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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

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A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.”

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.”

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic.

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade.

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision.

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him.

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction.

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.”

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman.

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first.

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?”

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now….

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his.

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together.

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.”

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly.

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk.

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member.

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip.

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!”

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense.

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race.

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside.

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently.

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing.

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body.

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever.

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #1k notes #2k notes #3k notes #4k notes

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creamflix · 7 days ago

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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.

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

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kindahoping4forever · 2 years ago

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i would give my left leg for one of those blue TBH tour shirts i’m sobbing in american rn

Even though I knew it was a fool's game, I still tried to check out with that white tour tee because I regretted not getting it at any of my shows 😂😭

#do i need more merch? ofc not #can i afford it? oh absolutely no #but that shirt has haunted me for a number of reasons lmao #namely that at our second to last show Cass directly asked if I wanted to buy bc she was and i said no #next night i decided I wanted after all and then they were out of it 🥹#and then Ash wore it in a bunch of posts when they were teasing Blender #and i was like 👁️👄👁️ must have #but i was so physically out of it at the time i just never bought it and now here we are #this is a novel you did not ask for lmaooooo I'm just tired 😌#tldr yes I also cry in American #ask #anon

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nerdy-novelist017 · 3 months ago

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omg i love ur writing sm✨🩷💋

do u think u could write sumthin like benny coming home to finding u snuggled up on the couch in one of his huge shirts?????

Thank you for this super sweet request, Anon! Sorry I've been taking forever to get around to the requests, but I'm trying to get back into the routine of working on them a little bit every day. Hope you enjoy!

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 1.1k+

T-Shirts (Benny Cross x Shy! Reader)

Benny cursed under his breath as he stumbled over the threshold of the front door. He’d been out with the Vandals, not an actual meeting, just a night out with a few of the main members. He’d invited you as he always did, but you declined. You had told him that you wanted to have some alone time after a long day at work. He understood – girls needed their ‘me time’ to pamper themselves or whatever, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to miss you. You were sometimes all consuming to him, his thoughts almost always ran back to you. Johnny and the boys could see it, anyone that really knew Benny (few as they were) knew he was completely infatuated with you. He was drunk off your touch, your voice, your smile. How could he be separated from you for long? So as the night progressed and he accepted more whiskeys being slid in his direction, his thoughts of you became more hazy, more melancholic and finally Johnny took pity on him and told him to go home.

The slight buzz from the beers he had early did not mix well with the lack of lights. Usually, you left on the front porch light for him when you knew he would be out late and you were going to bed early. But it wasn’t the case tonight he realized as all the lights in the main level of your house were turned off. As he tossed his bike keys onto the entryway table and flipped on a light, he wondered briefly in his intoxicated mind if you were upset with him and this was your passive aggressive way of punishing him for staying out late, but that theory quickly diminished when he caught sight of the couch. At first glance, it looked like just a pile of throw blankets, but he was convinced he could spot your familiar form no matter how much light there was in the room.

He slipped out of his boots and jacket, standing there for a moment longer in appreciation. A lovestruck smile overtook his face at the view of you curled into your side, that yellow blanket with white flowers (one you had begged him to buy when you first moved in together, stating that it was the perfect piece to pull the room together. He honestly couldn’t have cared less about the living room or its decor, but the smile on your face when he put it in the shopping cart made it suddenly the most important detail.) pulled over your body, a forgotten book laying face down on your chest – a clear indication that you had once again fallen asleep while reading. Your mouth slightly agape, your features looked so soft and girlish that it took Benny’s breath away knowing you were his. Even though he saw some incredible sunrises, sunsets and starry nights when he went riding, you were without a doubt the most beautiful sight he got to come home to.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he crossed the room, stooping to trace a hand across your face, brushing the tousled hair from your eyes. With his other hand, he looped his fingers through the spine of your novel, making sure to save your page mark as he placed it on the coffee table. His left hand moved beneath your knees and his right supported your back as he effortlessly lifted you into his embrace. That’s when he realized you were wearing one of his shirts, the white material clearly oversized on your small figure. He didn’t know a simple white t-shirt had the ability to be sexy, but clearly he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was because you had the talent to make just about anything look painfully arousing on you. And nothing at all. And to make matters even harder for Benny, he knew it wasn't your intention when you put on his shirt to look sexy, you probably weren’t even aware of the effects of your body in that damn oversized t-shirt and the way it clung to your chest as he lifted you, nor the way it molded around your hips. You were certainly not aware of the sudden twitch in his pants because of the way the garment just seemed to make you look even more of the little bunny that stole his heart.

“Benny?” your muffled, half asleep voice hit his ears like the sweetest melody as you snuggled into his chest.

“Stealin’ my clothes, Bunny?” he teased and you sunk further into his embrace, not quite awake enough to catch his playfulness. He carried you up to your bedroom, using his foot to kick the door shut behind him. He placed you gently on your side of the bed and almost laughed as you tugged him back down to you for a messy kiss.

“I like the way it smells like you,” you admitted as you rubbed your eyes, the action pulling on Benny’s heartstrings.

“You may have to keep it. Looks better on you,” he smiled as he stepped back to change into something more comfortable.

“Whatever you say, Cross.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your words slurring together. “I tried waitin’ up for you. Did ‘ya have a good time?”

“Go back to sleep, Bunny,” he coaxed gently, smiling as your blinks were growing longer by the second. That was always something you wanted to do: you liked to lay in bed and talk about your days if they happened to be spent apart. You encouraged him to talk more than he’s ever talked in his life. Sometimes he felt as though your chattiness was rubbing off on him, but you never interrupted nor discouraged him from expressing his thoughts. He loved you more for that. “There’s plenty of time to talk about it tomorrow.”

“M’kay, come lay with me?” you asked and Benny scoffed because was that even a request you needed to make? He was drawn to you like a moth to flame, he couldn’t resist having a hand on you while he slept. It was like some instinctual urge projecting him to keep you near, to keep you safe, even while he was floating in the realm of sleep.

He shook his head as you muttered a final incoherent sentence into the side of your pillow, eyes falling shut again. He crawled into bed behind you, slipping his hand around your waist and pulling you flush against his body as he pulled the blankets over the two of you. A soft, content sigh escaped you, and Benny looped his hand into yours, pulling it up to his lips in a soft kiss as he whispered “I love you, Bunny.”

-Tag List-

@imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @charmingballoon @eugene-emt-roe @sunnbib @semperamans @groovyangelkisses @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @twisteduniverse5 @justsomewritingblog @nhlfs @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @nethanybear @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @autumnleaves1991-blog @butler-trouble @lindszeppelin

@wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @ilovehyperfixating @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms

@youngestxhearts . @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned

@hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters @thedreamingfish99 @mrsalwayswrite

#drunk on love Benny :)#benny cross #benny x bunny #the bikeriders #austin butler #benny cross x reader #austin butler x reader #benny x reader #austin butler fandom #imagine #fluff #johnny davis #bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #the bikeriders x reader

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rotthepoet · 3 months ago

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Need theo and lorenzo head cannons 😔

Good morning sweet pookie, i gotchu!! I needed a little break after that threesome so I did some random, some silly, some fluffy, and some smutty, kay? It’s really just a big brain dump on how I characterize the boys <3 Hope you enjoy, love ;)

P.s. if I have any reoccurring anon’s, if you want me to differentiate you, please feel free to assign yourself an emoji <3 unspoken rule i thought i’d say out loud

Theodore Nott

I agree with literally everyone on this app, he is a smarty pants, but i refuse to believe he sits down and studies

It’s not that he doesn’t care about his grades, he just doesn’t have to try to get good marks. Queen absorbs information like a sponge and retains that shit forever. Doesnt have to waste time with a boring textbook because he commits everything to memory.

That being said, he will remember everything about you. Your favorite movie you mentioned in passing, he saw you eat something particular multiple times he can infer its your favorite and will buy it for you often, he knows your habits, your aspirations, your desires. All of it. Does it for his close friends and lovers <3

Huge smoker. Like. Oral fixation final boss. Needs to have something to smoke or at least chew on at all times

I mentioned before how I think Mattheo and him laugh at people who vape, but Theodore Nott is a two faced LIAR and actually keeps a menthol alto with him at all times. For convenience sake. If you ask him, it’s different because its not a fun lil fruity flavor.

Speaking of Mattheo, those two are best friends. Like ride or die. Like. These two are bread and butter, inseparable and delicious.

Will internalize everything. This is why he gets so worked up and fights people. It may seem like him getting pissy over nothing, but this boy has some unresolved trauma and unmedicated issues.

Theo has ADHD prove me wrong and fuck you for trying(jk love you, but i will die on this hill.) severe anxiety issues, def some depression going on, hes working through some shit.

Theo can process a lot of stimulus at the same time. Watching him hold 3 steady conversations while reading a novel at the same time is a sight to behold.

Smokes weed a lot too. Mostly bud, but he’s smart and keeps a cart on him too for quick bathroom breaks when he needs to chill tf out. It slows down all the thoughts racing around his head. Lets him relax. Lets him feel peace. Let him feel comfortable. He’s been searching for that feeling his whole life.

Mommy and daddy issues check?

Anyways!

Theo is a player, and its not even because he tries to be.

Girls flock towards him, and he needs an outlet.

Sex is a good outlet.

Sex and drugs? Now we’re cooking

He doesn’t care much for the dating scene, didn’t think he was cut out for it. Bad home life. No mom. Depressed and emotionally distant evil dad. Friends and his family are all death eaters? Causes some bad views on relationships as a whole.

Omg but when he falls in love it takes forever but its so hard. Its so devastatingly hard.

It goes from “wow they really make me happy” to “omfg i need to marry them they make me feel complete and comfortable and it feels like i can finally be myself around someone this is the feeling i have been searching for my whole life” really fast when he falls

He’d never love at first sight. Refuse it. He might think someone is pretty or handsome, but he won’t ever describe it as love at first sight.

100% friends to lovers

He’s a quality time kinda guy i think

Just likes co-existing really

Stay in the room with him in silence as he reads and hes so golden

But that will bump up several notches and enjoy every other love language too

He wants to make you love him. He’ll do anything for you. Buy anything for you. Tell you everyday how wonderful you are

He’s being so genuine too

His friends would know

He never shuts up about you

If you had never spoken to his friends, never met them, they’d be able to come up to you in a grocery store and say “oh. You’re <you>, right?”

And dear god he genuinely cries a little in relief when you finally say yes

He’s buried his face in your hair and hugging you so tightly and he tries not to cry because he finally has everything he needs in his arms

He’s such a good boyfriend

Will never question you(at least not at first or without good reason)

Literally worships the ground you walk on

Will apologize first immediately after every meaningless petty fight

Thats different about real fighting though. Stubborn ass bitch

Anyways

Dotes on you everyday

Calls you so many sweet names in Italian

Has an Italian accent but sometimes tries a British accent to throw everyone off.

Argues in italian

Lowkey hates snow

Runs super cold so loves lovvesss hot weather

Will take you to Italy over the summer

Demands you go

Fucks you on the balcony of his family home

Fucks you stupid on the beach

Sorry where was I going with this

Ah yes anyways

Runs super cold so like is a big fan of cuddles. Lots of sweaters for you to steal

He likes turning cuddles into more slow and intimate things

Slowly fingering you as you spoon

Cockwarming in the morning or late at night<3

So much worship.

So much

Just adores you.

Loves fast rough sex but honestly could go on about slow love making for hours

Literally cant stand American reality tv

The biggest kardashian hater

Knows all the gossip because he’s quiet and listens

Doesnt care to share it though

Lorenzo Berkshire

Bitchboy extraordinaire

If I met Lorenzo Berkshire he would become #1 on my shitlist so fast

I called theo a two faced liar as a joke

But Enzo actually is one

Literally puts on the nicest mask for pretty girls, but every ex, and every guy in hogwarts knows he’s a conniving bitch behind closed doors

One of the richest in the group and it shows

Flaunts his money everywhere he goes

His ears are pieced

Also he likes having his ears bitten it can make him hard as a rock in seconds

Dates, but it usually only lasts a month and Hes the worst boyfriend ever

Dumps them whenever he gets bored

But omg when a person gives him his attitude back

Well first he gets even meaner

But also he likes you so much like… that was hot

And if you ignore his existence? On you like a moth to a flame

Craves attention

Such an attention seeker

Still will fight, isn’t very good, but will try

100% a prefect

Showers his pookie with so much love and attention

When he finally gets the person he wants, hes on top of them 24/7

Never a hand straying to far

Literally obsessed

Big fan of exhibitionism

Will fuck uou on the train, the bathrooms, the common room, the classroom

Its all fair game

Would love to see you all tied up in pretty ribbons for his birthday

Ass man 100%

Likes to just get a fistfull while you hug or cuddle

Mattheo and him are the biggest gossipers

Has like 4k followers on instagram because hes so pretty

Father and mother are hirh death eaters. Does anyone know Berkshire lore because i def dont

Like fr can someone explain him to me

Pairs well with anyone in the grouo, really

Gets along especially with Theo or Mattheo

Amazing at card games, and says he’s amazing at chess too. Hes not.

