

“he’s adorable.” you smiled, thinking back to the mini toji who had totally stolen your heart. “how old is he?”

“eight.” toji’s voice softened, a rare warmth in his tone that you’d never heard before. “he, uh… he means a lot to me. not that i’d ever tell him that, though. don’t want him thinking he’s got me wrapped around his little finger or anything.”

you laughed, picturing the little boy with his big grin and fearless energy. “something tells me he already knows.”

“yeah, probably.” toji laughed too, and for a moment, there was an ease between you, a shared warmth that made the whole moment feel so… natural.

“so… um, are you, like… a single dad?” you asked, careful with your words, not wanting to pry too deeply.

“yeah.” his answer was simple, but there was a weight to it. “just me and the kid. been that way for a while.”

“that’s…” you bit your lip, not sure what to say without sounding weirdly sentimental. “that’s admirable. megumi’s lucky to have you.

“i don’t know about all that,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the praise but unable to hide a small smile. “just doing what i can, you know?”

“still,” you said, feeling a swell of admiration you hadn’t expected. “it’s impressive. and honestly… seeing you with him yesterday? it was… kinda heartwarming.”

toji looked at you, eyes softening in a way that made your heart stutter. 

“thanks,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. “means a lot, hearing that.”

the two of you stood there, closer than you realized, in this weird bubble where everything felt warm and intense and perfect. just as you felt that strange magnetic pull drawing you closer, like maybe you’d just close the gap and —

the studio door banged open.

“don’t stop on my account!” gojo sing-songed, practically sashaying back into the room, a smirk plastered across his face.

you both leaped back, clearing your throats and suddenly finding the walls, the floor, anything else in the room utterly fascinating.

“alright, lovebirds, let’s get this recording started, shall we?” gojo grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked between the two of you, not even pretending he hadn’t just caught a whole moment.

toji settled into the recording booth, leaning back in the chair with the script in hand, his voice dipping to that low, gravelly tone that made every line sound like an invitation.

“so,” he began, speaking as the dragon king to the main character in the script, his words practically dripping with intensity, “you think you can resist me? i see right through you… even the bravest warriors have trembled at my touch.”

your breath caught as he delivered the line, eyes wide as you watched him through the glass. 

you couldn’t help it — his character was practically staring into your soul, voice thick and slow, practically wrapping around each word.

“do you know what happens to those who challenge me?” toji continued, his eyes narrowing as he held the script in one hand, his gaze piercing. “they are forced to surrender… one way or another.”

outside the booth, you practically felt yourself melting, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you fidgeted with the edge of your shirt. 

toji’s voice, his delivery — it was all too much. how was it possible for him to sound that… that intense? it was like he was actually speaking to you.

“ah, beautiful.” gojo, standing beside you, broke in with a theatrical sigh. “our dragon king sounds magnificent, doesn’t he? i could practically faint!”

you shot him a quick glare, barely masking a smirk. “keep it down, gojo. he’s in the middle of it.”

“oh, i’m just here to appreciate the artistry,” gojo whispered back, feigning innocence as he leaned in to watch, hands clasped together dramatically.

“the choice is yours,” toji went on, his voice softer now, laced with something tender that made it impossible to look away. “join me… or keep pretending this —” he emphasized the word, letting it linger “ — isn’t exactly what you’ve been wanting.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze even through the glass. 

was he delivering that line as the dragon king or as… well, toji?

but then —

“ohhhh!” gojo chimed in loudly, clutching his chest as if he’d been struck by an arrow. “the passion! the romance! our hero’s heart is pounding!”

toji paused, rolling his eyes as he looked at gojo through the glass. “you really gonna keep interrupting, gojo?”

“oh, don’t mind me,” gojo said, waving a hand. “i’m simply enjoying the magic in the air! please, carry on. do go on.” he pretended to dab at his eyes. “so moving.”

toji gave a small sigh but threw you a barely-there smile before settling back into character.

“and when you finally stop running…” his voice softened, a quiet urgency threading through it. 

“i’ll be here, waiting… because you belong to me, whether you admit it or not.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you found yourself leaning in, hanging onto every word, caught up in the sheer pull of his voice. 

you didn’t know if it was his talent as a voice actor, the lines he was reading, or him, but every word was drawing you in deeper, bit by bit.

“ah, what is it like to be so passionately claimed by a dragon king? how riveting!” gojo murmured dramatically, as if providing a play-by-play to an audience. “she’s helpless, entranced! they both know she’s falling!”

toji cast a pointed look at gojo, barely concealing a smirk. “you done yet, gojo?”

gojo merely grinned, shrugging. “hey, i’m just here to make sure the romance shines through. and oh, don’t worry — it’s definitely shining.”

toji rolled his eyes but kept going, lowering his voice to a rumbling murmur. “if you don’t know where your heart lies, then i’ll show you.” 

he paused, his words lingering in the air like a promise, like he was speaking directly to you.

by now, the studio felt suffused with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife. it didn’t help that every time gojo piped in with another comment, it only made you feel more painfully aware of every detail: the way toji’s gaze kept flickering your way, the way your own pulse raced faster with each line he spoke.

“the truth is right in front of you,” toji continued, his voice dropping low, rough, something smoldering behind each word. “all you have to do is reach out… and claim it.”

“gorgeous! breathtaking!” gojo burst out, clapping his hands loudly. “i can practically see the sparks flying! ah, young love!”

toji finally broke character, raising a brow at gojo with a look of pure exasperation. “you gonna let me finish or not?”

gojo waved a hand. “fine, fine. but for real — if you two don’t kiss after this, i might have to stage a re-shoot.”

both you and toji threw your hands up simultaneously, voices raised in exasperation. 

“gojo, would you please stop interrupting!”

“yeah, seriously, man,” toji added, shaking his head as he glanced over at you with a shared look of pure frustration.

“okay, okay! sheesh!” gojo shrieked, actually shrieked, as he staggered back in mock terror, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “all i wanted was to witness some workplace romance! is that so wrong?”

“yes, gojo, very wrong,” you shot back, rubbing your temples. “this is literally supposed to be professional — you should know that.”

toji snorted, crossing his arms as he smirked at gojo. “for once, i agree. you’ve got all the dramatic flair of a middle-schooler.”

“excuse me,” gojo replied, flipping an imaginary hair strand over his shoulder. “i’ll have you know my artistic eye is very advanced.” he let out a huff, but from the grin on his face, you could tell he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

you shook your head, exasperated. “look, can we just get this recording done without any more —”

“interruptions,” toji finished for you, raising a brow as he glanced over at gojo.

“fine, fine!” gojo finally backed off, dramatically sliding into a chair in the corner, arms folded in mock offense. “i’ll be silent as a stone. a beautiful, thoughtful stone.”

you exchanged another look with toji, both of you sighing in unison. 

something told you both that it was going to be a very long day, especially with gojo’s creative direction…

toji, after finishing a solid block of recording, had ended up chatting with the sound techs, leaving you flipping through your phone while you waited. 

gojo, in his usual meddling fashion, suddenly brightened up and declared, “oh! why don’t you have a little chat with suguru? i told him you were here. he insisted on saying hello!”

you raised an eyebrow. “uh, sure?”

gojo sent you a link to join the video call, and soon suguru’s face popped up on the screen. his calm expression softened slightly when he saw you. “well, hello there. gojo wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had a new ‘star’ at the studio.”

you laughed, feeling a bit flustered. “thanks, geto! i hear you’re a partner at a... famous wine company?”

suguru gave a modest shrug. “yeah, it’s called persephone. it’s a small project that grew bigger than i expected. i handle a lot of the sourcing and marketing — keeps me away from here most of the time.”

“persephone? i’ve heard great things about it!” you said, genuinely impressed. “the way gojo talks about it, it sounds like a pretty big deal.”

he chuckled, glancing to the side as if recalling memories. “i started it with a... friend, actually. she was passionate about wine and had a vision that i couldn’t help but support. i guess i have a soft spot for her, and i... well, care about her a lot.”

you felt your heart warm a little at his sincerity, and the slight hesitation when he spoke of his partner. “it sounds like you two have something special going on,” you said, offering a supportive smile. “i’m sure she appreciates everything you do, especially with how involved you are. and honestly? best of luck. that kind of partnership sounds really meaningful.”

suguru gave a small nod, a faint, appreciative smile on his face. 

“thank you. i think she’d like you. maybe one day, if you ever make it out here for one of gojo’s wild wine-tasting parties, we can all meet up.”

“i’d love that!” you replied, already imagining how intriguing that partnership might be. and as you finished up the conversation, it struck you that you’d gotten a glimpse of a different side of suguru — one he clearly didn’t reveal often.

toji hadn’t meant to get distracted, but the second he saw you on a video call with suguru, laughing over whatever he was saying, he couldn’t help it. he’d been halfway listening to the sound tech drone on about waveform patterns, but all of that faded when he caught sight of you smiling on-screen. 

who exactly were you talking to like that? why did you look so happy?

the tech was still talking beside him, but toji’s focus was elsewhere. 

suguru. 

that damn calm, collected face of his. 

the same suguru who he’d seen only sparingly around the company, mostly through gojo’s random updates, but who was still one of the few people gojo actually respected.

toji squinted, his jaw tightening as he took a few steps toward you and pretended it was a casual stroll.

why was he doing this? it wasn’t like he had any claim on you, right? 

sure, there was that one kiss — or, well, those two kisses, actually. 

but still. 

he was a grown man, not some jealous kid. yet here he was, feeling like he had to size up suguru over a damn screen.

before he even realized it, toji had closed the distance. without asking, he leaned over your shoulder, practically shoving his face into the camera view as he met suguru’s face.

“hey, suguru,” he drawled, and the way his voice came out a little gruff didn’t escape him. “didn’t know you were interrupting a busy studio day here.”

you blinked, wide-eyed at his sudden closeness, but toji kept his eyes on suguru, ignoring your flustered reaction. suguru looked almost amused, raising an eyebrow at toji’s unannounced intrusion.

“toji. i’m just saying hi to the new talent here,” suguru replied with a smooth smile, clearly unfazed. “i’m sure you wouldn’t mind me meeting one of satoru’s top finds.”

“top find?” toji scoffed, feeling a weird pang at the words. “i’m the one doing all the work here.”

you shot him a look, somewhere between surprised and amused. “toji —”

but he just grunted and kept going, ignoring your attempt to intervene. “so, suguru, been busy with all that wine business, huh?” he went on, as if suguru’s whole life story had suddenly become his priority.

“pretty much,” suguru replied, a slight smirk in his tone. “it’s been keeping me busy, and i have a…close partner who keeps me grounded. speaking of which,” he turned his gaze to you with an amused smile, “she was the one who started persephone. i’m really just there to support her vision.”

“sounds convenient,” toji muttered, but suguru just chuckled.

you nudged him with your elbow, giving him a warning look. “toji, come on,” you whispered, as if he was the one being out of line here.

he let out a low sigh, then pulled back slightly, looking at you as if he’d just remembered himself. “what? ’m just makin’ sure you’re not getting dragged into any fancy wine scams or whatever.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide a smile. “geto’s company is doing fine, toji. it’s called persephone.”

toji folded his arms and gave a dismissive shrug. “well, just saying. i know people.” 

the whole room seemed to go a bit quieter, and toji cleared his throat, looking away from suguru's patient amusement.

“nice meeting you, toji,” suguru added, with a slight tilt of his head. “take care of our new ‘top find’ there, alright?”

toji clenched his jaw a little at the words, then nodded, pretending he wasn’t glaring at the camera. “yeah, yeah. we’re all set here.”

as the call ended, you turned to him, eyebrows raised, clearly wanting an explanation. “what was that about?”

toji scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual. “just, y’know…making sure you weren’t getting yourself in with shady people.”

“oh? like, you?”

he let out a bark of laughter, realizing he’d backed himself into a corner. “hey, i’m not shady — i’m just thorough.”

you raised an eyebrow. “thorough? right, that’s the word you’re going with?”

“yeah. and what — you mad at me for caring?”

at that, you went quiet, a faint blush touching your cheeks. 

and toji? well, he could only think of those two kisses again, and how stupidly close he’d just gotten to the camera just to… what? size up suguru? 

he mentally groaned. what was wrong with him?

tag list is open, comment if you'd like to be on it <3 produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. �� banners by cafekitsune

[hhughes]

❍⌇𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊 — 𝐐𝐇𝟒𝟑 ‧₊˚ ꒱

pairing: fem!celeb!singer x quinn hughes

summary: in which a famous singer from vancouver reveals her crush on quinn and the internet goes crazy.

genre: social media fic

fc: sabrina carpenter

note: part 2 of this! you’ve waited long enough! thank you for being patient and I hope the wait was worth it! thanks for all the love on the first part and as always I’d love to hear what you think! there might be a third and last part where they hard launch? idk yet

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @elliegator @trevuorzegras @hischierswhore @elliefind @goldenfinchs-blog

nhl

liked by quinnhughes, trevorzegras, and others.

nhl: the STARS have arrived in Toronto!🤩 tune in at 8PM ET to watch the 2024 NHL ALL-STARS draft!

view all comments

user63: she’s literally so stunning. i’m sick.

user52: need the quinn and y/n content ASAP admin

ynluvr: only here for y/n ngl

user33: don’t know why some people get so pressed about y/n performing. she’s canadian, and she’s blowing up rn. she brings in a lot of fans for the league… it’s a genius marketing move imo

⤷ user43: great. just what we need more people pretending to be fans of the game when they don’t know shit about it. she probably doesn’t know anything about it either.

⤷ user33: she grew up in Vancouver and she’s been a canucks fan since she was a little kid. she posts more about going to their games than she does about her own music and that says a lot. she also played when she was younger so I think it’s safe to say she knows a fair amount about the game!

user12: MOTHER😩

yourusername

liked by jackhughes, quinnhughes, and others.

yourusername: got to do something super cool last night. still in shock I think😭 thank you @.nhl 🩷

view all comments

nhl: thank YOU🤩 we’re still in awe of that performance. you definitely stole the show

bestfriend: did you dress like the stanley cup on purpose?

⤷ yourusername: manifesting myself to be something he wants

⤷ y/nfan: does manifestation work queen? 🙏

⤷ yourusername: 👀

⤷ user54: she did not😭💀

⤷ user77: so real of you bestie

user73: she’s just like us🫠

⤷ user99: down bad for that man. I could treat you so much better queen

yn.luvr: I NEED to know if they’re dating

⤷ user75: they’re following each other now👀

⤷ user61: she followed him before and he followed her back during all star weekend. she also follows both his brothers now tho , and they follow her back 🤷‍♀️

[thestarlitmidnight]

✨ Rewrite the Stars ✨

Summary: Being mated to Feyre doesn’t stop Rhysand to seek comfort from his former lover Y/N. One more night, that became their mantra.

Fandom: ACOTAr

Pairing: Rhysand X Y/N

Warnings: Mention of explicit content, be aware of that and consider being 15+ before reading this.

Word Count: 2 810

Previous Chapter

Master List

Chapter Two

"You are an insufferable idiot, Rhysand!" I raised my hand and threw a pillow at him, my voice fierce with anger.

"Angel, calm down, will you?" He raised his hands up, letting the pillow hit his tummy without any attempts to move aside.

"Take that angel and shove it up your arrogant ass!" I picked another pillow from his sofa in the River House, throwing it at him.

"I know about better activities involving those bodily parts," he dared to send me a seductive smile, sounding so damn sure of himself.

"I would rather throw myself off the nearest cliff with my wings tied before getting involved with you ever again!" I seethed and walked over to the sofa to a chair, where I picked another way too decorated pillow and threw it once again, aiming for his cock this time.

"Now, Y/n, let's not get ahead of ourselves," the seductive smirk fell from his face and was replaced with a more serious look.

"You said you had my back! So where were you?!" I picked up a vase that was holding some pastel pink flowers with a weirdly sweet smell and pointed with the vase at Rhysand, my eyes holding murder in them.

"I was tending to my duties, angel," he eyed the vase in my hand like it was his future executor. "Put that vase down, darling, those flowers were grown from seed by Elain, it would break her heart seeing them on the floor."

I bared my teeth at his damn aloofness and growled.

