#for most of them it's a simple matter of it not being my cup of tea | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 3 months ago

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killing me softly (with his song, telling my whole life with his words) — nanami kento and gojo satoru.

“You think this is relief, don’t you?” you murmured, watching the way his breath hitched at your words. “You think I’m staying because I still have hope for us.” He lifted his head slightly, blinking at you with bloodshot eyes, as if he didn’t want to admit it but couldn’t deny it either. “I….I do.” You took another drag of your cigarette, the tip glowing in the dim light of the kitchen. “But that’s not it, Kento. That’s not it at all.” “Then why?” His voice was desperate, strained, like he was afraid to hear the answer. You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disappear into the air. “Because I don’t know how to leave. Not anymore……Isn’t that a tragedy?”

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, romance, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, long-term relationship, marriage, loss, emotional distress, hatred, resentment, domestic, confessions, slice of life, distress, cheating, falling out of love, toxic relationship, drama, depression, bitterness, grief, trauma, illness, post-partum depression trauma, children, mention of blood, mention of birthing, mentions of pregnancy, mention of miscarriage, mention of bodily fluids, mention of depression, actor! nanami, actor! gojo, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 15k words

NOTE: i know there's going to be other parts of nanami's part of this series, but the next chapter is going to introduce gojo satoru, since he's going to be part of this story and he has his own stuff going in, its best to go and understand his side of the story!!! i also wrote this while i was going through the heights of a friendship break up and a lot of depression. but anyway enjoy this one, i love you all <3

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the good life ― masterlist.

YOU WERE EXPECTING IT, BUT YOU THOUGHT IT WOULDN’T HAPPEN YET. You were foolish to think that the paparazzi care about your feelings or your privacy. It happened on a Sunday. You hadn’t expected anything out of the ordinary for today, as after all, this was just downtime. And you weren’t that famous for people to flock to you like birds.

It was just a simple brunch with your kids, something you tried to do every other weekend now that your daughter Keiko was twenty-three and in university, and your son Kenshin was eighteen and practically living his own life. You had missed them, most days. The house was quieter these days to be sure, and you tried to hold onto these moments, no matter how brief.

But you realized it was better for them not to be around the house.

Especially with what has been happening lately, you didn’t want them to see.

It’s quite a blessing that your children were happy to stay off the grid in their day to day.

The three of you were seated in a cozy corner of a well-known café. It was one you had been coming to for years, where the baristas knew your usual orders and the scent of freshly brewed coffee always felt like a warm embrace. And it’s one you’ve come and met your children in for years now, at every little afternoon get together after school and sometimes your little bonding sessions during the weekends.

No one recognized you here, you were sure. If anything, it was because these parts of the city were not ones which many tourists come by. So you and your children were quite comfortable. You didn’t have to deal with the repercussions of being someone’s famous relative.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow over the wooden tables, and the gentle hum of conversations and clinking cups created a soothing background noise. Today was a rather slow day for the cafe, one which of course made it easier to enjoy the skies above and the conversations being heard.

Keiko leaned forward, her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug, bright caramel eyes alight with both excitement and exhaustion. “I swear, if I have to memorize one more obscure medical term, my brain is going to quit on me.”

She let out a dramatic sigh before taking a sip of her coffee, before looking at you. “I don’t know why you allowed me to go into medicine, mom.”

“You always say that before exams, and yet you still ace them, darling.” you pointed out with a small smirk. “Don’t worry too much. You’ll be fine!”

Keiko groaned. “That’s because I have no choice! Do you know how terrifying my professor is? He once failed half the class just because we didn’t label a diagram properly.”

Kenshin, sitting across from you with his arms lazily draped over the back of his chair, scoffed. “Oh, please. That’s nothing compared to the nonsense I have to deal with on campus. Just today, there was a full-blown argument in the student lounge over whose turn it was to clean the microwave. People were picking sides like it was a war.”

“You’re not serious, are you?” Keiko raises a brow.

“I’m not.” He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his iced coffee. “Honestly, some people have way too much free time.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Sounds like college politics at its finest.”

Kenshin smirked. “You have no idea. Someone even made a PowerPoint presentation about it.”

Keiko nearly choked on her drink. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

As they continued bickering, you could only stare at your children warmly. They were just the same as when they were children. Keiko berating Kenshin for not stepping up as a responsible adult and Kenshin arguing that getting involved in petty campus feuds was beneath him.

You let out a small soundless chuckle as you leaned back in your chair, letting the warmth of the café and their familiar voices wash over you. For the first time in a long time, you felt something resembling peace.

And then you heard it.

The click of a camera.

The murmur of a voice.

And when you glanced over your shoulder — there they were.

You knew who they were, their faces, those paparazzi.

You froze, your heart plummeting into your stomach. They hadn’t approached yet. Still, you could see them as they linger by the wide entrance, but you could already feel it coming. The tension, the invasion, the violation of privacy. You turned back to your kids, forcing a smile.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” you muttered. “Let’s just finish our food.”

But it wasn’t fine. Because not two minutes later, one of them got bold enough to approach your table. A man, mid-thirties, camera slung around his neck, his phone already recording. And the second he opened his mouth, you knew.

“Excuse me, ma’am—”

You could see Kenshin’s jaw tensed.

Keiko’s entire jubilation just harshly fell.

You swallowed the bile down your throat.

“—Any comments about your husband, veteran actor Kento Nanami’s alleged affair? How do you feel about the reports claiming he’s been seeing another woman?”

Your heart stopped at the sudden question. You felt as though you could not move, your mouth open and shaking. And before you could even process what was happening, another reporter swooped in around you. Only this time a woman, shoving her phone practically in your face, making you uncomfortable and disturbed.

“Is it true you’ve known about his infidelity for years?” she pressed. “Is that why you’ve been absent from events lately? Have you separated from him, mam?”

Your daughter’s hand shot out. “Back off, already!” she snapped, her voice shaking. “She’s with her kids, leave her alone.”

But they didn’t care about all that.

“Ma’am, are you considering divorce?”

“Do your kids know about their father’s alleged mistress?”

“Is it true he cheated on you after you had your second child?”

Your breath was strangled in your throat. Your ears were ringing. It felt like the ground was collapsing beneath your feet. And the worst part was that your kids were right there, helplessly fending off all these people.

Kenshin was still so young but he was already dealing with the weight of being Kento Nanami’s son ever since he was announced to the world. And now, he was dealing with worse than that as he was staring hard at the table,.

His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Keiko, who was barely an adult herself, looked seconds away from either crying or throwing her drink in one of their faces.

And you, well you always did what you did.

You faced your children well and fully smiled.

Like you always did, you wore the mask.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, about me.” you said softly, reaching out to squeeze your son’s wrist. “Let’s just go home, alright?”

You stood up, taking your things as you continued hearing all the flurry of shutters and the murmurs of there she goes, she’s not denying it, she’s making it easy for us—but you didn’t flinch at what they were saying, no. Not one bit. You didn’t break. You kept your head high, your hands steady, your expression calm.

And as you pushed through the crowd of photographers with your two kids at your side, you heard one of them call out to you: “Mrs. Nanami, if you really don’t care, why haven’t you left him yet?”

That was the question that stayed with you all day. You didn’t answer. You didn’t turn around, didn’t spare them a glance. Instead, you just gripped your son’s wrist, wrapped an arm around your daughter’s shoulder, and walked straight to your car. The cameras were still flashing. The questions were still being thrown.

"Mrs. Nanami, can you confirm if the affair has been going on for years?"

"Are you planning to divorce him now that it’s public?"

"Do you have anything to say to the other woman?"

Keiko suddenly cursed under her breath and huffed, “Fucking vultures, the lot of them.”

“How the fuck did they find this place? We’re out of the Tokyo Metro!” Kenshin screeched, agitation all over his face. “Have they no shame?”

You purse your lips into a flat line. “.....Language.”

“Mom, this is not the time to correct us.” Keiko says in reply to you. “I’m sorry, but I just….”

You just let your eyes stray somewhere else as you watched as she practically shoved her brother into the backseat and slammed the door shut. You took a breath before you opened the door and slowly slid into the driver’s seat, your fingers trembling so hard it took you three tries to get the key in the ignition.

All the sudden, there it was — that silence. No one wanted to speak, not you or your kids. Nothing was left but painfully, deafeningly silent. You didn’t want this for them, not one bit.But the deluge was here and there was nothing that could be done about it.

And when you finally pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, your son broke the silence. “…Is it true?”

Your stomach turned. “What?”

“What they said, about dad.” his voice cracked. “Did he cheat on you?”

You froze. In the rearview mirror, you could see the contortion on your son’s face. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking, his fists curled in his lap like he was trying to hold himself together.

And your daughter Keiko, she was already looking at you, hot tears burning those furiously passionate eyes. It was as if she had already put the pieces together, even without you saying anything. As if they already both know what was going on, just by looking you in the eyes.

It was hard to look at your children at times, even when they were babies. It was hard to see the features of the man you loved, the man who hurt you, the man who had ruined you — in such innocent faces you had brought into this world. You knew Kento would say something different, he would say that the kids took after you more than him.

Yet you knew your children. Perhaps even better than he did. You had carried them in the depths of your body, endured the endless toil of raising them, and nearly died bringing them into the world. You knew them in ways he never could. And yet, they looked so much like him. Too much like him.

The memories were as vivid as if they had happened just yesterday. You remembered lying there on the hospital bed, blood pooling beneath you, the echoes of voices rising and falling in through the wide expanse of the room.

Remove it. No, don’t do it—she’ll die. Over and over again, a fevered haze of desperation. You understood what they meant. And in that moment, you wished they had done it. That they had let you go. That they had spared you from this suffering.

But they didn’t. You lived. And Kento was relieved. You knew that much.

Three pregnancies in twenty-five years. And yet, Kento had only been there for Keiko’s birth. He had wanted to be there, perhaps, but he couldn’t. Work had taken him out of the country.

It left you alone in that sterile hospital room, your five-year old daughter by your side, holding your hand with small, trembling fingers. And then the third, you were with your grown children, making sure you were alright as you sat there, finally losing the ability to bear the children.

Maybe that was why this was unbearable. You suffered quite a lot. Loving your children, loving your husband. This is why the weight of it threatens to crush you now. You held it in for so long. And you had lost all ability to let it stay here, dwelling contentment.

You wanted to break down, to tell the truth, to let the words spill free. But you couldn’t. You weren’t ready. You wanted to cling to the lie just a little longer. To lose yourself in the illusion, to drown in it, and never face reality.

God knows, you wanted to say no to them right at this moment. You wanted to tell them that it was all a fabrication, that their father, the man they had loved and looked up to their whole lives, was not the man the media was painting him out to be. He was not the person they had long loved for all their lives. Yet you wanted to protect them, the same way you always had. But you couldn’t.

Because the truth sat there like a bitter pill in your throat and you had already swallowed it once. You had long swallowed it and dealt with it. And that truth was crawling out of your throat, brutishly, wantonly, eagerly. You cannot keep it deep inside for much longer. You fixed the rear view mirror and finally met their eyes. You took a sharp breath.

“…Yes.” You finally say to them. “It’s true.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The way their eyes surged with such devastation.

You didn’t want to ever see it again like that.

But god only knows that this will be all there is in their eyes.

Keiko’s face crumpled, like she had just been punched in the gut. “Oh my god…mom, you….”

Kenshin let out this strangled, bitter laugh — like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So it’s true, then. Those blind items from the past few years.” he muttered. “Dad’s a fucking cheater. A constant one at that.”

“Watch your mouth, Kenshin.” you tried to say — but your voice cracked. “You can’t just keep—”

“No, seriously, mom.” he scoffed, his voice laced with something ugly. “How long? Huh? How long has he been screwing around and doing this to you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “…I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie.” Keiko says, her voice cracking. “Just….tell us the truth mom.”

“I’m not lying,” you snapped, finally turning around in your seat to look at him. “I don’t know how long it’s been, okay? I found out years ago and—”

“Years?”

Kenshin’s face twisted at your slip up. It was like you had just physically slapped him across the face. Keiko gasped out loud, breathing out like she had no air in her lungs. You rested your head on the leatherbound headrest, closing your eyes.

“You mean he’s been doing this since we were kids?”

Keiko covered her mouth with her hand, tears already falling as she looked out the window, trying to keep a grip on reality. “Oh my god, what…..” she whispered again. “Mom, why didn’t you leave him? Why didn’t you tell us?”

And that…. that was the question that cut through you the deepest. Why hadn’t you left him? Why did you stay when you found that first message? Why did you stay when he came home smelling like perfume that wasn’t yours?

Why did you stay when you’d hear him in the bathroom, late at night, whispering to someone who wasn’t you? Why did you stay when every kiss, every touch, every moment of intimacy started to feel manufactured?

Yet, you already knew the answer.

And your kids probably also knew.

Because you still loved the bastard.

Even now, even after everything — you still loved Nanami Kento. How can you just erase such a love that has festered for almost all of your life in an instant? How do you undo every bit of your emotions and your laughter and your memories in that moment of grief?

As much as you hated him for what he did, you still loved him. Even if it was bitterly so, you loved him. It was the two sides of the same coin. Love and hatred, bleeding into one another until you couldn’t tell them apart.

They’ve become the same thing to you over time. They’ve become inseparable, untainted and dirty all at once. And the thought of walking away, of destroying your family, of breaking your kids' hearts — all of it just felt like an agony you weren’t sure you could bear.

“…I stayed because I loved him, you know that.” you finally whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “And because I thought… I thought it would get better. I thought if I loved him hard enough, if I forgave him, he’d come back to me. I thought……” Your voice cracked. “…I thought he still loved me the way he used to.”

Silence.

And then, your son let out the bitterest laugh you’d ever heard in your life.

Keiko narrowed her tearful face at her brother. “Kenshin, stop. Mom’s upset!”

“Well mom, congratulations.” he said hollowly, staring out the window. “Guess you were wrong about it all. Because if dad loved you, loved us, he wouldn’t have done this.”

His words cut deep through you. They hurt more than anything. Because you knew that was the truth. And you had been avoiding it for so long, that you were a fool. A girl was a foolish little child, but the woman is even more of a beautiful little fool, even more than a child, truly. Because when she continues to love a man who doesn’t love her truly, she is just never going to learn.

Later that night, your kids didn’t talk to Kento. Not once. They just refused to. When he got home from work, exhausted and carrying the same tension he always did, he expected the usual — a quiet dinner, maybe some small talk before you both retreated to your separate corners of the house.

Instead, your son walked right past him without a word. Your daughter didn’t even look at him.

You just stood in the kitchen, pretending to wash dishes like you hadn’t just destroyed your children’s entire worldview of the life they had known that morning.

Kento frowned, setting his keys down. “…Did something happen?”

You didn’t even turn around. “No.”

But your voice was hollow. Detached. And Kento could feel it. He was perceptive, so he knew. He knew that there was a shift, that there is a heavy weight, the unspoken heaviness that settled over the house like a death sentence.

When the kids had gone to bed and Kento finally pulled you aside, his voice strained “What’s going on?” he demanded softly. “Why won’t they talk to me?”

You smiled bitterly. “They know, Kento.”

You could sense that in that moment, his blood froze. “…What?”

You finally turned to face him and for the first time in years, you didn’t hide the devastation in your face. “Your cheatin’ heart, Kento.” you said quietly. “They know.”

Kento’s face was completely drained of color. “…How?”

You scoffed. “The paparazzi followed us all day and showed up at the cafe we go to, the one outside Tokyo Metro. They started asking questions and the kids….they just figured it out.”

Nanami Kento just stood there, all too pale like a sheet and all too silent like a devious saint. Like the weight of his own sins had finally come crashing down on him. And for the first time in twenty five years, you saw something in his caramel eyes you had never seen before.

Fear. Because now, it wasn’t just you who knew about his infidelity. It was his kids, the kids who viewed him for so long to be their beloved father, the man who could do no wrong in their eyes. And they wanted nothing to do with him.

YOU HAD DONE ALL YOU COULD, YOU HAD TRIED. You tried to do what you could to deescalate the situation burning into disaster in your once peaceful home. Your hands trembled as you set down the untouched cup of tea, its warmth doing nothing to ease the cold creeping into your bones. The air between you and Kento was thick with unspoken words, tension stretching like a wire on the verge of snapping.

Despite the suffocating ache in your chest, despite the bile that burned your throat every time you looked at him, despite the way your children couldn't even stand to be in the same room as their father. You wanted to do what you could to settle this properly.

“Kento.” you finally said, voice hoarse from too many nights spent crying in silence. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if you were just another problem on his never-ending list. “Then what do you suggest?” His tone was controlled, but you could hear the exhaustion beneath it.

You glanced toward the staircase, where you knew your children were hiding just out of sight, pretending not to hear. You couldn’t blame them. How could they bear to watch the man they once admired turn into someone they no longer recognized?

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “But this... this isn’t working. We’re tearing everything apart.”

Kento’s gaze flickered toward the family portrait still hanging on the wall, the one taken before everything fell apart. He scoffed, a bitter smile playing at his lips. “You say that, but we both know the truth.”

Your fingers curled into fists on your lap. “And what truth is that?”

“That you’re never going to leave me.”

A shiver ran down your spine, not because his words were untrue—but because they were devastatingly accurate. He knew it all too well. No matter how unbearable things had become, no matter how deep the wounds ran, you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. And that was exactly why you were both still stuck in this. A war neither of you had the strength to end.

The next few days were even more unbearable than the other days that had come to pass. Your son Kenshin didn’t even come down for breakfast, he refused to do so. Meanwhile Keiko, your daughter sat at the table, silently scrolling through her phone, pretending like her father didn’t exist.

Kento looked wrecked about all of it. He was pale, sleepless, disheveled. A far cry from the man who once carried the aura of effortless grace and unwavering composure on stage and on film, now looked like a ghost in his own home, a ghost no one wanted to interact with.

“…Good morning.” he tried to say to her.

Silence. “…Did you sleep well?”

Your daughter didn’t even glance up.

Kento looked desperate to have an interaction with your only daughter. He looked like a drowning man gasping for air. His hands were practically trembling as he tried to pour himself a cup of coffee, his voice cracking as he spoke.

“…I’m heading to the studio later. Filming should wrap early so maybe I can pick you up—”

“Dad, please stop.” your daughter interrupted, cold and bitter. “You don’t have to tell us where you’re going. We don’t care.”

Kento pursed his lips in a flat line. “.....I see.”

You saw it. The way his face crumpled, the way his jaw clenched like he was trying so hard not to break in front of his own daughter. And despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the infidelity, despite the years of suffering — your heart still aches for him. So you did the only thing you could.

“…Honey, not right now.” you said softly, giving your daughter a pointed look. “Don’t be rude at the breakfast table.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” she laughed bitterly, snapping as she slammed her phone down on the table. “I’m being rude? To him?”