Literally refuses to snack, says it’ll ruin his physique

On the quidditch team much like everyone else he’s friends with

Slays at herbology

Maybe a bit of a smoker? Not often, and def more weed than tobacco

Light weight for reals

Like severely light weight

He’s the laughingstock of the friend group for it

Him and Mattheo have a running bet on who can fuck the most women

Omg omg omg because they so do the alphabet challenge im so sorry but its factual

Lorenzo is currently winning with 15/26 letters in the alphabet but Mattheo isnt too far behind

Its because Lorenzo is so charming and Mattheo…. Is himself.

Anyways back to being his significant other

Will spoil you

Relentlessly

Lowkey expects head in return but that will wear ofd eventually

109% more likely to start a fwb situation than anything else

Treats you like a girlfriend this whole time

Kisses you sweetly, holds uou close when you sleep, mumbles about how special you are

Just being a girlfriend without the title because then it gets too weird

Loses his shit if you get tired of trying and break it off

Genuinely ballistic if he loses you

Will pull as many favors and as many strings as he can to get yiu back

Seriously considers murder for a while

Anyways he gets you back baby<3

Speaking of babies hes super good with kids

Look at that face

Amazing dad face

Scared of marriage lmao

Bad parents. Fucked up views on relationships

Its a thing for all of them tbh

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kirain · 5 months ago

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Sigh....Galemancers really love to move the goal post when it comes to the grooming accusations huh? You found out Gale was a fully grown MAN when Mystra slept with him so now you have to say, "Well then he was emotionally groomed and the power dynamic is too vast." Mystra is a neutral good goddess because she's Midnight, who was a neutral good human. She hates that her magic has to be used for good and evil. Ao makes her share it evenly but she'd rather not. She would never do anything to hurt Gale. The writers of the game even confirmed she's not a groomer. People like you also downplay the point of Gale's entire story arc, which is he should've listened to Mystra! The whole point of his personal quest is he needs to learn to humble himself and listen to his goddess! He has no one to blame for his downfall but himself.

There's no "post" to move, anon. The game and lore give us all the context we need. Grooming doesn't only apply to children, and people have proven right and left that Mystra is terrible at relationships. She's petty and abusive when she isn't obeyed by her partners, and that's been the case with all of her iterations. Even the narrator describes her as a "jealous goddess" when you visit her shrine. Plus, your information is wrong on many accounts; the most pertinent being that the Mystra of BG3/5E isn't technically Midnight. Cyric and Shar killed her, reducing her to her godly essence (lore-wise that means she died). The current Mystra is an amalgamation of the vestiges of Mystryl, Mystra, and Midnight, as told in the novel Elminster Enraged.

Now, this is about to get complicated, as it always does with Mystra, so from here on out I'll be referring to Mystra #1 as Mystryl, Mystra #2 as Mystra #2, Mystra #3 as Midnight, and Mystra #4 as 5E Mystra. Alright, let's get started.

Elminster had to reform the fallen goddess by giving her fragments of all three iterations of Mystra. Since all three iterations are combined, our current 5E Mystra embodies the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. There's even a conversation with The Simbul (one of the Seven Sisters and a Chosen of Mystra) where the newly reformed 5E Mystra speaks of Elminster as her "longest lover". This puzzles The Simbul because that was something of the old Mystra (Mystra #2), not Midnight. The new 5E Mystra replies that she has become a combination of the memories of Mystryl, Mystra #2, and Midnight. This is all in chapter 25-30 of Elminster Enraged. I know it's confusing, but in short: 5E Mystra is not Midnight anymore, and the leading mind is clearly that of Mystra #2, hence her extremely poor judgement—a recurring theme with her character.

Mystryl and Mystra #2 were originally lawful neutral. The alignment changed to neutral good when Midnight took up the mantle, because Midnight herself was a neutral good person. But now it seems 5E Mystra is true neutral, because you are right, anon; Ao won't allow her to do whatever she wants. Midnight tried and was forbidden. 5E Mystra absolutely does not have the same level of humanity or kindness as Midnight, and that may be because Mystryl had no human consciousness and Mystra #2 was a mess.

Regardless of her alignment, she must embody her domain by Ao's decree, which means she needs to spread magic across all Realmspace. Since she has to maintain the balance, she approaches good, neutral, and evil mages with potential opportunities. This isn't a criticism (that's just how godhood works), but rather proof that Mystra is absolutely capable of good and bad. I don't want to hear any more of this "she's a precious little bean and Gale's victim" nonsense. Even if she wants to be, she's not. As Kikitakite said in their post, she's done some fucked up things.

Whether or not the writers intended to make Mystra a groomer, that's exactly what they did. Sometimes writers don't realise they've written an abusive character until they're criticised. Take writer of The Notebook, Nicholas Sparks, for example. He didn't realise he'd written Noah to be an abusive piece of shit until Ryan Gosling pointed it out himself. Gosling has gone on record many times to say he hates Noah, and experts have labeled him an unrealistic and emotionally abusive/manipulative character. The same can be said for Stephenie Meyer, who wrote some of the most celebrated toxic relationships in recent media—with a dash of borderline pedophilia on the side. Therapists have weighed in extensively to tell people that Bella and Edward's relationship isn't healthy and shouldn't be emulated in real life. Indeed, perhaps the best thing to come out of the entire franchise is Robert Pattinson's hatred of Edward and the series as a whole. Jacob's actor, Taylor Lautner, even argued with Meyer's on set because of how weird the "imprinting" segment was and he didn't want to come off as predatory. Meyer argued it was "romantic". 😕

Even if you don't agree Gale was groomed, Mystra is flagrantly responsible for his insecurities and she never should've put her hands on him. The power dynamic is too vast, and even god Gale (conceited as he is) realises it by the end. He only stays in a relationship with Tav if they allow him to ascend them alongside him as his equal. He recognises that anything else would be unhealthy and unacceptable. Also, I researched high and low regarding your claim, but none of the devs have dispelled the idea that Mystra is a groomer. In fact, the most I could find was one dev simply saying, "To Gale it was love, but he didn't know any better." If anything, that only confirms he was confused and didn't know what to do. Their "relationship" was a stunningly horrible idea from the start and that's not on Gale, it's on the literal cosmic being who initiated it.

Moreover, Gale was very likely 17 when Mystra revealed herself to him. This perfectly fits into the 5E Forgotten Realms timeline. If so, no, he absolutely wasn't a grown man. He was a teenager. Mystra may not have slept with him until he was in his 20's, but that still makes it a disgusting teacher-turned-lover situation. Gale even tells us he was "young" when she took him into her fold, and he was only eight years old when Elminster started their lessons. Remember, Elminster is Mystra's biggest apologist. He would've taught Gale to revere her, which means there was almost never a point in his life when Mystra wasn't the main focus. You can tell by the way he speaks about her in Act 1. He's in awe, he's excited, he's proud she chose him. That does something to a child. Something irreversible. If anything, Elminster is complicit in what happened. I've said this before, but he couldn't even be bothered to visit Gale himself. He sent a simulacrum.

As for your accusation that I'm "downplaying" Gale's story arc—you're damn right I am, because the writers made me! Most D&D players I know aren't very happy with how Mystra is portrayed in the game, and that's probably because even they know she isn't presented in a very flattering light. If you really think about it, it's obvious what the writers were going for, but they failed. For example, you said Gale should've listened to Mystra, right? Well, in Act 1 he admits his ambition was his undoing, blames himself for his downfall, and by Act 2 he's literally ready to off himself for her. In fact, he's the only one who sees her ultimatum as justified. Every other companion says she's being cruel and unreasonable. If Gale actually blows himself up at the end of Act 2, the results are catastrophic. The brain is destroyed, yes, but the tadpoles, free of the Absolute's control, complete their transformation and infect/enslave the entire Sword Coast. Anon. She. Is. Stupid. Even the Narrator is like, "You wanna ... you wanna try that again?"

The entirety of Act 2 is Gale learning he shouldn't listen to Mystra. And then she has the audacity to lecture him in Act 3? If he'd listened, it would've been the end of everything. Maybe if Mystra was as infallible as she pretends to be, she would've put her three brains together and came up with a better, less vindictive plan. Because make no mistake, she wanted Gale to blow up in Act 2, which is ridiculous. I know this is an uncomfortable topic for some people, but gods aren't perfect, especially in fiction. They're flawed. They're selfish. Some of them are straight up assholes. The real irony of Gale's arc isn't that he has no one to blame but himself, it's that Mystra should blame herself. At no point does she even consider if she's being unreasonable or unfair. There's no self reflection whatsoever. And the writers expect me to think Gale's full of himself? I wonder where he got it.

Probably from his teacher. ✋🎤

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 mystra #mystra #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #elminster #bg3 tav #lore #twilight

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writingquestionsanswered · 5 months ago

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Not to be a downer, but I actually finished my novel and now I’m confused because I don’t want to publish it. I don’t even particularly want anyone other than maybe my two close friends to even read it. What on Earth did I write 40k words (which I know is not really long enough for a novel, but it’s still far and away the longest thing I’ve ever written) for? I know people say “write for yourself” but like… am I just wasting my time? Help?

(p.s. you can leave this off anon)

(p.p.s your blog is really great 👍)

There's No Such Thing as Wasted Writing

I'm going to tackle this two ways...

#1 - "Write For Yourself" - there's a reason this common phrase has echoed through the Hall of Writers since time immemorial. It's because it's true! Writing doesn't have to be anything more than a pastime. It doesn't have to be anything more than something you do for your own benefit and enjoyment.

I have an in-joke with family members about how any time one of us does something the least bit crafty, DIY, skilled, whatever, a particular family member will always say, "You did a great job! You should do it for a living!" Like, someone can't even crochet a Kawaii mushroom without being pressured to turn it into an Etsy dynasty, or paint a cabinet without being pressured to become the next Property Brothers. And that's such a BANANAS capitalistic mindset, isn't it? This idea that nothing can be done purely for our own enjoyment. That you can't just write a novel because you want to... you can only write it if you plan to share it or publish it? It's just so silly.

And, the thing is, we don't even apply that mentality to a lot of other things people do purely for enjoyment. No one is streaming all of Bridgerton in two nights and saying, "I enjoyed every second of that, but why did I do that? Such a waste of time!" No one spends an hour strumming their guitar under the stars on a beach, and then says, "That was so relaxing and fun, but I didn't charge for that performance and I didn't record it to sell it, so that was obviously a waste of time."

You know what I mean?

#2 - And Anyway, Practice Makes Perfect - And if you keep writing--even if you continue not to share or publish--you'll get better and better with each story you write. Which, maybe all that means is you get to appreciate your own improvement, but also, should you ever change your mind and decide to write something to share or publish, you've now spent time honing your skills. Even if those other stories never see the light of day, they're still an important foundation of the writer you become. Do you know how many unpublished novellas, novels, and short stories I have? Too many to count. Hundreds of fan-fiction and original fiction short stories I've only shared with one or two other people, if anyone. A dozen or so novels and novellas that have only been read by a few people, and some haven't been read by anyone else or have only been read by my CPs. I would never consider those stories and novels and novellas to be a waste of time, because I know every single one made me a better writer. My published work is better because I wrote those other things.

So, I hope that makes you feel better. At the very least you hopefully enjoyed writing your novel--or at least got something out of it--and you definitely honed your writing skills, which matters! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

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glow-in-the-dark-death · 4 months ago

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Don’t know if you take writing prompts so if you don’t feel free to ignore this I have an idea for a dcxdp crossover ghost hunger au ( but only if you want otherwise it’s just Danny being able to eat anything and everything literally )ghost prince Danny au Redeemed Vlad au Vlad x Maddie x jack

Halfas were mistaken for a lot of things in mythology and being very rare they were often considered the “special ones” of whatever species they were mistaken for and the last halfa before Vlad was the one that inspired the novel of Dracula Yes there are vampires, but the one from the story of Dracula was not a vampire

Anyway, Danny trying to hide from the GIW decides to lean in on the mistaken identity, and what better city to do that in then Gotham, the one rumored to have monsters already patrolling its streets anyway Danny, gets mistaken for a vampire and Danny decides to roll with it setting up shop in an abandoned cathedral while trying to get the undead of Gotham back into the zone ( Grundy, the talons, Jason, and possibly a few others)

And Vlad occasionally has him going to galas for business (and practice for when Danny is the ghost king ) and of course, Danny continues the vampire act there too tone down, but still enough to give off an otherworldly vibe

I love this idea! I think I've only ever seen one other story about fake vampire Danny.

I'm not really able to write an actual story with world building or anything nice like that (trust me I've tried not pretty🫠😆), my stuff is usually just gibberish that I clean up a bit before posting, so I'm really sorry if you wanted an actual mini story.

But I'll try to do a little prompt!

Tell Me What I Am

There had been some odd rumors going around Gotham.

Those who were more sensitive said that the dead becoming aware, most didn't pay much truth to all that was being said.

Still everyone was more alert feeling like the entirety of Gotham was in the presence of something Other.

Jason didn't enjoy going to the galas when he was young and now as the recent 'No Longer Dead Wayne Child" he was forced to go once again.

He looked around trying to avoid all the rich snobs that were trying to push their daughters practically into his arms

He snorted at his thoughts, "Very much not my type."

Distracted he bumped into someone and oh-speaking of his type.

Danny didn't mean to bump into someone especially the guest of honor of the gala but it had been a while since he was able to properly eat something that actual filled him up and not just distracted his mind a bit before it came back,

So forgive him for being distracted and-

oh?

Oh!

"You smell divine" he mumbled in between his suddenly overly sharp teeth

"..Wha-Thanks I guess?"