"I don't give a single fuck about what would break Elain's heart," with that, I grabbed the flowers out of that vase and threw them on the near table. "And frankly, you should not as well, not now, I am serious you piece of arrogant male, what the hell was more important than backing me up at the mission!"

He eyed me with caution in his eyes now, yet his eyebrows were raised with mocking amusement. This idiot always knew how to get under my skin.

"You speak of it as if I let you on the battlefield, Angel, it was mere two more hours spent in the presence of Helion," he tried to ease my irritation, but he was doing a terrible job at it.

"Exactly! One more hour with Helion might as well be two on the battlefield, and I would always choose the battle over that little friend of yours! If Azriel wouldn't come check on me, he would have me now in his bedsheets, making me scream his mane," I growled, throwing the vase with full force at him.

It never hit the target. His hand, swift as ever, quickly grabbed the vase a few inches away from his face. Those violet eyes were now glued on me, a predatory look set in them.

"Helion wouldn't dare lay a finger on you," he growled, the irritation in his voice clear now.

Caudlron forbid that another male will touch me. He can go around and fuck his precious little mate, and then situations like this come, and he can erupt with the stored wrath at the mere mention of such a thing.

"And why is that?" My voice was sweet, way too sweet, to the point it was laced with mighty venom. "I am no longer out of the market, as you made very clear when you introduced Feyre to them as your High Lady."

The moment he introduced her as his mate, the eyes of the other High Lords landed on me, the desire and challenge all over their eyes.

"Y/n, a very thin ice," he spoke with such a calm voice that a shiver ran down my spine. Icy fury and possessiveness were all over him. Clear and visible.

"Fuck you, Rhys, I had enough," I bared my teeth at him once again, my hand twitching to reach for my throwing dagger.

"Angel, you know just as I do that Helion or anyone else wouldn't dare to even come too close to you. Stop being dramatic and come here," he placed the damn vase back on the table and spoke with such confidence that I ached to slap that look out of his ridiculously handsome face.

"You were with her, weren't you? That's why you forget," I raised my hand, stopping him from coming too close to me.

If he were too close, I would lose my ground and give into those flirty eyes of his and let my feelings sway me back into the safety of his arms.

"She needed help with explaining the customs of Illyria, and time slipped from my mind. Y/n, angel, I am sorry," he placed his hand over mine, which was on his chest, keeping him at arm’s length.

His fingers brushed across my hand with a gentle caress, his voice a brush of midnight comfort, and those damn eyes, full of those cursed emotions, any of us should no longer feel.

"Can't you just send me on a few-year-long diplomatic mission on the Continent? It strengthens the relationship between Prythian and them?" I breathed out, feeling all the fight leaving my body, leaving just a pure heartache.

What else the fuck did I expect? Of course, he would prioritise his time with his mate over me. Lately, I had stopped being anyone's first choice.

"This is not fair. Not to Feyre, not to me, and not to you. We are just prolonging the suffering, don't you see? I am spending Rhys. I can't go on like this anymore. For a fucking three centuries, I was your only, and now, I was rendered into your fucking side piece! Do you understand how fucking unfair that is?!" I hit his chest, then again and again, angry, hurting, and desperate. "Just send me away and let me go. I am too weak to do it on my own accord, Rhys."

"No," he bit out, but there was raw pain all over his beautiful face. Like he was battling his own demons, his own needs, trying to do the best decision with the best possible outcome. Like he always did. "I am not sending you anywhere, Y/n, you belong here with me."

"Do you even listen to yourself?" I hit him once more, but he grabbed my arms and held them still. "You belong to your mate, you made that fucking decision, not me! She belongs here with you. It's no longer me! We were a pair, we were so damn in love, me being idiot waited for you faithfully for those damn fifty years Rhys! I was there! Always. Yet you fucking accepted that bond! You threw us behind like it never happened and then came to me and wrapped me in this lying, broken blanket of who we used to be! We keep fucking, but why loving you feels like I need to give up my soul?! It's so fucking dysfunctional! Pleasure paid for with guilt and pain!"

It just poured. It always did when he made me this angry.

He let me speak. Let me slap him with my cruel words without protecting himself. Rhys knew how much it was eating me alive. How it was destroying me. Because he had it the same. This was destroying both of us...

"I fucking love you, you Y/n, not her, my heart was, is and always will be yours, hoping to rewrite the stars for us. My soul is the culprit, forcefully tied to someone I did not wished to be tied to. You are the only one I can imagine living my life with. It was always you, angel. Please, do not leave me, you are the last precious thing that I have left," he grabbed my face into his hands, brushing my cheeks with his fingers, pushing the stubborn tears away.

"Then choose me, if you love me Rhys, choose me," I sobbed, throwing my arms around his neck, sounding way too desperate to my own liking.

"Amren-" Rhys opened his mouth, but a sound echoed from the hallway leading into the living room where we were.

"Wait here," he quickly pressed a tender kiss onto my forehead and went to check what the sound was.

How low we fell? Scared of a little sound... Like we were doing something wrong. And being honest, we maybe were, but Cauldron, it felt so right at some moments.

"Oh? I did not knew you had a cat?" I raised an eyebrow, watching the creature with forcefully hidden appal. "The ugliest cat I have ever seen, might I add."

It was true. This can was something uncalled for. Way too large eyes that threatened to fall out of its sockets, each looking at different side. Legs each different length and it was way too long tail. The fur was the real deal though. Patches of different colours, length and structure.

"We do not have a cat. I don't know how this... strange thing... ended here," Rhys sounded just as surprised and stunned as I was.

"Are you sure it is a cat? Can't it be something that came stray from up the mountains? Weak cup of the hoard?" I came closer, suddenly completely forgetting about the argument we had, in favour to entertain the curiosity of inspecting this strange creature.

We had millions of those arguments, this was the first time I ever seen anything like this.

"I have no clue what this is supposed to be," he raised his violet to look at me and gave me a cheeky smile. "But it still looks better than you in the morning after a night full of creaming my name."

I cannot help but burst into laughter at that stupidly hilarious comment.

"This cat looks indeed better than you when you have a bad hair day," I nodded, shaking my head at the absurdity and looked closer at the cat.

"Hello there, little one, are you hungry?" I cooed at it, daring to touch the creature between its ears and scratched it.

To my surprise, it purred, just like a proper cat.

"I have a very expensive fish at my home, this manner lacking donkey fancied himself to have it for a dinner when he would come today, but I will gladly serve his portion to you," I kept cooing at the cat, ignoring the hurt snort from Rhys at my very purposeful teasing at his expense.

"You want to take this... resemblance of a cat... with you back home?" Rhys said with disbelief, looking between the cat he still held and me.

"Yes? Fangie looked rough as well when she happened to come across me," I reported to him, snatching the cat out of his hands. "I will feed this poor creature, bath it and do my research to find out, if it is indeed a cat or something that came down from the mountain."

"Do not mention that bat living in your closet please," Rhys started to laugh, a mirthful, joyful sound as he now studied me with the poor thing in my arms. "It's enough I need to greet her every damn time, I open the closet to take fresh clothes out and pray she will not claw out my eyes."

"Fangie did that only one time and you pissed her and you know it! She is nice bat with proper manners, thank you very much, can't blame a lady for defending herself when she is accused of getting fat," I gave Rhys a pointed look and rocked the reincarnation of misplacement in my arms.

"I merely said, that you are feeding her too much to the point, she can't see her little legs over that fluffy belly," he folded his hands over his broad chest.

He looked like a sulking child instead of a High Lord. I simply rolled my eyes at him and walked closer to him.

"I will go feed it, you tend to your duties and come over, if you will be lucky, this one will leave you some fish for dinner," I leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his lips.

Rhys grabbed my face and deepened the kiss, stealing air from my lungs.

"Wear that lingerie, angel, for me?" He made a sad eyes at me, knowing damn well what works at me.

I forcefully pulled myself away from the comfort of his arms and winked at him, without confirming or denying anything.

He will see, his patience deserves to have some practice as well. Cauldron knows that he gets everything he wants way too easily.

————

I was in the shower, when a warm body pressed against my back and my wings and strong, familiar hands wrapped  around my body.

"There is no time for this, seriously Rhys, are you still horny?" I giggled when I felt his hardened length at my thigh.

"I am always horny, when you are around, you are well aware of that fact, Y/n," he practically purred and started to shower my neck with torturous kisses, while his hands started to explore.

“The dinner is supposed to be in half an hour,” I reminded him, but let my head fall backwards, resting it against his shoulder.

“Plenty of time to hear you cry my name, angel,” he assured me and I did not doubted that statement even the slightest.

His leg came between mine and forced them further apart, while his fingers crossed the path over my chest, down my belly and landed right where I wished to have them.

A pleased moan fell from my lips as they started to brush between my folds, spreading the wetness around.

“Always so fucking ready for me, aren’t you?” He growled into my ear and then bite at it with quite a force, while two of his fingers entered me, forcing a load cry of his name filled with pleasure.

His other hand traveled from my breast, where it was contently busy till now, and he travelled with it to my neck, where he playfully squeezed and at the same time he added more pressure into his fingers pumping in and out of me.

Then that hand disappeared from my throat and went up. “Open that pretty mouth for me, darling.”

It fell out right away and he placed two of his fingers inside. I sucked on them instinctively, he always had a weak spot for a good sucking on various places of his body.

Those fingers then stoped on my tongue and I moaned out loud when he starts to mimic the same rhythm on my tongue that he was using on my clit.

The same time his fingers lazily moved on my clit, it did the same on my tongue.

“Fuck,” I whimpered over his fingers, overwhelmed by how erotic this prick could make it feel witch such a simple little things.

And when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he entered my body with his cock and started to pump into me without any mercy, while in contrast kept the slow, lazy, torturing tempo on my bud and tongue.

“My name, Y/n, I went to hear it,” he grunted, his voice full of dirty demands.

And I obeyed. His name started to fall from my lips like a prayer, even though mumbled by his fingers in my mouth.

My arms reached behind me, wrapping my arms around his neck, trying to gain some stability to don’t fall forward by the force he was taking me with.

My undoing was when his cursed mouth began to kiss at my wings, rendering me senseless when my mind clouded with overwhelming pleasure, forcing me over the edge.

When we walked out of the shower, now cleaned and satisfied, smiling like, I almost had a heart attack at the sight that came across us.

“Cauldron that’s truly one hell of an ugly cat,” Rhys made a grimace and then leaned towards me and started to place kisses all over my wings.

“Rhys! You offended it!” I stared to laugh, even though I tried to sound scolding.

The cat seized both of us and limped away from the bathroom with quite an attitude.

“I will buy it pretty bowl and keep it full, that ought to make up for stating the obvious,” he dismissed the matter completely and kept the gentle assault at my wings.

With Rhys, I could feel so blissfully happy, that it was impossible to don’t forget about all the looming problems and dramas surrounding our difficult situation.

I trusted in Rhys. When he say he will rewrite the stars for us, he will do it, even if it means to travel through the space and time to get the Mother into a chokehold and force her to untie what she ties together.

Chapter Three

Tag-List: @j-pendragonx @stonerpersona

[mononijikayu]

hey lover! series

"did you hear?"

"huh? about what?"

"that actor ryomen sukuna!"

"what about him?"

"apparently he's dating his co-star!"

"what, really!?"

"yeah, but get this!"

"what?"

"we don't really know!"

GENRE: alternate universe - actors/celeb au

WARNING/S: not safe for work (nsfw), r-18 and above, singers au!, romance, fluff, minor angst, slow burn, humour, slice of life, will they won't they, light-hearted, flirting, playful, possessiveness, teasing, explicit content, possible, kissing, sexual content, innuendos, drama, feels, hurt/comfort, falling in love, love, happy ending, actor/singer! sukuna, actress/celeb! reader;

(a still from their romance upcoming film, winter)

ARE RYOMEN SUKUNA AND [Your Name] SECRETLY DATING? FANS ARE SPIRALLING AS THE TENSION CONTINUES TO BOIL!

By Akira Himasa, Writer for the Shibuya Scoop; Gossip Guru Extraordinaire;

Move over, celebrity couples of the year! The world has only one question on its mind: Are Sukuna and (Y/N) secretly dating?

Rumors have been swirling faster than a cursed energy storm, and fans are in a frenzy after the latest on-set shenanigans between the two enigmatic co-stars!

The notorious King of Curses, played by the enigmatic and charming Ryomen Sukuna, has always been known for his intense, bone-chilling stare and deadly aura.

But lately, sharp-eyed fans have noticed something peculiar: Sukuna seems to have a soft spot when it comes to actress (YN).

While the two have shared screen time in plenty of heated battles, the off-screen tension is what’s truly raising eyebrows.

Sources close to the set have reported seeing Sukuna offering you snacks between takes (Snacks! from the King of Curses!!) and making suspiciously heartfelt eye contact during rehearsals. And even enjoys private times in each other's trailer!!!

"You can cut the tension with a knife." said one insider, who claims they even saw the two laughing together. Laughing. Together. Are the sparks flying, or are they just that good at acting?

This week, both stars were spotted leaving a trendy Tokyo restaurant together. Sukuna, as usual, attempted to keep things mysterious by scowling (standard Sukuna protocol), while you looked effortlessly relaxed, sporting a mischievous grin that drove the internet WILD.

Fans on Twitter immediately exploded with theories.

“They’re totally dating! The way they look at each other can’t be just acting,” one fan tweeted. Another added, “I’m ready to ship it! Ryomen Sukuna x (Y/N) are THE couple of the century.”

But not everyone is buying it. Some skeptics claim it’s all a clever marketing ploy to build hype for the upcoming season.

"There's no way Sukuna would let anyone get that close," scoffed one source close to the actor's entourage. "He's Ryomen freaking Sukuna—romance isn't in his script!"

Meanwhile, fans worldwide are dissecting every interview, every behind-the-scenes video, and even Sukuna’s posture next to you during press events.

The alleged chemistry has reached fever pitch, with TikTok compilations of your most flirtatious moments going viral, and conspiracy theories flying about Sukuna’s infamous smirk during your most recent interview.

So, are they? Or aren’t they?

In a cryptic joint statement (because of course there’s a statement), Ryomen Sukuna and (L/N) (Y/N) had this to say: “We’re just very close.” (WINK WINK.)

Is this the biggest non-denial of the year? Or are we all being played like cursed puppets?

The world may never know. But one thing's for sure: Sukuna and [Your Name] are the hottest topic in town, and we can’t look away!

Stay tuned for more updates—because whether it’s love or just top-tier acting, we’re hooked!

➽───────────❥

THE SOURCE SAYS..................

CHAPTER (1) — RUMOURS

CHAPTER (2) — THE FEELS

CHAPTER (3) — OMG

CHAPTER (4) — WE GO

CHAPTER (5) — HIS PRIMADONNA

CHAPTER (6) — WHITE CHRISTMAS

CHAPTER (7) — TBA

CHAPTER (8) — TBA

[COMING SOON]

[leejenowrld]

unwrap me

pairing — kim jungwoo x reader 

word count — 7k words 

genre — smut, explicit sexual content, soft sex, riding, cock bouncing, dom! reader, blow job, big cock jungwoo, very soft christmas love 

synopsis — jungwoo teases you all night about being impatient to open your presents early, but when you get to the last box under the tree, all you find is a note that reads, “your real gift is waiting upstairs.” when you find him in the bedroom, he’s sprawled across the bed, shirtless with nothing but a red ribbon tied low around his waist, his smirk equal parts playful and sinful. “go on,” he murmurs, his voice dropping as his eyes darken, “unwrap me.” what follows is him letting you take control, your hands and mouth exploring him as he groans beneath you.

The living room glowed with the kind of warmth that only Christmas Eve could bring. The golden twinkle lights wove through the branches of the tree, reflecting off the ornaments with a quiet sparkle. Each decoration told a story—hand-painted baubles from your first Christmas together, the tiny wooden reindeer Jungwoo had found at a market and insisted on buying, and the slightly crooked star on top that he’d placed there with a proud grin. The fireplace crackled softly, its embers casting flickering shadows against the walls, while garlands of faux pine lined the mantel, intertwined with red berries and warm white lights. A plush cream rug stretched beneath the tree, scattered with wrapped gifts, and the cozy, mismatched throw pillows on the couch bore faint traces of flour from earlier, evidence of the cookie chaos Jungwoo had happily instigated. The faint hum of holiday music played from the record player near the window, its sound blending with the occasional pop of the fire, while the soft scent of pine, vanilla, and spiced cider lingered in the air, mingling with the sweetness of the cookies cooling on the counter in the kitchen just beyond.