“Watch your tone—”

“No! No, I’m not watching my tone!” she spat. “You’re really just gonna sit here and pretend like everything’s fine? Like he didn’t cheat on you for years and years and that we’re all just gonna move on and are just supposed to have breakfast like normal?”

You flinched. “Keiko, look….”

“I don’t want you to keep making excuses for him, mom! Goddamn it!”

Kento’s breath hitched. “…Sweetheart, don’t scream at your mother—”

“Don’t call me that, you damn cheater.” she bit out, her voice shaking. “You don’t get to call me that. Not after what you did to Mom. Not after you lied to all of us for years—”

“I never—”

“Yes, you did!” she shouted, rising to her feet. “You cheated on her, Dad! Over and over again, and you let her suffer in silence, and you thought we wouldn’t find out! After all, you put her through? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Enough, stop. Please.” you finally snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “That’s enough, both of you.”

Your daughter turned on you, her face twisted in disbelief. “Are you seriously defending him right now, mom?”

“No, darling, I’m not.” you whispered, your voice hollow. “Believe me, I’m not. I’m just trying to keep this family from completely falling apart.”

Kento looked at you like you had just thrown him a lifeline. Despite it all, you were still to keep his relationship with your children amiable. Even now — after everything — you were still trying to hold everything together. Trying to keep your family intact. Trying to keep the peace. Trying to keep your kids from completely hating their father.

And you hated yourself for it.

He knew you hated yourself for it.

But you hated separation more.

That, you hate about yourself too.

“…I’m going to my room and pack. I can’t do this.” your daughter spat bitterly, grabbing her phone. “I’m going back to my apartment.”

And just like that, she was gone. The silence that followed was suffocating. Kento’s hands were trembling. His throat was visibly working, his face practically drained of color. And your son, he still hadn’t come downstairs. He probably wouldn’t. He would probably go back to his dorms tonight too. You already knew. Kento already knew.

Your heart clenched as you watched your daughter storm up the stairs, her hurried footsteps echoing through the house. You wanted to call her back, to say something, anything, that might make her stay. But what was left to say? You could feel her slipping away, just like everything else. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Kento exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have stopped her.”

You turned to him sharply, eyes flashing with something dangerously close to resentment. “Don’t.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m just saying—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Kento.” You swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to hear anything from you right now.”

A flicker of something that crossed his face. You tried to name it. Regret, guilt, or maybe just exhaustion, but you couldn’t. After that, your husband didn’t argue. He only nodded, rubbing at his temple as if the weight of this entire mess sat squarely on his shoulders alone. As if you weren’t both drowning in it.

The sound of a suitcase zipping shut upstairs made you flinch. A part of you wanted to chase after her, to beg her to stay. But another part, the part that was just so damn tired, knew that maybe this was for the best for your children for now.

“I’ll drive her back, mom.” your son said quietly, standing near the doorway. You hadn’t even realized he was there. “....We’ll talk to you when we get back to Bunkyo.”

Your gaze softened. “You don’t have to.”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, as he disappeared towards the steps of your massive stairway. “Yeah, I do. Please don’t worry about us, okay? Just give us space for now.”

You let out a slow, shuddering breath, your hands shaking as you rubbed at your face. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

Kento sighed. “I know.”

You finally looked at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you?”

Because if he truly did, then why were you still here? Why were you still trying to stitch together something that had long since been torn apart? Why were you still afraid to let go? What do you seek to gain about staying here?

“…I’m sorry. I just…..” Kento finally choked out, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

You hated how your body still responded to his pain. You hated how, even now, you could feel your heart ache for him, even after everything. But you do, you feel compassion for the man who had ruined you.

“…I know,” you finally whispered.

Kento swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “Do you… do you want me to leave?”

And that — that was the worst part. Because the answer was yes. You wanted him to leave. You wanted him out of your house, out of your life, out of the gaping wound he had carved into your chest. You wanted to be free of him, free of the suffocating burden of being the wife he had repeatedly betrayed.

But you couldn’t say it at all.

Because you still loved him.

And you hated yourself for it.

“…No.” you rasped, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Nanami Kento completely broke. He surged toward you, his hands clutching your face like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. Like you were the only thing keeping him from giving up and letting all the punishments come without hope.

“I’ll fix it.” he choked out, his voice wrecked with desperation. “I’ll fix everything. I swear to god, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right. Just — please don’t give up on me. Please don’t leave me.”

You just stood there, embraced by this touch, unmoving as his heat continued to permeate your skin, the very skin you didn’t want him to burn even more. Still so empty, so hollow. Trying so hard not to collapse beneath the weight of it all. You stared at him for a good moment.

“…I already gave up on trying to let you fix things, Kento.” you whispered. “A long time ago. Because not even gold can fix these broken pieces and continue to be beautiful.”

You saw it in his eyes.

He knew those words to be true.

And he still wasn’t letting you go.

Kento’s grip on you tightened.

“No.” he croaked, his voice cracking with raw, desperate agony. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t give up on me. You wouldn’t still be here if you did.”

And fuck, you hated how his words still held power over you. You hated how he could still reach into the hollowed-out pit of your chest and stir something. Because he was right. You hadn’t left. You should have. But you didn’t.

“…I didn’t leave because of our kids.” you tell him almost too bitterly, your voice shaking. “Not because of you. Just because I still love you doesn’t mean I was willing to stay because of it. I stayed because you are still their father. That is all.”

Kento flinched. His face crumpled. His hands trembled as they cupped your face even closer to his, like he was desperately trying to ground himself in your presence. You tried to move away from him, but you knew you couldn’t.

You try and avoid his gaze instead, yet even in that you failed. He wanted to see you, all of you. In that brokenness, in that emptiness, in that hatred, in that toxic love. He wanted it all, until nothing was left.

“But you still love me.” he rasped, his voice raw. “I know you do.”

“…Don’t.” you choked, trying to pull away. You hated him for saying it out loud. “Don’t do this to me.”

But he wouldn’t let you, not now when this is the only time he could truly hold something so tangible of you. His hands tightened, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones like he was trying to memorize you. His breath was shallow, his face devastated.

“You do.” he whispered. “I can see it. Every day. You still look at me like you love me. You still stay—”

“Because I’m stupid, Kento!” you snapped, finally ripping yourself out of his grasp. “Because I’m a fucking idiot who doesn’t know how to walk away! You think that means anything?”

The look on his face, it absolutely destroyed you. Because for the first time — Nanami Kento really looked at you. Not like his wife. Not like the mother of his children. Not like the woman he had shared twenty years of his life with. But like a woman he had broken beyond repair.

“…I never stopped loving you, you know that.” he rasped, his voice wrecked. “Not once. Not even when I was being a piece of shit and — and sleeping with other women. I swear to god, baby, it was never because I didn’t love you. It was because I was drowning and I didn’t know how to—”

“Oh my god.” you laughed bitterly, actually laughing. “Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare make this about you, Kento. Don’t even….”

“I’m not.” he choked, his voice cracking. “I swear to god, I’m not. I just….I need you to understand. I was never looking for love. I was just….” his voice faltered, tears visibly burning his eyes.

“I was lonely, baby. You hated me. You didn’t touch me. You didn’t look at me like you loved me anymore. And I….I was so fucking weak. I was weak and I hurt you, and I hate myself every day for it—”

“Stop it. Not another word, you stupid fuck.” you spat, your voice shaking. “Stop talking.”

But he didn’t stop there.

“I love you, you know that.” he begged, his voice cracking. “I still love you. I never stopped. Please don’t let this be the end of us, baby. Please — please fight for us—”

And you lost it.

“Fight for us?” you screamed, your entire body shaking with rage. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the past twenty five fucking years, Kento? I fought for us when you left me alone with a newborn! Twice!"

You were so clear to his face now. "I nearly fucking died giving birth to your children. They nearly removed my uterus three times, including with the last miscarriage I had. And even with that, I was fucking alone!”

You stopped for a moment to try and steady yourself, but you were so exasperated. You gripped your hair, your face, your neck like you were possessed, like you had become a maddened woman who had lost all sense of reality. And then you screamed, and screamed. With the agony of a woman who has nothing left to give, nothing left to have.

“I could have been someone, Kento. I could have been more than someone’s fucking wife.” You started to say, breathless and anguished, hitching your breath at each word.

“I could have been a world famous chemist, saving someone’s life with my work. I could have been travelling around the world and enjoying my life. But no, I loved you too much. And I loved you so much, I fucking let myself be a footnote so you could have a fucking life!”

“Babe, please—”

“I fought for us when I had to pick myself up from postpartum depression alone! I fought for us when you cheated on me the first time — and the second time — and the third time! So don’t you dare stand here and ask me to keep fighting when I’ve been fighting alone for this fucking marriage for the past twenty five fucking years!”

Kento stood frozen, his mouth slightly open, his breathing ragged. His hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you, to pull you into his arms like he used to, back when love still felt like something tangible between you. But you weren’t that woman anymore. You weren’t the one who softened at his touch, who forgave with nothing more than a tired sigh and an aching heart. Not this time.

“You don’t get to beg now,” you seethed, voice still trembling. “You don’t get to cry now, Kento.”

The room felt too small, too suffocating, as if the weight of all the years, all the pain, all the silent suffering had condensed into this moment, crushing you from the inside out. Your nails dug into your scalp as you tried to steady yourself, but it was useless.

The rage, the grief, the betrayal—it was a storm that had been brewing for years, and now it was here, tearing through you without mercy. Kento took a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching for you, but you recoiled violently, like his touch would burn you alive.

“Don’t.” you spat, your voice raw. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

His shoulders slumped, his face crumpling with something akin to regret, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to fix everything that had been broken. Not after everything. Not after all he had done to you.

“I—I know I failed you.” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I let you down. But I swear, I never wanted—”

“You never wanted what?” You laughed then, a hollow, broken sound that sent a chill through the room. “You never wanted to hurt me? To break me? To leave me alone while I bled, while I begged for you to just be there?”

He flinched like you had slapped him, but you weren’t done. Not even close.

“Do you know what it’s like, Kento?” you continued, voice trembling with emotion. “To cry alone in a hospital room after losing a baby we created? To be told I might never have another child while you were off doing god knows what in your movie sets? Do you know what it’s like to sit across from your husband at the dinner table, knowing he’s slept with someone else but still pretending like everything is fine—for the sake of your kids?”

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “No. You don’t. Because you never had to. You had the privilege of being the one who could walk away whenever it got too hard. And I was the idiot who stayed.”

Nanami Kento paled, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. He couldn’t help but flinch, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Your vision blurred with tears, but you refused to let them fall. Not now. Not in front of him.

What could he say? What excuse could possibly justify the years of neglect, the betrayals, the loneliness he had forced upon you while expecting you to bear the weight of it all? Your chest heaved as you stared at him, your vision blurred with rage and grief.

Your fingers dug into your scalp, your nails pressing against your skin as if you were trying to physically hold yourself together. The room felt too small, the air too thick, like it was suffocating you over and over.

“You say you love me. Over and over.” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “But love isn’t fucking leaving. Love isn’t lying. Love isn’t cheating. Love isn’t making me feel like I was never enough.”

You inhaled sharply, chest rising and falling with the force of your fury. “And I was enough, Kento. I was enough. You just never fucking saw it.”

Kento’s breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I do see it, baby.” he murmured, his voice raw. “I see it now.”

You shook your head, a sad, broken smile tugging at your lips. “Too fucking late.”

The look in your face killed you. He saw that agony for the first time in your long marriage together. The mask had all but slipped off. Nothing was left to pretense now. He has to understand now, and he does. He looks like he does.

You had given him everything. Your body. Your youth. Your dream. Your career. Your life. And in return, he had given you nothing that had made you feel like this reality he had given you. Because with all those promises given and broken, all he had given you in the end was nothing but heartbreak.

“…I’m sorry.” he finally rasped, his voice shattered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

And you just laughed. Bitterly. “Sorry doesn’t fix twenty years of betrayal, Kento. You’ve already killed me, long ago. You can’t fix what has already been slaughtered.”

“I know that.” he choked, his breath hitching. “I know it doesn’t. But please — please don’t leave me. Please don’t take our family away from me. I need you.”

You just broke down right in front of him then and there. This was the worst part. This outburst, this breakdown, this long awaited grief exploding right in front of him still means nothing at all. Because you still loved him.

You still loved him like you did when you were twenty and pregnant and terrified. You still loved him like you did when he kneeled beside you and begged you to apply to university. You still loved him like you did when he promised to give you a beautiful life before he destroyed it. And you hated yourself for it.

“…I’m not leaving, I already told you that.” you finally rasped, your voice hollow.

Kento’s entire body visibly crumpled with relief. He sagged forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as his entire body trembled. “Oh my god, thank god—”

You moved to the cabinet, trying to search for the cigarette. When you found it and took it, you could feel your hands shaking so badly that the flame flickered unsteadily, barely catching the end of the cigarette. You inhaled deeply, letting the acrid smoke burn your lungs, anything to distract you from the suffocating weight in your chest.

Kento watched you, still hunched over, his breath uneven, his hands gripping his knees like they were the only things holding him together. His body trembled, wracked with relief, but his relief was nothing compared to the exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders.

You had given him what he wanted, his dream.

Not love. Not forgiveness. But the simple fact that you were still here.

The cigarette bobbed between your lips as you exhaled, the smoke curling around you like ghosts of all the words you wanted to say but never would. You stared at him, your expression unreadable, and for the first time, Nanami Kento looked small.

He was so much smaller than the man you had once adored, the man who used to tower over you with quiet strength. Now, he was nothing more than a man drowning in the mess he made, clinging to you like you were a life raft in the middle of a raging sea. And maybe you were. Maybe that was the most tragic part of it all.

“You think this is relief, don’t you?” you murmured, watching the way his breath hitched at your words. “You think I’m staying because I still have hope for us.”

He lifted his head slightly, blinking at you with bloodshot eyes, as if he didn’t want to admit it but couldn’t deny it either. “I….I do.”

You took another drag of your cigarette, the tip glowing in the dim light of the kitchen. “But that’s not it, Kento. That’s not it at all.”

“Then why?” His voice was desperate, strained, like he was afraid to hear the answer.

You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disappear into the air. “Because I don’t know how to leave. Not anymore……Isn’t that a tragedy?”

Silence. Perhaps with all the things you have said just now, it was the most honest thing you had said to him in years. Kento inhaled sharply, his hands gripping his knees even tighter, his knuckles turning white.

You could see the pain in his face, the way your words hit him like a physical blow. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t try to convince you otherwise. Because deep down, he knew it too. You weren’t staying out of love. You were staying because you had forgotten what life looked like without him.

YOU WILL NEVER GET USED TO THIS LIFE HE HAD FORCED ON YOU. The flashing lights had long since stopped making you flinch. The murmurs, the whispers, the hushed speculations that followed you wherever you went, those had become background noise. You were used to the weight of their stares, the scrutiny that came with your name, your existence.

But that didn’t mean you liked it. You had never wanted this. You had never asked to be someone the world felt entitled to watch, to judge, to pick apart piece by piece. Your name wasn’t just yours anymore, it was something the media used for headlines, something the public devoured like vultures picking at a fresh carcass.

And yet, this was your reality. This was the life you had been forced into, no matter how much you resented it. It didn’t matter if you stayed or if you left—your story would never truly be yours again. You would always be his wife, his scandal, his mistake. But perhaps that was where your power lay.

If the world insisted on keeping you in its grasp, then fine. You would let them have you, but only on your terms. Perhaps it was cruel, but Kento had given you this power the moment he destroyed you and your entire marriage in front of the world to see.

The moment he had made you a household name not for your accomplishments, but for your suffering and your grief, he had no other choice but to surrender. He had taken everything from you. Your peace, your privacy, your dignity and now, it was only fair that you took something in return.

His control.

So when the cameras flashed and reporters screamed your name, you stood taller. When the world speculated about the state of your marriage, you gave them only what you wanted them to see. When Nanami Kento stood beside you, silent and obedient, you made sure it was clear to everyone, he was the one following your lead now.

This was the price of his betrayal.

And he had no choice but to pay it.

That was your quid pro quo after all.

The award show was about to start and it was already damned and brutal, suffocating you whole. You were swallowed by all these smiling faces under the bright lights, overwhelmed by the cameras flashing as their loud voices asked you to pose.

Hundreds of people dressed in their finest, smiling like their lives were perfect.

Like nothing in this despotic life had fallen apart behind closed doors.

You were draped in a designer dress Kento’s stylist had picked for you. Something black, sleek, elegant, like you had asked. It was a beautiful dress, it looked well on you as it expressed the boldness of your assets, still unchanged from the moment Kento had introduced you to this world.

Yet, people whispered too well as they moved away from you. They think it was some sort of funeral dress, and in some ways they were right. You were mourning a death, you were mourning multiple, if you were being honest. Yet, you did not say a word. Instead, you smiled like your life depended on it.

On your arm was your husband, Nanami Kento, a veteran actor of thirty odd years, who was about to receive one of the highest honors of the night. And everyone was watching you. Because this was your first public appearance since the scandal broke.

You could feel it all coming down on you. The stares, the whispers, the flashing cameras catching every angle of your face. Your fingers curled around Kento’s arm, but it wasn’t out of affection. It was out of necessity. Because if you let go, you weren’t sure if your legs would carry you anymore.

Kento’s hand covered yours, his grip desperately tight. Like he knew — he fucking knew — you didn’t want to be here. But he asked you to come over and over again, even when you said no. It got to the point that he was begging on his knees as you stood before him.

“Please.” he’d whispered last night, his voice cracking. “I know you hate me. I know you don’t want to be seen with me, but please… please just come. Let them see that you’re still here. I can’t do this alone.”

Still, you had stood there, unmoving, arms crossed over your chest as you stared down at the man who had once sworn to protect you but had done nothing but destroy you. His hands gripped your waist like you were the only thing anchoring him, his forehead pressing against your stomach as he whispered broken apologies into the fabric of your shirt.

“I know I don’t deserve to ask this of you, baby.” he had murmured, voice hoarse from exhaustion, from guilt, from the weight of all the ways he had failed you. “But I—I need you.”

You had inhaled sharply, closing your eyes as the familiar ache in your chest grew heavier. “You need me?” The bitterness in your voice was sharp enough to cut. “Where was that need when I was begging you to come home? When I was drowning in loneliness, in grief, in everything you left me with?”

Kento had squeezed his eyes shut, his grip tightening as if he was afraid you would slip through his fingers. “I know.” he whispered. “I know, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. But please… just this once, please help me.”

And fuck, maybe you were still too weak to say no to him. You had wanted to say no. God, you had wanted to let him suffer, to let him face the mess he created on his own. But deep down, you knew the truth. So here you were. Standing beside him like the perfect wife.

And then you saw her.

Fushiguro Toji’s wife.

And she was staring back at you.

A very prominent and established veteran actress, someone who’s won award after award. Just like that husband of hers, who stood beside her. She was gorgeous, vivacious and vibrant. She was the kind of woman who naturally commanded the attention of a room.