Danny's foggy mind suddenly snapped back into sharp focus once he felt Vlad call for him.

He quickly fled from the man

' Shit I almost bit him what the hell! '

Jason thought back to the night of the gala

"Hey B, do the Masters seem...odd to you?"

Bruce glance up from his work

"Did something happen?"

He thought about the sharp fangs suddenly in the young man's mouth alongside his comment feeling almost like prey under his intense gaze that pinned him in place with the sheer hunger and want in them.

How the older man pulled him away but not before Jason saw his eyes flash red for barely a second.

"....Maybe."

Just an Idea

Hope this was to your taste Anon!

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #batman #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #dcxdp

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moonchildstyles · 8 months ago

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have you thought about revisiting that anon concept about asterry and his girlfriend watching p*rn? I'm asking for a friend hehe

wordcount: 9.8k+

—————

(Y/N) blinked, staying silent as she took in the conversation around her. This was definitely not the avenue she saw the night taking when Charlotte had opened the second bottle of wine between the few of them.

"I asked him if he still watched it a lot, like as much as he did before we started dating, but he wouldn't really say no," Emily shared before taking a pull from her wine glass, "He didn't say yes, but all he said was that its different now, don't worry. What is that even supposed to mean? Like, do you watch porn when I go to sleep, yes or no?"

Charlotte and Sarah both laughed, joining Emily as she smiled around the rim of her wine glass. (Y/N) wanted to laugh along, but she was honestly still a bit thrown off by the topic.

Truthfully, she didn't know really much about anything that had to do with... pornography. The closest she had were the scenes some of her romantic novels had, and movies that had her adverting her eyes.

Not only was the act of sex demonized growing up—especially before marriage—but anything else that had to do with it. There was no way she was going to risk doing any of her own research should her parents' close monitoring catch even a stray google search.

After getting out from under their thumb, she didn't have much desire to go looking on that corner of the internet—she had done fine enough up to this point, she figured. Then, of course, she met Harry and there really seemed to be no need for any kind of video when she had him in the flesh.

(Y/N) honestly wondered if she had ever even spoken the word porn aloud, let alone discussed it with anyone else. This conversation was especially jarring given all of the giggling and the unfiltered language.

"Em," Charlotte piped up, bringing her wine glass to her mouth to cover the wry grin growing on her face, "Have you ever tried watching it with him, though?"

Feeling her cheeks warming, (Y/N) practically sunk into her skin as if to hide from the conversation. Sarah had mimicked her surprise some, though she was decidedly less shocked into silence.

"Charlotte!" Sarah bubbled, dark brows raised, "Is that what you do?"

Another peal of laughter came from the wine-soaked group, though (Y/N)'s reaction was more to fit in with the theatrics. (When it came to topics like these, she didn't want to be quiet even if she wasn't necessarily talkative—being too silent left people wondering if she was uninterested, judging them, and invited questions she wasn't looking to answer).

She had always figured the viewing of those kinds of videos to be something that was done alone. She couldn't fathom anyone joining in and watching alongside what should be a particularly intimate moment. (Besides, if you had someone to watch them with, why watch them at all when you could be with that person?).

Charlotte hesitated for a moment, opening her mouth before closing it. Emily nudged her at her side, a mischievous smile on her face.

"C'mon, spit it out."

Finally, Charlotte threw her hands up in surrender. "It's honestly not that bad, and I think you should try it."

"So, you have done it!" Sarah called, bouncing in her spot on the couch, "With Elijah or?"

"With Elijah, yeah," she settled, the wine getting to her tongue as she didn't mind sharing more details, "I walked in on him one time, and I wanted to be grossed out, but I just wasn't. It ended up working out, and now it's just a thing sometimes."

Charlotte's ending shrug before taking down a gulp of wine showed the end of her story, though Emily still nudged her as if there was more she could shake out.

"I don't know if I could do that," Sarah admitted, crossing her legs underneath herself, "I think it would annoy me too much, that Mitch was watching a video like that when he could have just called me or something."

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth as the conversation then changed, some debate on if videos like that were allowed in relationships.

She didn't know what she would do if she walked in on Harry watching something like that. While she couldn't really deny that she enjoyed the sight of him playing with himself (something she's shyly learned every time Harry passed his fist over himself before sinking into one of her holes), she wasn't sure what she would think about the inspiration behind the act. There was a part of her that would be offended, she thought, that she was right there and he picked a video over the real thing. Another part of her understood that maybe he wouldn't want to have sex right then, instead opting to take care of himself before moving on. Besides, it wasn't like he had photos of her to look at in the heat of the moment, so she figured she would have to understand.

There was no use in being jealous of girls in movies anyway. Even if it did kind of hurt her stomach thinking about Harry reacting to them the same way he did to her.

Around her the conversation had floated elsewhere leaving behind the illicit subject matter for something lighter (a movie Emily had gone to the theater to hate watch only to end up liking it some, and now she was questioning her taste level). She was able to plug into this one much better, that much was evident in the way Sarah had quit giving her small glances as if she knew that (Y/N)'s comfort was twisting.

Despite now adding her own takes to the conversation and actively engaging outside of a few well placed laughs and head nods, the back of her mind was lagging behind.

There were questions rattling around that she was sure she wasn't going to be able to keep completely under wraps the next time she saw Harry.

—————

(Y/N) watched as Harry climbed into bed beside her, comforter pulled up to her chin as she sunk into the warm mattress. He gave her a lopsided smile when he caught her following gaze, her skin warming as she averted her eyes.

Cuddling in beside her, Harry pulled her close with an arm around her waist, his ankle hooking around hers. She could feel his eyes on her, but when she didn't immediately match his gaze she heard a plume of laughter fall from him,

"Why won't y'look at me, love?" he smiled, reaching his hand on her waist through the duvet to brush her hair out of her face.

She shyly kept her eyes on the column of his tattooed throat, following the thorny roses. "You caught me."

(Y/N) could feel the fan of his laughter as much as she heard it. His hand settled on her cheek then, his fingertips venturing into the baby hairs bordering her hairline. "Yeah, but y'catch me looking at you all the time," he countered, "Jus' lets me know y'like what y'see."

Using his hand on her cheek, he angled her face towards him once more, forcing her eyes to meet his own. A small smile graced his features, his eyes light with amusement. Tipping his chin just right, he pressed his lips to hers in a delicate kiss.

When he pulled away his smile had grown, dimples now touching his cheeks as he ran the pad of his thumb over the height of her cheekbone. "Did you have fun tonight, baby?"

Their dinner date splashed through her head, along with all of the warm feelings she went through while under the dimmed lights. They swapped bites of food, shared a cocktail (Y/N) really wanted to try but was worried it would be too strong, and Harry pulled out any joke he could in hopes of hearing her bubbling laughter through the restaurant.

Nodding her head against the pillow, her own smile took her features, leaving her cheeks mushed between Harry's hand and the soft of her pillow. "A lot of fun. Thank you for taking me."

His hand slipped down the slope of her form, settling on the sup of her waist before he gave a gentle squeeze. When (Y/N) reacted with a bubble of laughter, Harry's eyes swam with adoration.

"I had fun too, baby," he crooned, "Thank you for coming with me."

With the low lights and the gentle way he spoke to her, (Y/N) felt like she was supposed to be tired. It was kind of her thing, anyway—being sleepy and decidedly ready to pass out whenever. But, that just didn't seem to be the case tonight, her head was too full.

When she had come to his place after class, Harry greeting her at the door, there was a pinging question in the back of her mind that made an abrupt return from the previous night. As much as she wanted to blurt it out, get the curiosity out of the way, it didn't feel entirely appropriate to ask her boyfriend about his porn habits just after walking through the door. That much was made even more apparent given the fact that Mitch greeted her a few minutes later, trekking from his room to the kitchen with a small wave. Then, Harry had told her he had plans to take her out to dinner that night, and there was no way she was asking such a question in the middle of a restaurant.

There was never good time it seemed, to sate her curiosity and learn her own perspective on what her friends had been talking about. No time better than right now, anyway.

She just had to find some kind of courage to go along with the timing.

Shuffling closer, the sheets shifting around them, Harry pressed a small kiss to her forehead, right over a crease she hadn't realized was scrunching the skin. "What's going on in here?" he cooed, "You're thinking too hard before bedtime, love."

"I just—" she bubbled off before stopping her tongue. She swallowed, a pinch appearing between her brows. "There was something... I don't know."

There were no words that felt comfortable in her mouth, nothing that she could feasibly hear herself saying when it came to the questions she had. (Honestly, she couldn't understand how she was able to utter some of the things she did for Harry between the sheets and now shy away over pornography).

His hand on her waist was a stern anchor, the grip just tight enough to remind her that he was there. "'S alright, y'can tell me. What is it?"

Gone was the amusement and the soft teasing he had offered up to her before, instead his voice growing soft and forgiving. Patience now settled in his eyes as he waited on her.

Dropping her own gaze to dance around his features, she distracted herself with the spray of fine freckles on his nose. "The girls last night, they said something that I've just been... thinking about I guess."

The warmth of his gaze traced over her own features. "What was it? It wasn't anything rude, right?"

"No, no, no," (Y/N) rushed out, matching his gaze to show her sincerity. All of those girls were her friends, and Sarah would also never let anything like that happen around her. "It was—I don't know, it feels weird to say it."

Harry's expression relaxed now that he knew he wasn't there to be nursing any wounds. "We've said a lot of weird stuff to one another, baby. I think I can handle it."

She couldn't look him in the eye when she tried to speak again, instead dropping back to the tattooed skin of his neck. Her hands between them reached to take his shirt between her fingers, the faded graphic on the material distracting her just enough.

"They were talking about porn." Her heartbeat sounded in her ears. "With their boyfriends."

There was a pause, though (Y/N) could feel his unwavering eyes on her face.

"Okay," he finally shared, the syllable slow as it dropped from his tongue, "That's what's been on your mind?"

Folding her bottom lip between her teeth, she tried to find the next set of words that made sense. "I-I have questions. I think."

Harry's expression broke into a soft smile she could hear through the delicate huff of laughter he let out. "You think?"

Peeking up at him through her lashes, she saw his eyes bare of liner, the planes of his face relaxed and rounded, and his hair pushed away from his face leaving it all on display. He didn't look at all bothered by her avenue of conversation, leaving him to be the always open book he was for her, willing and ready to answer anything she needed.

"Yeah," she said, settling into her skin some, "I knew what they were talking about, but I don't think I really understand it all. I thought I could ask you, if it wasn't weird."

"Never weird, love," Harry shared, "You know 'm always here to answer anything y'need help with."

(Y/N) blinked, tipping her chin in a short nod. "Okay, but if there's anything you don't want to answer, you don't have to."

"'M sure I can answer ever—"

"Do you watch porn?"

Practically cringing at the sound of her voice wrapped around that question and the fact she spoke it aloud right to Harry, (Y/N) wanted to curl up in hopes of disappearing.

"Sorry," she started, her voice barely a peep, "I didn't mean to cut you off."

Harry looked at her for a lingering moment, his brows raised high over his eyes before he melted some. An amused smile sat on his lips, a small puff of laughter exhaling from his lungs. "'S alright," he offered, his hand on her waist squeezing just enough, "Not what I was expecting, but 's okay.

"To answer your question," he drawled, "No, I don't—not since you, really. No need to when I've got my own pretty star, huh?"

His lips molded into a teasing smile, but lopsided as he pressed forward hoping to catch a small grin from her.

Keeping her shy gaze dropped, (Y/N) couldn't keep her lips from curling. There was a bit of pride from the flattery; he didn't need any videos when he had her instead. She was enough to satisfy him, and that was a nice thought even if it was a bit in the gutter.

Spotting her shy smile, Harry let out a plume of laughter before he dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose. Knowing him, he probably already knew what was going on in her head, even if she didn't say it aloud.

"Is that all y'wanted to know, my love?"

Her fingers in his shirt curled just a bit more, as if she were bracing herself for this next string. "One of the girls, she said something about her and her boyfriend... watching it together," (Y/N) prattled, her voice growing smaller the more she went on, "Is that normal?"

Harry lagged in his response, taking his time with his fingers fiddling with a pulsing pattern on her waist. "It can be," he offered, "but, 's not for everyone. I've never really talked about that with anyone, but I would imagine it could make people feel closer—sharing something that's usually only done by yourself."

(Y/N) silently nodded her head, taking in his offered information. Truthfully, she wanted to stall, find another inconsequential question to stall him before she was left with the last curiosity she'd had burning in the back of her head.

The avenue she landed on was barely any less humiliating, but it was easy to fall from her tongue than the other she'd had on deck. She still couldn't meet his eyes as she spoke, bubbling off the question before she could second guess herself.

"Is that something you would want to try? Like, watching it together and all."

Skating his hand over the curves of her form, Harry tipped her chin up. Their eyes matching, (Y/N) could see the way he scanned over her features the way he always did when he was attempting to decipher where she was coming from. The lines of his features were softened, rounding into soft curves and gentling the longer her gazed at her.

"Is that something you want to try?"

Flounder under his pressing, (Y/N) understood what he was going for—she was too shy to explicitly voice all of her wants, so he had to fill in the gaps at times—but was still taken aback none the less. Of course the thought had crossed her mind since the previous night, about what it would be like to sit with Harry and watch a different kind of movie than she usually watched with him, but the idea wasn't exactly the most compelling.