Among the warmth and festive glow, Jungwoo’s Christmas tradition made the day feel even more intimate. His tradition was one that you both cherished and cursed every year. He would stagger gifts throughout Christmas Day, handing you one every two hours like clockwork. Today is no different. Some were small—a favorite chocolate bar wrapped with unnecessary precision, a pair of fluffy socks he knew you’d live in, or a handwritten note telling you how much you meant to him. Others were more extravagant—a skirt you’d casually mentioned months ago, a piece of jewelry that caught your eye during a random stroll through town, or something handcrafted, like the delicate wooden jewelry box he made just for you, engraved with your initials and lined with velvet.

Later, he gave you a book you’d been eyeing for months, complete with his own annotations on the margins of the first chapter, a mix of teasing notes and sweet affirmations. By mid-afternoon, a pair of hand-knit mittens emerged, soft and perfectly sized, with your initials stitched into the cuffs. Then came a tiny glass vial of cinnamon oil. “For the candles you love,” he said, trailing a kiss to your temple as he handed it over. Every gift felt so perfectly you, so thoughtful and intimate, that by the time evening fell, the pile had dwindled into memories you’d carry with you long after the day ended—yet one box, larger than the rest, still sat unopened, its promise wrapped in crimson and tied with his golden flair for mystery.

Jungwoo lounged on the floor, leaning back against the base of the couch with his legs stretched out in front of him. His green sweater clung to him just enough to hint at the lean frame beneath, the hem riding up slightly as he shifted to get comfortable. His plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips, and his bare feet poked out from under the fabric. He looked effortless, the soft light catching in his dark hair, his profile serene yet utterly magnetic.

His gaze flicked to you then, catching the way your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the ribbon of the unopened box beside you, your curiosity peeking through your feigned patience. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, watching you with quiet amusement, the subtle twitch of his brow letting you know he wasn’t about to let you off the hook anytime soon. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone low and knowing, breaking the silence between you.

You look down at the small, neatly wrapped box in your lap, its crimson paper almost glowing under the tree lights. “I just don’t understand why I can’t open it yet,” you say, your fingers brushing over the glossy gold ribbon. “It’s already way past the time I should’ve opened it.”

Jungwoo smirked, his lips quirking up at the edges as he leaned forward slightly. “Because good things come to those who wait. Patience, baby—it’s part of the fun.”

You gulp at the tone of his voice and his choice of words, the way they settle over you like a quiet challenge, but you don’t let him see that. “I’m being patient,” you say, huffing softly, though the growing anticipation in your chest makes the words feel like a lie.

His laugh was quiet, a deep, rich sound that seemed to settle in the space between you. “Baby, you’ve been trying to sneak peeks at that box all night. I saw you shaking it earlier when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

You shoot him a playful glare, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “I wasn’t shaking it. I was… testing its weight.”

“Testing its weight?” he repeats, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. His eyebrow quirks, his gaze steady and soft, but there’s a spark of knowing mischief behind it, the kind that makes your stomach flip. “That’s the story you’re going with?”

The truth is, he probably can see right through you. He always can.

“Jungwoo,” you said, setting the box aside and narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“And you’re cute when you’re frustrated,” Jungwoo says without missing a beat, leaning back again with a satisfied grin.

You huff, your eyes narrowing as his attention diverts to his phone. Taking advantage of his distraction, you quietly reach for the ribbon on the crimson-wrapped box, your fingers moving to untie it. Before you can even loosen the knot, his hand darts out, stopping you with effortless precision, his other hand still holding his phone.

He doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he tuts softly, his tone a gentle warning. “Don’t even think about it, baby.”

“Jungwoo!” you exclaim, pulling your hands back with a mix of frustration and embarrassment at being caught so quickly.

Earlier, your curiosity had gotten the better of you, but he’d intercepted you just as easily, his smug grin and quick shake of his head enough to remind you who was in charge of the gift schedule. “This one,” he had said, his voice laced with playful authority, “is the one you’re going to open last. Stop trying to fight me on this. Rules are rules, baby.”

You’d groaned, flopping back onto the couch in mock defeat. “Why do you always do this to me?”

“Because I like seeing you like this,” he had replied, settling beside you on the edge of the couch. His fingers brushed over your knee, his touch light and teasing as he leaned in closer. “You’ve been impatient all day. It’s cute.”

You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms. “Well, you had the chance to let me open it earlier, you know, when it was actually time for it according to your schedule—but you got too distracted. That’s what you get.”

His grin only widened, mischief glinting in his eyes. “I got distracted? You were the one who kept begging me to let you ride my cock!”

Your face burned at the memory, your cheeks going pink as the heat crept up your neck. You opened your mouth to argue, but the vivid image hit you before you could form the words.

You’d been kneeling by the tree, rearranging the gifts, when you felt him slide up behind you, his hands ghosting over your hips before settling with deliberate possessiveness. Without a word, he had pulled you back, guiding you effortlessly into his lap. The soft fabric of his pajama pants teased against your thighs, and the golden glow of the Christmas lights bathed his face as you glanced over your shoulder. You’d expected his usual playful smirk, but his expression had been darker, more intent. The teasing was gone, replaced by a hunger that made your stomach tighten.

He’d leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “It’s time for your final gift of the day.” His voice was low, dripping with promise, and it had sent a shiver down your spine. But instead of focusing on the gift, your mind had gone somewhere else entirely. You’d turned, clinging to him, your voice breathy and desperate as you begged him to take off his clothes. You’d panted against his neck, your words tumbling out between shallow breaths, your need eclipsing every ounce of patience you’d pretended to have all day. The neatly wrapped gift had been discarded on the floor, forgotten as your hands roamed his chest, pulling at his sweater until he gave in.

He hadn’t made you wait long. His hands gripped your hips with a firmness that left no room for hesitation, guiding you down onto him in one smooth, deliberate motion. The stretch stole your breath, your knees digging into the plush rug beneath you as you clung to his shoulders, your nails pressing into the soft fabric of his sweater. The quiet snap of elastic and the rustle of discarded clothing had faded into the background, replaced by the wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies meeting and the faint crackle of the fire. 

You moved desperately, bouncing on his cock with a need that bordered on frantic, your thighs burning as you chased every inch of him, the way he filled you, the way he groaned low in his chest with each roll of your hips. The golden lights of the tree blurred into a shimmering haze as your head tipped back, your breath catching in shallow gasps. His hands never left you, one sliding up to splay against your lower back, pulling you closer, while the other stayed firm on your hip, his grip grounding you even as the heat between you built into something that consumed every thought, every sense, until the rest of the world disappeared.

Afterward, you’d rested against his chest, your breaths still uneven, your skin flushed and trembling. His lips had brushed your ear, soft and teasing as he murmured, “I can’t wait to see your face later.” The moment had been perfect then, the scent of pine and cinnamon mingling with the heat of his skin, but now, as you sit in the aftermath, you regret it.

That’s what happens with greed. The gift he’d been saving, the one you’d begged to open, had been left forgotten in the haze of your impatience. You’ve learned your lesson now—patience really does make things better. If only you’d listened.

Now, as he tosses a sock at you from another opened gift, his grin only deepens when he catches the flustered look on your face. “You’re remembering it, aren’t you?” he teases, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with the kind of knowing that makes your stomach flutter.

“Shut up, Jungwoo,” you mumble, but the way you avoid his gaze gives you away entirely.

Without a word, he reaches behind his back and pulls out a small gift, wrapped in familiar crimson paper. Your eyes widen as you gasp softly, your surprise lighting up your face.

This was another gift, not the one you had your eyes on, not the one you’d been silently hoping for all evening, but it was Jungwoo’s way of keeping you on your toes, always surprising you with the unexpected and reminding you that he knew you better than anyone else.

You sit up, putting your arms around his neck and dragging him down until his forehead rests against yours. You kiss him softly, your lips lingering just long enough to leave him chasing after you when you pull back. “Another gift? Baby, you shouldn’t have,” you murmur, the warmth in your voice softening the teasing edge.

He leans back slightly, watching as you eagerly tear into the wrapping paper. His gaze drifts over the curve of your shoulder, his eyes tracing the way your fingers tug at the ribbon and the soft furrow of concentration on your brow. His smile softens, the sharpness of his teasing melting into something more tender, though he quickly masks it when you glance back at him.

“More socks?” you ask, holding up the fuzzy pair with a raised brow, your voice filled with playful disbelief.

“Hey, don’t underestimate those. Your feet are always cold,” he says, snatching one of the socks from your hand and tossing it at you with a grin.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you as you giggle, “You know I’ll always steal yours.”

He leans forward, his lips brushing over your cheek before trailing down to your neck, his warm breath fanning against your skin as he presses soft kisses along the curve of your throat. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “That’s why I keep giving you more—so maybe, just maybe, I’ll actually get to keep a pair for myself.”

You laugh softly, tilting your head back as his lips linger, but before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you fully, his lips soft but insistent against yours. Without thinking, you drag him down, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he lets himself fall on top of you, the two of you collapsing into the plush rug beneath the glow of the Christmas tree. Laughter bubbles between you as you both settle there, the moment so warm and natural it makes your heart ache.

But Jungwoo doesn’t stay down for long. With a grin, he sits back up, reaching behind him to grab the box—the one you’ve had your eyes on all day. He holds it out with an almost ceremonial flourish, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watches your reaction.

“Really?” you ask, your eyes wide as your hands hover near the box, almost hesitant.

“Go on,” he says, his tone gentle but filled with quiet anticipation.

The paper is smooth under your fingers, the gold ribbon tied in a perfect bow that you hesitate to undo. The lights of the tree reflect off the crimson wrapping, making it look impossibly perfect. You glance up at Jungwoo, your heartbeat quickening at the way his gaze never leaves you, steady and intent, as though he’s watching something he’s been waiting for all day.

You untie the ribbon carefully, your hands suddenly clumsy under the weight of his eyes. The wrapping falls away slowly, revealing a plain white box. When you lift the lid, your breath catches.

Inside is a single white envelope.

You look up at him, confused. “This is…”

“Open it,” he says, his voice impossibly soft now, his teasing gone, replaced by something deeper.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you slide the envelope open, pulling out the card inside. His handwriting is neat, each letter deliberate, and your chest tightens as you read the words:

Your real gift is waiting upstairs.

Jungwoo leans in slowly, his lips grazing your cheek in a kiss so soft it feels like a whisper, lingering just long enough to draw a shiver from you. His warmth presses into your flushed skin, the intimacy of the gesture spreading heat down your spine. When he pulls back, his gaze locks onto yours for a moment—steady, teasing, and impossibly affectionate—before his hand moves behind his back. He returns with something familiar, the black silk blindfold you’ve shared so many times before, its texture as soft and inviting as the look in his eyes.

Your breath catches, the sight of it setting your pulse alight. “Jungwoo,” you whisper, your voice trembling as anticipation and excitement twist together in your chest.

His lips curve into a knowing smile as he leans closer, the faint scent of him—clean, warm, utterly him—enveloping you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a ripple through your body as he chuckles softly, a sound so low and teasing it feels like a caress. “Trust me,” he murmurs, his voice smooth but edged with a tenderness that steadies your nerves even as your heart races.

The air around you seems to hum, the room growing warmer as his words settle between you. Your lips part slightly, caught somewhere between awe and surrender as you tilt your head up to him. He’s already standing, towering over you with a presence that feels magnetic, his hand extended toward you with quiet confidence.

“Come on,” he says softly, his tone not commanding but inviting, every syllable wrapping around you like a promise.

You let him guide you up, his hands firm but gentle as he ties the blindfold over your eyes. Without sight, every other sensation becomes sharper—the heat of his palm against yours, the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the faint creak of the wooden floor as he leads you toward the stairs. The house is silent now, save for the soft sounds of your bare feet against the floor and the quiet rhythm of your breathing.

He pauses at the base of the staircase, turning you gently to face him. His free hand brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek for just a moment too long. “You trust me, right?” he asks, his voice low and steady, almost a whisper.

You nod, unable to do anything but surrender to the moment. “Always,” you reply softly.

The warmth in his gaze, though unseen, feels tangible, wrapping around you as he guides you up the stairs. Each step deepens the anticipation coiling in your chest, your heartbeat quickening with every soft creak of the wood. By the time you reach the top, your pulse is racing, your grip on his hand tightening slightly as he leads you to what you can only imagine awaits.

He stops just outside the bedroom door, his hand slipping to your wrist. His touch is deliberate, unhurried, as if savoring every second. “I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he says, his voice steady but laced with a deeper, more intimate promise.

You feel his fingers untie the blindfold, the fabric slipping away from your eyes just as he pushes the door open.

The soft light from the hallway spills into the bedroom, revealing the scene inside. The bed is illuminated by a string of fairy lights draped along the headboard, their golden glow casting a warm, romantic hue over the room. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air, subtle but unmistakable, blending with the crisp, clean scent of him. Every detail feels deliberate—the fluffed pillows, the carefully arranged sheets, the way the room seems to hum with the energy of what’s about to happen.

“Baby…” you gasp, your voice filled with wonder as you take it all in.

You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Your hands trail down his back, and you expect him to respond to your touches, his lips devouring yours, his hands gripping your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls back slightly, his gaze steady and commanding. “Cover your eyes,” he says softly.

You do as he says, your trust in him unwavering. The rustle of movement fills the room, and you hear him shifting, the sound of fabric being discarded making your breath hitch. You can’t see, but you can feel him, the weight of his presence, the quiet dominance in his movements.

“Open your eyes now,” he murmurs.

And there he is. Sprawled across the bed like a masterpiece meant only for you, his sweater and pajama pants discarded to reveal smooth, golden skin that seems to glow under the soft flicker of the fairy lights. The lean muscles of his chest and stomach catch the light, a faint sheen of warmth glistening on his skin as though his body itself is anticipating your touch. A single red ribbon sits low around his waist, its silky bow nestled just above the tight waistband of his boxers, where the outline of his cock pressed hard and insistent against the fabric. 

It’s impossible to ignore how thick and full he is, the strain of the material doing nothing to hide just how ready he is for you. Your eyes drift lower, catching on the handcuffs tied neatly to the bed frame—not yet on his wrists, but waiting, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air between you feels charged, every detail of him—his body, his arousal, his unwavering gaze—pulling you in and stealing the breath from your lungs.

The silence between you is electric, thick with anticipation and the weight of everything unspoken.

“Jungwoo…” you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a confession, barely audible but trembling with need.

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smile, the kind that makes your chest tighten and your thighs clench. He stretches a hand out toward you, his fingers beckoning as his voice drops lower, rough and sultry. “Come here, baby. I’ve been waiting for you all night.”

You crawl toward him with deliberate slowness, your gaze devouring him piece by piece. Your eyes linger on the sharp definition of his thighs, the way the muscles flex with every subtle shift, before they travel to the unmistakable curve of his cock, thick and straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. The sight alone makes your breath catch, and your hands tremble as you reach for him, your fingers brushing the heat of his skin.

You start at his legs, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the hard planes of his thighs, savoring the way his muscles tighten under your touch. His breath hitches audibly, his chest rising and falling in shallow waves, as your lips trail higher, the warmth of his body drawing you in like a magnet. His quiet groans fill the room, low and guttural, spurring you on as you reach the edge of the ribbon. Your tongue darts out, teasing the sensitive skin just below it, your breath hot against his stomach, and the way his hips jerk slightly makes your core ache with need.

Attached to his boxers is a small note, the words scrawled in his familiar handwriting: Unwrap me.

Your hands move with deliberate slowness, untying the red ribbon as you savor every sharp intake of his breath, the way his chest rises and falls under your touch. The silky fabric slips away, pooling on the sheets as you lean forward, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against the hardness straining beneath his boxers. The heat of him radiates through the fabric, making your lips tingle, and you drag your mouth over him again, this time letting your teeth graze faintly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hips lifting involuntarily as a strained groan escapes him, the sound rough and raw. His chest rises and falls, each breath shallow as his head tilts back against the pillows.