Your husband worked with her a long while ago, well multiple times. The most prominent was that film they did in Paris, that film which encapsulated your marriage to bits. When you watched it the first time, you tried to imagine yourself as her, as that actress. And honestly, you cried. For a long while, you did.

But you know her more than that, you like to think. You knew her as someone who without a doubt had an affair with your husband for a long while. It was so obvious to you. She was bright as a starlight and she was incredible, everything you had been so long ago.

Perhaps that was what attracted your husband to her in the first place. She was an escape from the misery you were. She represented the spirit of the woman you used to be. You and her all the same, were the other woman.

You had already known and yet, she had come to you and told you. It was the first time you had ever found yourself in contact with her. She had messaged you, five years ago. Over text, and what she wrote was a one line apology.

“I’m sorry. I broke it off with him. It will never happen again.”

And you never forgot her because of that.

She was the only one who had ever apologized.

She was the only one who truly meant it.

So when her eyes finally caught yours across the room, you quickly felt it. The sharp, sudden guilt that flashed through her expression. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something to you but you didn’t give her the chance.

Instead, you smiled. You smiled, let go of Kento’s arm, not replying to Kento as he asked you where you were going. You merely walked straight toward her, not caring for anything else. And her face visibly crumpled at the sight of you getting closer.

“…I’m sorry, I am so…I am so sorry, Mrs. Kento.” she blurted, the second you were within earshot. Her voice cracked. “God…. I’m so sorry. I never….I never wanted to be a part of your misery. I swear. I didn’t know—”

And you just stared at her. You could feel Kento’s burning gaze from behind you. There was panic, desperation, guilt blending in his eyes. But you ignored him. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your voice cold and unwavering.

“…It’s not your fault.”

The woman froze. “…What?”

The silence stretched between you like an open wound. It was obviously still raw, gaping, impossible to ignore. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. The way her breath hitched, the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, the way her entire body seemed to shrink under the weight of your words. It was enough.

You knew that silence. You had lived in that silence. You had spent years drowning in it, in the unspoken guilt that was never yours to carry, in the suffocating weight of a love that had never been real to begin with.

“…Yeah.” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Same here.”

She exhaled sharply, like your words had knocked the air right out of her lungs. You could see the cracks forming in her carefully constructed composure, in the way her lips trembled, in the way she refused to look at her husband.

Fushiguro Toji—her wonderful husband, her loyal partner—was still laughing with Kento, pretending this wasn’t happening between the two of you. Still pretending he wasn’t the reason his wife was standing here, breaking apart in real-time.

You followed her gaze as it flickered towards her own husband, watched as her face twisted into something painful, something angry, something exhausted. And suddenly, you recognize yourself in her.

You knew what it was like to stand on that edge, to realize that the life you thought you had was nothing but an illusion. To realize that the man you had built your world around had done nothing but use you, lie to you, break you.

The only difference between you and her was simple.

You weren’t that woman anymore.

You had already been shattered.

You had already lived through the aftermath.

But her?

She was just beginning to fall apart.

And when her eyes finally met yours again, glossy with unshed tears, you did something you never thought you’d do. You reached out and took her hand. She stiffened at first, startled, but then slowly, her fingers curled around yours.

Because in this moment, in this mess of betrayal and grief, there was only one person who understood what she was feeling. And it was you. Only a miserable woman like you would understand what it was like to feel this misery.

Tears visibly welled in her eyes, and she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something — but she didn’t. Instead, she just stood there, swallowing her apology over and over again like it would fix the past.

But it wouldn’t. And so, instead of dragging this conversation out, you simply leaned in — your voice so low, so sharp, it cut her to the bone. “…Do you still love him?” you asked quietly.

And her face was completely crumpled.

Tears burned her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled.

Still, she opted to not say anything, she couldn’t.

She didn’t have to. Because you already knew.

“…Yeah….” you exhaled bitterly, pulling away. “I get it.”

And before she could say another word, you turned around and walked straight back to Kento, your head high, your smile poised. Like you were completely unaffected. But you weren’t. And when Kento grabbed your waist. You looked up to him.

His voice was low and frantic as he asked, “What did she say to you?”

You didn’t answer him.

You just smiled for the cameras.

And he didn’t force you anymore.

Instead, he smiled right beside you.

Because this was the life you chose to stay in. This is the life he chose to continue to live, even if there was nothing but bitterness left in it. This life is full of betrayal, broken promises, and a love that you couldn’t let go of, no matter how much it destroyed you.

The award show dragged on. You sat beside Kento, your fingers laced with his, as the ceremony went on like nothing had ever happened. Like you weren’t the wife of the man who humiliated you in front of the entire world. Like you hadn’t just spoken to one of the women he fucked. Like you weren’t suffocating under the weight of it all.

Kento wouldn’t stop looking at you. You could feel it, his gaze burning into the side of your face, his thumb nervously stroking the back of your hand, like he was trying to gauge if you were okay. Like he was praying you wouldn’t get up and walk out.

But you wouldn’t. You never did. And when they finally announced Kento’s name. They were honoring him with the Lifetime Achievement Award, for his influence in the industry after thirty years in the industry.

The entire room exploded in applause, like he wasn’t the current eye of criticism and controversy. You stood up with him, as you always did and you clapped. You continued to smile for the cameras like the perfect wife.

Kento’s hand clutched yours, ever so desperately, so painfully tight like he was terrified of letting you go. And the moment he turned to you, full of emotion as he memorized your face. He could feel himself shaking, his voice cracking.

“I love you, baby.” he whispered, his eyes wild with emotion. “I mean that. I know I don’t deserve you. But I love you. Please believe me.”

And you smiled. The same cold, practiced smile you’d been perfecting for the last decade. “…Go get your award, Kento.”

And you swore for a brief, fleeting moment, you just watched how his face shattered at your words, full of utter devastation. But then the cameras were on him, and he had no choice but to let you go. So he did.

You watched him walk up the stage. Watched as the applause roared, watched as he smiled for the cameras, watched as they played a heartfelt montage of his three-decade career. And somewhere in the middle of it, you saw her once again.

Fushiguro Toji’s wife. No, no, she was more than that. She was herself an actress. You corrected it in your head. You didn’t want to treat her as just his wife. You shouldn’t treat her the way the rest of the world had treated you.

She was seated in the same row, just across from you. And she wasn’t watching Kento. She was watching you. Her eyes were still wet. Her face still crumpled with guilt after all this time, after you had already made peace with ehr. And when your gazes met — she mouthed it again.

“I’m sorry.”

And you didn’t respond. Because what was the point? She wasn’t the one you were married to. She wasn’t the one who destroyed you. She wasn’t the one who kissed you every morning and fucked other women at night.

Nanami Kento was.

And when his speech finally started, you couldn’t even hear it. His voice which was once so warm and electrifying was now just white noise to you. But then you caught the tail end of it, which you could hardly care for.

“…And lastly, to end this speech.” Kento’s voice cracked. “I… I need to thank my wife.”

The cameras immediately cut to you And you smiled for the camera, almost like an actress yourself. God, you smiled so beautifully. Like you weren’t dying inside.

“I know I’ve thanked my kids but this woman, right in front of you all, she’s the reason I’m here today.” Kento’s voice trembled. “Nearly twenty five years ago, she gave up her entire life for me. She put her dreams on hold, sacrificed her future, and stayed by my side, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

His eyes burned as he looked right at you. “I caused her quite a lot of grief, with how long I was working and going on so many work trips over the years. She had to take care of everything, take care of our children, and me. And every single day… she still chooses to stay and continue to be the best of wives and the best of women.”

The crowd awed.

That had irked you.

But you still smiled.

Kento’s voice cracked. “I don’t deserve her. I never did. But she’s the love of my life. And for as long as she’ll have me… I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”

The applause was thunderous. People around you stood. Clapped. Smiled. Because how beautiful this was. A broken marriage, no, the media’s framing it to be a tough road in the marriage, courtesy of Kento’s PR team.

Somehow it’s working. He was standing before everyone else, a man still fighting to earn his wife’s love back. The cameras stayed on you longer than they should’ve, capturing the delicate tremble of your lips, the soft glassiness of your eyes.

Because they thought you were emotional.

But you weren’t, you really were not.

You were fucking numb, to all of it.

And the second Kento stepped off the stage, the award clutched tightly in his hands, he went straight to you. Dropped to his knees in front of you, in front of the entire goddamn audience, and clutched your waist like a dying man.

“I love you, so so much.” he choked, his voice desperate. “I mean it. I swear to god, I mean it.”

You just smiled. “…You did great, baby.” you whispered softly.

Then you leaned down, kissed his forehead, and smiled for the cameras again. Because what else were you supposed to do? Expose him in front of millions of people? Walk out and confirm the rumors? Ruin the perfect facade he so carefully crafted for himself?

No. You did what you always did. You smiled. Stayed. Supported him. Because you were too far gone to leave. Because you wanted him to be eaten by that guilt. You wanted him to suffer. You wanted the world to know you loved him and how you were good, you were far too good for him. That you deserve so much better than him.

And Kento fucking knew it.

So when the show finally ended and you were walking hand-in-hand toward the exit — he kept glancing at you, like you were the only one in his world. Kept searching your face, like he was hoping for something. Forgiveness, maybe.

But you didn’t give it to him. That would be too easy. That would be too perfect. You didn’t want to give it and he knew that. Still, that was just how it was. You will remain married, he will remain miserable. So long as he has you by his side, so long as he can still be your husband.

And when you finally got in the car, the silence thick and suffocating, your husband Kento completely broke. He looked like he was losing it, feeling overwhelmed by everything that happened. Most especially because of her.

“…What did she say to you?” he asked hoarsely. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Toji’s wife. What did she say?”

You laughed. Actually laughed. “She said she was sorry.”

Kento’s jaw clenched. “For what?”

Your smile was cold. “For being a part of my misery.”

Silence.

Kento’s breathing visibly picked up. “…And what did you say?”

That was when you finally turned to him, your voice low, cold, dead. “I told her it wasn’t her fault,. you whispered. “I told her it was yours. It was her husband’s fault.”

Kento looked like you stabbed him in the throat. His knuckles cracked around the steering wheel, his throat working on nothing. “…Baby, please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” you laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell the truth? Don’t say that you’re the reason I lost everything? That he’s the reason she lost everything?”

Kento completely broke. “Baby…..”

“No, no, you shut up.” you snapped, tears burning your throat. “You don’t get to tell me to stop. You don’t get to act like your little speech on stage fixes anything. You broke me, Kento. You fucking broke me. And the worst part? I’m still here.” Your voice cracked. “I’m still here. I never left. I’m too weak. Because I’m a fool.”

The silence in the car was suffocating.

Kento didn’t speak.

You didn’t either.

Maybe that was for the best.

IT WAS ABOUT AN HOUR WHEN YOU GET TO THE AFTER PARTY VENUE. When you and Kento got out of the car, you were greeted with a warm welcome from the media, who continued to ask both of you for poses and pictures.

The flashing lights were blinding, the roar of the media an unrelenting tide of questions, camera shutters, and eager voices calling out your name.

"Over here!"

"You look stunning tonight!"

"Is it true you and Kento are working things out?"

"Can we get a shot of you both together?"

You plastered on a practiced smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and let them have their pictures. Kento, ever the professional, played his part seamlessly, still posing, signing autographs, offering polite nods and charming remarks while his hand remained firmly at the small of your back. His touch was warm, steady, familiar.

You hated it.

When it was finally time to go inside, you barely muttered a farewell to the crowd before stepping into the grand venue, the heavy doors closing behind you like a seal trapping you in a world you wanted no part of.

The afterparty was an explosion of extravagance. A crystal chandelier dripped from the ceiling like frozen diamonds, casting a golden glow over the room. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooked the glittering Tokyo skyline, a breathtaking view wasted on you.

Champagne flowed like water, clinking in the hands of celebrities who moved with an air of effortless luxury. The music pulsed, a deep bass vibrating through the very foundation of the building, weaving through the sound of laughter and conversation.

It was a world you had long grown accustomed to. And yet, you had never felt more out of place. You could barely register the greetings thrown your way, barely mustered the energy to return the air kisses and polite pleasantries. Your smile was mechanical, your laughter nonexistent.

Kento kept his hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd as if you were still the couple everyone thought you were. As if nothing had changed. As if you weren’t suffocating in the very life he had built for you.

And that was the worst part, because nothing had changed. You were still here. Still standing beside him. Still pretending. Your throat tightened as you caught sight of the countless eyes on you. Some admiring, some curious, some scrutinizing, as if they could peel back the layers of your marriage with just a glance.

You inhaled deeply, trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

You just wanted to go home.

Kento turned to you, his face still shattered. “…Please don’t go far, baby.” His voice cracked. “Stay close to me tonight. Please.”

You didn’t even look at him. “…I’ll do what I want, Kento.”

But then you heard it.

“…She’s even prettier in person, isn’t she?” someone murmured. “Jesus, even with her age, she looks so good!”

“Oh my god, that’s her, isn’t it? Nanami Kento’s wife?”

“She still stayed after everything? Jesus.”

Your throat closed.

“…I’d leave him. No fucking way I’d stick around after that.”

Your hands shook.

“Poor thing. You can see the misery on her face.”

That was when you broke.

You turned sharply to Kento, your voice tight. “I need a minute.”

“Baby, please don’t—”

“I need a minute, Kento.”

And you walked off.

You weren’t even sure where you were going. And you didn’t care. All you needed was some fresh air right this instant.You needed to be somewhere that wasn’t suffocated by pitying eyes. You eventually found your way to a quiet balcony and you were two seconds away from crying again.

“…Hello?”

Your head snapped up.

And there he was.

Gojo Satoru.

One of the successful, most in-demand actors in the industry. Tall. Devastatingly handsome. A smile so sharp it could cut glass. You’d seen his face plastered across billboards, heard his name endlessly repeated on award circuits — but you’d never met him in person. You haven’t been introduced to him by Kento.

“…Yes?” you managed, still dazed.

“Sorry, I just—” He smirked as he gave you a once-over, like he was memorizing you. “I recognized you. And I figured it’d be rude not to say hello.”

You blinked. “You… recognized me?”

His smile widened. “Of course. You’re [last name] [name], aren’t you? And also Nanami Kento’s wife?” His head tilted, his voice dropping into something softer. “But you know — I’ve actually known about you long before the scandal.”

Your stomach turned. “…What?”

Gojo’s gaze burned into you. “You went to Tokyo University, right? Studied chemistry?”

Your blood ran cold. “…How do you know that?”

The blue eyed man merely smiled at you. It was almost one which pretended to not be sly. And all at once genuine in its amusement. Like he was in on something you weren’t.You blinked at his reaction, as though you were trying to make sure it wasn’t just a haze of the moment.

“…I have my sources.” He tells you, lowering his glasses, meeting his bright eyes. “Well, I doubt that matters, no?”

You stared. “I should like to hope it does, Mr. Gojo.”

“Oh, please, don’t call me Mr. Gojo. That’s my father! And I don't like that! Call me casually instead, like Satoru–kun or something!” He waves his hand at you, laughing. “And don’t worry. It’s not like I’m a stalker or anything.”

“Isn’t that what a stalker would say…..Satoru–kun?” You say, your eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. “This feels unreal.”

He chuckled. “I just… heard a lot about you. Back then. Everyone did.”

Your stomach tightened. “…Why?”

All of a sudden, Gojo Satoru’s face shifted at your question. Just a little, as though he was a little sad. As though, he was upset that you would ask that question. All the sudden, he was carefully choosing his next words, still looking at you.

“…Because you were brilliant.” His voice was quieter now, less playful. “Top of your class. Always ahead in labs, in every recital, every presentation. Polished and precise. No one could keep up.”

“That’s—”

“Everyone said you were gonna do something big in chemistry. Something revolutionary.” His eyes burned. “And then you became his stay at home wife, mother of his children. And you disappeared.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. For a moment, the party, the music, the laughter. All of it had gone and faded into static. The weight of Gojo Satoru’s words settled heavily on your chest, pressing down like an invisible force, one you had spent years trying to ignore.

And yet, here it was.

Here he was.

Dragging it all back to the surface. Your fingers curled at your sides as you studied him, trying to gauge his expression. He wasn’t mocking you. If anything, there was something almost… regretful in his gaze, something unbearably knowing.

You licked your lips, voice barely above a whisper. “…And what did they say after that?”

Satoru tilted his head slightly, a wry, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing that matters.”

“Everything else matters.”

“It doesn’t if it’s not praising the woman you are.” He says to you, smiling wider. “You deserve better than that, don’t you, [last name]-san.”

Your breath hitched. Gojo Satoru stood before you, watching you with an intensity that made your chest feel too tight, like he could see right through you. Like he wasn’t just looking at the woman you were now, but the woman you used to be. The woman you were supposed to have become.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, nails digging into your palm. Everything else matters. That was what you had told him. That was what you had always believed. Because even the whispers, the pitying murmurs of what a waste and she had so much potential.

They mattered too. They had cut into you like tiny, invisible blades over the years, leaving scars that no one could see. And now, here was Gojo Satoru, brushing them off like they were nothing. Like the only thing that should matter was you.

Your mouth felt dry. “That’s easy for you to say.”

He let out a small chuckle, but it was humorless. “Yeah. It is.” His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I never am.”

You blinked, searching his face for something. For mockery, pity, some sign that this was just another conversation to him. But all you saw was sincerity. A quiet, unwavering belief in his own words. A belief in you.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

So you looked away. “Well… It doesn’t change anything.”

Satoru hummed, tilting his head. “Maybe not.”

“But–”

Then, after a pause, he added, “But it should.”

You swallowed, a bitter taste lingering at the back of your throat. “What do you mean by that?”

“It means exactly what it does. It should change.”

"It should?" you echoed, forcing out a dry laugh. "What exactly should it change, Satoru–kun?"

His bright eyes flickered, studying you carefully. “You tell me.”

Your jaw clenched. You didn’t have an answer. Or rather, you did. Perhaps you just didn’t want to say it out loud. That maybe, for the first time in years, you were realizing how much you had truly actually lost.

That maybe, for the first time in years, you were questioning if it was all worth it. Your silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, tension humming in the air. And then, as if sensing your reluctance, Satoru leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"You could still change things, you know." he murmured, his tone almost coaxing. "You don’t have to stay where you are just because it’s where you ended up."

Your stomach twisted. You hated how much his words affected you. You hated how a part of you—some deep, hidden part you had spent years ignoring, wanted to truly believe him. But reality had a way of crushing dreams before they could even take shape.

"You don’t understand at all." you muttered, shaking your head. "It’s not that simple."

Satoru clicked his tongue, exhaling sharply through his nose. "It is, though." he said, unwavering. "You just don’t want to believe it."

His words settled over you like a heavy weight, pressing down on something you weren’t ready to confront. And so, like always, you pushed it away. You didn’t want to think about it. Because if you do, if you take it seriously — what would that do? What would you do?