She wasn't sure if she could really handle watching him watch someone else, and potentially become more turned on than he had even been with her. Nonetheless, she had never actually watched any porn herself, and she wasn't sure if she really had any real inclination to change that.

But, there was something to be said about the way Harry had described the act: sharing someone to vulnerable, that is usually kept private, with someone you trust. He had a way of making these scenes sound much more romantic than the semantics did.

"I don't know," she settled on, aware of the intensity in his eyes as he watched her, "I've never really watched anything like that, so I don't think I really understand what that would mean."

Almost imperceptible, (Y/N) was able to catch the way his brows raised just enough. "Really?"

Tipping her head in an almost shrug between the sheets, (Y/N) pursed her lips. "It was one of those things, you know."

That was enough of an explanation to Harry; he knew her growing years and the drilled in obedience that followed her even after leaving home. Despite curiosity, there was no way she would have had the confidence to even make a search, that he knew.

A small curve settled on his lips, patience and understanding sitting in his eyes. "Guess that makes sense then, hm?"

"Just add it to the list," (Y/N) joked back, a small huff of laughter falling from her lips.

His hand on her jawline that he had used to tip her face towards him now angled itself towards the curve of her throat. His palm was warm and agnate over her skin, the pad of his thumb stretching to rest on the hinge of her jaw. "Is it something you want to know more about?"

"Kind of," she answered honestly, sinking into the fluff of the pillow under her head, "But...Really, I think I only care about what y-you like and all of that."

It was one of the harder admissions, (Y/N) feeling as if she were asking a bit too much into his personal thoughts. If he wanted to share that part of himself, he would have already, she figured.

The warmth of his thumb on her cheek expanded as he pet a small trail down to the line of her jaw. "I don't really watch it anymore, love, remember?"

"Yeah, but," she started, resisting the urge to pin her bottom lip between her teeth, "What about before?"

When Harry paused, (Y/N)'s fingers in her shirt pulsed in an anxious curl.

"But, you don't have to answer if you don't want to," she quickly attempted to recover, replaying her words and just how pushy they may have come off.

The amused laughter that fell from his lips was enough to reassure her that she hadn't bothered him too much. "'S alright, baby," he murmured, "I was jus' thinking."

When he didn't immediately offer any extra information, she couldn't help herself—her curiosity was so close to gaining all the answers she needed, she didn't want it to stop now.

"About what?" she mumbled, watching intently as he just kept thinking.

Only one side of his mouth curled upwards, his smile going lopsided. "If I should tell you, or show you."

Now, (Y/N) had no choice but to fall silent around her dry throat. Show her?

Harry let out a small laugh at her reaction, unable to hold himself back before he was pressing a gentle kiss to the bridge of her nose between her wide eyes.

"I take it that I should probably jus' tell you, huh?" he joked, pulling away with a brilliant smile on his lips to match the bright lilypad of his irises.

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) spoke up, "Y-You could show me. If you think that would be easier."

Though the request itself wasn't made with much confidence, she still was surprised it even made its way out of her mouth. Two birds with one stone, she figured, she'd finally see what it—porn—was all about, and learn something new about Harry.

That was what she was telling herself anyway.

Raising a single brow over his intense gaze, Harry took in her reaction. "We could do that," he mused, "But, I don't want to do that if it would make y'uncomfortable, love. It can be a bit... much, especially if you have nothing to compare it to."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she allowed her gaze to trace along the line of the single stray curl that rested against his temple. "I think I can handle it," she told him, her voice small as she avoided his eyes.

Shifting his hand on her neck, Harry brought his palm to rest on her cheek. The pad of his thumb ran along the fragile skin under her eyes. "You are brave, aren't you."

"I try," she murmured, shy smile evident in her voice.

She could practically see the gears turning in Harry's head, his eyes flashing with just a glint of something she couldn't name. She was hyper aware of his hand once again gliding over her skin until he was carding his fingers through her hair to rest his palm on the back of her head. She matched her gaze to his bashfully.

"Are you tired, or do y'think y'can stay up a little while longer with me?"

With a flutter of her lashes, and her heart mimicking the act, (Y/N) tugged herself that much closer to him between the sheets.

"I can stay awake." His lips turned into a lopsided smile, a single dimple denting his cheek as he gazed at her. (Y/N) could only tip her chin just so when he surged forward, pressing their lips together in a warming kiss. While it was chaste, there was an urgency behind it that she could feel before he pulled away.

"Lay the other way for me, baby," he instructed with a jerk of his chin, "I need to grab m'phone." When (Y/N) didn't immediately turn to press her back to his chest, Harry lagged, keeping from reaching for his phone on the bedside. "What's wrong, hm?"

"I don't get to see you?" (Y/N) murmured, barely keeping the whine out of her voice. She preferred seeing his eyes over everything else, knowing that it was him that was touching her.

A soft hum of laughter fell from his lips. "'S just gonna be a little bit easier this way, love, that's all. I'll still be right here."

"'Kay," she answered, though she didn't follow his instruction until he pressed another kiss to her puckered lips.

With that, Harry reached to the bedside table where his phone was resting while (Y/N) twisted in the sheets to lay on her side with her back to his chest. The duvet folded, leaving her arm and back exposed to the chill while Harry took longer than a few moments to do whatever it is he was doing on his phone.

She could hear the faint taps of his finger against the screen, scrolling and typing before he eventually curled around her. Harry conformed to the shape of her, his sweatpants-clad legs tangling with her bare ones with his arm hooking around her waist to position his phone before the two of them. He shifted the pillow under his head until she could feel the plume of his breath grazing the column of her throat, warm though it still elicited goosebumps to erupt over her skin.

(Y/N) could feel her heart bubbling in her chest when she dared to peek at what was on his bright screen. Though there was nothing explicit or exposing on the screen, she was sure they weren't too far off with the dark color scheme of the site he had brought up.

"Are you sure, love?" he murmured, his lips close to her ear, "We don't have to do this if y'don't want to. It can be a lot right away, and I don't want to scare you."

Folding her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) allowed his words to roll around her head. She wasn't completely naive—she could imagine what the videos would look like, though she doubted it would look or feel the same as it did when she was underneath Harry. But, his earlier definition still stuck with her: this was a small vulnerability he was sharing with her. This is something he would normally have kept so private, but he was willing to bring her in and share something so different with her.

She could be brave—she could keep her curiosity burning enough to keep from feeling any kind of anxiety.

"I'm sure," she mumbled, "Thank you."

Dropping a kiss to her shoulder, Harry hugged her to his chest for a lingering moment. "You tell me if y'change your mind, darling."

"I will," she assured, despite his words being more of a statement than request.

Reaching over her, Harry grabbed for his phone and began tapping at the screen. The brightness had lowered from disuse, but was brought back to life from his touch, leaving every frame illuminated once more. Snuggled against his back, (Y/N) watched, her eyes widened once the reality of the site was scrolled through.

There was already a video pulled up on screen, showing what exactly took him so long to tap through his phone before. (Y/N) blinked, trying to decipher what was in the thumbnail before her.

From the small snippet she could see—along with the attention grabbing, all caps title—this was a loving couple having morning sex on a Saturday to the sunrise. Very romantic and loving, supposedly. In the picture, she could see the beginnings of a sunrise through a conveniently, perfectly lit bedroom. There were gauzy drapes over their open windows and pristine white linens on their bed—even the creases and folds were artfully tufted around their bodies. (Y/N) couldn't be sure if they were just that perfect, or this was an expertly produced video. She couldn't tell the difference.

The pair was barely clothed, their faces cut out of frame, leaving their bodies to be the star of the show. The man had tattoos—no where near as many as Harry, but still quite an array. He was undressed down his briefs, where there was a bulge that could be clearly seen against the woman's stomach. She was made of smooth swathes of skin, the ends of her hair visible as it brushed her bare skin before disappearing out of frame, and her chest bare. All (Y/N) could see that was distinctive about her form, was a small tattoo on her thigh in the shape of a red heart outline, contrasting against the white cotton panties sitting on her hips. Their limbs were in a tangle with one another, legs crossed and arms holding one another.

From behind, she could feel the brush of Harry's lips against her throat. "Does this look okay?"

(Y/N) gave her approval in a small nod of her head, her hair brushing against her pillow. "Have you watched this before?"

She could hear the curl of his lips in his voice as his words swept across the back of her neck. "A few times, yeah."

As he spoke, Harry's thumb tapped on the video, pressing play and starting it up. She watched as the frames took over the screen, showing the humble beginnings of the film with the woman crawling over the bedsheets to reach her lover where he was laid back against the pillows. The soft sound of their lips meeting could be heard off screen.

"W-When?" she asked, her line of questioning a safe distraction from what was going on in front of her.

The soft sounds of their mouths coming together and parting filtered quietly from his phone. Were they that loud when they kissed too?

"Not for a while," he reminded her, though his voice dropped lower into a whisper just for her when he spoke again, "Watched it for the first time after that night in my office at the shop though, I remember that."

"You do?" Her skin warmed at the reminder of that first night—all of the things she learned that night while sprawled out on that couch.

On video, the man had gripped the woman's hips and settled her atop him from the position she had previously held on all fours. The length of their bodies were pressed together, their faces still just perfectly out of frame to keep everything anonymous. Their kissing had turned rougher, a bit noisier as they sunk into one another. The sun outside their window was casting luminous glares over the scene, giving buttery warmth to their escalating acts.

Harry's hand on her waist squeezed as he watched. "Yeah," Harry breathed, a heavy kiss landing on the back of her neck, "I couldn't stop thinking about you, and I saw this video and... she kind of looks like you, doesn't she?"

(Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat. There was a moment as the woman moved, her body on display against the heavy tattoos of her partner that had her seeing them in just the right light.

Cotton panties, bare skin, delicate tattoo, all wrapped in white with the slow sharing of kisses between she and her lover. (Y/N) could see herself in that.

It was an exhilarating feeling knowing that Harry saw someone so effortlessly sexy, and could see (Y/N) in them.

She pressed herself against him that much more, her back against his chest. His hand on her waist tightened, as if preparing to keep her just where she was should someone try to steal her away. She could feel the fan of his breath fluttering over her skin as she watched his phone.

The acts between the couple escalated until the camera caught the way the woman ran her hand down the man's body until she had reached his cock. Her palm was pressed against the bulge, rubbing against it through the fabric of his underwear. He moaned unabashedly off screen, whispering something for only his lover to hear. (Y/N)'s lungs squeezed when she saw the way the dots of wetness seeped over the grey underwear covering him.

"Wh-What else do you like about this video?" (Y/N) murmured, shifting so her hand was laid over his own on her waist, their fingers tangling together.

A breathy laugh could be heard from behind her. Harry's voice was just as low as he spoke, "Do y'really want me to talk through the whole thing?"

"I like hearing you more," she admitted, squeezing his hand in hers.

A delicate kiss was dropped to her shoulder, the curl of his smile evident in the small contact. "Well, other than her reminding me of my angel," he drawled, a tease to his tone, "'S different than some of the things I used to watch. I liked seeing something gentle."

(Y/N)'s throat bobbed as she swallowed around her dry throat. Before her, the videoed couple had now moved on to sliding their hands into each other's underwear. The man's face was buried in his lover's neck, showing off a head of dark hair as his moans filtering through the small speakers. The woman's whimpering noises could be heard in tandem with the slick sounds of their hands roaming each other's bodies.

"What was the other stuff you watched?" Absently, (Y/N) was aware of the way her hips shifted some, rubbing her backside against Harry's front. Behind her, against the curve of her bottom, she could feel something much more rigid than the blocks of his muscle beginning to press into her.

He paused before he spoke, mulling over her question while she watched on screen as the few pieces of clothing covering the couple's bodies were shed. Harry's hand on her waist shifted, leaving her own behind as he pressed his palm into the soft of her stomach. She could feel the pressure of his fingertips on her plush skin just as much as she could see the man on screen press against his lover's thigh in the same way.

"'Member m'birthday?" he murmured into her skin, his mouth beginning a blazing trail over her shoulder. The tip of his nose caught on the neck of her top, pulling it along with him as he kissed the cuff of her shoulder.

For a split moment, there was a different movie playing for (Y/N). This one featured she and Harry as the stars, celebrating his birthday between the sheets with his cock sinking into her throat, his palm smacking over her center, and his cum painting over her face. She wondered if he could feel the way her stomach tightened under his hand at the memories.

"Yeah," she answered simply, the word carried on a warm breath.

He hummed from behind her, a smug curl on his lips pressing into her shoulder. "Things like that, baby," he explained, "But I started watching things like this after I met you."

The couple on screen was beginning to find the throes of their passion, now both bare bodied and reaching for one another. There was a part of (Y/N) that wanted to shy away at the sight of two strangers and their naked bodies, their recording of an intimate moment not sitting right in her stomach. There was another part of her that imagined Harry sitting down, pants to his thighs and his hand in his lap, picturing she and him in these spots instead as he fisted his cock. That part of her kept her from drawing her eyes away, urging her to see what he did—see what held his attention while waiting for her to be ready for more than easy touching and kisses in his bedroom.

Her mouth felt dry when she tried to speak again, only to be cut off when Harry's palm grazed the waist of her panties. Though she was still only feeling his touch through her shirt, she was sure he could feel the extra groove of fabric and the tightening of her abdomen. Only that much further, and he could fit his hand between her legs just like the man on screen was doing to his own lover.