The fire in your belly burns hotter at the sight of him, and you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down agonizingly slowly. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the flushed tip glistening with precum. Your eyes flick up to his face, drinking in the way his jaw clenches and his lips part as he watches you.

“You gonna suck my cock now, baby?” he rasps, his voice low and dripping with that teasing edge you know too well. “Make up for how fucking greedy and impatient you were earlier? Couldn’t even wait to open your gift before bouncing on my cock by the tree.”

Your breath stutters, heat pooling between your thighs as his words sink in. He smirks, catching the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on you. “Go on, then. Show me how sorry you are.”

When his cock springs free, thick and flushed, the sheer size and weight of him makes your breath catch. Your mouth waters instinctively, your hand wrapping around his base as if drawn by some magnetic pull. He’s impossibly hard, and you take a moment to appreciate the heat and texture under your fingers, the way he twitches slightly as you run your thumb over the head, spreading the bead of precum that’s already formed. He’s big, so big that you have to wrap both hands around the base just to steady him, the weight of him heavy in your grip.

You don’t tease for long. Leaning forward, you let your tongue dart out, circling the tip in slow, deliberate swirls, tasting the salt and warmth of him. Jungwoo’s head falls back against the pillows with a guttural groan, his fingers digging into the sheets beside him.

“Just like that,” he groans, his voice thick and rough, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips despite the desperation in his tone. “So fucking good… Maybe you do know how to behave after all.”

Encouraged, you press your lips to the head, taking him into your mouth inch by inch, your tongue flattening against the underside as you sink down. The stretch is intoxicating, the weight of him filling you as you hollow your cheeks and draw him deeper. The first full glide of your mouth along his length pulls a broken sound from his throat, his hips jerking slightly as he fights to stay still. The thick girth fills your mouth, the heat and weight of him sending a pulse of arousal straight between your legs.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” he groans, his hand tangling in your hair, his fingers flexing just enough to hold on but never forcing you. His head tilts back, his lips parted as a shaky breath escapes him. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough and full of praise. “Don’t even have to guide you… You know exactly what I need.”

You drag your tongue along his cock with unhurried precision, letting him feel every flick and swirl. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking in tandem with your mouth as you work him, your spit-slick lips gliding over him effortlessly. The sounds he makes—low, raw, and utterly wrecked—are enough to make you clench your thighs together, desperate for relief but too focused on him to care.

When you take him deeper, relaxing your throat as you push him further past your lips, his reaction is immediate. His hips buck upward, his groan breaking into a curse as his hand tightens in your hair. “God, just like that,” he moans, his voice strained and desperate. “Take it all, baby. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You hum around him, the vibration making his thighs tense under your hands. You pull back slowly, your lips dragging along his length, leaving him glistening and throbbing. Your hand replaces your mouth momentarily, stroking him as your tongue flicks against the sensitive ridge just beneath the head. His whole body jerks at the sensation, and the low, desperate sound that escapes him sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“God, you’re going to ruin me,” he murmurs, his voice cracking as you take him back into your mouth, this time setting a deliberate rhythm. Your lips stretch around him, your cheeks hollowing with each pull, the wet, obscene sounds of your efforts filling the room alongside his ragged breaths and groans.

You glance up to find his eyes locked on you, heavy-lidded and dark with lust. The way he watches you—like he’s barely holding himself together, like every move you make is unraveling him—makes you double down, your pace quickening as you take him deeper.

Your free hand moves to his balls, cupping and rolling them gently, and his response is instant, a shuddering gasp ripping from his chest. “Fuck, you’re so good, so fucking good,” he groans, his voice breaking as his hips lift off the bed, chasing the heat of your mouth.

You moan around him, the vibrations drawing another deep groan from his lips. He’s throbbing against your tongue, every inch of him hot and heavy as you work him, your hand stroking in time with the bob of your head. The tension in his body coils tighter with every movement, his breaths coming faster, his grip on your hair almost trembling.

But you’re not stopping. You take him back into your mouth, moving faster now, your head bobbing as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard. Your hand squeezes the base, stroking in rhythm with your mouth as your tongue drags along the underside, pressing against the ridge with every pass.

Jungwoo’s body tightens, his abs clenching as his moans grow louder, more desperate. His hips lift off the bed, thrusting into your mouth as his hand grips your hair tighter.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice breaking as his cock pulses against your tongue. “I’m so close—don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”

You hum again, the vibrations sending him over the edge. His hips jerk violently, and with a guttural cry, he spills into your mouth, hot and thick as you swallow him down. His cock twitches as you milk him for everything, your tongue still teasing the sensitive head as his body shudders beneath you.

When you finally pull back, your lips are swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your throat sore—but the look of pure bliss on Jungwoo’s face makes it all worth it. He’s wrecked, his chest heaving and his hair damp with sweat as he looks down at you, his eyes dark and full of something that makes your stomach flip.

“Come here,” he growls, the words rough and cracking with desperation as his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you toward him with a heat that makes your breath hitch. His chest is heaving, his skin flushed and glistening, and the intensity in his eyes is almost overwhelming. “I’m not done with you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as his grip tightens, his free hand sliding up your thigh, fingers digging into your skin.

“Get up here—now.” The command in his tone is undeniable, his voice rough and cracking with raw hunger. The way his lips part and his gaze drops to your body, devouring every inch of you, sends a jolt of need straight through you. You waste no time, climbing over him, your hands steadying yourself on his chest as you lower yourself slowly, feeling the thick head of his cock stretch you open.

“Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “You’re so fucking tight… baby, I’m��shit.” His jaw clenches as you sink down fully, the movement forcing a groan out of him, raw and deep.

You start to move, rolling your hips experimentally at first before finding a rhythm, bouncing on him in a way that has his body tightening beneath you. The soreness is evident in the way he winces slightly, but the sounds he makes—low, wrecked moans spilling freely from his lips—tell you he’s not even thinking about stopping.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes rolling shut for a moment before snapping back to you, watching the way your body moves. His hips start to meet yours, the friction driving you both higher, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room along with his broken cries of your name.

You move deliberately, sinking down on his cock with slow, rolling motions that make his hips jerk beneath you. The stretch, the fullness, the way he fits so perfectly inside you—it all sends sparks up your spine, but tonight isn’t about chasing your own pleasure. It’s about him.

“Jungwoo,” you murmur, your hands pressing against his chest as you lean forward, your voice trembling but tender. “Do you know how perfect you are? How good you’ve been to me today? I just want to make you feel it. All of it.”

He groans, the sound catching in his throat as his hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in like he’s grounding himself. “Baby,” he breathes, his voice shaking, “you don’t have to—fuck—I already feel it. I always feel it with you.”

But you shake your head gently, a soft smile playing on your lips as you move a little faster, your thighs burning with the effort but your heart full. “I want to,” you insist, your voice barely above a whisper, but the conviction in it makes his breath stutter. “I want you to feel as good as you make me feel every single day. I just… I need to do this for you.”

His expression softens, though the strain of pleasure is evident in the way his jaw clenches and his lips part. “You already make me feel like the luckiest man in the world,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as his hands slide up your sides, trembling against your skin. “Every damn day. But this…” He groans again, his hips lifting to meet yours, his cock sinking deeper into you, making you gasp. “God, baby, you’re incredible.”

You ride him harder now, the pace of your hips quickening as you feel his body tense beneath you. His cock pulses inside you, the wet glide of your movements amplified by the slick heat between you. Your name falls from his lips in a broken moan, his hands gripping your waist like he can’t hold on much longer.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion as you press your forehead to his, your movements never faltering. “I love you so much, Jungwoo.”

“Fuck, I love you too,” he groans, his eyes squeezing shut as his head falls back. “So much. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You kiss his chest softly, your lips brushing over the sweat-slicked skin as you keep moving, your pace deliberate and loving. Each bounce on his cock draws another guttural moan from him, his body arching beneath yours as the tension builds higher and higher.

Your eyes flicker to the handcuffs tied to the bedframe, the glint of metal catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. The idea takes hold of you, sharp and irresistible, a way to give him everything he’s given you tonight—to show him how deeply you want to love him, to please him, to worship him.

With deliberate slowness, you lean forward, brushing your hands over his wrists as you guide them upward. He doesn’t resist, his body pliant under your touch, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his gaze locks on yours. His breath hitches when you wrap the cuffs around his wrists, snapping them into place with a soft, deliberate click that seems to echo in the room, heavy with intent.

His lips part, a low, guttural moan spilling from him as his hips twitch beneath you, his cock flexing inside you. “Fuck,” he groans, his voice hoarse and dripping with need. “You’re so fucking hot like this—do whatever you want to me, baby. I’m all yours.”

Your hips roll down sharply, sinking onto his cock with a deliberate, measured pace that draws a guttural groan from his chest. The sound reverberates through you, sending a pulse of heat straight to your core.

“Good boy,” you murmur, your voice soft yet commanding as you lean down, your lips brushing over his in a kiss that’s both tender and possessive. You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. All you find is surrender. “Let me take care of you.”

His head falls back, his lips parting as a shaky exhale escapes him. His bound wrists tug lightly against the cuffs, not in protest but in response to the overwhelming need coursing through him. His eyes, half-lidded and glassy with desire, flicker back to yours, and the trust in them makes your chest ache in the best way.

“I want to show you,” you whisper, your voice trembling but full of conviction as you plant your hands on his chest, your palms pressing into the hard planes of muscle glistening with sweat. “How much I love you. How much you mean to me. Let me make you feel it, Jungwoo.”

You bounce on him with reckless abandon, your body moving instinctively, completely consumed by the rhythm. Each upward lift of your hips is sharp and immediate, followed by a desperate slam back down, taking him so deep it leaves you breathless. Your thighs burn with the effort, but you don’t stop, your need to please him overpowering everything else.

His cock stretches you perfectly, filling you completely with every bounce, the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. Your hands splay over his chest, pressing into the hard, sweat-slicked muscles as you struggle to maintain control, your own gasps mixing with his groans. His bound wrists tug uselessly at the cuffs, his knuckles whitening as his fingers flex, desperate to touch you but unable to.

His eyes flutter open, dark and hazy, locking on the way your breasts move with every bounce. He groans, his frustration palpable as his hands continue to tug at the cuffs. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes, his voice trembling. “You’re gonna kill me. I can’t even—shit—I can’t even touch you.”

You glance down at him, your movements growing faster, more erratic, your breasts bouncing wildly with the force of it. His eyes darken as they fixate on your body, but his inability to touch you drives him wild. His hips jerk beneath you, meeting your every bounce with a raw urgency that makes your body quake. The sight of him so wrecked, so helpless under you, keeps you going. “You don’t need to touch me,” you whisper, your lips brushing over his jaw before pulling back. “Just lie there and take it like my good boy. Let me love you, Jungwoo.”

His hips buck up instinctively at your words, pushing himself deeper, and you gasp, your nails digging into his chest as you pick up the pace. Your movements become erratic, driven by the desperate need to push him over the edge. You’re bouncing so hard now that your body feels like it’s moving on instinct, your breasts swaying with every motion, completely out of his reach.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice breathless but full of reverence as you ride him harder, faster. “So good for me. You’ve been so good all day—so attentive, so perfect. Let me make you feel how much I love you.”

His jaw slackens, his moans breaking into ragged gasps as his cock throbs inside you, the tension in his body coiling tighter with every movement. “Fuck,” he chokes out, his head pressing back against the pillows, his bound wrists flexing again like he’s desperate to anchor himself. “I’m gonna—baby, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you whisper, your voice soft but commanding as you grind down on him, circling your hips once before slamming back down. “You’re so good for me, Jungwoo. Let go. Let me feel you.”

His bound hands strain against the cuffs one last time as his body tenses beneath you, and with a shattered cry, he comes, his cock throbbing violently as he spills deep inside you. The heat and fullness of his release push you over the edge, and you throw your head back, your own orgasm ripping through you as your body clenches and shakes around him.

Jungwoo’s chest rises and falls beneath your palms, his skin still flushed and damp from everything you’ve just done. His wrists are free now, but he hasn’t moved much, his hands resting lazily against your thighs as his dark, half-lidded eyes roam over you like he’s trying to memorize every detail. The glow of the fairy lights softens his expression, but there’s a spark in his gaze that keeps your pulse racing.

“So,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, tinged with the remnants of his satisfaction. “Was the present worth the wait?”

A grin tugs at your lips as you lean down, brushing your nose against his before pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. “Absolutely,” you whisper, your voice playful but sincere. “Best one yet.”

For a moment, his expression softens even more, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. But then, without warning, his grip tightens on your hips, and before you can process what’s happening, you’re on your back, the cool sheets beneath you sending a shiver up your spine.

“Jungwoo��” you start, but the words catch in your throat when his hands grab your wrists, pinning them above your head with surprising ease. His grin is slow, wicked, and full of intent as he reaches for the handcuffs you’d only just taken off him.

“I have one last gift for you,” he says, his voice lower now, rich and teasing, with just enough authority to make your breath hitch.

Your heart pounds as the cuffs click around your wrists, securing you to the bedframe. His hands linger, his fingers brushing over your skin as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk that sends a jolt of anticipation through you. “This one’s going to take a little patience.”

[noisynaia]

Hey! I really love your Mando fics. Can I request something where the reader is traveling with Din and Grogu on the crest (could be Grogu's babysitter or something) and Din has a huge crush on her and seeing how much she loves grogu makes him want to confess his feelings. Just some nice Mando fluff, can be sfw or nsfw, whatever you feel like. 💕

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐲

Thank you for the request! I had so much fun writing this ♡

word count: 5.7k 

pairing: Din Djarin x afab!reader 

note: Explicit (18+). Smut and fluff. Thigh riding, unprotected P in V (with use of contraception), creampie. Love confessions. The helmet comes off. The Razor Crest lives. No use of (y/n). This has not been beta nor proof read and English is not my native language.

Din’s heart skips a beat at the sight of you. He has tried to fight the feelings he has developed for you, convinced himself that his feelings aren’t truly as deep cutting as they feel. Tried to be content with the time you would spend with him and Grogu before you eventually would move on and he’d be left with the memories and the fantasies of how it would have been if you had really been his. The sight of you and Grogu is almost too much for him, and it makes it very hard for him to not just give up everything and tell you how you make him feel. Your features are highlighted by the silvery moon light that is shining down from the night sky.

You are beautiful.

Din had thought so from the moment he first saw you. But now, after you have travelled with him and Grogu for almost a year and he has gotten to know you, really know you, ‘beautiful’ simply doesn’t cut it anymore. The word in basic is feeling too banal, too trivial, to describe the true beauty of your being. You are the most beautiful person Din has ever known and he is confirmed in this by you every day. 

The way you smile up at him when you walk side by side in a crowded market when you’re on supply runs, always insisting on finding a treat or a new toy for Grogu. The way you always greet Din so happily when he comes back from a hunt, like you truly are happy to see him again, like you have actually missed him… How you will always make sure he is okay and hasn’t been hurt, and how you will insist on helping patch him up on the occasions he is. The feeling of your soft hands delicately placing a bacta patch on his bare shoulder a few weeks ago is still burnt into his skin… The way you take such good care of his son, you look at Grogu like he is the one who hung every moon and every star in the galaxy. The kindness and beauty of your soul is truly bewitching. Maybe that is why he started calling you mesh’la. 

The first time it had just slipped out. It was a couple of months ago. He had come back from a hunt late at night, tired and muddy. For a short moment, Din had felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs by the sight he had found. There you were, so lovely, so beautiful, fast asleep on his bunk with a sleeping Grogu curled up beside you, his little green fist closed around one of your fingers.  

Din’s heart had yearned by the sight. The feelings you and Grogu are bringing to him are new territory for Din. He has never wanted anything like this before, or at least never let himself admit that he does. But you and Grogu make it impossible for Din to keep lying to himself. The kid is under his care, under his protection, and from the moment he chose the armour instead of the sabre and came back to Din, his ad'ika. Din and Grogu are a clan. A clan of two. A clan that Din  wishes was a clan of three. 

He had been quiet when he started  to walk off to the cockpit, something he usually was good at, but you had stirred awake anyway, like your sleeping subconscious had felt his presence. You lifted your head from the pillow, sleepily blinked until your eyes had found him.