"You’re awfully invested in my life for someone I just met, Satoru–kun." you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Satoru smirked, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Like I said, I heard a lot about you.” He paused. “And maybe I just don’t like seeing something brilliant go to waste.”

Your breath hitched again, but this time, you didn’t let him see it. Instead, you forced a smirk onto your lips, tilting your head slightly. "Sounds a lot like pity, Satoru-kun."

His smirk widened, but his eyes burned. "Not at all, [last name]-san." he murmured. "It's not a pity party. I would never do that to you.”

You raised a brow at him. “Oh? And what is it truly?”

“It's frustration."

You felt your pulse quicken. "Frustration?"

Satoru leaned in, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “It’s only right, no?”

“And you feel that for me, more than I do?”

"Yeah." he said, and for the first time, there was no teasing, no playfulness in his tone. Just raw, unfiltered honesty. “I have a big heart for it, you know?”

You snicker. “And why is that?”

"Because the woman they all used to talk about, a trailblazer of a woman, someone they thought would revolutionize everything, the woman who was going to change the world is still standing right in front of me. And she doesn’t even realize it."

You inhaled sharply. And just like that, the fragile wall you had built around yourself cracked. Maybe just a little. You wanted to laugh. Or maybe scream. Or maybe both. Because for the first time in years, in decades, someone had looked at you and seen more than just a wife, a mother, a woman standing in the shadow of her husband’s legacy.

Gojo Satoru saw you.

He saw the truth of you.

He saw nothing but you.

Not as you were now. Not the exhausted, bitter, drained of everything you once held dear. But as you had been. As you could be. And you hated that. Hated the way his words dug under your skin, the way they cracked open a part of you that you had buried so deep you had convinced yourself it didn’t exist anymore.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, shoving down the emotion clawing at your chest. "That woman is gone, Satoru–kun." you muttered, voice hollow. “She’s not here anymore.”

But he only tilted his head, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Is she?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Yeah, I think so." you whispered. "I think she is."

Satoru studied you for a long moment, then hummed softly, like he didn’t quite believe you. Like he was waiting for you to prove yourself wrong. Before you could say anything else, a voice called your name from across the room.

Your husband Kento.

You stiffened, the moment shattering instantly as reality came crashing back in. Gojo Satoru saw the way your expression closed off, how your shoulders tensed as you turned toward your husband. How you were suddenly back in that gilded cage.

And he hated it.

But he didn’t say anything.

He really shouldn’t.

Even if he wants to.

He only smiled, stepping back, giving you space. “Well…..” he murmured, his tone lighter now, but no less sharp. “It was nice seeing you again.”

You hesitated. Then, before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Again?"

Satoru’s smirk widened slightly, and there was something unreadable in his gaze.

“Of course.” His voice was almost teasing, but something about it sent a shiver down your spine. "You just don’t remember yet."

“Shouldn’t you make me remember this?”

He laughs for a moment, heartily so. “But where would be the fun in that, [last name]-san?”

“Satoru–kun—”

“Spoilers!” He says to you, smiling brightly. “See you around, [last name]-san. Say greetings to your husband for me.”

And with that, he turned, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you standing there. With your heart pounding, mind racing, a strange sense of unease settling in your chest.Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

"Again?" The word echoed in your mind, unsettling and insistent.

You didn’t remember ever meeting Gojo Satoru before tonight. You would have remembered. How could you not? He wasn’t the kind of man who blended into the background. He wasn’t the kind of man anyone forgot. And yet, he spoke with certainty. Like he knew you. Like he had always known you.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. Before you could even begin to process it, Kento’s hand was on your arm, his touch firm, grounding—possessive. “What were you two talking about? What did Gojo say?” His voice was low, casual to anyone who might be listening, but you heard the tightness beneath it.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. “Nothing important.” you murmured.

And maybe that was a lie. Or maybe it wasn’t. Your husband Kento studied you, his caramel eyes searching, but whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it. He smells like alcohol, you think. You were just gone for a little while. But it seems he’s already drunk.

“I see.” he finally said, his grip loosening just slightly. “Come on. We have people to talk to.”

You let him guide you forward, through the glittering crowd of Tokyo’s most elite, through the flashing lights and murmuring voices. You played your part, smiling when necessary, nodding politely, keeping your posture perfect.

But your mind was elsewhere.

Because even as you moved through the party, even as Nanami Kento introduced you to people whose names you barely caught, even as you answered questions with the same rehearsed ease you had perfected over the years.

You could still feel Gojo Satoru’s gaze on you. Like he was still watching you like a hawk. Like he knew something you didn’t. And it made your skin crawl. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to focus. This wasn’t the time to entertain strange riddles or cryptic men with piercing blue eyes. This was your life. This was the reality you had chosen.

So why did it feel like, for the first time, you weren’t sure if you had chosen correctly?

THE AFTERPARTY WAS GOING TO LAST FOR A WHILE, BUT THEY’RE NOT STAYING. There were still work schedules in the morning, after all. The night seemed to just stretch on forever, like this would never come to an end.

Gojo Satoru watched the city still alive with distant laughter and the soft hum of passing cars, smoke against his lips and his hands on his pockets. Standing beside him was Geto Suguru, way too exhausted about having to socialize with people than he was with presenting the main awards tonight.

The afterparty had been far too suffocating for their liking, it’s really not their type of scene. Even with their reputation, everything about the awards afterparty just didn’t seem to vibe with them at all. There were too many people, too many flashing lights, too much performance. Out here, in the cool air, it was quieter. More honest.

Suguru flicked the ash from his cigarette, his sharp gaze never leaving Satoru. He knew that look on his friend’s face all too well. It was troublesome, not the type of thing that Satoru just easily lets slip, given his ability to mask his truest of emotions very well.

“You disappeared for a while, you know that? Your manager was asking about where you were.” he said, voice casual but laced with curiosity. “Where did you end up, anyway?”

Satoru took his time answering. He leaned back against the sleek black car behind him, his frame relaxed, but there was something calculated in the way he dragged out the moment, taking a slow inhale from his cigarette before finally exhaling. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I saw her. She was here tonight.”

Suguru’s brows lifted slightly. His fingers stilled mid-motion, cigarette hovering near his lips. “…Her?”

Satoru’s smirk widened. “Her.”

Suguru exhaled through his nose, shoulders tensing just slightly. “Don’t tell me—”

“What?” Satoru cut him off smoothly, feigning innocence. “I like keeping tabs on her.”

Suguru let out a slow, measured breath, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already exhausted by the conversation. “Satoru….”

The blue eyed man raised a brow. “What?”

“Satoru, you shouldn’t meddle too much. Especially with what you know she’s dealing with, privately and publicly.” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Let her realize on her own.”

Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes as he took another drag. “I waited long enough.”

“And what if she never does?” Suguru’s voice was quieter now, edged with something resembling a warning.

For a split second, Gojo Satoru didn’t answer. He simply stared at the glowing ember of his cigarette, watching it burn down, watching as the smoke curled into the cold air, twisting into nothing. Then, he jovially chuckled back at his friend.

“Then I’ll just have to remind her.”

Suguru closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”

Gojo Satoru exhaled, his expression unreadable behind the haze of smoke.

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t upset. He was sure of all of this.

He had never been more sure about anything in his life than her.

“No,” he murmured, his voice slow, deliberate. “I’m just a devoted man.”

And the worst part?

Geto Suguru knew he meant it.

That’s what’s worrying him.

Suguru didn’t respond right away. Instead, he took another slow drag from his cigarette, watching the way the smoke curled up into the night sky, dissipating into the city lights. He knew better than to argue with Satoru when he got like this, when his mind was set on something, when he wore that smug yet unsettlingly determined expression.

Still, it didn’t stop the uneasy feeling twisting in his gut.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, aren’t you?” Suguru finally muttered, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

Satoru grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Isn’t that what makes it fun?”

Suguru shot him a dry look. “For you, maybe. For her? Not so much.”

At that, Gojo Satoru’s expression flickered. It was barely noticeable, just a fraction of a second where his smirk wavered, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“She’s not stupid, Suguru. She’s the smartest person I know.” he said, voice softer now, but still laced with confidence. “She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Suguru sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “And if she doesn’t?”

Satoru took another drag, exhaling as he leaned back against the car. He looked up at the sky, watching the stars barely visible past the city lights. “…Then I’ll wait a little longer.”

Suguru shook his head, muttering something under his breath. “You’re unbelievable.”

Satoru chuckled. “No, I’m just patient. And a patient man always wins, no?”

There was a brief silence between them. The distant sounds of Tokyo buzzed in the background. There was the occasional honk of a car, the occasional muffled bass of music from the afterparty, the distantly quiet chatter of passing strangers.

Then, Geto Suguru spoke again, voice low. “You really think you’ll succeed with this?”

Satoru didn’t answer right away. He stared at the cigarette between his fingers, watching the ember slowly burn down, watching as the ashes crumbled and fell. He smiles at his friend, warmth all over his face. He only gets like this when he’s thinking of you. At least, that’s what Geto thinks.

“…She knew of me once.” He says almost too wistfully, almost to wishful-thinking. “She will again, no doubt.”

Suguru frowned, but Satoru wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was lost in thought, his expression unreadable. And for the first time that night, Geto Suguru wondered—was this really about winning? Or was this about something else entirely?

The purple eyed man studied his friend for a long moment, cigarette dangling between his fingers. Gojo Satoru’s cryptic words, the unwavering certainty in his tone—it was starting to make sense now.

“You’re really not going to give up, huh?” Suguru exhaled, shaking his head.

Satoru just grinned, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “What can I say? I’ve got persistence. Lived with that all my life, hm?”

Suguru hummed, eyeing him. “And where did all this persistence even come from?” He narrowed his gaze slightly. “How the hell did you even meet her?”

At that, Satoru’s grin widened. It wasn’t his usual type of smug, teasing one, but something quieter, almost reminiscent. His fingers toyed with the cigarette, rolling it between them as if considering his answer. Then, he simply chuckled.

“Spoilers.” he murmured.

Suguru let out an unimpressed sigh. “You’re insufferable.”

“Hey, patience is a virtue, Geto Suguru.” Satoru smirked, tapping a finger to his temple. “You’ll find out when you’re meant to.”

“Or, you could just tell me now and save me the headache.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Suguru shot him a deadpan look before exhaling another cloud of smoke. “So, in other words, you’re full of shit.”

Satoru only laughed. “That, and a deep, undying devotion. ‘specially if you love someone.”

Suguru rolled his eyes. “If this turns into a full-blown love story, I’m out.”

Gojo Satoru flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his shoe before shoving his hands in his pockets. He turned his gaze toward the night sky again, the city’s glow reflecting in his pale blue eyes.

“Who said it wasn’t one already?” he murmured.

Geto Suguru didn’t have a response for that. And when their managers’ cars finally pulled up, he realized that maybe Satoru really had been waiting long enough. And just maybe, he’ll finally win in the end.

Well, once you realize that you deserve something better than Nanami Kento.

442 notes · View notes

whimsytwines · 25 days ago

Text

Static Waves

Note: this is my first fic in a really long time!! I thought we needed some more sensitive Leon fics. Lmk if you want more <3 I’m open to requests!

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+

re4 Leon x fem agent reader

Oral (m receiving), tit play, fingering, creampie, vulnerable Leon :p

All agents: Report to headquarters, conference room C ASAP”

The call had come in at 2:17 am. Of course it had. Going back to the office at this hour was anything but appealing- especially after the brief week spent at home.

Sterile fluorescent lights of the office made your tired eyes squint. The big gulp style cup of gas station coffee had barely made a dent in your exhaustion. It was tiring- this job, the people, the missions. When you weren’t away, you were just going through the motions at home. The dishes piled up, as did the laundry, and things were just…mundane. You had gotten used to be away, no matter how much you craved home.

You sighed as you entered the conference room, choosing a seat closest to the door and letting your backpack slump into the floor.

“They woke you up too, huh?” A familiar voice said from a set across from you.

You hadn’t even noticed him in your sleepy slumber. Kennedy. You’d been on countless missions together, worked closely as colleagues, and often got paired up together. Still- he seemed so far away.

You had always seemed drawn to his rugged demeanor, which was carefully juxtaposed with his boyish charm. You felt like a school girl around him with an aching crush, careful to never let your guard down.

You shrugged, almost taken aback by his casual tone. “Yeah, unfortunately,” you shifted in your seat a little, turning your body towards him. “I’m surprised they called you back, especially after you being in Spain. You ought to be tired.”

“Mm,” Leon responded with a simple nod- one of acknowledgment at least. You watched as his eyes trailed away, leaving your gaze. As much as you tried to play it cool and unaffected, you so deeply wished for him to notice you more. You craved to crack him open and see just what he was without the “special agent” persona he embodied so well.

Leon tapped his foot and kept his head down as more and more agents sleepily piled into the room. The aroma of coffee crept through the air, inspiring his own alertness.

The conference was brief, but urgent. A newer, more aggressive strain of the T-virus had completely ravaged North Argentina. Seeing the satellite imagery showing the growing patterns of movement made your eyes go wide.

“Any questions?” The director asked. “Be quick. We’re headed out in half an hour.”

Leon kept careful eyes on you as you and the director discussed the rate of movement and where the virus was projected to hit. There was something about you, just watching you, that made his heart seem to pound in his chest. A couple times, you would look over to him, extending an offer to join in the discussion. After all, he had the most field experience in the room. But you didn’t know you could render him speechless with just your eyes.

Closing the discussion, the director gave you a pat on the shoulder before quickly recoiling. You had sustained a harsh injury on your last mission right before you had some home. “Sorry about that, Agent, I just wanted to remind you that you will be paired with Kennedy in Argentina. When you land, you will be escorted to your safe house and given further directions. Due to safety concerns, you two will be bunking together.” The director turned his gaze to Leon, who again, nodded followed by a yes sir. You couldn’t help but notice the slight curve of his smile before you looked away.

“I’m sure this will be no issue for our two top agents, you’ve worked together plenty.” The director concluded, before going around to the others and inform them of their bunking accommodations.

After landing and feeling more tired and delirious, you and Leon begrudgingly found your ride in the terminal. It was small, cramped car sticky with humidity. As much as you had dreaded this mission and what it entailed, you silently reveled in the excitement of being able to stay with Leon for the foreseeable future.

You both sat in the back seat, one small space between you. No matter how many missions, how many near-death experiences, no matter how many restless nights away from home- together- there was always some empty space between you.

When you finally arrived at the nondescript safe house outside of the city, Leon unloaded the “luggage” which was really just the two backpacks each of you brought, tipped the driver, and made his way to stand next to you.

The house was small, covered in vines, and had only a single dirt road leading to any sort of civilization. Before entering, you and Leon did some general safety checks, scanning the remaining exterior of the house, looking for any signs of forced entry.

“Looks good to me,” you said, wiping sweat off your forehead. “Can we go in now? I’m exhausted.”

Leon chucked, “I suppose, little miss impatient.” It looked as though he had finally smiled, perhaps revealing some more personally outside of professionalism.

Inside, the house was serviceable. It had a small kitchenette, a “living room” if you could even call it that, and a bathroom attached to the bedroom. You poked around the small house looking for a second bedroom, opening and closing small linen closet doors.

“I think there’s only one bed,” you sighed, pushing a closet door shut. “I can take the couch.”

As you made your way to the small sofa, Leon followed your steps, considering to touch your arm- but resisted the inclination. “Not with that shoulder of yours. Hunnigan told me about your injury on your last mission. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“Leon,” you protested, “the couch is practically child sized. It’s really no issue for me to sleep there. I just want to sleep.”

Leon thought for a moment, pacing around in small circle, thumb and index finger returning to its thinking position. His heavy foot steps had a rhythmic beat to them, practically putting you to sleep right then.

“You know what,” Leon said, his thumb returning to his chin, “we’re both adults here. We got paired up together for this mission. We can share a bed- like adults.”

You sighed, and nodded in agreement. You supposed he was right after all. This was by all accounts a business trip, you two were adults, and you had to make do with what you had. No matter how much you were satisfied with the outcome of the one-bed scenario, you couldn’t help but recognize how weird it felt. Sharing a bed with a longtime colleague who barely spoke a word to you outside work related matters.

“You unpack,” Leon directed, “I’ll see what rations they left us. Hopefully something good this time, I only got saltines in Spain.”

Unloading what little was in your backpack, you heard Leon rustling around in the kitchenette. Poking your head out, you saw him preparing two plates of peanut butter and crackers. How thoughtful, you chucked to yourself.

Not much was said for the rest of the evening. You two sat at the small table side by side, eating the “dinner” prepared by your colleague. Once, Leon’s knee brushed against yours, and you didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

When it came time to rest, you both laid as far apart as the bed would allow. You snuggled against the thin sheet for some sort of comfort, despite how hot it was in the house. Looking over to Leon, he did the same. Your mind began to wander, as you looked at his bicep prodding out from beneath his tight black t-shirt. He had always looked so handsome- so beautiful even. You felt safe having him there with you, in the middle of nowhere with a raging virus.

Leon could feel your eyes on him. It made him restless- unbearably restless. What he didn’t want to admit was that he didn’t offer to take the couch on the basis of professionalism or chivalry. He was afraid of this, feeling those foreign romantic feelings pop again. He was afraid of scaring you away if he said, or did, anything to cross the professional line.

Leon rolled over towards you, seeing your tired eyes still looking his way. You couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Can’t sleep either?” He said, his voice taking a huskier tone than usual.

You shook your head. “No, I guess all my complaining about being tired earlier was pointless.”

Leon chucked, then cleared his throat. “You ever wonder why we do this job? We see the worst there is out there, and just clean up the mess.”

“I mean….” You trailed off, taken aback by his question. Certainly there was more on his mind. “I guess somebody has to do it, and maybe we’re just good at what we do. You are, no doubt.”

There was a sort of caring infliction in your voice and he desperately craved more. You watched as Leon shifted again, resting on his forearm with his gaze on you.

“I’m sorry you know, for keeping my distance,” he said abruptly “from you, on these missions.”

There it was- that crack you were looking for. This was not Leon S. Kennedy the agent talking to you anymore, it was just him.

You reached out a hand to place on his, recoiling at first, then giving in. His big hands were rough and calloused, tensing at first, then easing up when he felt your touch.

“Professional boundaries are important,” you sighed, gently letting your hand fall away from his.

“That’s what I tell myself,” Leon said just above a whisper. “But that’s not why, and I think you know it.”

You watched as his eyes darkened and the air began to feel charged.

“I’m afraid of disappointing you,” he continued, continuing to lock eyes with you. “To everyone else, I’m the legend- the hero who survived Raccoon city. You see more than that, you see the flaws when we’re on these missions.”

His unraveling of emotions caused your throat to tighten. “Leon,“ you began, but Leon continued to break right before your eyes.

“I’ve lost so many people,” he sighed, this time looking away, as if to remember each face in his mind’s eye. “And…every time we’re back out in the field together, I’m afraid it will be you who I lose. I can’t fail you.”