"Wh-Why?" she asked, building off of his previous response to keep herself from melting and begging for him to touch her when they had barely just started.

Hooking his ankle around hers, Harry started pulling her that much more into his embrace. The sheets around them hissed over their bodies, his phone wobbling from its upright position against the pillow though it didn't fall. He pushed his thigh between her own, opening up her legs with the hem of her oversized shirt being pushed up and over her thighs.

"I liked the idea of going slow, after I met you, love," he detailed, no longer playing around when he finally slid his hand over her form and slipped it under the end of her top, "Didn't really get off on the thought of fucking you as much as I did to kissing you and making y'happy."

(Y/N) all but melted at his explanation. She reveled in the sound of his voice, mixing with the soft sound of the couple on screen finding their own bliss within one another. Through her hooded gaze, it was easy to see the lovers on his phone as she and Harry, the daydream building around her.

In a tug back down to earth, (Y/N)'s breath caught when Harry fit his hand between her thighs. His wandering touch had finally reached her, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit and the length of his fingers down her center. She was sure he could feel the heat that had collected there, though she hoped she hadn't completely soaked through her underwear that quickly.

"Y'like it so far?" he asked, pressing his palm that much harder against her clit.

"Uh-huh," she breathlessly replied. Her hooded eyes were glued to the sight of the way the man positioned himself above her, thighs open for him to fit between. She could hear him murmur something to her, passing a hand over her form with fingertips skating across her breasts and down to the round of her hips. Every touch was careful and clinging, the sound of their kissing soundtracking the moment. "He reminds me of you."

He hummed from behind her, his hand beginning to shift over her core in a delicate press to draw away her breath. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she answered, eyes stitched to the video as the man sunk his cock into his lover, a shrill whine leaving her lips while he settled against her hips. His tattoos quivered as his muscles flexed under his skin, making the stars and constellations inked over his skin dance. "You're better, but," (Y/N) swallowed, hearing the quiet slap of his skin against the woman's as he thrusted against her, "He touches her like you touch me."

Harry's response came in the form of languid touches that warmed her skin and kept her breathless even when her eyes closed and the video was an afterthought. Underneath her, he fit his free arm to coil around her form. His thigh between her two tensed, lifting just enough so he could spread her own legs enough to give her what she wanted.

Hooking his fingers into her panties, he pulled them to the side, a cool shiver going up (Y/N)'s spine now that she was exposed to his touch. He dragged his fingertips through her slit, collecting the drops of slick until he circled around her clit in languorous pulls.

She had never been so thankful for the stretched out neckline of her top as she was then, when she felt Harry's heavy kisses searing into her bare skin. There was so much of him all over, pressing into her back with his cock hard against her, his kiss on her shoulder, and his hand on her core, pulling more and more air out of her lungs.

"You know how many times I thought about doing that to you, baby?" he drawled into her skin, syrupy and thick into her pores, "Before y'were ready, this was all I had. Had to picture you letting me spread you out like that, feel how wet you were jus' for me."

With his hand between her thighs, slick fingertips on her clit before they traveled down towards her pulsing opening, she could have cried for him. She had been depriving him of this, leaving him to only watch videos and imagine, when they could have been doing this so much sooner. She wasn't sure at times—especially at one like this—how she had even made it through without his touch.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered out for him, her hand grasping at sheets, "Yo-You should have told me."

A rumble of laughter was felt against her back as much as she heard the sound fan to her ears. "Don't be sorry, lovebug, y'jus' weren't ready yet, that's all. I think we're making up for it jus' fine, don't you?"

She could only nod her head, forcing her eyes to blink open. It was a task given the fact that she was still luxuriating in the tease of his fingers passing over her entrance before smearing her clit and restarting the circuit. Looking ahead, she had seen that the couple on film was thick in their session, breathless, the man straining himself as he set a controlled pace while thrusting into his partner with the woman grasping and reaching for any part of him she could reach. Watching the way the man's skin turned pink in the wake of her nails made (Y/N) want to do the same to Harry—what would the roses on his chest and the butterfly on his torso look like filled in with a bit of color?

"I want to see you," she blurted out, unable to hold back anymore. She didn't care much for the movie anymore anyway, he was what she wanted. This video would probably still be there later, they could explore more later, if she really wanted.

A teasing smile could be heard in his voice, the notion making (Y/N) want to feel embarrassed through she didn't have much room for that given the way she was rutting into his hand. "Y'don't want to keep watching? I thought y'liked it, love? Liked him?"

"I like you," she countered, already turning in his arms despite the coil of his hold around her, "I want to see you now. You're better."

He didn't put up any more teasing argument, instead helping her as she twisted and turned in his arms until his phone was forgotten in the tufts of the duvet and she had her lips pressed to his. His and that had been between her legs was now stationed at her hip, his fingertips denting into the plush skin as she melted into him. A sigh of something that felt like relief to (Y/N) slipped from her throat.

Harry parted his lips, swiping his tongue across the seam of her mouth, tasting her noises. Reaching for his bare shoulders, (Y/N) wasn't even thinking before she had the blunt of her nails pressing to his skin, just like the woman in the video. (Who must have been having a good time given the faint noises (Y/N) could still hear among the folds of their bedding).

She readily opened her mouth for him to slip his tongue inside, eager to get a state of him. He led her through the kiss, pressing his tongue to hers and tasting through every delicate moan and breathy exhale she gave.

This was definitely better than watching a video.

"Harry," she mumbled into his kiss, barely enunciating before she was urging to press her lips to his once more.

He smiled against her mouth, allowing a small slew of her excited kisses to hit him before he pulled away enough to meet her eyes. His pupils were wide and dark, leaving only slices of murky green to ring around them. There was a flush over his cheeks, warm and red that matched the hue of his kiss-swollen lips. She couldn't help her eyes but to follow the tip of his tongue as it peeked out to wet his lips.

"What do y'want from me love?"

Her answer was automatic: "You."

(Y/N)'s gaze was drawn to the dimple that was thumbed into his cheek as a lopsided curl took his lips. "I know," he said, much too smug, "But do y'want me to keep touching you? Or do y'want more, love? Gotta tell me or I can't help you."

Her mind flashed to the vision of the man fitting his hips against his lover's like a puzzle piece, sinking inside her and straining his muscles to making the best pace for her. That was what (Y/N) wanted.

"I want more," she told him, her voice a whisper between just the two of them, "Like the video."

Harry drew closer towards he, his smile fading as the blunt of his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. "I can do that for you, baby. Do you think you're ready for me, or do y'need a little more?"

She shook her head on instinct. "I'm ready."

Tipping his chin, Harry pulled her into another languid kiss with his tongue touching over her lips. His kiss was a welcome distraction while his hand reached for the waist of her panties underneath the hem of her top. He pushed them down her thighs as far as he could before he was forced to break their kiss to help ease them off the rest of the way. (Y/N) felt clingy for him in that moment, already missing his touch and warmth. It wasn't much longer that he pulled his own underwear off, everything landing into a pile on the floor, before he was laying himself atop her.

Much like the movie, she swore their hips fit like puzzle pieces together, the bones cushioned by plush skin. She reached for his arms reflexively, though she hadn't meant to grip him so tightly until she felt the head of his cock nudge against her clit. Her lungs squeezed with a coiled ribbon cinching around her stomach.

Above her, Harry was like an angel. His eyes were bare from his usual liner, though there were still the stark black additions of his nose and lip rings pierced through his face. His skin was flushed and warm, cheeks matching his bright eyes. Around his features, his curls hung around in waved strands and curled ringlets. It wasn't the first time she had seen him like this and wondered if he was the true angel between the two.

"Still feel good, love?" he asked, his hands fisted into anchors on either side of her head.

Matching the intensity of his eye contact, (Y/N) kept herself from shrugging her hips against his own, wanting of feel along heavy brush of his cock against her center. "Uh-huh," she sounded, throat dry, "Please."

Only a glimpse of his smile could be seen before he was dipping down to draw her in for another kiss. He sealed his mouth to hers, kissing her top lip delicately with the soft sounds of their lips parting and coming together to fill the room.

For a moment, (Y/N) wondered if they would look like that couple if they were on film. If their love, and the gentle touches, and the shared heartspace could be seen just as easily. She liked to think they would do it even better.

One of his hands on the bed disappeared, the mattress shifting without the weight, before she felt it again over the small of her stomach. It was nothing more than a soft brush before he had his fist wrapped around his cock, guiding himself inside her. The head brushed against her clit in a heavy press; she couldn't tell if she was more wet than she thought or if he had been pearling dots of precum from his tip while she was preoccupied.

He slid his tip through her folds until he hit the pulsing entrance nestled inside. (Y/N) shivered, letting out small noise into his mouth. She could tell her was becoming distracted, his kiss slowing until he was doing nothing other than focusing on the slid of his cock through her wetness, socking in her until he finally pressed forward.

It was a familiar stretch, the head fitting inside her, but it still took her breath away. Especially now that their box of condoms was pushed to the back of his bedside drawer, barely used unless she asked, she was able to feel every ridge and vein on his cock. She felt more and more full with every inch pushed inside her, her walls pulling him in while she attempted to keep kissing him before giving up on the act in favor of simply resting her parted lips against his own.

Harry's guiding hand had shifted to lay on her hip, his touch a bit slick though neither of them minded. He was just as lost in the feeling as he was with the way he let out shuddering breaths with stilted lungs, his hand on the other side of her head now holding a tremor. His breath came out in warm fans over her features, heating her that much further.

He bottomed out with a wet sound of his cock sliding through her walls, his base resting heavy against her clit. (Y/N)'s hold on his arms tightened at the feeling, nails leaving imprints on his skin.

Her heartbeat bubbled in her ears as she got her bearings, coming to with a flutter of her eyes only to see harry already looking at her with his own hooded gaze.

"You alright?" he breathed, dilated eyes scanning over her features, "Do y'need me to wait?"

"No, no," she bubbled off, "Please, daddy."

That was all he seemingly needed to hear—the whine of her voice and his title so lovingly mentioned—before Harry was rearing his hips back and pressing into her once more. He split her open, her walls stretching and opening for him to fit inside with every languid thrust. The first few took her breath away, getting used to the feeling of the friction and every part of her body being fulfilled by him.

"Daddy," she helplessly called out, her voice a shared secret for just the two of them. The sheets hissed around them, matching her volume.

Harry watched her form above as she struggled to keep her eyes from closing. She wanted to see him; this is what she had been wanting when she decided to ditch the movie. She wanted to watch him the way they had watched the couple.

"'M here, baby. 'M here," he murmured, his voice dropping low as his mouth fell into a gape. "Feel so good, love—fuck."

Spurred on by his praise, (Y/N) hiked her this over his hip, the heel of her foot pressing into the back of his thigh. Her plush skin gave way to the angles of his body, cushioning him as he drove his hips into hers in lingering passes. His hand on her hip shifted then, dragging her sleep shirt the rest of the way up until her bare breasts were exposed to the heat of the room.

His palm dragged over the swell, her nipple catching on the creases of his skin. Goosebumps erupted over her form, her lashes fluttering at the touch. Harry dipped his head down, pressing his lips to her other breast, the tip of his nose skimming across before he wrapped his mouth around her nipple. His tongue touched over the bud, warming her though she could feel the skin tightening in response. He matched the pace of his wandering touch on her other breast, allowing her to feel him in every place she needed.

Almost.

Feeling the base of his cock press against her clit wasn't enough. She needed more than that fleeting touch against her, more than just the harsh smear over her weeping center.

"Daddy, I—" she cried out, her words evaporating when she felt him twitch inside her.

"'S okay," he shushed her, his mouth popping off of her nipple before he dragged his kisses towards her collarbone, "'M here, baby. I'll give y'anything y'want."

His words were nothing more than smeared rambles, but they sank perfectly into her brain. He was here—he had her. He wasn't a silly video, he was real and she could feel his weight and his touch and even his heartbeat.

"I want—" she stumbled, her words failing her in the heat of the moment, "I need—Please, touch me."

"I am touching you, baby," he countered, looking up at her through his lashes before finally leveling his gaze with hers. He hovered above her, his eyes still finding hers even as he jostled her with every thrust into her. "Y'need to tell me what y'want, and then I can help."

"My—It's—"

(Y/N) almost felt panicked, instead reaching for his hand on her breast to push it down to the apex of her thighs. His wrist strained under her hand when he realized when she was directing him towards. That was all the cue he needed before his thumb was smearing over her clit, circling and patting the bud just as she had wanted.

All but melting into the mattress, the beginnings of a cocky curl fell on his lips. "This was what y'wanted, my love? Coulda jus' told daddy—would have done it for you earlier."

Maybe it was feeling him splitting her walls open, slick with his precum, his hand on her clit, or the sound of his voice wrapped around his honorific, but (Y/N) could feel the bow in her abdomen tightening.

She could only whine for him, tightening her fingers around the bones of his wrist as he kept his ministrations up. His skin glimmered in a sheen of sweat, baby curls sticking to his temples as he took care of her just as he promised.

He caught her looking, matching his eyes to hers when she dared to travel her gaze to his clumped lashes. She expected a curl of his lips, a flash in his eyes, something teasing and smug to enter his expression. Instead, she saw the way his face rounded out, the harsh angles that usually made him up now fading into soft lines and curved edges.

"I love you," he murmured, "So much, (Y/N). You know that?"