“You’re back.” You had said, your voice had been a little hoarse from sleep, but still as sweet as usual, a tired smile had painted your face as your eyes had found the dark T of his visor. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He had said, but you had just shaked your head and hugged Grogu close against you. Oh, how Din had wished he could have crawled into the bunk and joined the two of you.   

“Are you okay?” You had asked, just like you always do after he comes back from a hunt. 

“Yes, I’m okay.” He had reassured you before continuing. “Go back to sleep, mesh’la.”

He has never told you what it means and a part of him feels guilty about that. Maybe you wouldn’t like to be called that by him. You are technically his employee, even though the lines between you feel pretty blurry by now. An undefinable bond has been built between you, Grogu and Din. Maybe it is the small proximity there is forced upon the three of you, due to the size of the Razor Crest. Or maybe it is due to the undeniable connection there has been between you and Grogu from the beginning, but your presence on the Crest feels too domestic, too loving, for you to simply be Grogu’s nanny. 

Din has felt feelings this past year that he has not been acquainted with before. Desire, jealousy, a desperate yearning, all fairly foreign to him until you had entered his life. It is an emotional disruption he hasn’t felt since Grogu had come into his life.

When Grogu had come crashing into his life it had been an upheaval beyond anything Din could ever have imagined. He was so used to not having anyone around, let alone a small child that was so dependent on him. It had been confusing and foreign, but Grogu had climbed into his heart and carved out a space there. A space that Din never wants to become empty again. 

Din had never been aware of how lonely he actually had been before Grogu. It had been a hard realisation, but he couldn’t deny it any longer, especially when he thought that he had lost him. Forget hunting bounties and fighting ferocious creatures, handing his foundling over to the Jedi was the hardest thing Din has ever had to do. Din had ended up caring more for Grogu than he had ever thought possible, he had removed his helmet for his foundling, the little green child had given din a whole new purpose in life.    

And now Din is a changed man. Grogu has changed him, down to the very atoms of his DNA. Din had never thought he would have what he now has. He had been settled with the way his life had been- lonesome and brutal, in order to support his covert and give back to the Mandalorians that had taken him in, or he had at least used to think so…   

But seeing you now, there is really no way of running from his feelings any longer. You are gently bouncing Grogu on your hip as you point out a constellation for him, but the youngling seems to be more interested in playing with the hem of your tunic than looking at the stars over your heads. The silver light from the planet’s moons illuminates you and bathes you in the shine. 

Din had landed the Crest on the little planet not even twenty minutes ago and even though it was past Grogu’s bedtime you had insisted on letting him have a couple of minutes in the fresh air before putting him down for the night. Din had not objected, the three of you had been in space for almost a week straight so a little moonlit night stroll before bed had sounded tempting.   

A light breeze sweeps over you and Grogu lets go of your tunic to instead nuzzle himself close against your chest as  he lets out a cute little yawn. You let out a low chuckle before looking up at Din and his heart skips a beat for the second time this night. The stars are reflecting in your eyes and you have a sleepy smile on your lips.

“I think it is time to get our little one here back to his bed.” You chuckle while you hitch Grogu up a little higher on your hip.  

‘Our little one…’ 

Our!

 Dear Maker how Din wished that you had meant it in the way he secretly yearns for. 

“Yeah, let’s head back to the ship, mesh’la.”      

—

Grogu is sleepily blinking his big eyes up at you as he slowly snoozes off in your arms. You let out a content sigh as you plant a kiss on top of his little green head before carefully placing him down into his little hammock. The sound of his small soft snores echoes through the little sleeping chamber. You are never gonna get tired of this. You smile down at the little sleeping figure as you back away, turning the switch for the door to give the youngling peace to sleep. 

You look around the hull for Din, but you don’t find him so you climb up the ladder to the cockpit where you find him sitting in the pilot chair. He looks like he is lost deep in his thoughts, looking out through the window at the night dark meadow where he had docked the ship. 

“Hey.” You say as you approach him, sitting yourself down in the passenger seat next to him. 

“Hi.” He says without looking at you. 

A silence falls over the cockpit, not necessarily an uncomfortable one, but it does feel loaded with something you can’t really put your finger on. Din had been silent for the entire walk back to the Crest and you wonder if something is bothering him. Maybe he is just tired. You had told him to take the bunk tonight when you made it back to the ship, but he had refused. You were supposed to be taking turns sleeping in the bunk under Grogu’s hammock, but it has been weeks since Din has slept in it and wasn't like he did it often before that. You feel bad about it, his back must be killing him after all these nights on the hard mat on the floor.  

“Din is-” You lean forward in the passenger chair, leaning slightly towards him to try and catch his attention. “Is something wrong?”    

He finally looks away from the window and turns his helmet towards you, and despite only being met by the dark visor of his helmet you just know that his eyes under it are locking with yours. The thought of that always sends a little shiver through you. You know that you shouldn't think about it. Maybe it is wrong, an insult to his creed, but you can’t help but fantasise about the man he must be underneath all the beskar. He is handsome, that is for sure. It doesn’t even matter in what way, it is deeper than that. He is a handsome person no matter what he actually looks like under the helmet and armour. You have seen some of him in glimpse. A bare hand as he removes a glove to get a better grip on as he fixes a clasp on a crate, or the time he had gotten hit in the spot between two pieces of armour and you had helped him getting it bandaged. His face is still a mystery to you. It is a little weird not to know what he looks like, especially considering that you have fallen in love with him. 

You had not meant to fall in love with the Mandalorian. You had tried to fight it, but it was a fight you had no chance of winning. You know that you are being silly, but you sometimes get the idea that he might feel something for you too. It also doesn’t help that you have ended up loving Grogu as much as you do. You don’t think you could love him more if he had been your own. It is kind of scary, the thought of the day din decides he doesn’t need you anymore. That your feelings for Din never will be reciprocated hurts, but you will be able to get over it with time, but the day you will have to get separated from Grogu… Oh, that day is going to kill you. 

“No, mesh’la nothings wrong.” Din shakes his head, he isn’t looking at you anymore, back to looking out at the night. “I was just lost in my own thoughts.” 

“Oh, okay...”

You sit in silence for a little while, you don’t know if you should go and let him be alone with his thoughts or if you should break the silence. You are just about to open your mouth to say something, what you don’t even know, but the silence feels too much. Din beats you to it though. 

“The kid, he uhm…” His voice is much softer than usual, almost close to a whisper. “He really likes you.”

“Well, I really like him too.” You say, you can’t help the soft smile spreading on your lips. 

“I’m glad  you do, mesh’la…” 

“You know… You keep calling me that, but you have never told me what it means.”

“I guess I haven’t…” His voice is low and a little shaky through the modulator.

You don’t know what it is with him tonight, but something feels different.  

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your fluttering heart. “Are you gonna tell me?” 

He freezes in the chair, sitting more still than usual, if that is even possible. He is almost reminiscent of a statue. The silence builds, and you begin to regret that you asked. The air between you feels charged, but you can’t figure out with what. It feels like whatever his answer is gonna be it is gonna fundamentally change something between you. You are starting to think that he is going to ignore your question when he finally breaks the silence.

“Beautiful.” His voice sounds a little weak, almost like he regrets telling you, but he continues in a more confident tone. “It means beautiful.”  

Beautiful… He’s been calling you beautiful all this time? The word always falling so naturally from his lips, soft and earnestly.

The rapid beats of your heart against the restraints of your ribcage thumbs loudly in your ears. You can’t believe what he just said. He is finally looking back at you again, but any signs of what he is feeling are hidden behind the dark reflection of the visor.  

“You call me beautiful?”  

“Yeah, I do… Trust me, if anything or anyone has ever deserved to be called that, it is you.”  

You can not believe that this is really happening, is there really a chance that he might feel the same as you?

“I don’t know what to say.” You say, the hope that has bloomed in your chest is scaring you.    

“You don’t have to say anything. I actually would prefer it if you don’t… I’m sorry if I have made you uncomfortable.” He stands up from the chair, turning his back to you.  

“Din please don’t go…” You grab his wrist before he can get to the ladder and disappear down the hull. “Din, I need you to tell me how you feel, please… I need to know.” 

“Dank farrik.” He curses under his breath and turns around to face you again. “I don’t know how to do this…” He shuffles anxiously from one foot to another. 

It is always so surprising to see Din like this, the usual confident and stoic bounty hunter all anxious and nervous, but you have seen it a few times before. He might be a tough and hardy bounty hunter, but put the man in a social setting and he can get nervous. But this is a whole new level. 

“Grogu he…” He pauses, the sound of his breath sounds shaky through the  modulator of his helmet. “He means the world to me. I love him, he… he is mine. I never thought that I would have that, my life was never set on that path, I didn’t think I was ever meant to be anyone’s buir, but… now I can’t imagine my life without him in it. It was hard for me to accept that I wanted someone around, but I couldn’t deny it any longer.” 

His words come out with so much emotion, you have never heard him like this before. You know that he loves his son, he shows that every day, but hearing him say it like this… The rawness, the emotions. Your vision starts to turn blurry as the tears start to build in the corner of your eyes. You want to be a part of that love so bad.  

“What I’m trying to say is…” He takes a shaky breath through the modulator, his shoulders are tense under the shoulder plates of his armour and his gloved hands are curled into tight anxious fists. “Now I can’t imagine my life without you in it either.”  

“Oh…” Your lips part, you are founding yourself dumbfounded. Is this really happening?

“I want you to be a part of my life, both our lives…” He is actually shaking as he tells you this. “I don’t want to just be a clan of two anymore… I want you mesh’la.” 

You suddenly understand. The way you will sometimes worry that he is avoiding you, or how you sometimes feel like your presence is making him uncomfortable. It makes sense now, you rise from the chair and close the distance between the two of you. You search for the eyes under the helmet, even though you can’t see them you want him to know that you are looking at him - the man and not the Mandalorian. You realise how hard this must be for him, he has been hidden away for all of his adult life, physically, but emotionally too. You reach out for him, placing your palms on the sides of his helmet.  

“Din…” You start out, it is probably just something you imagine, but it is like you can feel the heat of his skin through the beskar on your hands. “You already got me. I’m already yours.”

“Really?” It is Din’s turn to sound like he doesn’t believe what he is hearing. 

“Yes, Din.” You can feel the tears sliding down your cheeks now, and you can’t keep the grin off your face as you nod up at him. “I’m yours, okay. Yours and Grogu’s.”

“And we are yours... Kriff, mesh’la I’m all yours.” He gasps through the modulator. He rests his forehead against yours, the coolness of the beskar is feeling nice against your warm skin. You stand like this for a moment, simply enjoying the intimacy of the closeness, your hands cradling his helmet and his resting on your hips. The silence stretches until Din finally breaks it. 

“I want to kiss you so badly.” He confesses. 

“I know.” You say, but you know that he can’t and that is okay. You have accepted that things with him are going to be different than it would have been with others, so the shock you’re feeling when a loud hiss is echoing off the durasteel walls is big. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut without even thinking about it. Your hands land over your closed eyes, like an extra protection to make sure you don’t see him. 

“What are you doing?!” You shriek as you hear the loud thud of beskar landing on the metal floor. Din has removed his helmet! He didn’t even give you a warning so you could close your eyes before, you had been quick so you haven't really seen him just gotten a quick blurry peek.  

“Open your eyes, mesh’la.” His voice is so low and soft, it is so close to a whisper, you almost miss it. His fingers brush against your hands to make you remove them from your eyes. His bare hands, you notice, and the skin on skin contact makes a hot shiver run down your spine. “Please.” He adds.

You can’t believe this. First you learn that he has been calling you beautiful for months, then he tells you that he wants you to stay with him and Grogu and now… Now Din is helmetless in front of you and he wants you to see him?  

“Are you sure?” You stutter. 

“Yes, mesh’la.” This time he speaks with his whole chest, like he has never been more sure about anything in his life. The sound of his voice without the modulator of his helmet hits your ears and you feel like you might cry. It’s deep and rich, reminding you of the sonorous melodies played on a f'nonc horn. 

You inhale a shaky breath before removing your hands from your eyes and slowly blinking them open. And there he is. Din Djarin, your Din Djarin, staring back at you. You let out a little gasp as you take in the sight of him. You can’t believe that this is what he has been hiding all this time. You knew you would like the way he looked, because it would be him, but the reality is still exceeding all expectations you had. Din Djarin is gorgeous. The brown hair, that curls up at the ends, matches the colour of the irises of the prettiest most soulful eyes you have ever seen. His strong jaw is covered with a short, slightly patchy, beard that frames his face nicely. A moustache is framing his mouth. A mouth with the most kissable lips you have ever seen.

Another long silence breaks out between you, both of you are shocked by the situation. 

“Hi…” He finally says and it is all that you need to break out of your haze. 

“Hi.” You smile at him, maybe the brightest smile of your life.

You reach out for him, you need him closer.

“Do I disappoint?” He asks, but he is smiling too now.

“Hell no.” You shake your head with a laugh, the thought of this face disappointing anyone is an absurd idea. 

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, your hands find his hair, wrapping your fingers in his soft locks. He leans his forehead down to rest against yours again. It had felt good before, but this - his skin against yours, oh that is heaven. The two of you stay like this for a while, enjoying the affinity between you. 

“What about that kiss?” You finally say and it is all he needs to hear. His lips crash onto yours. It is like a switch has been turned, the softness from before replaced with an intense hunger. The kiss is heated and needy, like he is desperate to taste you, wanting to map out every corner of your mouth. His hands are on your hips, a tight grip as he pushes you closer against him. 

You gasp into his mouth as you feel the solid curve of his bulge press against your pelvis. It is sending a warm shiver through you that settles in your lower stomach. You press yourself into him, slightly grinding your hips against his clothed cock which pulls a low groan out of him. His broad hands squeezes your hips, guiding your rhythm as you rock against him.

“Do you really want this?” You ask him 

“More than anything.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Do you?”

“Yes!” You nod wildly. “I’ve never wanted anything or anyone as badly as I want you.”

Your confession makes him let out a deep groan from deep within his throat, it makes a new shiver run through you. His fingers find the hem of your pants which he starts to slide down your legs. You take over, kicking the garment of your legs as you push him towards the pilot’s chair. 

“Sit.” You command. You don’t know what it is, you are usually not the commanding type, but you are feeling wild tonight, drunk off of Din’s lips.

Something flickers in Din’s eyes at your sudden bossy tone. “Yes, ma’am.” He mutters as he sits back in the seat, his strong thighs spread out and a cocky smile on his lips. Fuck, he is going to be the death of you aren’t he? 

You take a second to enjoy the view, before walking over to him, stepping between his thighs. Your hand lands in his hair as you look down at him through hooded eyes. 

“Come here, mesh’la.” He whispers as he reach out for you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer. You lift your leg over him, straddling his broad lap.

He groans at the pressure, as you start to rock your clothed cunt against his muscular thigh. You suspect that he can feel the warmth of your dampness through the fabric. Din adjusts his hold on your waist, helping you set a rhythm as he begins to move your hips. He is moving you slowly at first, but the eager sounds you’re letting out is quickly making him pick up the pace. You purr out his name as you feel his thigh flex under you. 

“Kriff… Doing so good for me, mesh’la.” Din curses under his breath. “Looking so pretty.”

“Mmm..” You hum out, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you keep grinding against him until you can’t take it anymore. 

“Fuck, Din, I...” You whine, feeling the fabric of your panties getting gradually more and more damp against him.

“I need you, Din” You remove your head from his neck so you can look deeply into his eyes. His brown eyes are burning you, his hands coming to a still.  

“Okay, yeah…” He nods at you, his pupils are blown wide and a flush is covering his cheeks. “Ne-need you too, mesh’la.”

His eyes are still locked with yours as he moves you, making you lift yourself up from him so he can start on removing some of his armour plates. You use the time to get rid of your tunic, leaving you in only your bra and panties. He ends up removing most of his armour, leaving him warm and soft for you.   

He pulls you down on him again, connecting your lips once more as his hand dives down to your panties, sliding his fingers under the hem and finding your clit which he begins to stroke with slow, firm circles after coating his digits with your wetness, making you moan into the kiss.  