You reached for him again, this time his stubbled cheek. Leon sunk into the gentle touch, cupping his rough hand on yours.

“Leon,” you smiled. “You won’t fail me, even if you tried.”

Leon’s eyes stayed on you as he turned to press his lips into your palm.

“I can’t keep pretending,” he confessed through breathless feather light kisses. “That you’re just my partner on missions. That I don’t think about you when we’re not on them-“

Before he could finish, you boldly but softly leaned in to fill the gap. That space, that had been there for so long, begging to filled.

His lips were soft and plush, his movements longing as he let go of so much careful restraint. He gently wrapped one arm around your waist, trailing his lips down to your hurt shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, gently pressing his lips into your skin. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“Leon,” you said breathlessly. He looked up to you, a burning desire so clear in his eyes. “Once we cross this line…or, do you want to cross it? What if someone finds out?”

Placing one more kiss on your shoulder, he confessed, “I’ve thought about this- about you- for so long. Please, let me take this chance.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” You smiled a cheeky grin, pulling the tank top you were wearing over your head.

For a moment, Leon turned bashful. He reached his hand out hesitantly to cup your breast, but recoiled. “I’m not good at this part,” he admitted. “The words, I mean.”

You gently pushed Leon back, straddling him, then rolling up his shirt. Leaning close, you whispered, “then why don’t you show me.”

His bare skin prickled and tensed at your touch, years of vigilance making even his vulnerability an exercise in control. Your hands explored his toned abdomen, feeling over countless rough scars you needed no explanation for. The jagged line that scaled his ribs- a testament to his bravery stepping in between you and the danger only a few missions ago.

With each move of your fingers, his composure fell more and more. He was unraveling in front of you- a sight you never believed you would see. Finally, you know who Leon Kennedy is stripped all his armour.

As Leon watches you tend to his age old wounds as you caressed his skin, he gently took your hand and guided it to his belt.

“Is- is this okay?” He stammered, a red blush spreading across his cheeks.

Undoing the buckle and zipper, you could feel the hard budge beneath. You shimmied his pants off, revealing a well endowed, thick cock.

You blushed at the sight. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this the whole time,” you said, attempting humor would ease your nerves.

Leon smiled, biting his lip. “Never seemed relevant to the mission.”

As your hands wrapped around him, he inhaled sharply and threw his head back. He had waited so long for this- for you.

You lowered yourself down and brushed your lips against the sensitive, dripping head. He already tasted so good.

Leon placed a hand in your hair and his body went rigid as you bobbed your head up and down. He couldn’t help but throw his head back and let out an unrestrained moan if your name.

“I- this feels…keep going,” he gasped in broken sentences. The man who always remained composed, who always had a witty comeback, who never cracked, was now reduced to broken fragments of jumbled phrases and ragged breathing.

You could feel his thighs tighten, his cock twitching deep in your mouth. You moan as you continue to go up and down, swirling your mouth around his head, until you feel his finger move to your chin.

“Not yet,” he gasped, trying to find his own words. “I want this to last.”

He swiftly switched positions, placing you below him. Leon needed more- needed to see you become the one undone. His hands crept down your stomach, pausing before the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“M-may I?” He asked, using his other hand to cup the side of your face.

All you could do was nod. As he took of your shorts with the same precision as he did with anything else, he reassured you that he had you, that he would make you feel so good.

Leon’s breath quickened as he felt along your wet lace panties. “So pretty…” he practically whimpered, circling your clit.

You closed your eyes as you felt one of his thick fingers enter you, your walks begging for more. Once he found a rhythm, he entered another finger, which elicited a lustful Leon! from your mouth.

“Just tell me if anything is too much baby,” Leon said, still pumping his fingers until you found your release.

You nodded, “need more…need you..”

Leon watched as you rode out your orgasm on his fingers. With his other hand, he stroked your face, murmuring sweet nothings. You met his lips again, this time much more fiercely.

He shifted his body again, this time still on top of you, but aiming for your entrance.

Your gaze fell on his eyes first, so stricken with raw emotion and lust. They traveled down to his cock, now only mere inches away from being inside you.

“I need you,” he reassured, pressing the tip in. You gasped. He felt so big, so thick.

Leon’s movements were careful at first, allowing you to adjust to his size. He told you if it hurt, to tell him. He told you how good you felt inside, how he had dreamt of this. I’ve got you, he moaned in jagged breaths. I’ve always got you.

Leaning down to your bouncing breasts, Leon flicked his tongue along a sensitive bud. He sucked gently as he pressed himself into you. “You’re so beautiful…” he babbled in between suckles. You buried your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, never wanting to let go.

As his thrusts deepened and quickened, Leon let go of your breast with a pop. Pushing himself up, he placed your ankles around his neck, he bottomed out in the depth. You were truly drunk on his cock, rolling your head back, screaming his name like a prayer.

“My god,” Leon gasped, feeling you tighten around him. He was becoming more desperate- and couldn’t hold on for much longer. “I-I’m close.”

“I need to feel you,” you moaned. “All of you.”

Without losing pace, Leon gazed longingly at you. He knew by all accounts this was wrong- hearing his name echo in the room from your breathless moaning. He knew if anyone were to found out, his reputation was tarnished.

As you continued to squeeze around him in fluttering clenches, he released ropes thick come into you. Now it was your name being repeated in awe, in drunkenness, as Leon continued to press into you- now softly.

Small beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, as he slowly released himself from you.

As you two boarded the flight home, Leon kept his hand in the small of your back- attempting to maintain some professionalism why still ensuring a point of connection.

“They expect a debrief an hour after we land,” you sighed, clasping the seatbelt tight.

Leon seemed solemn on the outside, and inside, he was melting entirely as he was overcome with worry of where things would go when they got back home.

“Can we talk about this- about us?” He said, a slight quiver in his voice, dropping an octave as he said the latter.

You gave his hand a quick squeeze, “later, I promise.”

When you returned to headquarters, the conversation of the virus and mission dominated the room. Things went well, the virus contained more or less, and little to no injuries were sustained. Leon exchanged glances with you every so often, as if he missed you from just across the room.

You and Leon agreed to keep in contact consistently when you weren’t on missions, making time to call when you could with such a demanding schedule. But just like that, not even intentionally, you two were back to your separate orbits.

Texting and calling became less frequent as the work piled up, as lives were lived separately.

A week after coming home from Argentina, you collapsed onto your bed after a long day of meetings and trainings. The bed was cold and empty- hollow without Leon filling the void. Snapping you out of your sordid memory of the trip you last shared with him, your phone buzzed.

SMS Leon K.: Just landed in Brussels. Virus is here too. Talk soon.

Before you could respond, a second one came though.

SMS Leon K.: I miss you.

All you could do was stare at the screen, in any attempt to feel his presence from phone. Warm tears flooded your eyes, as a silent sob crept from your chest. You looked to the ceiling, god I miss you too.

You texted back fast, Be safe, I miss you too. Request me to be your partner on the next one haha.

SMS Leon K.: Already did :)

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4 leon

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jo-harrington · 3 months ago

Text

Saganaki (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: First Date, Blind Date, Awkwardness, Fluff, Food/Eating

Note: I feel like I've already written something with a traditional Chicagoland greek diner in Magnificum et Horribilis but while that one has more of an air of "together despite it all, in order to overcome it all" I also wanted to feel a little more fluffy about it. A love letter, if you will. I've been feeling a little bit of a "romanticize your life" vibe lately about all of the stupidest places you could think of and this was one of them.

Tagging @bettyfrommars because she got a 10 minute voice note about this a few weeks ago. I'm going Friday morning and I will be getting my bowl of cream of chicken and rice soup. AND MY CHEESE. And @deathbecomesthem because I know you need a little bit of simple and light. (No pressure to read on either of you. Love you both.)

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

You wouldn't say you hated much in life but you hated blind dates. Hated them with a passion.

You didn't know anyone who specifically liked the concept of a blind date, but it always seemed that the people who said they disliked them as much as you did were always the first people to try to set you up with someone they knew.

"My husband's mechanic. You'll love him."

"This guy who works at the mail room at work. He's a hoot."

"The neighbor's nephew. He works at the post office."

And you were kind about it, always went through the motions and attempted to set these dates up. But they always fell short without fail. They were obnoxious or selfish or rude. Most importantly, none of them ever made you laugh. Then, after the night was over and you vowed never to see the guy again, you'd get the "I'm so sorry it didn't work. You know, I always hated blind dates."

So you didn't know why they kept trying. Actually, you didn't know why you kept graciously agreeing, and you eventually put your foot down.

Well, you tried to.

Your friend, Jen, made one last ditch effort. One final blind date and then you would never need to do it ever again. According to her, at least.

"How do you even know this guy?" you had asked over the phone. "I know everyone you know."

"Friend of a friend of a friend," she simply dismissed. "And you would've known him already if you had come to the last Garage Beer Friday last summer."

You wondered for a moment if she had tried to set you up with this Eddie guy back then. Had your unseasonable cold saved you from disaster? You couldn't bring yourself to lick a doorknob to contract another disease to avoid this again. You hated being sick more than you hated being set up.

"He'll be great!" Jen promised when you didn't respond. "Besides, you need a date for Stef's wedding, and he's already invited!"

"So he's John's friend?"

"I think they work together."

"You think?!" You sat upright. "That's it, I'm not going."

Jen proceeded to yell at you through the phone until you finally relented. Which was the reason why you were sitting in a booth at the local greek diner. It was right before the post-church rush on a Sunday morning, and you were impatiently waiting for the final blind date of your life to show up.

The blue-haired waitress was kind enough to refill your coffee twice, and did not pressure you to touch the enticing bread basket at the center of the table or to order. But you knew that kindness was running out. Along with your patience.

Where the fuck was this guy?

It was at the exact moment that you'd slammed your coffee cup on the table, ready to call it, that a body slid into the other side of the booth.

"I'm sorry I'm late. In my defense, Jen shouldn’t have suggested the morning after daylight savings." The words were blurted out, out of breath, and all in one messy string of sound. Like he'd been practicing it on the drive here and was so eager to get the words out, it didn't matter if they were coherent or not.

Rosy-cheeked, wide-eyed, and with a bashful grin, Eddie was the grown man equivalent of an eager puppy. A mutt of a man, at that. His long, frizzy hair was still a little damp at the ends, and he had a worn leather jacket over a flannel shirt with some fraying on the collar, with ringed fingers that nervously tapped on the top of the table as soon as he had a second to breathe.

Of course, you weren’t judging him for what he wore. It looked comfy, worn like a second skin, unlike other dates who were stiff and clearly out of their depth. You’d done the same; worn something tried and true that you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable in. But still cute. Just like him.

No, what really spoke to you was that he seemed exactly the kind of guy who would fit in at Garage Beer Fridays. A little weird, a little unruly. The kind of person with a personality already baked in who looked like they had stories to tell. The type of stray that naturally gravitated towards your ragtag group of friends. If he was already in good with your friends, he was good people.

"Daylight savings was last week, actually," you announced after a beat. Said lightheartedly, you were signaling that this diner, this booth, and you were safe from further judgement. Well, as far as blind dates went, that is.

The record-scratch moment that occurred in his head was immediately evident on his face. Cute confusion.

"No it wasn't," he muttered with a chuckle. Then his brow furrowed slightly. "No...was that why I was late to...oh shit. I'm so sorry I'm an idiot."

He shook his head and chuckled, and then reached into his jacket and produced one, slightly crumpled, tulip for you.

"My uncle always said never to show up to a date empty handed," he explained as you took the flower from him. You ignored the electricity that tickled your fingers as they brushed against his. "Figured a rose would be too much."

"It's perfect, thank you." You grinned as you felt your impatience evaporating. "Unfortunately I don't have anything for you. But maybe we just start with a cup of coffee."

You reached across the table to flip Eddie's cup over and then waved the waitress over for a top off.

---

You'd gotten the typical "getting to know you's" out of the way fairly quickly. Names, what you did for work, how you both knew Jen. Then, once you had a chance to look at the menus, you got to the real meat of the conversation.

Because Eddie, it seemed, was a regular at Omega Family Restaurant.

You'd been clued in as he schmoozed your waitress for an extra bowl of little creamer packets, and although she had expertly brushed off his charms, she had returned with the creamer and referred to him by name.

Only for you, Ed.

"I'm her favorite," he explained as he dumped an absurd number of sugar packets into his coffee. Shake, shake, rip, dump, toss. Shake, shake, rip, dump, toss. It was a comical rhythm and you wondered if all that sugar made him sweet too. "But, uh, I'm usually not around in the mornings. I'm in a band. We play a few regular gigs in the area. Jen said you like metal?"

"I've been known to attempt to deafen myself in the car before work," you replied.

"Hell yeah, baby. You should come see us sometimes. Anyway, all of our gigs are usually late. We needed a 24 hour place to call terra firma. With pancakes, of course." His spoon went into his cup and it clinked against the sides as coffee sloshed over the lip and onto the paper placemat.

"Of course." You smiled into your own coffee cup.

"And," he abruptly pulled his spoon out to point right at you, "a free bread basket. Which I notice you haven't touched yet."

"I was trying to be considerate and not eat the croissants before you got here," you explained. "But you were late, so..." You reached over and grabbed the flaky pastry with an exaggerated gesture.

He hummed judgmentally and you shot him a questioning look. "No, I just think it's interesting you went for the croissant and not...I dunno, the poppy seed muffin."

"I mean, if we're here long enough, all of those pastries are getting eaten," you announced unabashedly. "What is this bread basket psychoanalysis?"

He reached over, letting his hand undulate in the air until he chose the chocolate muffin. You didn't know it then, but it would become the first of many thesis-level Munson philosophies that you would hear about in your life.

"There are few things more sacred in life than the bread basket at a greek diner," he began with the air of a scholar. He slowly peeled the liner off the muffin as he spoke. "Not even the bread basket at a steakhouse! At a steakhouse, you're paying for good bread and butter. At a diner, this is a gift. Welcome, we're about to treat you like a part of the family. We're happy to see you. Have a pastry, an old family recipe made with love.

"You chose a croissant, which means you appreciate the craftsmanship of laminated pastry. You like nice things, you like butter. Poppyseed muffin? You don't care what people think of you. You also don't work in a job where they drug test. But most importantly? If you decided not to have a pastry altogether? That would be a cardinal sin. That means you don't appreciate the bread basket, you don't enjoy the mundanity of the every day, and that would've been the end of our date, in my humble opinion."

Your brows jumped in shock at his closing statement. "You're awfully judgy for someone who doesn't want to be single."

"Judgy? Sure." He narrowed his eyes at you and popped a piece of the muffin in his mouth. "But not weird? Not a freak?"

"It's not the worst way to gauge the quality of person you've been set up with," you admitted after some contemplation.

Eddie beamed. Not the easy smiles and smirks he'd been giving you so far during your time together. It was a smile that morphed his face into something of sheer beauty. And your heart skipped a beat as you desired to see that smile more.

"As long as you don't judge anything else I order," you added as an afterthought.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

---

Unfortunately, that plan went to shit immediately because judgement seemed to be the theme for the rest of your date.

Good natured judgement, sure. But judgement nonetheless.

As it turned out, you were both incredibly opinionated when it came to food.

It wasn't something you'd ever consciously considered yourself to be, seeing as you were the furthest from a picky eater possible. You ate everything. But you had preferences that came to light when it was time to place your orders. Eddie's hawklike gaze caught every twitch of your brow and scrunch of your nose. And you had done the same in return.

"What's that look?"

"What's what look?"

"That one?"

"Excuse me, but you've got a look too."

This led to you bickering across the table as you continued to consume the bread basket.

"Who puts mozzarella in their omelet? It's swiss or cheddar or nothing."

"Mozzarella is the reason there's a cheese stretch. And you're one to talk. Who orders ranch on their caesar sirloin sandwich instead of caesar? It's in the name."

"I don't like the anchovies."

"You can't even taste them."

"No, but I know they're there."

At some point, Eddie had reached across the table and flicked at the tips of your fingers lightly.

It tickled. You giggled. You were not a giggler.

What the hell was wrong with you?

Back and forth you went as you scanned over the menu and went over your preferences. Waffles verus pancakes versus french toast. Minestrone versus cream of chicken and rice. Rice pudding versus spumoni.

It seemed that every time you compared preferences, you were at odds with one another. But that was the best thing about them being preferences, you didn't explicitly dislike what the other person liked. Just preferred your own. So it didn't stop either of your utensils from sneaking across the table to steal bites from each other's plates once the food had arrived.

"You put too much syrup on your pancakes," you cajoled.

"Well they're my pancakes, sweetheart," Eddie joked before flipping the short stack over so you could access the pancake that wasn't absolutely doused in butter and syrup. "You put too much hot sauce on your eggs."

"They needed something," you defended and he pointedly hit his fork against the glass Heinz bottle that sat between you. "Don't tell me you can't handle spice." You pointedly cut a particularly bland looking portion for him to take.

There was one item on the menu you had yet to discuss, and Eddie was the one to cross the metaphorical line in the sand.

"How do you feel..." Eddie paused as he swirled a fry through a pool of ketchup. He avoided your gaze, either through fear or shame, you couldn’t be sure. “About saganaki?"

You twirled your fork thoughtfully and asked "versus what?"

"Versus nothing." He shrugged. "Just...wanna know what you think of it." He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms over the back of the booth, the complete opposite of the defensive, avoidant body language he had just moments ago. He was open, welcoming your response. Even if it was one that he wasn't going to like.

Flaming Saganaki was in a league of its own, and Eddie was right not to put it against something else. Briney cheese doused in brandy and then set aflame at your table in a brilliant spectacle. Squirt a bit of lemon on it once the fire had burned out--or to put the fire out altogether--and it turned gooey and a little roasty and a little funky.

It was a divisive dish and you'd sat through plenty of arguments with friends and family alike over ordering it for the table to share, and you're sure Eddie had experienced the same.

Even though you'd had the lowest of hopes for this date, it was actually going well and you really liked him. His humor, his smile, his je ne sais qois. You didn't want this whole thing to derail over saganaki of all things. Should you tell him the truth? Or not?

"I love it," you said confidently, shoulders pulled back.

"Bullshit," he hissed at you and leaned forward, elbows placed on the table as he tented his hands in front of his face. "Nobody likes saganaki."

"I do," you insisted with a scoff. "I like the corner pieces, actually, because they get the best crust."

"But it's stinky."

"Sometimes the best food is stinky food."

"It's not even greek!"

"Yes it is! It's greek cheese! Halloumi. Kasseri!"

"It's weird."

"It's a tradition," you insisted, getting a little hot under the collar.

You mirrored him, leaning forward to meet his challenge. But instead of tenting your hands, you fisted the cloth napkin in your lap. Wringing it. It was your turn, now, to wax poetic about a food; you knew this date was over anyway if this was anything to go by, just as you feared. Who knew cheese would be your undoing. Another anecdote never to tell your nonexistent grandchildren.