This was a moment she wished she had on video, exactly from her perspective with every detail memorialized.

Releasing her hands on his wrist and arm, she settled her palms on his cheeks. Despite the rocking of their forms, the rustling bedsheets, and his phone lost somewhere at seat, (Y/N) almost forgot about everything but his touch.

"I love you too, honey."

Something flashed through his gaze then, but it was decidedly softer, more delicate than anything she had ever spotted before. She never called him by many pet names, preferring his name (it was the name of the man she was in love with, she couldn't think of a better thing to call him), but there were moments she thought he might like the extra love falling from her lips.

Harry didn't waste any longer than a beat before he was smearing his lips against hers. The kiss was messy and clumsy, just off center with his tongue swiping out before she was ready, but she loved it. This was what she wanted, what had been on her mind throughout the video.

He put more of himself into her, his hips picking up pace and his hand on her clit quickening. She felt the press of his chest every time he sank in deep inside her, splitting her walls and making more room for him than she even knew she had. Her insides clenched around him, sucking him deeper every time he sank back inside. The ribbon in her stomach was beginning to fray at the edges, unravelling more and more.

"B-Baby," Harry breathlessly crooned, pulling away just enough so she could hear, "Where do y'want m'cum? 'M al-almost there—fuck."

She didn't have to think before she was answering him, "Inside, inside. Please, daddy. I want it inside."

There was one more twitch of his cock inside her, his head nudging against what felt like her stomach, before there was nothing left of her to give. The fraying ribbon gave way, spooling too tight inside before falling apart. She shredded around him, feeling like nothing more than glimmering fabric laying in his arms for him to toss and turn whichever way he wanted. She could feel herself grow wetter, Harry's cock slicking through her opening.

(Y/N) clung to him, her hands on his cheeks keeping him close as she attempted to kiss him through her hazy mind. It was nothing more than her gaped mouth dropped open against his own, nothing more than absent calls of his name falling from her throat.

Barely, she could hear Harry mumbling a declaration—that he loved her—over and over against her mouth. She felt entirely too full, everything too much, when she realized he was cumming. Just as she had begged, he let go inside her, painting her walls in pumps of his cum that mixed with her own. She wouldn't be surprised to feel the aftermath dripping over her thighs.

By the time Harry's bedroom came back to fruition around her, (Y/N) wasn't sure if she had been breathing properly since he landed atop her. Everything around her was wispy, not quite real, other than Harry himself. He was a comforting weight, an anchor she clung to.

Sinking atop her, he rested his cheek on top of her chest. His nose skimmed her throat as he nuzzled closer to her, the length of his lashes tickling her bare chest.

"Y'alright, love?" he murmured, just as out of breath as she was.

"Mhm," she hummed, wrapping her arms around him in a clumsy hug, "I love you too, by the way."

A rumbling laugh fell from his chest. "Love you more."

With a small kiss being pressed to her sternum, harry began to untangle himself from her hold. He righted her shirt on her torso, covering her chest and keeping out the call that was beginning to seep over their sweat-glimmered skin now that the sheets had slid off of them.

"Where are you going?" she almost whined, reaching for him when he shifted out from between her cushioning hips.

His smile was tender, affection swimming in his lightening gaze as he looked at her. He brushed a stray hair out of her face, keeping her features clear for his admiration. "We've gotta clean up, love. Can't go to bed like this, can we?"

Fitting her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) didn't want to answer him. He was right—she needed to use the restroom and find a different pair of underwear for the night, while Harry inevitably searched for new sheets to change the bed into. But she didn't want to do that right now. She didn't want to walk around on wobbly legs, and go through her designated drawer, or anything else. She didn't want to touch anything that wasn't him.

Instead, (Y/N) clung to him, using her weight to tug him down until he finally relented. Harry gave in with a sigh though he couldn't keep the smile off of his face.

"Five more minutes, 'kay?" he bargained, cuddling her into him with her face in his throat and chin on the crown of her head. He even tugged the sheet up to blanket their forms once more, keeping her warm before patting her hip through the material.

(Y/N) smiled, pecking a small kiss to his neck.

"Five more minutes."

She'd stretch it until ten.

—————

I finally got around to this request so thank you for everyone bein patient!!!! thank you for reading, sorry for any mistakes and if there's any ideas or requests you have send them in !!!

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melodic-haze · 6 months ago

Note

h-hey 👯‍♀️😕😜🎀

Since you said in your other post that you wanted to write for either Miko or Ei, I HAD AN IDEA!!

What if Miko and fellow kitsune!Reader who start their breeding months (in january obviously) and have Ei volunteering herself to them not knowing that they can’t obviously be sated in just one day 🙄 (r.i.p her cunny)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: switch!Miko x sub!Ei x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader and Miko can shift what they want (specifically their genitals 😄), knotting and breeding (not really)

☆ — NOTES: You. YOUUUUUU. Are such a genius ily anon ty for this 🙏🙏🙏

Ohhhh this bitch REALLY fucked around and found out LOL I almost feel bad.......almost

Have to hand it to Ei though, she DID try to research before proposing the idea in the first place. Especially since this is set in the first year since she got out the PoE........but studying it obv won't be the same as the real thing LOL

You and Miko have fared relatively okay on your own—the two of you have ABSOLUTELY mated before to ease each other's heat but it always felt like something was missing. You both made sure to take procedures to make sure neither of you ever concieved a child after the process with the excuse of the two of you being way too busy to care for one but like. The actual main reason was that if you were to have a child, you both wanted to have the third piece of the puzzle there with you

Now that the third member of your polycule's back, your heats are STRONGER THAN EVER bc wtf she's acc here??? Ughfhghfhh neeeeeed......like do you get me I hope you do

It wasn't as if it was a normal discussion to have out in public (you both always talked about it indoors until neither of you needed to really talk ab it anymore from all the time spent w each other) but it was a nice picnic between the three of you; Ei's head was on Miko's thighs as she ate up yet ANOTHER skewer of tricolour dango while you were leaning on the latter's side when she brought it up

Ei cleared her throat with a slight tinge of nervousness, "Could I perhaps, ah.. assist the both of you in your mating period?"

You choked on the dango that you were about to swallow as you see Miko startle the slightest bit, nearly dropping her novel in the process.

When you managed to regain your composure (or at least a modicum of it), you could only rush out a simple "'scuse me?" as Miko placed her book down to the side with a raised brow.

Miko combed her fingers through Ei's hair as she questioned, "What brought this on, dear?"

"Well..." The Archon licked her lips as she slowly got her words out, "I've.. left you two for over five hundred years. And while I'm glad that you both had each other for company whenever the season hits, I cannot deny that.. well, I feel bad, I suppose."

"You feel bad," the shrine priestess mocked, which.. really, wasn't all that undeserved, despite the fact that she was mocking the nation's leader.

"For a lack of a better word, yes." She sits up and turns to the both of you, putting the now-empty skewer aside, "Now that I have returned from my admittedly self-imposed isolation, it would be remiss of me to.. avoid my duties as your lover."

"I don't mean to be rude, Your Excellency," you teased, "but do you even know what you're saying? You've been in the Plane of Euthymia for so long; I worry for your safety."

You hear the pink fox envoy let out a quiet snort of amusement for your slight condescension (all in good faith, of course) as Ei sighed, "I think you forget that I am not a fragile mortal who needs to be coddled—I can withstand brutal wars and come out victorious."

"Besides," she adds, "I have done a fair amount of research to refresh my knowledge. I assure you both that I can take whatever it is you give me."

Miko mused, "I thought you knew better than to rely on textbook information rather than actual experiment, Ei."

"You're trying much too hard to dissuade me from my offer."

"We both deserve to rib into you for at least a couple hundred years."

"Especially considering how we've been left to fend for ourselves..."

"I.. suppose I do deserve that. And I want to make amends for it all, starting with this. So.. will you let me help? Please?" She looked at the both of you with such sincerity despite the subject matter.

...

The fact that Raiden Ei herself was begging the two of you though...

The both of you jumped her sides with sharing grins, your ears flicking in sync as you let out your own laughs.

"You should hope that you don't regret that, Ei.."

"..Because we are rather.. insatiable."

Then comes the actual thing and ohhhhh girlie was NOT prepared

When I said your heats get worse bc of how Ei's back, I fucking MEAN IT. It's the fact that that familiar sweet smell isn't just a not-quite-forgotten memory for you two anymore that it's just driving you both abslutely NUTS

When she gets to you two she gets POUNCED ON and there is. Basically no break for her at all and foreplay is basically foreGONE atp tbh

Eat her cunt like a bitch STARVED it's like both you and Miko are competing and assisting each other at the same time like who can eat her out better, who can make her squirt, etc etc

SO MANY BITE MARKS ON HER HOLY SHIT like okay yes on you and Miko as well but both of you want to mark Ei EXTREMELY for all the time you've lost with her. The both of you wanna show both Ei and perhaps the entirety of Inazuma that archon is YOURS at the end of the day......at least, if the loud noises didn't give them enough of a hint 🤷‍♀️

You're so right anon rip Ei's cunny indeed bc both you and Miko ABUSE the living HELL out of it❗️❗️❗️ You do often have to personally pry Miko off when she's overstaying in the spot you're supposed to share 🫶🫶🫶🫶 just tell her she's being a VERY bad girl rn and she'll fold. Usually she wouldn't but the haze (lol) in her mind is sooo fucking thick she can't think straight and she can't think of the witty remarks she would've otherwise made :((( poor baby the only thing she wants to do is breed and get bred :(((((((

I need to spitroast her with Miko so very badly I'm ngl to you I neeeed I NEEEEED I need to see Ei being impaled on both ends, both sides basically slobbering

It'd be very messy and would 100% take so long before you finish but when you do, it's with your fellow kitsune's own pussy practically filled to the brim and Leaking as she's laid out and finally passed out as your hips are locked in on your Archon's own; you cumming inside of you for like the nth time and stuffing her full w a mix of both your and Miko's cum and essentially plugging it with an inflamed bulb :3

Whether Ei has a system that allows her to get pregnant or not, gen who knows.......but one thing's def for sure. Or like three things acc: one, you two are VERY clearly excited that your shared lover is finally back; two, turns out she absolutely LOVES being used and bred by her two partners; and three?

It was an unusually hard thing to do, waking up. Despite having an artifical body and being an archon that has faced true horrors and extreme exhaustion, she found herself absolutely spent from the marathon.. copulation.

Ei had hoped that her exhaustion meant that the two of you were much more tired than she was, even despite your inhumanity, and yet...

Her eyes couldn't help but flutter open as a sudden gasp left her lips—she sees you push into her roughly with a lust-addled look on your face. You were already inside her when she fell asleep, considering the animalistic knot that held the both of you together, but even when it had shrunk to a more.. manageable level, you still hadn't taken it out.

Then Ei looks slightly to the right and there she sees her pink-haired familiar, heavily breathing as she grinded her wet, hot pussy onto her thighs with such loud, obscene moans.

(If the Archon listened close enough, which she did, she would've noticed the slight growl to the sounds she made—such a sound was at its most clearest when she ducked down to press another bite mark on porcelain skin.)

She couldn't even utter a word to remark that she had just woken up, didn't even have the room to do anything to stop you before you started pounding away at her like your life depended on it.

..And she could. Really, she could. She wasn't the feared Raiden Shogun for nothing.

She could stop you if she wanted to.

If she wanted to.

But when she feels the residual fluids within her gush out as you essentially resculpt her insides over and over and over, when she feels the desperate whines that Miko lets out as she cums and covers her thigh in slick, well.

She finds that she doesn't really want to.

(And really, not only was it her fault for volunteering, but this is her responsibility as your lover.)

(She knew that, and she wasn't going to start shirking her responsibilities again.)

(Even if it costs her her mobility for a while. But it's fine, she can just do a lot of maintenance after.)