“Fuck, mesh’la, you’re so wet. All soaked, just for me. My sweet, sweet girl.” He whisper against your mouth.

He keeps circling your clit with one hand, setting a faster pace as his other hand finds your breast, squeezing it gently through your bra, making you let out another desperate moan. Your hands find the clasp at your back, fingers fumbling slightly from eagerness as you open the latch before zealously removing the item from your body. Din lets out a pleased groan as your exposed breasts appear. His free hand, that isn’t occupying your clit, eagerly kneads the soft plumpness of one of your tits before taking its nipple between his fingers and gently twisting it. 

“Oh, fuck… Fuck, Din, I…” You whine out, feeling your orgasm approach. You don’t think you have ever felt it come this early before, but he has you so riled up.

“I know baby, I know.” He encourages. “You can mesh’la, you can come for me.”  

It is all you need to hear, the last string that holds you together gets cut and the warm euphoric waves of pleasure wash over you. His name is falling from your lips over and over again as you ride out your orgasm. 

“Did that feel good?” He asks you with a kiss to the top of your head when you’ve finally come back down from your high and now has relaxed into him.

“So good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He says and you can hear the smile in his voice without even looking at him. 

“Wanna make you feel good too.” You say letting your fingers find his cheek and gently stroke his cheekbone. “Want you inside me.” You feel how his cock twitches underneath you from your confession.

“You sure mesh’la?” He asks, placing his hand under your chin to gently holding your head up as he look deeply you in the eyes for your answer.

“Very.” 

“Okay.” He hums, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips, but it very quickly turns heated. 

Your hands reach down between you, finding the buttons of his pants which you quickly begin to unbutton. The angle is slightly awkward, but you manage to get the last button undone without breaking the kiss. 

Din taps your thigh to make you step back for a second so he can pull down his pants and free his cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. You had gotten the idea that he was big from what you had felt when you grinded against his bulge, but nothing could prepare you for the view that met you. He is big. His cock is throbbing and thick, laying heavy against his stomach, the tip is already dripping with precum and you feel your mouth water by the sight.         

You slide your panties to the side as you readjust yourself, and start to slowly sink down on him. You’re really taking your time, both so you can adjust to the imposing size of him, and so you can enjoy the sounds he’s making for you as you slowly take more and more of him, until you finally are taken the entirety of him. 

“You are so perfect…” He sights. “Cyar'ika you have no idea…” He adds before he starts on leaving hot kisses up and down your neck. 

‘Cyar'ika.’ Another word you don’t know the meaning of, but you are too far gone in your shared pleasure to stop up and ask him the meaning. 

The two of you sit like this for a little while, letting you adjust to him, but you soon can’t take it anymore, you need some movement. 

You lift yourself a little from the chair before sinking back down on him, making Din choke on a throaty moan. His hands stay on your hips, as you begin to bounce on him in a slow, but steady rhythm, but he occasionally slips them down to your ass, squeezing the soft plum skin with his broad hands. It makes you go wild. You pick up your pace.

“Dear, Maker…” You gasp “Din, you’re feeling so good.” 

“You too, mesh’la. So fucking tight.” Din praises, lifting you up with his strong arms and pulls all the way out of you before slamming back into you, filling you up again. “So warm, so perfect.” 

His hips now meet yours with every bounce as he thrust up into you, burying himself so deep inside you it has you bite down hard on your lower lip to not scream loudly and wake up Grogu. The sound of Din’s heavy balls slapping up against your wet cunt, as well as the loud creaks of the chair, is echoing from the walls and it is honestly the hottest thing you have ever heard. Your arms have begun to shake as your grip on the armrest of the chair is getting tighter and tighter. You keep bouncing up and down on him as you feel your second climax getting nearer and nearer. 

“Oh, kriff… Mesh’la you’re so tight.” He groans through gritted teeth. 

“I… I won’t last much longer.” He warns. His thrust falters a little as he gets closer and closer to his release. 

“It’s okay, you can come, baby…” You pant out. “Please come for me, Din” 

He let out a throaty groan at your encouragement. 

“I have an implant.” You add. “Please, I want to feel you inside of me.” 

You pull his face up to you, kissing him hard. Your lips connected passionately as you both get pushed over the edge. His fingers dig into your hips as he comes, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

You moan out his name, as your walls clench down around his cock. You feel how his dick twitches inside you as he comes undone. The warmth of his release coats your inside, and you dote on the feeling of being filled by him, milking every drop of his release as he keeps pumping into you, fucking his cum deep into you. You feel like the two of you have melted together as you both ride out your climaxes. Tears of pleasure are wetting your eyes. You have wanted him for so long, never thought that you would have him, never thought that he would feel the same as you. 

You find his lips again, kissing him as you both ride out your climaxes. He hums content into your mouth and you can feel the smile on his lips. His hands are leaving your waist and he is instead cupping your cheeks, gently holding your face and the rough and heated atmosphere is soon turning soft.   

“Are you okay?” He asks while caressing your cheek with light strokes of his finger pads.

“Yes.” You assure him with a small smile. “More than okay.” 

He smiles back at you. He has the prettiest smile in the galaxy you decide. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, mesh’la.”

You don’t know the meaning of his words, but they fall from his lips with such warmth and care that you it has your heart flutter with warmth in your chest. 

“What does that mean?” Your voice is nothing but a whisper. 

“I will know you forever.” 

“That is beautiful.” 

“It’s…” He looks into your eyes, the deep mahogany of his irises make your heart clench. You can’t believe that these are the eyes that has been looking at you from under the helmet all this time. “It’s how we tell people we love them.” 

“It is…?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I love you, mesh’la.” 

He loves you… Din Djarin loves you. 

“I love you too, Din.” You say before connecting your lips again in a long passionate kiss. “You and Grogu.” You add when you eventually have to pull away for air.

He smiles at you as his eyes are filling with grateful tears. You, Din and Grogu – a little clan of three.

[lee-laurent]

Crushin' - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn's crush on Brock's sister starts to cause some issues

wc: 7.8k

content: fluff, angst, kissing, grinding, mentions of sex but no smut, friends with benefits

notes: hi! i'm like working through writers' block rn. so... here is this i guess

Emma Boeser, known to those close to her as Emmy, had always been fiercely independent. Growing up as Brock's younger sister meant that she was no stranger to the world of professional hockey, but she had long ago sworn off any romantic involvement with hockey players. The glitz and glamour that others saw were just distractions to her--hockey players were trouble, and she had learned that the hard way. Now, she focused on her career, determined to make a name for herself that wasn't tied to her brother and his achievements.

Emma had secured a role in the Canucks' PR and marketing department, a job that she actually enjoyed going to. She was good at it too--organizing press events, managing the team's public image, and navigating the chaos of media day with ease. Her colleagues respected her, and the players knew she was off-limits, a professional boundary she had enforced since day one (one that her brother was glad to back up).

Quinn Hughes, on the other hand, was everything a star defenceman could be--talented, dedicated, and just the right amount of cocky. He had quickly made himself a name in the NHL, and his focus had always been on the game. Off the ice, Quinn was reserved, not one to seek out the spotlight unless it was absolutely necessary. But there was one person who managed to catch his eye every time, no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on his career--Emma.

Quinn had noticed Emma from the moment she started working with the team. She was striking, not just because of her looks, but because of the way she carried herself. There was something about her confidence and no-nonsense attitude that drew him in, even if he couldn't quite figure out why. They'd had only a few friendly interactions, but Emma always kept things strictly professional.

~~

It was after a team gala that their relationship shifted. Emma had been working late, ensuring everything ran smoothly. Quinn had stayed behind, nursing a drink as the event wound down. He noticed Emma, finally off the clock and enjoying a rare moment to herself. She looked relaxed, maybe a little tired, but still as composed as ever.

"Long night?" Quinn asked, leaning against the bar beside her.

Emma glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "You could say that. But it's part of the job."

He nodded, studying her face. She was always so put together, always in control. "You did a great job tonight. Everything went off without a hitch."

"Thanks," Emma replied, raising her glass slightly. "But I'm sure you're not hanging around just to compliment the event planning."

Quinn chuckled, appreciating her directness. "Maybe not. I guess I was hoping to get to know you a bit more... off the clock."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Off the clock?"

"Yeah," he said, meeting her gaze with a confidence he wasn't sure he really felt. "No work. Just us."

She considered him for a moment before downing the rest of her drink. "Alright, Hughes. But let's keep this simple. No strings, no drama. Just... fun."

He agreed without hesitation, not realizing at the time how much more complicated things would become.

~~

Emma wasn't one to complicate things, especially when it came to her personal life. Her rule was simple: no dating hockey players. The lifestyle, the endless travel, the pressure--they were all things she wanted no part of. But when it came to Quinn, that line had blurred.

What started as a one-time thing after a team event quickly turned into a series of late-night encounters. It was easy, convenient, and, most importantly, private. Emma liked the control it gave her--she could have what she wanted without risking her independence or her brother's wrath. And Quinn? He played along, meeting her in the middle of the night, leaving before dawn, and never asking for more.

Their relationship was built on stolen moments. Sometimes it was at his apartment, other times hers, but always with the same unspoken agreement: no one could know. Emma was strict about that, even more so than Quinn. The idea of Brock finding out was enough to make her heart race--not from excitement, but from pure dread. She knew her brother would lose it if he found out she was hooking up with one his teammates, especially Quinn, who was practically family to him.

For Quinn, those nights with Emma were a mix of heaven and hell. Being with her, touching her, was everything he wanted. But every time she slipped out of his bed, leaving him alone in the dark, it tore at him. He wanted more--he wanted her in his life in a way that went beyond just the physical. But he also knew that pushing for more could mean losing her altogether, and that was a risk he wasn't sure he could take.

At work, Emma was the epitome of professionalism. She was efficient, focused, and kept a cool distance from the players, especially Quinn. In meetings, she barely looked his way, addressing him with the same detached tone she used with everyone else. It was as if the Quinn who whispered her name in the dark didn't exist during daylight hours.

Quinn noticed, of course. He noticed everything about Emma. The way she would set her jaw when she was stressed, the little lines that formed between her brows when she was deep in thought. He noticed how she avoided his gaze during team meetings, how she never lingered when passing by him in the halls. It was like she had put up a wall between them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break through.

It was frustrating, especially when Quinn would catch a glimpse of the Emma he knew--the one who laughed at his jokes and leaned into his touch when they were alone. But at work, she was distant, almost cold, and it gnawed at him. He found himself wanting to bridge the gap, to make her see that they didn't have to keep pretending.

One afternoon, after a long practice session, Quinn saw his chance. Emma was standing by the rink, talking to one of the other staff members. She was dressed in her usual work attire, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, and her expression serious as she discussed logistics for an upcoming event.

Quinn approached her, waiting until the other person had walked away before speaking. "Emmy, do you have a minute?"

Emma glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if to warn him to keep things professional. "What is it, Hughes?" she asked, her tone brisk.

He resisted the urge to sigh. "I just wanted to go over some of the plans for the charity event next week. Thought we could grab a coffee and talk it through."

She hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "I'm pretty swamped right now," she said, already turning to look at the iPad in her hands. "But I'll email you the details later."

"Come on, Emmy," Quinn pressed, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "It's just coffee."

Emma shot him a look that was both annoyed and pleading. "We can't, Quinn. Not here."

The way she said his name sent a shiver down his spine, but it also made his chest tighten with frustration. "It doesn't have to be like this," he said quietly. "We don't have to pretend."

She shook her head, tucking the iPad under her arm. "Yes, we do. I told you, this is how it has to be. We agreed."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not okay with that anymore."

Emma froze, her eyes searching his face for a moment before she looked away. "Quinn, please. Not here."

The vulnerability in her voice was new, something she rarely let slip. It softened Quinn's resolve, but only just. He nodded, stepping back to give her space. "Alright," he forced a smile. "I'll see you later, then."

Emma didn't reply, turning back to her work as if the conversation had never happened. But the tension lingered, heavy in the air between them.

~~

As the weeks passed, Quinn found it harder to ignore the growing feelings inside him. He was falling for Emma, and he knew it. It wasn't just about the physical connection anymore, though that was still a big part of it. It was about the way she challenged him, the way she made him laugh, and the way she kept him on his toes. She was different from anyone he'd ever been with, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was exactly what he'd been looking for.

But the more he tried to let her in, the more she pulled away. Emma was stubborn, and Quinn was beginning to realize just how deep her fears ran. She had been hurt before--by a hockey player, no less--and she wasn't about to let that happen again. No matter how much she cared for Quinn, she couldn't bring herself to break her rule.

Quinn found himself torn between respecting her boundaries and wanting to push past them. Every time they were together, he tried to show her how much he cared, how much he wanted more than just sex. He'd hold her a little longer, kiss her a little softer, hoping she'd see that he wasn't like the others. But Emma was like a fortress, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find a way in.

One night, after a particularly grueling game, Quinn found himself lying awake in his bed, his mind racing. Emma had been distant lately, more so than usual, and it was driving him fucking crazy. He missed her, missed the way things used to be before his feelings got in the way. He knew he should be grateful for what they had, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was slowly losing her.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through their old messages. Most of them were short, simple texts about when and where to meet. But buried between the lines was a connection that went beyond just physical need. Quinn could see it, even if Emma refused to admit it.

Without thinking, he typed out a message: Can we talk?

He hesitated before hitting send, his thumb hovering over the screen. Part of him was terrified of what she might say, of hearing the words he didn't want to hear. But he couldn't keep going this like, stuck in a limbo with no idea where they stood.

Finally, he pressed send and waited. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. He stared at the screen, willing it to light up with her reply. When it finally did, his heart skipped a beat.

I'm busy right now. Maybe later?

Quinn's shoulders sagged, the tension in his chest only growing. It wasn't a no, but it wasn't the answer he wanted either. He knew Emma well enough to know that "maybe later" was her way of putting him off, of avoiding a conversation she didn't want to have.

But Quinn wasn't willing to let it slide this time. He needed to know where they stood, needed to know if there was any hope of something more.

I'll wait. he replied.

Emma didn't respond, and Quinn didn't expect her to. He set his phone down and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he'd say when they finally did talk. Part of him knew he should be careful, that pushing too hard might drive her away for good. But another part of him--the part that was tired of pretending--was ready to take the risk.

As the hours passed by, Quinn's thoughts continued to circle back to Emma. He thought about the way she smiled when she let her guard down, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. There was something there, somthing real, and Quinn was determined to make her see it.

When his phone finally buzzed with her reply, his heart raced. But when he read her message, his hope deflated.

Can we just keep things the way they are? I'm not ready for more, Quinn.

He stared at the words, feeling the weight of them settle in his chest. It was exactly what he feared, but hearing it--reading it--still hurt more than he expected.

Despite the sting, Quinn couldn't bring himself to walk away. To put his phone down. Not yet. He knew that if he wanted to be with Emma, he'd have to be patient, to wait for her to come to terms with her feelings. And as much as it pained him to do so, he respected her wishes.

Okay, he typed back. But I'm not giving up on us, Emmy

There was no response, but he didn't need one. He knew it was going to be a long road, but he was willing to wait as long as it took. Because for Emma, it was worth it.

~~

It was another late night in Vancouver, and the city was quiet outside Quinn's window. The game had been tough, a hard-fought win that left him physically drained but mentally wired. Emma had come over, as she often did after games, slipping into his place with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before. They hadn't said much--there wasn't a need for words when they both knew what they were there for.

But tonight felt different to Quinn. There was a tension in the air that he couldn't shake, a weight pressing down on his chest as they lay in bed afterward. Emma was curled up next to him, a dull ache in her thighs, her breathing slow and steady as she started to drift off to sleep. Normally, Quinn would have let her, content to hold her in his arms until she inevitably slipped away before dawn. But not tonight.

"Emma," he whispered, his voice low and hesitant.

"Mmm?" she murmured.

There would be no going back. The words were there, waiting to be said, and he couldn't keep them bottled up any longer. "Can we talk?"

Emma's eyes opened, and she shifted slightly to look up at him. "About what?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"About us."

She frowned, already sensing where this was going. "Quinn, we've talked about this. You know how I feel."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "We haven't really talked about it. Not like we need to." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Emma, this isn't just... physical for me anymore. It isn't just about the sex. I care about you. A lot."