"It's a Chicago diner staple," you spat at him. "It's a spectacle, and you don't have to eat it if you don't like it, but you have to respect it. You have to clap when it comes out of the kitchen. You have to say opa when they light it on fire.

"And it's my favorite part of coming to places like this," you said with finality. "So if you can't deal with that...I guess this date is over."

You stared at him, stared him right in the eye, and he stared right back at you unblinkingly. That warm brown gaze that might as well have been made of molten fire the way it glinted in the incandescent light of the fixture overhead.

Finally, he blinked. And the serious facade fell away as he grinned. "Well good!"

"Good?" you asked, confused.

"Yeah, good." He nodded. "You passed my final test."

"Oh you son of a b--" He cut you off before you could get the expletive out.

"Listen, I don't like liars and I don't like people who pretend to be something they're not. I like real people. And sometimes, that's the last thing you get from someone when you go on one of these blind dates. I took a chance, and it was worth it. You're worth it."

You were at a loss for words.

He had a point. Blind dates...any dates really...were full of pitfalls and fake personalities and best behaviors. And sometimes you got to see authenticity peeking through, and sometimes that was a bad thing. So you couldn't fault him for this...because it was working out. For both of you.

But did it have to be over cheese of all things?

"It's also really good," Eddie continued after a few seconds. Your attention snapped back to him. "Because I placed an order for us to share while you were in the bathroom and if you didn't like it, this was gonna be really awkward."

And you couldn't help but through your head back in the biggest laugh, before you threw your napkin right at his face.

---

By the end of the date, you were so full of good food and good spirits from each other's company. Eddie had insisted on getting you a slice of their cherry cheesecake to go.

"It's a staple," he said as you waited in the line along the bakery case to pay. He leaned down and practically had his entire face pressed to the glass to ogle the beautifully lit cheesecake with shiny glazed cherries atop it. "I'm getting a slice to eat for breakfast tomorrow. So you in? Or no?"

He was also a sweetheart who paid for the absolute mountains of food you both had consumed, even though you insisted that you could pay for your portion.

"My uncle would roll in his grave," he said, elbowing you as he pulled bills out of his wallet. "He's not dead, by the way. But I think he would drop dead, let us bury him, roll over in it just to make a point."

"Nice to know where you get your flair for the dramatics from," you teased.

He smiled that big, bright smile again that made your heart flutter.

After he paid, you walked outside and hesitated to part ways, awkwardly figuring out how to say goodbye after such a perfect final blind date of your lives.

Eddie, once again, was the one to finally cross the line. No tricks this time, though. No tests.

"So, next Sunday?" he asked as you fiddled with your keys. "Pancakes and chicken and rice soup and saganaki?"

And you didn't hesitate to say yes.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things

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morverenmaybewrites · 8 months ago

Note

wait r we allowed to send these in for characters u write for? :o

cuz i’m curious abt this one “What freaks them out the most in a relationship?” for jason

Yes, please do!

"What freaks them out most in a relationship?"| Jason Todd

Honestly, I think Jason Todd is afraid to love again, simply because of the way he loves. He tends to love wholeheartedly, without reservation, often to the point of self-destruction.

Remember that this is the man who endured at least six months worth of torture just so he wouldn't betray his father. Not a lot of people are capable of that sort of loyalty.

To add insult to injury, it's very likely that he never got to experience any sort of positive reinforcement when it comes to loving a person.

In my Arkham fanfics, Jason's father was an abusive drunk and his mother was a junkie. While he learned to avoid his father, I'd like to think that he did hold some sort of love for his mother. He tried, in his own way, to take care of her, keep her safe.

He'd put a blanket over her when she was lost in her heroine-dreams, he'd wipe the drool from the side of her mouth, he'd leave stolen food next to her sweat-stained mattress for when she woke up. And all it ever got Jason, I imagine, was an absent-minded sort of affection. Perhaps she'd give him a vague smile, her eyes bloodshot and glassy, as if she wasn’t really seeing him, perhaps she'd ruffle his hair.

And for a long time, he'd think that was love.

Something rare, something small, but something that kept him warm all the same (for East End was a cold place), and he'd sip it like rainwater between his cupped palms, because it was all he'd ever known.

But then he gets adopted, and suddenly his perspective changes.

Love, he realizes, can be patient. It can be his father Bruce, who somehow never got angry at him during those early days, when hope had warmed the inside of his chest like a swallowed star.

Love can be easy, he learns. It can be something as simple as Alfred, waiting up for him after a long rainy night, bringing him towels that were somehow always warm. It can be warm soup on the days that he woke up with a sore throat and a fever burning through his skin (and even to this day, he marvels at the idea that in Wayne Manor, food can come so easily--without stealing, without a fight).

But, he'll also tragically learn (or so he thinks) that love has to be earned.

I've always had this idea (and I stand by it) that Bruce did love his kids, deeply. But because of his own issues, he couldn’t love them in a way that they needed to be loved (and isn’t that true of most parents?).

It is the way Bruce never smiled at him when he was Robin.

It is long nights of training just for a hint of his father’s approval.

It is the constant comparison to another son, one who is faster, smarter, and better in every way.

It is the way he thinks–and becomes terrified–that if he doesn’t earn his place in Wayne Manor, if he doesn’t earn his father’s love, he will be back in that cold place in East End where nothing can ever keep him warm again.

And then Joker happens.

And no matter how strong he tried to be, how silent, no matter how much he tried to endure.

He breaks (clean in two, a crack so wide it will never heal, you can trace the fractured seam of him and find the exact place where his heart was broken).

Even worse, Batman breaks: he leaves Jason for dead (or so he thinks).

And a part of him will always think: is it enough? Was I not enough?

Was it not enough to endure? To stay silent? To keep his father’s secrets?

Had Jason somehow, through some fault in his won, not done enough to earn being loved, being saved?

(Is he always going to be that small child in East End, and all he will ever know of it are vague smiles through bloodshot, glassy eyes? Was this his punishment for hoping for more? He can drink and drink and it will never be enough, the rainwater will always slip through his palms).

And then there’s you.

And at first he thinks it’s easy (as easy as warm soup on days when he’s feeling sick, as easy as a towel after a night in the rain), because you are brave and reckless and you are quite pretty when you smile. And it has been so long since he’s had a friend.

It’s easy because you’re easy to be with: you read into his silences, you calm him down when he falters and you are braver than he gives you credit for (and there are days when he wishes that you are less brave).

It is easy until one day, Jason realizes what’s happening and the first thing he thinks is that he can’t go through this again.

He cannot be that child in East End, who follows his mother for crumbs of her affection like a dog starving for scraps.

He cannot be the boy in the Batcave, practicing over and over just so he’ll finally get to see his father’s smile

He cannot be Robin in Arkham Asylum, with a bullet hole in his chest and a brand burning on his face

And yet, and yet, Jason does not know any other way to love.

He does not know of any other way it does not end in tragedy (and hurt and pain and betrayal).

Oh, he is terrified. He thinks he fears you more than any other living thing in Gotham.

To love you, he thinks, is to give you the chance to destroy him all over again.

And he can’t, he can’t go through that again.

(But oh, there are days Jason thinks you will be worth it.).

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd headcanons #jason todd #red hood #i wrote this in like 30 min cause i overslept and forgot i was doing an ask game #i'll do better for the next questions tomorrow #ask me for characters i write for!

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totaly-obsessed · 9 months ago

Text

Out of the Pages

➳ Paige Bueckers x reader

➳ Navigation Post - here!

➳ introvert x extrovert - worlds meet

➳ Pure fluff, not proof read, idk guys, it's been a while. ➳ reader really is just me...

➳ Word count: 3.1k

The soft afternoon sun filters through the curtains of the small apartment you share with your girlfriend in downtown Storrs, casting a warm, golden light over the neat rows of books on your beloved bookshelf. Through the open window, you can hear the people talking on the street as they embrace the last warm days before it eventually gets colder.

October is halfway over, and it won’t be long until the basketball season starts back up again, leaving Paige and her teammates in a constant state of excitement as they are making the last preparations. But in this apartment, curled up in your favorite armchair, you are at peace, absorbed in the pages of your book as you try to solve the case alongside the main character—a stark contrast to the lively chaos your girlfriend thrives in. It’s that very difference that makes your relationship work so well, despite what other people say.

In one of the restaurants close by a glass is dropped, pulling your focus from the book. A quick glance at the clock tells you that it shouldn’t be too much longer until Paige comes home. Practice ended 20 minutes ago, but most days she stayed a bit later, getting some more shots in, trying to perfect them to the best of her abilities, before she finally walked the 5-minute way back to your joint home.

With a sigh you close your book, realizing that you should probably get a start on dinner. You had always been the kind of person who found joy in the quieter moments in life. Reading a good mystery book and savoring the stillness that came with an afternoon without classes. Paige thrived in the energy of the crowd and the adrenaline of the game, while you cherished the simple things. A nice, hot, cup of tea. The feeling of a brand new book in your hands. Rain hitting your window in the fall. Knowing that she will walk through your front door in a couple of minutes, happy to fall into your comforting arms and tell you everything that happened.

But even with you being a more private person, Paige loved you loudly. Nearly every second day she posts a pic of you on her Story. Sometimes she posts little videos of how you’re dancing around in the kitchen with her or how her teammates are interacting with you. In interviews, it’s hard to get her to stop talking about you, because no matter what the topic is, she is guaranteed to talk about you. And her fans love every second of it, and they love every bit of you. While she chases perfection on the court, you find perfection in the little things—in the way her eyes light up when she talks about her day, in the quiet moments when you simply exist together, side by side. And everyone loves watching you two be in love.

“Hi, Lovie!” Not once in your life has Paige walked through your front door quietly. So just like most days, the door flings open, as your girlfriend grins at you. “Oh, you look good, Baby!” And just like most days, she pulls the ‘o’s’ in good as long as she can. “Love, I’m wearing a sweater and shorts.” You deadpan at her while you drain the pasta and pour it into a pan. “I know Baby. But it’s my sweater and those shorts… Yeah, I don’t think I need to say it.” Warm arms wrap themselves around you as your girlfriend clings to you, looking over your shoulder and watching you finish the sauce. “There is no protein in there, Baby.” With a scoff you shrug her off, pushing her towards the bathroom. “Wash your hands, dinner is ready.”

A soft kiss was pressed against your cheek as Paige joined you at the table. “Thank you for cooking Ma.” With a soft hum you lean into her touch, a small smile playing at your lips as you reply, "Anything for you, Love." The blonde lets out a satisfied moan as she takes the first bite, “This is incredible.” As quickly as you can you pull a face, “There is no protein in there, baby”, mocking what she said earlier to you, in your best ‘Paige voice’. One of her eyebrows shoots up, daring you to test her again.

As the playful banter continues between the two of you, Paige's eyes gleam with a mischievous spark. "You know," she says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, "You can't stay cooped up in this apartment forever. How about coming out with me this weekend?"

You give her a knowing smile, already sensing where this conversation is headed. "Oh, Paige, you know I’d rather spend my time at home." She pouts dramatically, “But baby, it’s not just some loud party. It’s gonna be fun! Just a little get-together with the team and some friends. Nothing too crazy, I promise. Azzi told me about it.”

You roll your eyes affectionately, “I’ve heard that before. And I also remember how we ended up staying until 2 a.m. last time because you couldn't stop dancing.” Paige laughs, a sound like music filling the room, one of your favorite sounds there is. "Okay, fair point, but this time, I swear, it’s different. It's going to be relaxed—chill vibes, a few drinks, good music. Just a chance to hang out together."

You look at her skeptically, already shaking your head. “I don’t know, Paige… I’m really not the party type.” Your girlfriend leans in closer, her grin widening. "I know that, babe. And that’s exactly why I think you should come, just this once. It could be good for you to step out of your comfort zone. Who knows? You might even enjoy it." You laugh softly, but the idea still feels foreign to you. “I think my comfort zone is a pretty nice place, actually.”

“Come on,” Paige nudges you gently. “Just think about it, okay?”

You nod, more to humor her than out of any real intention of agreeing. "I’ll think about it," you say, and Paige gives you a triumphant little cheer, knowing that everything but a ‘no’ is a victory.

Over the next few days, Paige doesn't let it go. She brings it up casually while you’re both cooking dinner, or when you're curled up on the couch together. “You know, they’ll have those little sliders you love at the party,” she mentions offhandedly one evening. Another day, she adds, “It could be like a mini-date night… just us two, but, like, with other people.”

You can’t help but smile at her persistence, though you keep gently declining each time. “I’m really not sure, Paige,” you respond, even as she keeps layering on reasons and reassurances, each argument filled with her enthusiasm.

Finally, one evening, as you’re sitting together watching a show, Paige takes a more serious tone. “Listen, love,” she says, turning towards you and taking your hand. “I know you’re not into these kinds of things, and I respect that. I love that you’re different. But I think it could be fun for us to do something a little out of the ordinary… together. Just this once.”

You tilt your head, considering her words, but still unsure. “And if I don’t have a good time?”

Paige smiles, her eyes soft. “Then we leave. No questions asked. I’ll stay by your side the entire time, I promise. I just… I just want to see you in my world, even if it’s just for one night. We can leave whenever you want. I promise you won’t be alone in it. I’ll be by your side the whole time, and Nika is gonna be there, and Azzi and KK, the whole team really. You love them! Deal?”

Her sincerity touches you, and you feel a small tug at your heart. You know how much this means to her, how much she wants to share every aspect of her life with you, just as she proudly shares you with the world.

With a sigh, you finally relent. “Alright, fine. I’ll go. But I’m holding you to that promise. One step out of line, and we’re out.” Paige’s face lights up with a brilliant smile, and she throws her arms around you in a tight hug. “Deal, baby. And trust me, it’ll be fun. You’ll see.” You smile back, feeling the warmth of her excitement radiating off her.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she litters small kisses all over your face, as the blonde just can’t help herself, hiding her face in the crook of your neck. “If you hadn’t said yes today, I wasn’t gonna go either.” The jerk of your head was exactly what she had expected after telling you her little secret. At your whines, she could only laugh, “Nuh-uh. you said yes. Now We’re goin'!”

The night of the party arrives faster than you expected, and you find yourself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting your clothes nervously. Paige, ever the enthusiast, had picked out a comfortable yet stylish outfit for you, something that she assured would help you “blend in but still look cute." You catch her reflection in the mirror as she comes up behind you, wrapping her arms around your chest, her smile warm and encouraging. “You look perfect,” she says, and you know she means it.

Your nerves build with every meter on the way to the party. The streets are busier than usual for a usual Saturday night, and you can already hear the faint thrum of music coming from a few blocks away. Paige’s right hand found its usual place, your thigh, as she rubbed comforting circles. “Remember,” she murmurs softly, loud enough that you can hear her over the open windows that let in the cooling evening air, “we can leave whenever you want. This is just for fun, okay?”

You nod, trying to take a deep breath and push down the flutter of anxiety in your chest. The music grows louder as you approach the house, the bass thumping through the walls as the blonde parks the car. Laughter and chatter spill out into the street, a warm glow radiating from the windows. Paige squeezes your hand one last time before opening her car door, jogging around, and helping you out of your seat.

Inside, the atmosphere is exactly as you imagined—people are scattered around, chatting in groups, dancing, or playing games. You immediately feel a wave of discomfort wash over you. It’s not just the noise, but the sheer number of people crammed into the small space. Paige senses your hesitation and keeps you close, her arm slipping around your waist protectively.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she whispers, her lips close to your ear. “Just breathe. We’ll find a quieter corner.” She guides you gently through the crowd, smiling and waving at friends as you pass by. You catch snippets of conversations and see faces turning your way, but Paige’s presence keeps you grounded. She introduces you to a few people, all of them friendly enough, but the whirlwind of names and faces makes your head spin.

How does this girl know everyone?

Finally, you reach a quieter spot near the kitchen, where the noise is a bit more subdued. Paige grabs two drinks, handing one to you. “Here, something light,” she says with a wink. “No pressure to drink if you don’t want to, but it might help you relax.”

You take a tentative sip, and Paige’s smile widens. “See? Not so bad, right?” You give her a small smile in return, still feeling a bit overwhelmed but comforted by her presence. For a few minutes, things seem to settle. Paige chats animatedly with a few friends who come by to say hello, and you listen quietly, feeling a little more at ease just being by her side.

But then, KK and Ice, two of Paige’s closest friends and teammates, approach with wide grins. “Paige!” KK exclaims, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “We’re about to start a game of beer pong. You in?”

Paige glances at you, “Nah, I’m good right where I am,” she says firmly, smiling at her friends. “I’m here to spend time with my girl tonight.”

KK raises an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Your girl can play too, you know,” she teases, glancing over at you with a playful challenge in her eyes. “Come on, it’s just a game. We promise not to make it too competitive… unless you want us to.” Ice laughs and nods, chiming in, “Yeah, it’ll be fun! You’ve got Paige on your team, so you’re already halfway to winning!”

Paige looks at you, her eyes searching yours for a moment. She can see the hesitation written all over your face, the way your fingers lightly grip her arm, not wanting to let go. You give her a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head, and she instantly understands.

She turns back to KK and Ice, flashing a charming smile. “You know what? I think I’m gonna sit this one out tonight,” she says smoothly. “We’re just here to chill and have a quiet night. Maybe next time?”

KK chuckles, catching the subtle glance between you and Paige. “Alright, alright, we get it. No pressure,” she teases with a grin. “You two are inseparable, huh?” Paige just shrugs, her grin widening as she pulls you closer to her side. “Can you blame me?” she quips back, her tone light but sincere.

KK and Ice exchange a knowing look, teasing her with playful jabs. “Oh, come on, Paige, you’re whipped,” KK laughs, but there’s no malice in it—just teasing their friend.

“Damn right, I am,” Paige grins, pulling you closer. “And proud of it.”

They laugh and shake their heads. "Alright, alright," Ice says, “we’ll catch you later then.” They wander off, leaving you and Paige in your little corner.

As they wander off to join the others, Paige turns to you, her smile softening. “I’ve got you, always,” she murmurs, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You feel the tension in your shoulders ease a bit, and you nod. “Thank you,” you whisper, and Paige leans in to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No big deal Ma.,” she replies softly.

“Tell me about your book, baby. What happened in the last chapter? Did Pip figure it out?”

You can’t help but smile at her genuine interest. Paige has heard you ramble on about countless books, and every time she listens as if it’s the most important thing in the world. "Well," you start, your voice a little shaky but gaining confidence as you go on, "Pip thinks she has it all figured out, but there’s this new twist... the suspect has an alibi that throws her entire theory out the window."

Paige’s eyes widen dramatically. “No way!” she exclaims, leaning in closer as if this story was the most gripping thing she'd ever heard. “I was sure she had it this time. What’s she going to do now?”

You laugh softly at her enthusiasm, feeling more at ease. "She’s back to square one, basically. But she’s determined to find a new lead, and I think she’s getting closer to the truth."