538 notes · View notes

niningtori · 7 months ago

Text

supermodel | part one

part two

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: after beomgyu ghosts you after three (what you thought were) really successful dates, your close friend asks you if she can date him instead. you, being the pushover you are, say yes. but beomgyu's not done bothering you.

genre: romance, angst, smut (MDNI!!!)

warnings: MDNI!!! cheating (not on you [and it's lowkey justified if you ask me]), unprotected sex (no!), oral (f. receiving), creampie, dacryphilia, praise, degradation, manipulative!beomgyu if you squint (lmk if you catch it lmao), if i missed anything lmk

word count: 6k (ouuu... definitely not 13k i'm sorry anon my love)

notes: ...hi. so, as most of my followers know, i primarily write angst. this is my first time ever posting smut on here and i genuinely don't know if it's any good. if it's bad,,,, i'm sorry in advance!! see ending for more notes :)

you do not like beomgyu. you don't like the way he keeps his hair so long, or the way he tucks it behind his ears when he's focused. you don't like that he has the same music taste as you and how much of a snob he is about it. you don't like the way he laughs obnoxiously loud and you especially don't like the way his cheeks dimple like little whiskers when he does it. no, you don't like beomgyu one bit.

it hasn't always been like this. there was a time, albeit brief and fleeting, that you really liked the aforementioned grievances you've grown to hate so much. in fact, you liked them so much, you even liked the boy himself. that ship has sailed, though. and it sails further and further as you watch him cuddle up even closer to one of your closest friends, hana. you aren't a bitter person, really. you're usually pretty laidback, all things considered, so when hana asked you if she could date the boy who ghosted you after three (what you thought were) really successful dates, you said yes.

do you regret agreeing? well, how can you regret it when hana looks so happy? in fact, she looks happier than ever as beomgyu discreetly places his hand on her inner thigh. oh man. you think you're gonna be sick.

meeting beomgyu was like a meet cute in a romcom. you were alone in a cafe (cliché, but true) when he pulled up a seat and sat next to you. he was cute, he was charming, and, most surprisingly, he was actually really funny. he made you giggle more than once and you almost couldn't believe someone so seemingly perfect wanted anything to do with you, but he did. he was extremely eager, if anything, because as soon as you gave him your number, he texted you asking if you wanted to go out sometime. you, with your innocent heart, could only agree.

your first date was at that same cafe. he had memorized your order, even though he had only met you once, and you felt so flattered your heart skipped a beat. you're a little on the shyer side, but he was able to pull you out of your shell with ease. you'd later find out he has the ability to do that with everyone, but back then, you were amazed by how naturally he pulled it off.

after your first date, you'd texted all your friends about it. they asked for pictures and details, but you said it was too early and you didn't want to jinx it. you're the type to try not to get too caught up in the moment in favor of being more realistic, so it had been a pleasant surprise for most of your friends to hear how excited you were. this could really be something special, you thought.

and special, it was. your second date had been at a nice restaurant you'd never heard of. beomgyu was pulling out all the stops for you and spared nothing when it came to giving you the royal treatment. he was courteous and kind, but still mischievously flirty. you were enamored with everything about him. you were used to being treated kindly on dates, of course, but you had never seen anything quite like beomgyu. it seemed like he couldn't get enough of you, which was a novel feeling, though totally welcomed.

you finally felt confident enough to tell your friends all about him. when asked, you had no problem divulging all the finer details of your dates. you had nothing but praises for him, and even sent one of his instagram pictures to show off his good looks. most of them were taken aback at how handsome he was. hana, however, was not at all surprised. it shocked you to find out that she knew beomgyu, and knew him well. she had floated in the same circle of friends with him in college and you were pleased to find out that he had always been a really nice guy, if a little flighty at times, but he had never been that way with you. plus, it seemed to you that he had matured quite a bit. for once in your life, you got your hopes up. but, like most things, you would come to regret it.

your third and final date had been simple enough. he had asked you to come hang out at his place, but said his friends would likely be coming and going. it was nice. it was intimate. his apartment was small and a little messy, but filled with personality. you smiled when you saw polaroids he had taken of (and with) his friends adorning his bedroom walls. he seemed really sentimental, actually, but you liked that about him. you liked everything about him, really.

so when he leaned in for a kiss while watching some dumb old slasher flick, you closed your eyes and prepared to meet his warm lips. this was real. you would have a boyfriend, a near perfect one. and he liked you. he really, really liked you. what more could you ask for? but you never expected that a phone call would pull you out of your daze. you checked the caller id and immediately became worried. hana very rarely called you, but she said she was having an emergency and you, being the good friend you are, had to bail on beomgyu. the emergency in question was her having a meltdown over some guy she had never even mentioned, but had apparently really liked. you had no choice but to go to her place, bringing a tub of ice cream and all of her favorite snacks in tow. beomgyu said he understood, because of course he did, and said he would text you with other plans.

when he, in fact, did not text you first with plans, you had opted to text him yourself. you figured he had just forgotten or something, so you simply greeted him and apologized again for having to leave. it seems so fucking stupid to you now — the way you waited so anxiously by the phone for a reply that would never come. you remember staying up all night and jolting every time your phone buzzed. you were anxiously awaiting a text, a call, fucking anything, really. but it was pointless. after a few days of radio silence on beomgyu's end, you had pretty much resigned yourself to the fact that he would never respond. what did you do to scare him away? you thought you had done everything right, but you must’ve come on too strong or something. you felt utterly humiliated.

you were in your head again. it wouldn't surprise you if you had imagined the whole fucking thing, actually. but a few weeks later, hana had texted you asking if you were okay with her dating the boy you'd been waiting for. she seemed so hopeful and so happy, how could you say no? just because it didn't work out between you two didn't mean that it couldn't work out between them. maybe, deep down, the ugliest parts of you kind of hoped it wouldn't, but when she texted you with all the filthy details of the first time they hooked up, you knew you were thinking too highly of yourself.

beomgyu doesn't like you, and even if his refusal to text you back wasn't enough of an indication that that's the case, his attitude towards you while dating hana tells you everything you need to know. the way he manages to antagonize you over what would normally be completely menial things should be studied. when you trip over your words, he makes a point to call it out and laugh, which results in you, of course, tripping over your words even more. when you look like shit, he makes sarcastic comments along the lines of "oh i see you've decided to really doll yourself up this evening". what's worse is you're so non-confrontational, you just let him chirp.

what you don't know is that the more unbothered you look, the more eager he is to elicit a reaction out of you. it drives him crazy how nothing seems to drive you crazy, so he pushes and pushes, but it's like a fist landing on cotton. he's on the brink of madness trying to get you to say something, anything. but you never do. you just smile or shake your head and it's all he can do not to snap.

you’re at your favorite bar when you meet him. you’re not alone, or at least you shouldn’t be, but hana has gone outside to make a call. usually, you’d be the first one to accompany her, but you’re honestly not in the mood to hear her flirt with beomgyu (or beomie bear, as she calls him) over the phone. you never are, really, but especially not now as you down another shot of whatever the bartender has deemed as “the strongest shit they’ve got.” you don’t think you look particularly attractive at the moment, but when jay sees you, he’s flocking towards you.

“hey,” he says with a smile as he slides onto the stool next to yours.

“hey,” you reply shyly. are you imagining things or did he seriously just blush at your answer?

“i-i’m jay.” you can’t help but giggle at how nervous he seems. cute.

you take the time to introduce yourself and jay seems relieved that you’re actually receptive to his awkwardness. you like the way it feels to be in control for once. you like the way it feels to be wanted so much. so when he asks you if you want to go out in the near future, you say yes.

in the midst of your conversation, hana comes sauntering back in with a dopey grin on her face. she has, no doubt, just gotten off the phone with beomgyu if her satisfied expression is any indication. her satisfaction turns into surprise when she registers who’s sitting next to you.

“jay?!” she exclaims, taken aback by the familiar boy next to you.

“hana? oh my god, how are you?” he asks, standing up and pulling her into a hug. “we went to college together,” he explains when they part. your previous happiness crumbles in an instant. the nasty part of you wonders if she knows fucking everybody you’re interested in, but you shut it down mercilessly. it's not hana’s fault she's so likable. it's your fault for not being more so, actually.

“i’m good,” she says with a light giggle. they catch up for a moment before she drops an atomic bomb. “you know, i’m actually with beomgyu now.”

“damn, really? i thought that would never actually happen,” he replies, genuine shock falling across his sculpted features. your interest can’t help but be piqued at this.

“what makes you say that?” she asks rather defensively. jay can tell he messed up from her tone and he backtracks immediately.

“o-oh nothing. i just never pegged you two as compatible, but congratulations! i know you’ve liked him for a long time.” ?... ??...???? what the hell?

“what is he talking about?” you can’t help but ask confusedly. hana looks thoroughly reddened as she fumbles for an explanation.

“i-i liked beomie back in college. n-nothing major!” she stammers. you can do nothing but stare. she liked beomgyu and she never told you? well, you were half in love with the boy after three dates and you’re still half in love with him, actually, so it’s not particularly surprising that she fell for him, but the fact that she never mentioned it feels iffy at best. jay can sense the tension, and he cleverly excuses himself with:

“shit, my friends are here. i’ll text you soon?” he says, looking to you for confirmation. you manage to muster up a smile and a nod, but you’re still disturbed by this revelation.

“... are you mad?” hana asks tentatively.

“n-no. of course not!” you say with conviction, but deep down, you know you’re uncomfortable. she probably knows it, too, but she doesn’t pry much further.

“i’m glad you’re not mad,” she sighs. “anyway, it’s not like you’re dating him now.” she pokes at the sore spot on your heart with ease. maybe if she were more sober, she’d see the hurt on your face, but as it is, she doesn’t register a thing.

so hana liked beomgyu back in college? why hadn’t she told you? well, you guess it doesn’t make a difference now. she’s with him. you’re not. what else is there to say, really? but in the back of your mind, gears start turning. you just don’t know it yet.

hana has been a lot nicer to you than usual after that night at the bar. she’s always nice, but she seems hellbent on making sure your prospective date with jay goes well. you suppose it’s her way of making it up to you for withholding her secret crush on beomgyu from you. to be honest, there’s no real reason for her to do so, but you accept her kindness graciously. now, the night before your big date, she’s practically hounding you with questions.

“what are you gonna wear?” she asks over the phone.

“mmm, i dunno yet,” you hum into the speaker. you really don’t know. jay invited you to a house party, which is not the most romantic place in the world, but hana convinced you that he’s just awkward and a group setting (with drinks, no less) would loosen him up. you realize that you want to impress him. you want him to think you’re the most beautiful girl in the room, but nothing you have in your closet quite fits the bill.

“ooh, i know! you can just borrow one of my dresses. what about the black one? the one you complimented last time we went out! i won’t be home tomorrow night, but i’ll leave the key under the mat, okay? so just come grab it when you’re free!” she sounds proud of herself for coming up with that. you don’t have the heart to tell her it’s a little too scandalous for you, so you grit your teeth and accept her peace offering.

“mmm, yeah. that sounds good. thank you, hana,” you reply.

“pay attention to meeee,” you hear a deep voice cut in from over the phone. beomgyu. you try not to think about the way your heart aches when you hear him (very loudly) plant a kiss on… some part of her body. you’re not exactly sure where it is, but you falter when you hear her reaction.

“beomie, ah, not there,” hana moans and you feel a pang in your chest. “hey, i’ve gotta go, okay?” you don’t have to imagine what they’re about to do and it hurts.

“okay,” you say with a bitter smile, but the call drops before you can even reply.

it’s finally the night of the date and you’re anxious, to put it mildly. you don’t know how long you spent trying to get your hair and makeup right, but an ungodly amount of time has passed. you’re almost tempted to skip getting the dress from hana’s apartment, but you really don’t have anything else that suits the occasion, so you begrudgingly hail a cab over to her place.

you enter her apartment and head toward her bedroom, where the pretty black dress is waiting for you. with a sigh, you strip out of your sweats and shimmy into the dress. you look in hana's bedroom mirror and you have to admit that you look pretty good. you feel a lot more confident going out with a guy as handsome as jay now. as you’re fixing up your hair one last time, you’re stunned to hear the apartment door opening. she’s home? weird, but welcome. you need a second pair of eyes on you.

“hey! how do i look?” you say with a smile as you exit her bedroom, but you’re not greeted with hana’s smiling face. instead, you’re met with beomgyu’s frown.

“w-what are you doing here?” you ask, genuinely surprised.

“this is my girlfriend’s apartment. what are you doing here?” you thought he had heard over the phone that you’d be here to pick up the dress tonight. but then, you supposed that he may have been a little preoccupied sucking the skin off of hana to really pay attention to much else. you’re so busy over analyzing this, you don’t even notice how intently beomgyu is staring at you now. even if you did, you’d probably misread it as ridicule rather than what it truly is.

“nothing, i-i’m on my way out,” you reply simply. with that, you start trying to walk past him. before you can, though, he’s asking you questions.

"you're seriously going out with him? in that, too?” he asks, disgust apparent. at least, that’s what it sounds like to you. your eyes survey your own attire and you feel extremely small in this moment, all things considered. normally, you'd shut down and second guess yourself. maybe you do look a little ridiculous in this tiny dress and maybe going out with jay is a bad in idea. maybe he's just fucking with your head and maybe he'll toss you away just like beomgyu did. maybe, maybe, maybe. but then? maybe not. and even if he does, you don't want to hear any of that shit from beomgyu of all people.

"oh, fuck you, beomgyu."

he looks perfectly scandalized by your comment. you’ve never talked back to him before, and certainly not like this. his eyebrows raise and his jaw drops before he can finally choke out the words "e-excuse me?"

"i said fuck you. i really don't give a shit about what you have to say anymore."

you're again trying to barrel past him but he steps in front of the door, scowl etched into his pretty features.

"what? are you mad at me now?" you say mockingly. "well, you don't get to be mad at me. move."

it is genuinely amazing to see beomgyu as he is now. he looks like a child who's floundering for a comeback.

"w-why are you mad? i'm just looking out for you!" oh, you can't help but laugh in his face at that one. he winces when you do.

"my god, that's rich coming from you. what's the worst that could happen? we go on a couple of dates and then he ghosts me? can't say it hasn't happened before."

"th-that's different!" he sputters, face flushing beet red.

"different how?!" you counter. he’s such a fucking hypocrite. you're not the type to get so riled up, but his words have you seeing red. his next words, even more so.

"you... you don't even like me!"

"and why exactly would i like the man who ghosted me, again? you can kick rocks for all i care!" you try to steady your breathing. blowing up like this right before your first date with jay can't be good for your head. luckily, it seems like beomgyu is still fishing for words when you regain your composure. "whatever. i'm done. goodbye, beomgyu." you reach around him for the door handle, but he slams it shut.

"what the fuck?!" you exclaim exasperatedly.