Emma's frown deepened, and she pulled away slightly, sitting up in bed. "Quinn, don't--"

"Just listen to me, please," he interrupted, sitting up as well. He could see the walls going up, the defences she always put in place when things got too close. But he was determined to push through them this time. "I'm falling for you, Emma. I think I've been falling for you for a while now, and I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with this being just... whatever it is."

She stared at him, her expression filled with surprise and something else--something that looked a lot like fear. "Quinn, you know I can't--"

"Why not?" his voice raising with frustration. "Why can't we be something more? We're good together, Emma. I know you feel it to."

She shook her head, wrapping the sheet around herself as if it could protect her from the conversation. "It's not that simple, Quinn. You know it's not."

"It is that simple," he insisted, reaching out to take her hand. "We care about each other. We have fun together. The sex is incredible. We could have something real if you'd just let yourself believe it."

Emma's hand tightened around the sheet, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Quinn, I have rules for a reason."

"Rules?" Quinn scoffed, feeling his frustration boil over. "Emma, you're not living your life. You're hiding behind these 'rules' because you're scared."

She flinched at his words, but her expression hardened. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Quinn pressed, his voice softening as he saw the hurt in her eyes. "Emma, I'm not trying to hurt you. I just... I want more. I want us to be more. But I can't do that alone."

There was a long silence, the air between them heavy with even more tension. Emma finally looked at him, her eyes filled with fear, doubt, and maybe longing. But then she shook her head, her walls returning.

"I can't, Quinn," she said quietly. "I'm not going to break my rules. Not for anyone."

Quinn's heart sank, but he forced himself to nod. He had known this was a possibility, that she might not be ready to take that leap with him. But hearing her say it still hurt more than he could've ever imagined. "Okay," he whispered. "I understand."

But the truth was, he didn't understand. Not really. Because he couldn't see why she was so determined to keep them apart when it was clear they could be so much more.

~~

Emma could feel Quinn's words threatening to crack the carfeully constructed walls she had built around herself. She had always been so sure of her rules, so certain that she needed them to protect herself. But hearing Quinn say that he was falling for her, that he wanted more, made her question everything.

It wasn't that she didn't care about Quinn--she did. More than she had ever intended to when they first started sleeping together. But that was exactly the problem. Caring about Quinn meant opening herself up to the possibility of getting hurt, and that was something she couldn't afford.

"Quinn," she began, choosing her words very carefully. "I made those rules for a reason. I've seen what happens when you get involved with hockey players. The lifestyle, the pressure--it's not something I want stacked on top of my own work."

He frowned, clearly not satsified with her explanation. "But I'm not like that, Emma. I'm not just some random guy looking for a fling. I want to be with you, for real. Why can't you see that?"

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I do see it, Quinn. But that doesn't change the fact that it's a bad idea. We're too close to Brock, too close to the team. If things go wrong--"

"They won't," his tone was firm. "I know it's scary, but we can make it work. We can take it slow, keep it private if you want, but I can't keep pretending this is just about sex."

Emma bit her lip, her mind running a mile a minute. She knew he was right, that what they had was more than just physical. But admitting that, giving in to it, felt like stepping off a cliff with no idea if there was anything there to catch her. She had promised herself she wouldn't get involved with a hockey player again, and yet here she was, teetering on the edge.

"I can't," she said again, shaking her head. "Quinn, I can't risk it. I'm sorry."

The words felt hollow, even to her, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything else. She looked at him, hoping he would understand, but the hurt in his eyes told her that he didn't. Or maybe he did, but he wasn't willing to accept it.

"Fine," Quinn said, his voice flat. "If that's how you really feel, then fine."

He moved to get out of bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor. Emma watched him, her heart aching at the sight of him pulling away. She wanted to reach out, to tell him she was sorry, that she didn't mean it. But the words stuck in her throat, choked by fear and doubt.

Quinn dressed quickly, avoiding her gaze as he headed for the door. Emma felt a surge of panic as she realized he was really leaving, that his might be the end of whatever they had. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the door was already closing behind him before she could find the words.

And just like that, he was gone.

Emma sat in the empty room, the silence keeping her stuck in her spot. The bed still smelled like him, a painful reminder of what she had just pushed away. She curled up into a ball, pulling the sheets around her as if they could somehow shield her from the reality of what had just happened.

She had been so certain she was doing the right thing, sticking to her rules and protecting herself. But now, with Quinn gone, all she felt was an overwhelming sense of loss. She had never let herself get this close to anyone before, not since the last time she had been burned by a hockey player. But Quinn... he was different. And that was what made this so much harder.

The tears came before she could stop them, spilling down her cheeks as she buried her face in the pillow. She had told herself that she didn't need anyone, that she was better off alone. But now, she wasn't so sure.

Meanwhile, Quinn was walking the streets of Vancouver, the cold night doing little to cool the fire of frustration and hurt burning in his chest. He had laid his heart on the line, told Emma how he really felt, and she had shut him down. He knew she was scared, that her rules were her way of protecting herself, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow.

He kicked at a loose piece of gravel on the sidewalk, watching as it skittered across the pavement. He wanted to be angry, to blame her for being so stubborn, so unwilling to let him in. But deep down, he knew that wasn't fair. Emma had been through a lot, and her fears were valid. But that didn't change the fact that he was hurting, that he wanted more from her than she was willing to give.

Quinn found himself at a small park, the trees bare and the benches empty in the late hour. He sat down, his head in his hands as he tried to sort through all the feelings in his head. He had never felt like this before--so out of control, so vulnerable. And it scared the hell out of him.

But what scared him even more was the thought of losing Emma. He knew she cared about him. There was something between them. Something worth fighting for.

As he sat there in the dark, he made a decision. He wasn't going to give up on Emma, no matter how hard she pushed him away. He knew it was risky, that he might get hurt in the process, but he also knew that it would be worth it. Emma was worth it.

He stood up, heading back to his apartment. He wasn't going to let her fear dictate their future. He would give her space if she needed it, but he wasn't going to walk away. Not yet.

Because sometimes, the best things in life were worth fighting for. And Quinn was ready to fight.

~~

The Canucks were on the road again, heading into a critical stretch of the season. This time, they were in a small city with a reputation for rowdy fans and intense games. The hotel was nice enough, but the schedule was grueling, leaving the players and staff little time to do anything but eat, sleep, and prepare for the next match.

Emma was there, of course, coordinating PR events and managing the team's image as she always did. She was good at her job--meticulous, organized, and (usually) calm under pressure. But this trip felt different. Ever since the conversation with Quinn a few weeks ago, she'd been on edge, constantly looking over her shoulder, half-expecting him to show up and push her again.

She'd managed to avoid him for the most part, keeping their interactions strictly professional. But then tension between them was palpable, simmering just beneath the surface. Emma threw herself into her work, hoping to distract herself from the nagging thoughts that kept creeeping in whenever she allowed herself a moment to breathe.

That night, after a long day, Emma retreated to her hotel room, exhausted. The PR duties had been endless, and she was looking forward to nothing more than a hot shower and collapsing into bed. She had just slipped into her pajamas, an XL Canucks t-shirt, when there was a knock at her door.

It was late--too late for any of the players or staff to be knocking at her door for work-related matters. For a brief moment, she considered not answering, pretending she was already asleep. But something compelled her to go to the door, her hand hovering over the handle as she took a deep breath.

When she opened the door, her heart sank and fluttered at the same time. Quinn stood there, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, his hands shoved in his pockets. His expression determined and vulnerable, and for a moment, she was at a loss of words.

"Quinn, what are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I had to see you," he replied, his voice steady. "Can I come in?"

Emma hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one was around. The last thing she needed was for someone to see them together like this. "Q, it's late. We can't do this here."

"I know it's late, but I don't care," he said, taking a step closer. "Emma, please. Just... let me in. We need to talk."

There was something in his eyes that made it impossible to say no. With a resigned sigh, she stepped aside, allowing him to slip into the room. The door clicked shut behind them, the sound loud in the quiet night.

Quinn didn't waste any time. As soon as they were alone, he turned to face her, his face serious. "I can't keep doing this, Emma. I can't keep pretending I'm okay with the way thing are."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "We've talked about this, Quinn. You know where I stand."

"No, we haven't really talked about it," he countered. "You've told me how you feel, but you haven't listened to how I feel."

Emma looked away, unable to meet his gaze. She knew what was coming next, "Quinn, please. Don't do this."

"I have to," he said. "Emma, I'm in love with you. And I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with this just being sex. Because it's not, at least not to me."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, winding her and leaving her breathless. She had known this was coming, had seen it in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her. But hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way she wasn't prepared for.

"Quinn..." she began, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"No, just listen to me," he pleaded. "I know you're scared. I know you've been hurt before, and I know you've made these rules to protect yourself. But Emma, you can't shut yourself off from the world forever. You can't yourself off from me."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them back, determined not to let them fall. "It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is," he insisted, stepping even closer until he was right in front of her, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. "It is that simple. We care about each other. We have something real. Don't you want to see where this could go?"

Emma closed her eyes, leaning into his touch despite herself. "I'm scared, Quinn. I'm scared that if I let you in, I'll get hurt again."

"You won't," he whispered, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down her cheek. "I'm not going to hurt you, Emma. I promise you."

The dam broke. All the emotions Emma had been bottling up for months came flooding out in a rush. She let out a choked sob, her hands gripping the front of Quinn's hoodie as she buried her face in his chest. "I don't know how to do this," she admitted, her voice muffled by the fabric.

Quinn wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she cried. "You don't have to know. We'll figure it out together."

For a long time, they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms as Emma let herself be vulnerable for the first time in years. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders, but at the same time, she was terrified of what was to come next.

Finally, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "I don't want to lose you, Q. But I don't know if I can do this."

"You can," he assured her, his hand gently carressing her hair. "We'll take it one step at a time. I'm not going anywhere, Emmy. Not unless you tell me to."

She shook her head, her grip on his hoodie tightening. "I don't want you to go."

"Then I'm staying," he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

The kiss was tender, a promise of what was to come if she could just let go of her fears. Emma felt something shift inside her, a crack in the armour she'd built around her heart. She looked up at Quinn, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized how much she wanted this--wanted him.

Without another word, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was different from all the ones that had come before. This one was slow, deliberate, filled with all the emotions they'd been holding back. It wasn't about lust or need--it was about something deeper, something that scared her just as much as it thrilled her.

Quinn responded immediately, his arms tightening around her as he kissed her back with the same intensity. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the two of them, alone in the quiet of the hotel room.

They moved together in perfect sync, their movements slower, more meaningful than before. It was as if they were discovering each other all over again, but this time with their hearts fully in it. Quinn laid her back on the bed, his hands reaching under her shirt. She shivered, his skin cold against hers. She gripped his hair, bringing his body closer to hers so that their hips were pressed together. There was no rush, everything felt slow and loving.

As they lay together afterward, their breaths heavy in the air, Emma felt a peace she hadn't felt in years. For the first time, she felt hope that a relationship could work for her. As she drifted off to sleep in his arms, her mind still buzzing with the emotions of the night, there was a small part of her that couldn't shake the fear of what was to happen next.

~~

The soft light of the morning filtered through the thin curtains of the hotel room. Emma stirred in her sleep, the events of the night before replaying in her mind as she hovered between dreams and waking. She could feel the steady rise and fall of Quinn's chest, his arm draped protectively around her waist.

For a moment, everything felt perfect. Peaceful. But then she remembered that it wasn't just another night together. This time it was more intense, more meaningful. Emma knew she couldn't pretend it was just a casual hookup anymore.

Quinn was awake, too, his fingers gently tracing patterns on her back. He didn't want to move, didn't want to ruin the moment they were sharing. But he knew they couldn't stay like that forever. Sooner or later, they'd have to face the consequences of what they had become, and that thought terrified him.

"Morning," he whispered.

Emma tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "Morning," she replied, her voice barely audible.

They stayed like that for a while, just looking at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to speak about how things had changed between them.

"What happens now?" Emma finally asked, her voice wavering slightly.

Quinn hesitated, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I do know that I don't want this to be the last time we wake up like this."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," she confessed, her fingers absently tracing the outline of his collarbone.

"I know," Quinn said, his voice gentle. "But I'm not asking for you to be ready right now. I'm just asking you to think about it. To think about us."

Emma didn't respond right away. She wanted to believe they could make it work, that they could be more than just a secret. But the reality of their situation--of Brock, the team, and her own fears--loomed over her like a storm cloud.

Before she could find the words to respond, a sharp knock echoed through the room, shattering the moment of quiet intimacy. They both froze, their eyes locking as the sound registered in their tired brains.

"Emma?" Brock's voice called from the other side of the door. "You up?"

Panic surged through Emma's veins as she scrambled to sit up. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not like this.

Quinn's eyes widened in alarm, his hand gripping the sheets as if to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "What do we do?" his whispered urgently.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "You need to hide."

"Where?" he hissed, his eyes darting around the small hotel room. There was nowhere to go, nowhere that wouldn't immediately give him away.

"Just--" Emma was cut off by another knock, this one more insistent.

"Emma, you in there?" Brock's voice was more concerned now.

Her mind was racing, trying to come up with a plan. But before she could do anything, the door handle began to turn. Brock was coming in. Emma always gave him an extra key to use in case of emergencies. And her not answering him was an emergency in his mind?

Quinn barely had time to leap out of the bed, grabbing his clothes and diving into the bathroom just as the door opened. Emma could feel her heart in her throat as she watched him disappear, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Brock stepped into the room, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Em, what's going on? Why didn't you answer?"

Emma forced a smile, suddenly feeling like she was going to be sick. "Sorry, Brock. I was just getting up," she lied, pulling the covers a little tighter to her chest.

Brock's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing back on his sister. "Are you okay? You look... I don't know, off."

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, hoping her voice didn't betray the panic she felt. "Just tired, that's all."

Brock didn't look convinced, but before he could press any further, a loud clatter came from the bathroom. The sound of something falling, followed by a muffled curse.

Emma's blood ran cold as Brock's head snapped toward the bathroom door so fast he could've gotten whiplash. "What was that?" his voice was twinged with suspicion.

Her wind went blank, all possible excuses failing her. She couldn't come up with a single plausible explanation for the noise. All she could do was watch in horror as Brock took a step towards the bathroom door.

"Brock, wait--"

But it was too late. He was already pushing the bathroom door open, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the sight before him. Quinn stood there, half-dressed, his face covered in guilt and resignation. He had clearly tried to get dressed quickly, but it obvious what had happened. There was no hiding it now.

"Quinn?" Brock's voice was low, dangerous, as he turned to look at his sister, his eyes blazing with anger. "What the hell is going on here?"

This was exactly what Emma had been trying to avoid, the confrontation she dreaded from the moment she and Quinn had started whatever it was they were doing.

"Brock, I--" she began, but Brock cut her off, his voice rising with anger.

"How long has this been going on?" he demanded, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "How long have you been sneaking around behind my back? Sleeping with my teammate?"

"Brock, it's not what you think," Quinn interjected, stepping forward, his hands raised as if he was approaching a wild beast.

"Not what I think?" Brock's eyes darted between the two of them. "What am I supposed to think, Quinn? You're in my sister's hotel room, half-naked, and you expect me to believe this is just a misunderstanding?"

Emma couldn't help the sense of guilt that was creeping in when she saw the hurt in her brother's eyes. This wasn't how she wanted him to find out, not like this. But there was no taking it back now, no undoing the mess they had created.

"Brock, listen to me," she started. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd react like this. But it's not Quinn's fault. It's mine. I... I care about him a lot."

Brock's anger faltered, replaced by confusion. "You care about him? Emma, you've always said you'd never date a hockey player again. You've always told me--"

"I know what I've always said," Emma interrupted. "But things change. People change. I didn't expect this to happen, but it did. And I didn't tell you because I was scared of how you'd react."

Brock stared at her, "You should have told me, Em. You're my sister. I deserve to know what's going on in your life.

"I know," she mumbled, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Brock. I never wanted to hurt you."

The room was silent for a long moment, then tension in the air thick. Quinn stood by the bathroom door, his heart heavy as he watched the siblings. He knew this wasn't giong to be an easy conversation, but it was necessary if he and Emma were going to have a chance of being together. They had to face this head-on.