Paige nods, fully absorbed in your words, her blue eyes fixed on you with a look of admiration that makes your heart flutter. For a moment, the noise and energy of the party fade away, and it’s just the two of you, sharing this quiet little world together. It’s these moments that remind you why you took the chance to come here tonight—for her, for this.

Just then, from across the room, Azzi catches sight of Paige and nudges Nika, who follows her gaze. They both burst into giggles, catching the attention of KK and Ice, who turns to see what’s so amusing.

“Look at her,” Azzi whispers to the group, a grin spreading across her face. “She’s got the puppy dog eyes again.”

KK snickers, “She’s totally whipped. She looks like she’s watching a sunrise or something.”

Nika laughs quietly, nodding. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look at anyone like that,” she adds, her voice filled with a touch of wonder. “It’s actually really cute.”

Ice chuckles, shaking her head. “That’s love, right there,” she says with a smile. “The girl’s completely gone for her.”

Meanwhile, Paige remains blissfully unaware of her friends’ teasing, still fully focused on you, hanging on to every word as you continue to tell her about the next chapter. Her hand finds yours, squeezing it gently, her thumb tracing light circles over your skin.

After a few moments, you catch sight of her friends watching from across the room, and you feel a blush creep up your cheeks. “Paige,” you whisper, nudging her slightly. “Your friends are staring.”

Paige glances over and catches their teasing expressions. She rolls her eyes with a grin, then turns back to you, unabashed. “Let them stare,” she says softly, her voice filled with warmth. “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

You feel your heart swell with affection as Paige leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The party continues around you, but it feels like the noise has dimmed just a little, leaving a bubble of peace around the two of you.

Eventually, the evening winds down, and as the crowd begins to thin, you realize that Paige is right. It wasn’t so bad—actually, it was more than that. You had fun in your own way, simply by being there with her, sharing in her world.

As you make your way back to the car, hand in hand, Paige looks at you with a triumphant smile. “See?” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief and joy. “Told you it would be fun.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, too. “Okay, okay,” you admit. “Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

As you reach the car, she stops and turns to face you, her expression turning sincere. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For tonight, and for always being my safe place.” You lean in and kiss her softly, your heart full. “I love you, Paige,” you murmur against her lips. “Anywhere with you is where I want to be.”

And with that, you both get into the car and drive back home together, knowing that whether in a crowded party or a quiet apartment, you have everything you need as long as you have each other.

#Paige Bueckers x Reader #Paige Bueckers imagine #Paige Bueckers fanfic #Paige Bueckers x you #UConn Women’s Basketball #womens basketball #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #wnba #paige bueckers

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notsodelirious · 3 days ago

Note

PLEASE give me t4t ftm jason todd x reader!! i need to rub my pussy against his post patrol 😭😭‼️‼️

pleasantly surprised by how many people wanted this, but in any case, here you go <3

synopsis: Jason comes back and you help him unwind

notes: NFSW MDNI, both male and female terms are used to describe genitalia

tags: oral sex, fingering, brief penetration, banter, established relationship, wc: 2.7k words

this one fought me in the editing process, but i hope you enjoy anyway

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

The chatter from the TV became a soft blur in the sounds of the city below—it was well past 3AM but you could still hear the cars and life, crawling below your open window.

You’d stopped paying attention to the plot and the characters ages ago, content in just watching the pretty colours and actors flash across the screen, with no real sense of direction. They didn’t matter anymore, not as Jason trudged into the apartment with a massive sigh.

“Tough patrol?”

You craned your neck over the side of the sofa, giving him a soft smile as he loomed by your window, helmet in hand. He looked up at you, frustration and exhaustion coiled tight in his frame, shoulders tensed like he was still ready for a fight.

“Fucking dumbasses can’t follow simple fucking directions.”

“Tell me about it,” you said, with an understanding nod as you watched him dump his gear onto your kitchen table.

“One simple fucking direction,” he growled, slammed his gun down, undoubtedly denting the already beaten wood. “How fucking hard is it to understand ‘don’t go in alone’?”

You hummed as you moved to kneel on the sofa, watching him move around your apartment; it was always fascinating watching him exist in your space, like he was always meant to be there, a hole you hadn’t even known had been there filled by his presence.

It was comforting—maybe a little bit terrifying if you thought about it too much, but still comforting.

“Did everybody get out okay?” you asked as you watched him pull off his gloves.

“Everybody’s fine,” he said, shucked his jacket off, draped it across one of your chairs. You watched him shed layer after layer, an undeniable and everlasting warmth enveloping your heart as you sat and admired.

A couple of months ago, you’d never have imagined you’d watch him strip his armour meticulously—you’d have never imagined being trusted enough to be shown the cracks and soft spots in his armour, the latches and weak points.

But Jason undressed in front of you like it was the most comfortable thing in the world.

You couldn’t love him more for it.

“Timbit’s a little scuffed up but he’ll live,” he continued.

“And you?”

“Fine.”

His claim seemed to have some validity to it—in the low light and stripped down to his undershirt, you could see bruises that were blooming an ugly purple and old scrapes; but nothing from tonight.

He kicked off his boots, dropping his socks into them.

“So nothing went horribly wrong?”

He shook his head, white wisps of hair falling in front of his face, curling the slightest bit. His footsteps were heavy as he walked over to you, and slumped onto the sofa with all the grace and care of a walrus.

“So what’s the matter?” you asked softly as you left the sofa to stand between his spread legs, gently cupping his face. You brushed your thumb under his eye, watched as some of the tension slowly bled out of his frame and he leaned into your touch.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, tilting his head just enough to kiss your palm then your wrist. “Just… missed you.”

You huffed softly as you sank onto his lap, straddling his thigh, letting your hand fall from his face, smiling a little when he followed your touch.

“You missed me?”

“Are you gonna be a little shit about it?”

“No clue what you mean,” you smiled, trailing your fingers along his thighs before they caught on the buckle of his holster. You were quick to loosen the straps and pull them off—you were almost sad to see them go; they accentuated his thighs so nicely.

But you wanted access.

“Babe,” he whispered—his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“That’s me,” you smiled teasingly, leaning in just a little closer. His belt fell open with a click.

“Shit- wait-“

“I’m waiting.”

He bit his lip as he looked up at you, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find the words to say. You waited patiently, playing with the hem of his shirt, occasionally dipping under, brushing your fingers along his happy trail.

“Yes?”

“I-“ You pulled his fly down.

“Speak up.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, “I’ll get over myself.”

“And if I really want to?”

You pressed your lips to his, a poor distraction to finish undoing his trousers.

“Talk to me,” you said, scratching blunt nails just above the elastic waistband of his boxers.

“Keep going,” he answered as he sank into the sofa.

He bit his lip to stifle a moan and watched as your hand disappeared down the front of his trousers to cup his bare mound.

“Oh fuck.” His voice was soft, breathy—he was already falling apart at the seems in your hand and you’d barely even begun.

“No jockstrap today, huh?”

“Couldn’t be asked,” he grunted as he bucked slightly into your hand, rubbing his t-dick against the heel of your palm.

“Adventurous.”

“It would literally just get in the way.”

You snorted as you pulled your hand back and slipped off his lap and down onto the floor between his knees.

“You sure that was the only reason?”

“Yeah- mmph…”

You nuzzled his crotch, flicking your gaze up to his flustered face then back at your work.

“Yeah?” you smirked as you leaned your weight a little more against him. He cupped your face, petting the apple of your cheek.

“Taking your fucking time there.”

Your face fell immediately as you rolled your eyes, “Shut the fuck up-“

“Make me.” You glared up at him as soon as he said it, his smug ass grinning in return.

“Take off your shirt,” you said, waiting for him to take it off before you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his trousers, “Lift your hips.”

You pulled his trousers and boxers down as he complied, finally divesting him fully, and spread his legs further apart so you could see your prize.

His cunt sat there as a prized possession, and his clit, grown and swollen, throbbed softly in anticipation.

“Why are you so big?” you said softly as you stroked his dick, thumbing it softly as you watched it swell further under your touch. “I didn’t grow that big.”

“Choke on it,” he answered teasingly to which you only chuckled.

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait, I’m kidding- Oh fuck,” his hands held you down instinctively and pushing you closer when you wrapped your lips around his fat clit and sucked.

You licked it softly, teasingly before delving back in to suck his soul from his dick, burying your nose in his curls.

You hummed and watched in delight as a shiver racked up his spine, leaving him panting and whining.

He pushed his hips closer, chasing your mouth, as he tried his best not to suffocate you.

“Please,” he gasped, looking down with wide, pleading eyes. “That’s- dude!”

You gave him a shit eating grin as you pulled away, stopping dead in your tracks before he could reach the slightest bit of satisfaction.

You used the collar of your t-shirt to wipe your face clean of Jason’s excitement before shrugging it over your head.

“You’re such a fucking dick.”

“You love me for it,” you said gleefully as you drop the shirt in favour of pressing your fingers to his cunt, pushing his folds apart as you trailed fingertips around his opening, teasing, watching his hole flutter.

It was mesmerising, watching him struggle and quiver, hole dampening by the second as you parted lips and explored him but never stretched him open.

You pressed soft kisses to the inside of his thighs, biting and suckling occasionally, letting your gaze flicker up to him every time he moaned or whimpered.

Eventually, you took pity.

“Ah, f- uck, baby,” Jason groaned lowly as you sunk your finger past his folds and into his pussy. You grinned when you heard the soft squelch as you pulled out and pushed back in.

You sat up on your knees, passing your clean hand behind his neck to tug him down, closer to you.

“Good?” you asked, tilting your head just enough so your lips could brush against his—you caught his top lip between yours, kissing him softly before you finally pulled away, just enough to hear his response.

“More,” he pleaded softly, rolling his hips in time with your movements—a second finger slipped in easily, his body stretching and accommodating to your intrusion.

“Better?”

“No, I want to feel you, damn it,” he grunted, exasperated, already urging you back up onto the sofa. “Need your fucking cunt on mine, yesterday.”

You chuckled, standing so you could take your sweatpants off and soon you were being pulled back down into his lap. He shifted so you were both sideways on the couch, warm hands splayed across your back, holding you close to him.

“Eager?” you teased—Jason crashed his lips against yours before you could even think to continue. You felt his hand on your chin, felt him cup your jaw softly before he was opening your mouth and pushing his tongue past pliant lips, licking the remnants of his essence from you.

Your cunt dampened under his attention, and you were left subconsciously grinding against his thigh. He pulled away a little and reached forward, fingers that were once holding your face slipping between damp folds.

“I love that pussy so fucking much,” he whispered as you moaned, rolling your hips against his hand. “You’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Look who’s fucking talking,” you gasped. He leaned in again, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, and tugged softly—leaving you moaning and embarrassingly desperate, as you wrapped your arms around his neck to drag yourself closer.

He released you to kiss you properly, smiling softly against your lips—his hand left your pussy to slot one of his leg above yours.

When you finally parted, he leaned back enough to rest against the armrest and let your bodies fit together.

You slipped down before you could steady yourself, accidentally brushing your cunt against his.

You muffled a sound behind your hand but leaned back all the same, rocking your hips against his.

“Shit,” you gasped as you dragged your dick against his, gaze flicking up to his face, just in time to see his eyes roll back a little—Jason groaned, fingers digging into your ass, bring you back down, bucking his hips up so his cunt could meet yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and he looked down between your two bodies, watched your swollen clits bump against each other, teasing each other. “Fuck, so good.”

You held onto his thigh as he brought you back down repeated, grinding into your hips—you brushed your fingers against the scars on his skin, admiring his form in front of you, how his chest rose and fell from his laboured breathing, the faint surgery scars silver in the dim light.

“You’re so fucking handsome,” you panted as you began to grind down harder. You whined a little louder, something almost sounding like his name or a prayer.

Wet lips rubbed against each other, glistening in the dim lighting, soft, lewd sounds punctuating your breathing.

“You’re so warm,” he said softly, hands slipping and shifting just enough to start bringing you down at a steadier, more eager pace. “Just like that, just like fuck-“

You slipped up, shifting his leg off you, just enough to slip his dick past your soft folds, leaving you both moaning and panting hard.

It was an amazing fucking day when you figured out Jason had grown long enough to push his cock into you and you’d be damned if you didn’t take advantage of that.

You moved again, pressing your hands against his chest.

“You’re so big,” you groaned as you felt him just barely restraining himself front rutting against you. “You feel that? Feel so good stretching me open.”

“Babe,” he groaned, voice strained as his grip on you tightened, “So good. So fucking good, I-“

You felt his whole body twitch and tremble before he was coming, dick throbbing and cunt drenched.

You pulled away enough for him to slip out of you but still rubbing your pussies together.

“Good?” you smiled cheekily, panted and worked up. You were so entranced by the sight of his orgasm you’d almost forgotten your own.

But as Jason’s eyes found you, you knew he hadn’t.

“It’s okay,” you said softly as he sat up to place a hand behind your neck, the other already finding your clit between your bodies.

“I want to,” he promised in a low voice, lips brushing ever so slightly against yours. “Let me. Please? Let me make you cum all over my face.”

You moaned, just the thought of his face between your legs enough to reignite the spark.

“Yeah,” you swallowed, looking up to meet gorgeous glass green eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Jason immediately guided you down onto your back—you let him move you however he wished, more focused on the way his biceps shifted as he gripped your thighs and pushed them out.

He moved down to your throbbing cunt, soft, open kisses down your ribs and tummy on the way.

“So fucking hot,” you heard him mumble under your breath. You couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling a little flustered but unable to stop smiling as his gaze flicked up to you. “Something funny, handsome?”

“No,” you smiled as you shook your head.

He just hummed, laying a last kiss at the end of your happy trail before nosing your dick softly.

“Jay-“

He slipped your cock into his mouth, moaning around it softly, holding your hips firm against his face.

He looked up ready to come again from the taste of you alone, eagerly devouring everything you had to offer.

Your hands flew to his hair, gasping softly as you rocked against his face, looking down at him so comfortably buried between your legs, eating your pussy like it was his only purpose in life.

As if he’d found true passion in your body.

You groaned loudly, tugging on inky strands, unsure if you were pushing into or pulling away from his touch.

“Shit,” you gasped, “Good boy. Just like that. Keep doing that.”

He whimpered at the sound of your voice, the gentleness and honesty of your praise. He pushed closed to your cunt, licking up your slit, suckling on your dick.

It coiled in your belly, and you cried out behind muffled lips, eyes rolling as you practically smothered him, thighs clamping around his head.

He whined loudly, happily, growing just a tad bit more eager as he drew you closer and closer to the edge.

Until you finally came, moaning his name.

He lapped at your cunt as you came all over his face, drenching his mouth and jaw in your ecstasy.

Your legs were shivering as you finally came down—Jason slowed a little when he felt your legs release him but didn’t stop until you began to nudge him away.

He pulled away a little, enough that his mouth was no longer on but still lying between your legs.

“Feel better?” you smiled as you wiped your thumb across his cheek, collecting some of yourself from his skin. You felt his full attention on you as you brought your thumb up to your lips, tasting yourself.

“Yeah,” he swallowed as he panted, smiling up at you softly. “So much better.”

He reached down, pulling your shirt off the floor to wipe his face.

“Seriously?”

“First thing I found,” he said with a shit eating grin before tossing it back onto the floor. “Besides, you also wiped your face on it.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, rested his head against your stomach. You huffed softly, running your fingers through his soft hair, almost as an apology for nearly pulling his hair out.

“It’s my t-shirt,” you said, scratching his scalp, in a way that made him curl into your touch.

“No it’s not,” he snorted “It’s mine.”

You glanced down and lo and behold, he was right.

“So it is.”

“Thief.”

“Shut up. You love it when I wear your shit.”

“You’re still a thief,” he smiled up at you, before leaning down to kiss your hip. “Love you.”

“Yeah, I guess I love you too.”

“That’s gross.”

“Shut the actual fuck up.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

I have nothing to say for myself :3

requests are closed but my current projects list and masterlist are up on my blog <3

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swakai · 1 month ago

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﹙ 💘 ﹚ℒove ℒanguage﹙사랑﹚୨୧ 𝗍𝗑𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌

﹙ 💌 ﹚𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗁𝖾 :3 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 "𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾"!!

﹙ ۶ৎ ﹚𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 > < 𝗐𝖼 865 ˊᗜˋ 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝑔𝗇!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 & 𝖻𝖿!𝗍𝗑𝗍

﹙ 최연준 ﹚ 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗇 - 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 & 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

omg, he would constantly tell you he’s proud of you<3 even for the tiniest things!! like if you told him you remembered to drink water or get out of bed today, he’s immediately like “you did? i’m so proud of you, baby. you’re amazing” :(( insert him giving you forehead kisses >3<

yeonjun is definitely the type to pull you close while cuddling and whisper in your ear, “you’re my favorite person in the whole world, you know that?” like it’s his daily mantra. and of course, he’d sneak in soft little compliments, like “how are you this cute?” or “you’re so perfect, baby.”

please, this man is so in love with you :((

now! when it comes to yeonjun and physical touch, his hands always need to be on you somehow. whether it’s his arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his fingers mindlessly tracing patterns on your thigh, or even him gently cupping your cheek when he’s talking to you.

he treats you like you’re the only person that matters<3

﹙ 최수빈 ﹚ 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 - 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 & 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝖼𝖾

to be honest, i feel like soobin isn’t big on huge plans. his favorite dates with you are simple things like listening to music together, late night walks to the convenience store, or just doing your skincare routine side by side.

he loves shared silence!! like, he doesn’t even need constant conversation, he just wants you nearby. being together is enough for him :c

but! if you talk about your day, even if it’s small stuff like “i reorganized my desk today”, he listens like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. nodding along, asking questions, smiling like you’re the center of his universe<3

and for acts of service, soobin is the type who will do things for you before you even ask. you’re low on snacks? he restocks your favorites. your phone's dying? he’ll make sure your charger’s already plugged in next to you.

he even offers to do the boring stuff for you, like calling to order food or setting up electronics. and he doesn’t mind at all, he just wants to take care of you<3

* starts sobbing *

﹙ 최범규 ﹚ 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗒𝗎 - 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝖼𝖾

hear me out! beomgyu is definitely the type who would complain the entire time while doing something for you, but is literally beaming inside lol.

he’ll open things for you with his exaggerated little smirk, like "stand back, i’ve got this.’’ just so he can act like your personal hero over the smallest stuff. or, he’ll fix up your stuff and then leave a dumb but sweet note like “your knight in shining armor was here.” :> it’s all playful, but he loves taking care of you like that.

beomgyu is also the type to go, “do you need anything from the store?” and then come back with seven surprise snacks that “reminded him of you” and the two things you actually asked for.

honestly, he’s not super mushy about it, but his actions speak loud<3

﹙ 강태현 ﹚ 𝗄𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 - 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 & 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

ah, taehyun is literally the king of quality time!! he’s all about that undivided attention vibe.

when you two are together his phone is flipped over, and his notifications are off. and omg, if someone tries to interrupt? he’s giving them the softest “not now” look while squeezing your hand like, “you’re my priority right now.” your time is sacred to him :((

taehyun would also take you on gym dates but not in a “let’s lift heavy” way, more like “i made you a little workout plan hehe :>” or “come stretch with me, you’ll feel better after” <3

and if you’re ever feeling insecure, he’s never dramatic about it. he’ll start gently reminding you of all the reasons he thinks you’re beautiful, capable, and worthy, until those words start sinking in and you believe them too :((

or even if you’re doubting yourself, expect a low voiced “i wish you could see yourself the way i see you.”

currently sobbing, again.