"you don't understand," beomgyu says, voice trembling and eyes scarlet. "hana said you didn't like me."

"hana? what does hana have to do with — oh." oh.

"she said you didn't like me and thought i was obnoxious. she told me she called and interrupted our date because you wanted her to.”

“why didn’t you just ask, beomgyu? i liked you!” you exclaim. he ruined everything all because of a few words from someone else?

“why would i ask when hana told me that you didn’t want anything to do with me?”

"so you believed hana instead of just opening your fucking mouth? what, does she wipe your ass and spoon feed you, too?

“watch your mouth,” beomgyu says lowly.

“or what?” you taunt with a smirk. “you’ll be mad? is beomie bear gonna lose his temper?” you’re on your tiptoes now, face mere inches away from his. where you got the confidence to provoke the man who towers over you even on the worst of days, you have no idea, but the idea of seeing beomgyu squirm is lighting a fire in you you didn’t know existed. is he gonna hit you? scream in your face? you’re excited to see how he reacts. when his gaze flickers from your smiling eyes to your lips, you don’t even get half a second to question his odd look when his lips come crashing down onto yours.

his big hands grip the back of your head, holding you in place as he punishes your lips with a force you’ve only ever dreamt about. his lips are chapped and you can taste a hint of his favorite lip balm, which he had smeared on just before his arrival. you’re too shocked to move, you’re too shocked to do anything besides gasp when he bites your bottom lip. he takes your open mouth as permission to shove his warm tongue into it. you want to say the kiss is full of fire, and it is, but there’s an overwhelming sense of gentleness, too. it’s hard to put into words, so instead of trying to, you let yourself melt into the feeling. he takes your acquiescence as a sign to go even further. at this point, he’s practically dragging you over to the couch. you’re surprised at how you don’t even attempt to resist when he pushes you down. you’re seated now and he licks his lips hungrily as he lifts your pathetic excuse for a dress off of your body and tosses it somewhere behind the couch. his eyes alight with something akin to raw anger when he takes note of the fact that you are, in fact, not wearing a bra.

“you were seriously gonna go out like that? what a whore,” he says menacingly. you’re now clad in nothing but your favorite pair of underwear. you would usually feel insecure in front of such an intense gaze, but beomgyu looks at you like he wants to devour every part of you. and he will, with time.

“i thought jay would like it,” you shrug. his eyes burn even brighter and he looks like he’s on the brink of snapping. god, fucking with him is so exhilarating. is this how he feels when he’s trying to get under your skin? maybe you do understand why he antagonizes you, actually. this shit feels amazing.

he kneels down before you and possessively kisses your neck until it's numb — pouring out hot kisses and sucking on the skin there like he’s staking his claim. it’s almost like he’s daring another man to touch you, and he doesn’t have to say anything because it’s like you already understand his intentions, and you revel in it.

his lips travel down to your breasts and they almost ache in anticipation. cruelly, he avoids your pert nipples and opts to circle his tongue around them, sucking on the soft skin and leaving marks in his wake. one of his hands move down to your underwear and he stops his teasing when he feels how wet you are.

“j-jesus, is all this for me?” you’re too embarrassed to respond. he’s trying to keep his cool, but he’s taken aback by how soaked you are. he was already hard just from the kiss alone, but now he aches. he slides your underwear to the side and actually groans when he sees your slickness for himself. slowly, teasingly, he finds his way to your clit and you let out a soft gasp when he finally touches it. you’re unable to stifle a moan when he gingerly takes one of his long, calloused fingers and begins to push it into your cunt.

“t-tight!” he hisses. “how am i gonna fit?” you’d roll your eyes in annoyance at his self-aggrandizing words if you could muster up anything other than the feeling of pure bliss as he slides another finger in. he’s kneeling between your legs, and you feel some sort of sick satisfaction as you watch the boy lick his lips before trailing opened-mouth kisses on your thighs as he inches closer and closer to your cunt.

you feel his cool breath against your core and you’re seconds away from begging him to continue, but he seems even more eager than you are as he quickly buries his face into your heat. his first lick is long and slow, but you can feel the vibrations from his moan and it reverberates through your legs all the way to your toes. as if he’s a man starved, he messily licks and sucks on your pussy while pumping his fingers in and out mercilessly. you have to hold onto his long hair, not because you want to hurt him, but because it’s the only thing keeping you sane. when he hooks his fingers, you can’t help but call out his name.

“b-beomgyu!” his darkened eyes snap up to meet yours while his pace becomes even more punishing and, before you know it, you’re spasming around his fingers. he should stop there, but he continues with little kitten licks until you’re begging him to show you mercy.

he reluctantly parts from your cunt and you can see evidence of your release dripping down his chin. his messy hair, his soaked face, his fucking everything looks like it’s been branded by you and you can’t help but gulp, heat pooling in your stomach again, far too soon after your intense orgasm. usually, a man would wipe his face and clean himself up, but he does nothing of the sort as he leans towards you and practically pleads with you to kiss him.

“so good, want you to taste it,” he says simply as he pulls you in for another filthy kiss. he looks possessed, almost, by your taste. by your scent. by you.

your cum mixed with the taste of beomgyu himself is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. he wraps his tongue around yours, as if he’s selflessly just trying to share this new discovery.

he unbuckles his own pants like a madman, hastily yanking them down. so hypnotized, he doesn’t even think to take them off all the way, nevermind his shirt. his cock springs up and it’s thick and long, the angry veins juxtaposing from his perfect, doll-like face. he was right. you don’t know how he’ll fit in your tight pussy.

still, he ruts his bare cock against your throbbing cunt and you both moan when it accidentally catches against your entrance.

“c-condom?” you ask breathily.

“p-please, please just let me feel you. i can pull out,” he whines. who are you to say no to a man begging?

“...o-okay,” you begin to choke out, and almost before you can even finish, he’s pushing himself in. you both groan at the feeling. he meets resistance before he’s even halfway in and his eyes redden with a lust so strong it almost scares you.

“s-so tight, so perfect for me,” he says before pulling out and harshly ramming himself back in, sheathing himself completely in you. your eyes begin to sting with pure pleasure. he sits for a moment, just enjoying the way your pussy sucks him in. nothing in your life has ever made you feel this heavenly. not that you’re going to heaven, especially after this, and certainly not if hana has anything to say about it. oh my god, hana.

“w-wait,” you interrupt before he can pull out again. “we can’t! hana—”

“don’t give a fuck about hana. j-jus’ want you,” he slurs with that lisp that you love so much. and that’s when he really starts. ruthlessly, he sets his pace. ramming into you as the filthy sounds of skin against skin and slick against slick permeate the room. his head lulls back in sheer ecstasy and you’re crying out his name over and over, like a mantra. it’s the only thing chaining you to reality. that, and his viselike grip on your thighs.

“so g-good, so warm. never h-had a pussy this good before,” he praises as he continues drilling into you. one of his hands snakes its way to your clit and you’re seeing stars. hot tears spring in your eyes and you’re literally crying as his cock pushes you further and further off the deep end.

“so fucking good for me. you wouldn't even care if i came inside, would you, slut? walking around in that tiny dress, just begging to be fucked.”

“n-no! i’m not begging f-for anything,” you manage to choke out.

“really? but you look pretty fucking desperate right now. should i stop?” he asks with a mean smile, slowing down the speed of his hips snapping into yours.

“please don’t! i-i’m sorry. please don’t stop!” you whimper. he wasn’t gonna stop, anyway, but watching tears pour out of your eyes at the mere thought of his cock not being inside of you brings him to another level of smugness.

“shh, it’s okay, baby. i won’t stop. i’ll give you exactly what you need.”

“b-beomie!” you cry. “not gonna last much longer!”

“me neither, pretty girl. fuck, come with me, okay?” he hisses.

“come inside?” you plead. he almost stills at this, but his brutal pace never stops despite it all.

“fuck! i knew that good girl act was a sham. you want me to get you pregnant so everyone knows who you belong to?”

“yes! d-don’t care. just want you,” you whine, mirroring his words from earlier. that’s enough to make him lose himself. his resolve snaps and he’s painting the inside of your walls while you helplessly clench around him. it takes a minute to catch your breath and you can’t help but lock eyes with beomgyu as he stays buried in your warmth. his gaze is still lustful, that much you know, but there’s an unknown feeling teeming in his eyes, too.

gingerly, he pulls out and you both watch as his cum trickles out of you. his eyes are alight with fascination and you don’t doubt for a second that he wants to lap it all up and feed it right back to you, but he doesn’t. he simply grabs your cheeks and pulls you in for another heavy kiss.

“wanted to do this for so long,” he says after you part.

“how long?” you can’t help but ask.

“since i saw you sitting alone at the café,” he shrugs and smiles shyly. he’s wanted you since he first saw you, which is enough to make you grin, but the blissful smile is wiped off of your face when you remember beomgyu isn’t just some random guy who’s attracted to you. he’s hana’s boyfriend.

you know now that she orchestrated the downfall of your relationship with beomgyu, but that doesn’t mean you don’t feel guilty as hell for fucking her boyfriend on her couch. oh my god, what have you done? you fucked your friend’s boyfriend in her own home. not only that, but you fucked raw and even let him come inside. you shiver when you recount his nasty words about getting you pregnant, and he really might’ve. you’re not on the pill or anything. oh god.

“i-i need to get out of here,” you say frantically. you hurriedly push him off of you and wince when you feel his cum leaking out of your cunt. you stumble to the bedroom, legs still weak from what just transpired, and grab your sweats and snake them back on.

“what are you doing?” beomgyu asks, confused and somewhat annoyed that you’ve effectively ruined the mood.

“i’m getting the fuck out of here. this… this whole thing was a mistake,” you say, on the verge of tears. you don't even deserve to cry, honestly, but you want to, anyway.

“a-a mistake? why? wait, don’t go!” he says, stepping in front of you again.

“beomgyu, are you fucking with me? you’re with hana! why wouldn’t this be a mistake? oh my god, and i-i’m not — i don’t take birth control. we really might’ve… fuck just move, please!” you plead. you think you might be on the verge of a panic attack, tears and snot streaming down your face. you just wish he would fucking move so you could get out of here and start fixing everything because the guilt you feel just by seeing his face is all-consuming. there’s no way you can face hana again after this. you’ll cut her out of your life, and when you’re courageous enough, you’ll tell her what you did to her. you’ll lose hana and all the rest of your friends once they hear about what kind of person you really are. and as for beomgyu, well, knowing hana, she’ll stay with him and you’ll be the homewrecker in this story.

“hey, shh, it’s okay,” beomgyu coos softly, taking your tear-streaked face in his big, warm hands. “talk to me. what are you thinking?” “i… i ruined everything,” you begin with a sob. “i hurt hana. you hurt hana. a-and everybody’s going to be so fucking mad at me. god, she’s never going to forgive me.”

“listen,” he says softly while rubbing the pads of his thumbs against the tears falling down your cheeks. “she lied to you, and she lied to me, too.”

“because she loves you, beomgyu. she only did it because she loves you so much,” you argue, tearing your face from his grasp, but he only locks his arms around your waist instead.

“and what about me? what about how i feel?”

“what are you trying to say?” you sniffle.

“i’m saying i meant it when i said i don’t give a fuck about hana. i’m sorry, but i don’t. i never did,” he says as if he’s coaxing a child. you want to believe his words so fucking badly, but you’ve seen the way they’ve been attached at the hip these past few months and you can’t help but feel like he’s just a) full of shit and/or b) pussydrunk on you. he can sense your apprehension and wants to tear his own hair out in frustration.

“can i be honest with you?” he asks.

you nod in response.

“i… i only started hanging out with her because i knew she was close to you. i don’t know if it’s because i wanted to get back at you or if i just wanted to see you more. maybe a bit of both, honestly. i-i know that’s wrong, but it’s true.” you’re at a loss for words. all you can ask is:

“why?” he chuckles at this.

“because i like you, dummy,” he says sweetly while releasing one of the hands that grips your waist, using it to fix up your hair. he likes you? the same beomgyu who has effectively harassed you for the past few months… likes you?

“you have a fucking hilarious way of showing it. i thought you hated me,” you retort.

“i was just teasing,” he says softly. “i just wanted you to notice me and nothing i did ever seemed to bother you.”

“well, it did,” you scoff.

“i’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. “i just like you a lot, okay? i’m sorry for being an asshole. and i’ll make it up to you, i promise.” you want to say okay, but the fact remains that he’s still very much hana’s boyfriend. regardless of his feelings, you still betrayed her and your friends aren’t going to be very understanding of your situation with him. the only chance you have of retaining your friendships now is to cut beomgyu off and beg on your knees for forgiveness. but you like him. you really, really like him. and the temptation to relent is even stronger as he begins to plant kisses on your face along with promises to dump her and, in his words, to “be good from now on”. when his innocent kisses turn lustful and begin to trail down your neck, what else can you do besides agree?

notes pt. 2: so...? i hope this was okay i really do LMFAOO. i have no idea how this will be received. if it's bad, i might delete it because i truly don't know what i'm doing. anyway, feedback is always appreciated! it gives me the confidence to branch out like this so i'd love to hear from y'all :)

permanent taglist*: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @everythingvirgoes @beomnoullitheorem @sunny4cast

*minors and ageless blogs on my permanent taglist were not added for obvious reasons. i made the taglist before i decided to make supermodel smut, so if you would like to be removed from this or any future smut works, please message me!

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