"I just... I can't believe you didn't tell me," Brock said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness.

"I'm telling you now," Emma said softly. "And I'm telling you that I care about Quinn. This isn't just us hooking up. It's something more."

"You really care about him?"

"I do, Brock. I really do."

Brock glanced at Quinn, who stood there with a look of determination on his face. It was clear that he wasn't going to back down, that he was ready to fight for Emma if that's what it took. And as much as it pained him, Brock knew he couldn't stand in the way of that.

"Alright. But if he hurts you, Emma... if he breaks your heart, I swear--"

"He won't," she interrupted, "He won't."

Brock nodded, "Okay. But you two owe me an explanation. The whole story."

"We will," Quinn promised. "You deserve that."

Brock turned to leave, to give them some space. They had made it through the worst of it, but there was still so much unsaid, so many obstacles they would have to overcome.

~~

The morning after Brock's discovery, there was still a tension in the air. The team was scheduled to leave the hotel soon, and Emma could feel the unease radiating from Brock as they packed up their things.

Brock waited until they were in the parking lot, away from the rest of the team, before he turned to Quinn. "We need to talk."

Quinn nodded, "Yeah, we do."

They walked a few steps away from the bus, finding a quiet corner where they wouldn't be overheard. Emma watched from a distance, she could see the stiffness in Brock's shoulders.

"What the hell, Quinn? You're supposed to be my friend. How could you go behind my back like this?"

Quinn swallowed hard, knowing that Brock had every right to be angry. "I didn't mean for it to happen this way. I never wanted to keep it from you, but Emma... we weren't really sure where we stood. I was trying to respect her wishes."

Brock let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Respect her wishes? You're supposed to respect me, too. I trusted you, Quinn."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I hate that I hurt you, Brock. But I care about Emma. I care about her more than I've ever cared about anyone."

"This isn't just some fling to you, is it?"

"No. It's not. I know how it looks, and I know why you're pissed. But Emma means everything to me. I'm not going to hurt her, Brock. I swear."

Quinn could see the conflict in his friend's eyes, the way he was struggling to reconcile the betrayal he felt with the truth of Quinn's words. Finally, Brock let out a long sigh, ruunning a hand through his hair.

"I'm still mad as hell at you. But if you're serious about her... if you really care about her, then I guess I don't have a choice but to deal with it."

"I am serious, Brock. And I get why you're angry. But I promise you, I'm going to do everything I can to make this work."

"You better. Because if you screw this up, Hughes... if you hurt her, I'm coming for you. And nothing will stop me."

Quinn didn't flinch at the warning, understanding the protective instincts behind it. "I won't hurt her. You have my word."

Brock didn't say anything for a few seconds, then finally extended his hand. "Alright. We'll see how this goes."

Quinn shook his hand. It wasn't a full reconciliation, but it was a start.

~~

Emma sat by the window on the back of the bus. The conversation between Brock and Quinn had gone better than she'd expected. Now, more than ever, she needed to decide what she really wanted.

As the bus rumbled down the highway, Emma continued to stare out the window, her mind drifting back to all the events that had led her there. She thought about the walls she had built around herself, the rules she had clung onto so tightly. They had been her armour, her way of protecting herself from getting hurt again. But now, she was starting to realize that those same walls were keeping her from something she truly wanted--something real with Quinn.

But could she really risk everything for him? Could she trust him not to break her heart, not to shatter her into pieces like she'd been before?

She thought about the way he had held her in the hotel room, the way he had looked at her with such sincerity, such unwavering care. He had been patient with her, understanding her fears even when she hadn't fully explained them. He had been willing to wait, to take things at her pace, and that meant more to her than she could express.

Emma knew that she couldn't keep running from her feelings, couldn't keep hiding behind her rules. If she wanted to be happy, really happy, she needed to take a leap of faith. She needed to let Quinn in, to trust that he would catch her if she fell.

She made her decision. She was going to give Quinn Hughes a real chance. It wouldn't be easy, but she was tired of being afraid, tired of letting the past dictate her future.

~~

After they arrived at the next hotel, Emma waited until most of the team had gone up to their rooms before she approached Quinn. He was standing by the luggage cart, talking to one of the staff members, but when he saw her coming, he broke off the conversation, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Emma? Everything okay?"

She nodded, "Can we talk?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

Emma led him away from the group, finding a quiet spot near the hotel's entrance. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. And I've realized something."

Quinn nodded, urging her to continue.

"I've been scared. Scared of getting hurt again, scared of what might happen if I let someone in. But... I don't want to be scared anymore."

His eyes softened, and he took a step closer, reaching out to gently untangle her hands, holding them in his. "Emma..."

"I want to give us a chance, Quinn. A real chance. No more hiding, no more pretending it's just physical. I want to see where this can go."

Quinn's face lit up with a smile. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that." He squeezed her hands, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. "I promise you, Emma, I'm all in. Whatever it takes, we'll make this work."

Quinn leaned down to kiss her, a soft, tender kiss that held all the promises of the future they could create together. Emma knew she had made the right choice. She was taking a risk, but it was a risk worth taking.

Later that evening, as the team gathered for dinner, Brock found himself watching Emma and Quinn across the room. They were sitting together, not hiding their connection but not flaunting it either. He could see the way Quinn's hand rested protectively on Emma's knee, the way Emma leaned into him, a soft smile on her face.

He could see how much Quinn cared about his sister, how much Emma softened around him. It was becoming glaringly clear to him that this wasn't just some fling, that they were both very serious about making it work.

Brock let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure he was ready to fully forgive them, but he knew that he couldn't stand in the way of their happiness. If this is what Emma wanted, if this was what made her happy, then he would find a way to be okay with it.

He caught Quinn's eye from across the room, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. Then, slowly, Brock gave him a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment of the understanding they had reached earlier.

Quinn returned the nod. And as Brock watched Emma laugh at something Quinn said, her face lighting up in a way he hadn't seen in years, he realized that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what she needed.

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 2.9k content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more. notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she lowers the armrest and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[yoursselo]

Counting the days until Christmas

a/n: hi everyone! i couldn’t get the little advent calendar concept out of my mind so i decided to write a little something. this is my first ever fic (idk if i’ll ever write something again haha) so please be kind. i hope you guys enjoy it. love you lotsssss 🩷

word count: around 1k

warnings: none tbh but maybe some suggestive content

It was the most wonderful time of the year—Christmas. Ever since you were a child, you had loved the holiday season. Hot chocolate, gingerbread cookies, Christmas markets, and, of course, the advent calendars. Growing up, you always had one. You loved opening a door each day, feeling so excited about the little treat inside. Each day’s surprise only made you more eager for what was to come. The anticipation built with every door, and you could hardly wait to open the last one.

This tradition stayed with you through the years. Even now, getting an advent calendar was one of the things you looked forward to most during Christmas. Mason knew about your passion for it. Ever since your first Christmas together, the two of you had made each other small advent calendars. They were never extravagant—just simple and sweet, filled with things that reminded you of each other. Most of the time, they were sentimental, but this year, you decided to be a bit bolder and change things up.

You had been planning Mason’s advent calendar for weeks, and after putting in extra effort, it was finally ready. It took more time than usual, but you managed to finish it. The calendar sat on the coffee table next to the one Mason had made for you. Each door was carefully numbered and adorned with festive snowflakes and tiny golden stars. To Mason, it looked like any other advent calendar, but he had no idea what surprises lay behind the doors.

On the morning of December 1st, you rushed downstairs to open the first door of your advent calendar. Inside, Mason had placed a small heart-shaped heating pad. It made you smile because he knew how you were always cold and if he couldn’t warm you up himself, he wanted you to have something that reminded you of him. Hugging him, you kissed his cheek and said, “Thank you, babe. I’ll keep it in my pocket all the time.”

He kissed you back, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Is this for me?” he asked, poking at the little calendar you’d made.

“Yes, but you have to promise me to open just one door a day. I worked really hard on this,” you said, trying to sound casual despite your fluttering heart.

Mason groaned dramatically. “Babe, I’m not a child. I have self-control.”

“Of course you do,” you teased, biting back a laugh. “Now, come on. It’s your turn. Open the first door.”

Rubbing his hands together with excitement, he carefully peeled open the first package labeled with the number one. Inside was a small packet of M&Ms—his favourite—wrapped neatly in festive foil.

“Yesss! Thank you, babe. These are my favourite!” He kissed your nose before opening the bag to eat his treat.

As you watched him, you couldn’t help but smile, waiting for him to discover his extra treat. He was so focused on the sweets that he almost didn’t notice the hidden Polaroid tucked inside. But as he went to set the calendar down, something caught his eye.

“Wait… what’s this?” he asked, his brow furrowing in curiosity.

Your stomach did a little flip as you watched his expression shift. Mason pulled out the Polaroid, his eyes widening and his cheeks turning red. The picture wasn’t overly scandalous, but it was far cheekier than your usual photos. You were wearing his hoodie, leaning against the kitchen counter with a smirk. The hoodie barely covered your bum, leaving plenty to the imagination.

“Baby…” he whispered. He looked up at you, his face a mix of awe and disbelief. “What’s this?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, that? Just a little extra treat for you. Do you like it?”

A sheepish grin spread across his face, his dimples appearing. “Like it? Are you kidding? I love it.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed deeper.

“Well, there’s one in every door,” you said, sheepishly. “I wanted to do something extra special this year.”

Mason blinked, trying to process your words. Then it hit him. His eyes widened, and before you could stop him, he lunged for the calendar.

“Wait, Mase! No—”

“I need to see the others!” he exclaimed.

You snatched the calendar away, holding it behind your back. “Nope. The point is to wait until Christmas. You need some self-control. Weren’t you the ‘master of your body’ last year during No Nut November?” you teased.

Mason groaned dramatically, slumping back onto the couch. “But how am I supposed to wait?”

“You’ll figure it out,” you replied with a smirk and kissed him on the cheek.

By day twelve, Mason’s patience was wearing thin. That day’s door held his favorite chocolate bar, but he barely glanced at it before pulling out the Polaroid. It showed you lying on the bed in a lacy black bralette and matching panties, your tousled hair making it look as though you’d just woken up.

Mason froze, his jaw dropping. “Do you like it?” you asked, fluttering your eyelashes innocently.

“Babe, please let me open just one more door. Please,” he begged, practically trembling with excitement.

Laughing, you shook your head. “Nope. Patience, Masey.”

By Christmas Eve, Mason was climbing the walls. He had barely made it through 23 days without breaking the rules. When he opened the final door on Christmas morning, his reaction was everything you’d hoped for and more.

Inside was your boldest Polaroid yet—a picture of you wearing nothing but a red Santa hat.

For a moment, Mason just stared, completely speechless. Then, without warning, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the bedroom.

“Mason, what are you—”

“Merry Christmas to me,” he muttered, kicking the door shut behind you with a grin that made you laugh.

The end. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writiring the story. 🩷

[katsukistofu]

not sure if ur still taking requests but if u are would u be willing to write a hawks x prohero!reader where he finds her wearing his own merch?? ty!! i came from ur coffee mixup fic and it was just soo good i sent it to one of my oomfs and we had a mutual freak out over it 😭😭🫶🫶

awww that’s so sweet and cute omg !!! thank you very much my love i’m so happy you two enjoyed it ( >▯<) <333

picture perfect

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x prohero! fem reader. fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. reader has ice quirk. ★ your boyfriend sees you wearing his merch and just can’t get enough.

“Dooo-ve?” Keigo’s teasing, saccharine voice is laced with barely concealed amusement. He leans against the frame of your shared bedroom's door, taking in the view of you lying on your back with an appreciative look on his face.

His heart skips a beat, getting to see you on your rare day off from patrol. Watching you, sitting there all pretty in a sweatshirt with his face on it. Your hair is messy, your socks, albeit both very cute and fuzzy, don’t match in color in the slightest and the fresh coat of polish on your nails is already chipped even though he just painted them for you during your weekly spa day yesterday.

Keigo's breath catches as he stands there, and he swears he’s never seen a more gorgeous view in his life.

The numerous sunsets, the iridescent clouds he's been so close to that he could reach out and touch them, the bright stars in the sky as he flew under them, all paled in comparison to you. Even witnessing you knock a villain out cold with a blast of your signature ice yesterday on live television, still only came second to seeing you all comfy and cozy like this.

There's a soft, giddy smile plastered on his handsome face, and he makes it so, so hard to keep up your act. “What’s that you’re wearing?”

“Nothing,” you answer from your comfortable position his side of the bed. You nonchalantly swipe on your phone to continue scrolling through your feed.

Your boyfriend’s grin only widens, and his sweet butterscotch eyes are half-lidded when he speaks again. “Trust me, I know what nothing looks like and it’s definitely not tha—ow!”

He laughs when he receives a plushie of himself flying to his face, which he easily catches in his hands. Keigo’s lips fall into a cute, overdramatic pout. “You just threw me!”

“You’ve got wings for a reason, birdbrain.” You roll your eyes and stretch your arms out. “Now come cuddle me I’m cold.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Keigo immediately puts the plushie aside and joins you on the bed, pulling you into his warm embrace with eagerness. You’re always cold, but he never minds. Just means more opportunities to hug you, which he gladly jumps at. “Back to my question though, is that my new sweatshirt that just came out from my merch line?”

“No?” Your tone is innocently coy, and it drives him insane. In a good way. “I think you mean my fellow pro-hero boyfriend, Hawks’s merch line?”

“Damn.” Keigo muses, playing along with your little charade. His finger grazes the hem of your collar and you shiver at his feather-light touch. “Your boyfriend’s Hawks? Lucky guy, having a pretty girl like you wearing his merch. Making me jealous over here.”

You out a giggle. "He says that all the time, actually."

"Oh? He better be, or I just might steal you away." His lip brushes over your ear as he continues to murmur. “And I couldn’t help but notice that your boyfriend looks a lot like me.”

“What a coincidence,” you tease, playfully running your hand through his soft, golden locks and bringing them to rest on his cheeks.

“God, you look so fucking perfect.” Keigo groans. You’re already a sight for sore eyes, and the feeling of your fingers in his hair nearly causes him to ascend heavenward. “Next time my marketing team drops something, you’re totally modeling it.”

“I’d rather it be for your eyes only,” you say, and the dimple that appears on his cheeks at that makes your stomach do a little flip.

“Shit, birdie.” Keigo uses a hand to fan himself exaggeratedly. “Is it hot in here or is it just you?”

“Still pretty cold actually, though that might be my quirk talking. I think you’re the hot one.” You hide a cheeky smile as you feel him he hook a finger through your belt loop and firmly drag you closer on the bed in response, forcing you to turn around until your knees hit his with a soft bump.

“Guess I need to work harder at warming you up then.”

A little while later after dinner, his hair is held back with a fluffy, pink Hello Kitty headband which matches the one on your head.

“Okay, I know you said for my eyes only but can I take a pic with you for my socials? Pleaseee, baby?” Keigo begs a little later, leaning into your touch while you carefully apply his sheet face mask on him. “You just look so good I wanna show you off.”

You frown. “I don’t want a bunch of your thirsty fans on my ass, Kei.”

"They're just jealous of what they can't have." He tips your chin up and says it in a tone so matter-of-fact it makes you let out snort.

"Pretty sure it's the other way around," you mutter, using your thumbs to gently smooth down the edges of his mask on his face, and your eyes catch his, brimming with affection so intense and unadulterated you catch yourself feeling a little breathless all of a sudden.

"What?" You tilt your head. "I'm right."

"Nah, I am. You didn’t get that award for hottest heroes on the charts for nothing.” At the comically skeptical look you shoot him, he huffs out a laugh. “I’m serious! Sweetheart,” Keigo’s voice softens. “I know you don’t believe it when the press says it, but when I’m always telling you you’re beautiful, you know I mean it, right? Every single time.”

With warm cheeks, you mumble out, “I know.”

“That’s my girl. You’re everything to me, y’know?” You nod shyly and the sweet, familiar curve of Keigo’s lips makes your insides melt into a puddle of chocolate fondue. “Good. I’m right and nothing you can say or do will change that.”

“Not even if I eat your last chicken nugget?”

“Not even if you eat my last chicken nugget.”

And he says it with such certainty that you can’t help but break into a smile of your own too.