﹙ 휴닝 카이 ﹚𝗁𝗎𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗄𝖺𝗂 - 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 & 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀

omg, kai’s default setting is literally being attached to you 24/7<3

he is always holding your hand, resting his head on your shoulder, and of course rubbing your tummy!! just imagine cuddling while he’s half asleep and his hand is just gently on your tummy, like you’re his personal plushie :((

and speaking of cuddling, kai loves being the little spoon and the big spoon. he just wants cuddles in any form, any time, and anywhere!! one second he's hugging you from behind like a koala, and the next he's wiggling into your arms like "okay, now it’s your turn to hold me.”

this man does not play when it comes to cuddling >:(

now for gift giving, kai loves surprising you with silly stuff like, “look it’s a duck that lights up and it made me think of your laugh.” honestly, what do you even say to that besides sob?

sometimes he makes his own little gifts too. maybe a super chaotic handmade bracelet that you have to wear because, “he made it with love” lol.

but! the sweetest one is when he plays you a song he wrote just for you<3 he’ll sit there strumming his guitar shyly like “don’t laugh, okay?” but the second you smile, he literally melts >.<

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 , 𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

⌞🏷⌝ : ￫ 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇

𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 : 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒.

𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 swakai on tumblr 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌!

#(♡ ´ ˘ `) ' 𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 #txt #tomorrow x together #txt fanfic #txt fluff #txt soft thoughts #txt imagines #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #hueningkai x reader

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meiluu · 11 months ago

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Dreamin’ about cowboys

Tyler Owens / Reader(Female) cw: SMUT 18+, FLUFF, domestic, pregnancy. a.n: no joke after I came home from watching the new twisters movie I took a nap and had one of the most vivid dreams about being pregnant on a cute cottage/farmhouse while being cuddled by Glen Powell/Tyler Owens. So uh, that’s the main inspo for this, give thanks to my weird but amazing subconsciousness.

*not edited, sorry for any mistakes*

The warm rays of sunlight kept you comfortably cozy while you sat in a rocking chair on your front porch, nursing some homemade sweet tea. And there making his way to you was your handsome cowboy. Cheeks flushed from the rush of adrenaline he’d gotten while chasing his latest tornado. Signature smile across his face as he quickly made his way up the steps of your beautiful home.

With a bit of difficulty you’re able to get up and meet him halfway. Strong and familiar arms wrap themselves around you, Tyler’s stubble tickling your neck as he buries himself into your embrace. “Missed you, how’re my girls doin’” pulling away, Tyler’s warm and calloused hand gently cups your rounded stomach, softly caressing the bump.

“Oh you know, constantly hungry for the weirdest of things and aching in places I didn’t know I could ache in.” Your words elicit a laugh out of the cowboy. “But besides all of that, we're good. Just missed you.” Reaching a hand up to his stubbly cheek pressing a kiss to his warm skin. One of his hands linger on the small of your back while the other pushes a rebellious piece of hair behind your ear, gently cupping your cheek. Leaning down to you, lips meeting your own. Your heart flutters within your chest, no matter how many times you kissed it still felt like your first time. Mouths dancing together, your hands reach up to tug on his soft wind tussled hair. A soft groan rumbles from within his chest, and as your kisses deepen Tyler is quickly lifting you off your feet so effortlessly.

House memorized like the back of his hand, he makes his way to your shared bedroom. Setting you down with the utmost care on the plush comforter below. Pulling away from your mouth, you watch as Tyler leans back a stares at you. Jade green eyes roam over your figure, "God its like you get more and more beautiful everyday." His words are nothing but honest, full of adoration for you. You feel your cheeks blush at his words, upon seeing your pink cheeks a mischievous smirk makes its way onto his gorgeous face. Rough hands caress your body's newfound curves making their way to the front of your simple milkmaid dress. Undoing the little bow keeping your breasts from spilling out.

The soft fabric gives way and is pushed aside by Tyler's hands, leaning back down he kisses every inch of skin within reach. Leaving behind little love bites for you to admire in the mirror tomorrow morning. Making his way up your chest, to your neck then taking your sweet lips back to his. His hands continue to lovingly massage your sides, paying extra attention to your hips that spend all day holding and cradling your baby girl.

One hand wonders downward, going underneath the skirt of your dress going right where you need him most. Pulling off your panties, throwing them over the side of the bed. A whimper tumbles from your kiss swollen lips as Tyler begins to swirl your clit, fingers gathering your embarrassing amount of slick. Then he is sinking a finger inside, then two. Your left hand tangles into the comforter while your other tightly grips onto Tyler's arm that still dutifully holding onto your waist.

"Tyler, I need you." you can't help the desperation within your voice. "I know baby, but I gotta stretch you out first." a needy whine leaves you at his words, a pout forming onto your lips. And its takes everything within Tyler to not immediately give into you. But it wouldn't be long before he'd have you moaning and panting out his name as he gave you everything you wanted.

Fingers rubbing up against your sensitive walls, curling up perfectly to hit the one spot within you that has you keening out in pleasure. A soft groan leaves Tyler as your walls clamp down upon his fingers, a telltale sign that you were close. "Come on baby, need you to cum around my fingers. Then I'm all yours." Voice husky with strained lust.

Tyler watches with rapt attention as your hips grind down onto his hand, fingers going in and out of your pretty cunt. The noises from your squelching cunt fills the air around you, accompanied by your breathy moans and Tyler's muffled groans. You feel that all too familiar heat creeping down your spine, twisting that metaphorical ball of pleasure that sits so heavily down past your navel. Then not a moment later are you baring down upon Tyler's fingers cunt clenching rhythmically around him as he continues to fuck his fingers into your spasming cunt.

Tyler watches as your breathing slowly evens out as your come down from your high, then he's slowly pulling his fingers from you. Then he's tearing off his clothes carelessly discarding them to the side, with nothing left to take off he helps you out of your dress. Crawling up to where his face is right above yours, muscled arms boxing in your head. You can feel his body heat radiating off of him, shielding you from the chill from your bedroom.

"Ty please."

"I know baby, I know."

Green eyes watch as his precum covered cock, sinks into you. Eyes rolling back into his head at the euphoric feeling of your warm and wet cunt that welcomes him so perfectly. Hips picking up into a deep and measured pace, perfect for pushing those heavenly moans from your lips while also giving just the right amount of pleasure to both of you. Your hands abandon the comforter to latch onto Tyler's strong back, relishing in the warmth he brings as you fingers feel his muscles tighten beneath your palms. Tyler lets his head fall to rest right beside your ear, filling your head with his filthy words and noises.

"Always take me so well."

"Just like that baby."

"Fuck, baby can you hear just how wet you are?"

Each husky phrase that tumbles from his mouth has you arching your back up into him, legs wrapping tightly around his waist. With every thrust in and out of you, your cunt squeezes down on him trying to keep him in. Your sweet sounds of pleasure ring through Tyler's ears, lighting a trail of white hot pleasure down his spine leading down towards his heavy balls that are just begging to fill you up. As if you weren't already pregnant, if Tyler could he'd get you pregnant again. Seeing you so beautiful with your belly swollen with your baby had lit an insatiable fire within him that would probably never be snuffed out. You were always breathtakingly gorgeous but when you had gotten pregnant it was game over, Tyler didn't know you could get more stunning and yet you always prove him wrong.

"Ty- I'm close." a moan interrupts your words halfway through saying them, but good thing Tyler knew your body just as well as you and could already feel your cunt getting tighter and tighter as you neared your second orgasm of the night. "I'm right there with you." rushing his words out as he groans out as you tighten up again around him. One of Tylers hands leaves its spot beside your head quickly bringing it down to swirl your clit, not a moment later are you falling in bliss as you cum hard around Tyler's still pistoning cock. A waterfall of curses leaves Tyler as feels himself swell then cum just right behind you. Warmth fills your lower belly as Tyler continues to slowly grind into you, riding out both of your highs, eventually coming to a stop.

Your eyes hazy with leftover pleasure watch as Tylers sculpted body rises, watching him watch as his spend dribbles out of you as he pulls his softening cock from you. Pupils blown wide as a hearty groan fills the space around you both. The vision in front of him is seared into his mind, and he'd make sure of it. His eyes take in you flushed face that traveled to the tops of your swollen breasts, kiss bitten skin, tussled hair, you were a fuckin vision he'd spend the rest of his life admiring.

Giving you a sweet kiss, he announces that he's going to the bathroom. A little while later does he come back with a warm wash cloth, with gentle hands does he wipe you down. Getting you comfortable in bed, he grabs one of his large pj shirts for you and a pair of boxers for himself. Grabbing you, Tyler tucks you beneath his chin as your face rest against his chest. Sleep quickly lulls you both under, as the moon rise higher into the night sky.

As the sun peaks above the horizon are you waking up, your little one seeming hellbent on rising along with the sun. Shuffling with sleepiness still clinging to you, you head to the bathroom then back into your bedroom. Pulling on some panties and a loose pair of shorts, muffling a laugh at the utter disarray you and Tyler left behind last night. Somehow your cowboys boxers had ended up hanging off your vanity, deciding to just leave it there, knowing that when he woke up he'd get a good laugh out of it.

With soft footsteps you head towards the kitchen, prepping up a cup of warm tea. Something you've had to switch to while being pregnant, no coffee until after giving birth. Once the your warm cup is in your hands do you head out back to your couch swing that Tyler had set up last spring. Settling down into the soft cushions, watching as the sun begins to rise higher and higher above the horizon. When you're halfway done with your cup do you hear Tylers footsteps making their way to you. Turning your head, you can't help the wide smile that pulls at your cheeks. Tylers hair looks like a tornado has hit it, clad in some baggy sweatpants. "Good mornin'." his voice is still husky with sleep, "Good morning." Your eyes follow him has he sits down next to you, then he's pulling you into his lap wrapping you up in his embrace. Snuggling deeper into his warmth, you both sit in the quiet of the early morning watching as the sun announces to the world that a new day has started. And you wouldn't wanna be anywhere but right here in your home with the man that you love with all your being right next you. With a warm and protective hand caressing your baby pump, your daughter fluttering beneath the familiar hand of her daddy.

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mysticalx · 29 days ago

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Infatuation

pairing : harry james potter x fem! reader warnings : none i believe. fluff! a/n : hello again! wc : 0.9k nav : series masterlist

Intensification of the gravity one feels towards other. It is often irrational and fleeting.

Harry had a crush. One would think it would be easy to hide it since it wasn’t often that he would see her. But when did life ever go easy on him. It was as if by some sort of weirdly amazing trick that she was inextricably woven into his life. Since their visit to Hogsmeade last year, she and Hermoine had somehow gotten close faster than she and Harry had ever bonded which meant that the two girls would be together for most of the times.

Nevertheless having a crush on her was a nice feeling. It made him feel like a normal teenager for once. The rush of happiness when she would laugh, the furious blushing at the slightest contact, the way his eyes would automatically search for her in crowds, the way he would notice her minute nuances like how she would scrunch her nose at the sight of peas and slightly cast them aside. He could go on and on.

“You will bore a hole in her head.” Ron chirped a little too loudly as he plopped on the couch beside him.

“Thank you for being so inconspicuous Ronald Weasley.” Harry retorted now hyperaware of his surroundings. It was one thing for her to catch up on his crush but he couldn't surely let Fred and George get a whiff of it. That would be far from ideal.

“It's on you mate for your little staring game is far from sneaky. I am surprised she hasn't figured it out herself. So much for being one of the top students.” They were currently at the borrow and would leave for the Quidditch World Cup the day after. Mrs. Weasley had invited the girl in question for the same and she as a matter-of-fact was helping Ginny with her Potions assignment.

“Why don't you tell her?”

“And get hexed.” Why was it that Harry was never caught admiring? Simple. She never glanced back.

“Why are you so negative mate? There is a chance that she likes you back and even if she doesn't, she might start seeing you in a different light.” Harry opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish for as much as hates it, Ron had a point.

“What are you guys discussing about?” She settled besides Harry with a quick ruffle to his now long hair. She had noticed how he would get irritated when she did that and had hence made it a habit to do it once in a while. Except he wasn't irritated, just flustered.

“How Krum is going to freaking destroy Ireland in the finals.” Being an Ireland fan she simply rolled her eyes at Ron as the conversation was diverted in a whole different direction. Harry simply rested his head against the sofa and closed his eyes as the two threw jabs back and forth at each other. It wasn't a peaceful environment exactly but somehow he felt comforted by the citrus aroma that forever surrounded her.

“Can I poke him? He is sleeping way to peacefully for my liking.” Harry could make out it was Ron in the back of his mind.

“Oww! Blimey Hermione” Ron had probably earned a slap.

“Thanks Mione. And don't you dare Ron. He doesn't get much rest as it is and I haven't kept my shoulder so still just so you can ruin it.” Shit. Was he sleeping on her shoulder? No wonder the citrus and vanilla hint had been more profound. He wanted to wake up but god knows which sleep induced coma he was in that even opening his eyes felt like a task. Or maybe he didn't. No he surely didn't want to wake up. The cool touch of her shoulder on his cheeks and the slight feathery sensation of her breathing were not something he wanted to lose. And so he stayed slipping back to his slumber with a slight nuzzle on her shoulder.

“Fred what do I see here?” George said in a sing-song teasing voice.

“Will you two get out?” She said furiously. It was just moments ago that Ron had left reluctantly after Hermoine had dragged him away to do an essay which was gathering dust on his table.

“Let me see George. Oh! I believe the Gryffindor keeper is trying to court the Gryffindor seeker. How scandalous!” Fred replied in an identical tone.

“And what will you do to our poor Harry then?”

“He is sleeping for Godric's sake.” Her voice was laced with extreme frustration.

“Tell us. You fancy him right?” Fred said his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I don't.” She looked everywhere but at their faces. When she didn't hear any retort, she glanced back at their faces and lord, they had the most amusing know-it-all grin on their smug faces.

“Ok I do.” It was absolutely useless arguing with them. Fred was somehow the more delighted one and she soon knew why as George handed him a galleon.

“She has a crush on Harryy.” Fred bellowed.

“Shut it you two! What if he hears?” She clapped back as panic set in her heart.

“He is sleeping for Godric's sake.” The twins echoed together.

Alarmed she quickly checked upon him and was relieved to find him still sleeping. If only the boy knew.

to be continued....

#harry potter #hp fandom #harry james potter #harry potter series #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #hp fanfic #hjp #no beta we die like fred #no use of y/n #golden trio era

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thelov3lybookworm · 7 months ago

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Reputation to uphold

Day 5: No need for poetry.

Summary: Hiding the letters is his first priorities.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1368

Warnings: fluff, azzie being a shy baby 🥹

A/n: i loved writing this hehehe (i wrote most of this in 40 mins 💀)

@azrielappreciationweek

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

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"I missed this, mama." Hazel sighed, pulling away her cup of hot chocolate. Azriel smiled, looking over at his daughter, sitting next to his now son in law, Kaden.

What did I say? He was going to take away my daughter.

Y/n raised her brows. "It’s barely been a week since you’ve last had it."

Hazel grimaced. "Yeah, and his hot chocolate does not compare."

"Hey that’s mean!" Kaden sputtered, choking on his own drink.

"Yeah, stop being mean to my son."

Hazel rolled her eyes, turning to her father.

"Dad, come on, tell me a story." She had always been fond of listening to stories, and Az, wanting to make his daughter happy, had begun the new habit of telling stories every night.

Azriel glanced at his wife as she settled in next to him, warmth spreading in his chest. No matter how long they’d been married for, even just the sight of Y/n filled Azriel with happiness. Just as it had back when he had first seen her in the market, giggling with her friends over something.

"What do you want to hear about?"

Hazel leaned back, contemplating before perking up. "How you met mom and got married."

Azriel’s cheeks warmed, and he prayed his wife did not notice.

"Look dad, you’ve always said I was too young to know, but now I am even married. I want to know."

Azriel sighed, looking to his wife for help.

"Yeah Az, I wanna know the story too." Y/n grinned, not meeting his eyes.

Knowing he would not be allowed to leave without reliving his most embarrassing moments, he got comfortable in his chair.

"I saw her in the market one day. She was with her friends, and I instantly knew I was going to marry her one day."

She had been so ethereal, and she was in just a simple flowy dress. Her hair had been pinned out of her face, the breeze softly playing with the strands the way Azriel wished he could. Her smile, it could have brought him to his knees. And her sparkling eyes spoke of kindness far more louder than actions, the love and compassion for her fellow fae shining through every blink.

"Did you ever write her love letters and poetry?"

Azriel scoffed, focusing on the dark dregs at the bottom of his cup. "Me? I don’t have to resort to poetry."

Azriel felt his wife’s gaze on him, and he could picture her perfectly, sitting there, eyebrows raised in a are you sure about that? gesture.

"Yeah, he just ended up drowning in the river trying to impress me."

Azriel turned to glare at Y/n accusingly, who simply shrugged. "Now Az, lying is bad. Someone has to tell the truth."

Azriel grumbled, then again began. This time, truthfully. "Feyre needed some paint supplies from the market, and because I was free, I offered to get them for her."

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Azriel never thought he would ever ask someone for a romantic day out. After all, he never had to do that. He would just give females a glance and they would ask him to spend time with them themselves.

But this time, it was not happening. The female in the market square barely spared him a glance when he sidled up to her, pretending to look at all the brightly coloured pots on display at the stand she was giggling with her friends over.

"Y/n, that pot would look so good with your couch!"

Y/n. That name would certainly look good with Azriel’s name next to it.

"Yes Cindy, I’m going to cook on my couch."

Azriel smiled down at the pot in his hands, biting his cheek.

"It certainly is beautiful though." He mumbled, voice low so only Y/n could hear as her two other friends started bickering. He felt her stiffen before she glanced at him.

"That it is. But I don’t think I’m in need of more things."

Azriel swallowed, nodding. "You live near?"

Finally, he gathered the courage to meet her narrowed eyes. "Why do you ask?"

He smiled with a confidence he did not feel. "Where will I pick you up from for our dinner tomorrow then if you don’t tell me?"

She reared back as if his words had a physical impact on him.

"I- I’m sorry, I’m not interested."

Azriel blinked. But before he could say anything, she had grabbed her friends’ hands and dragged them away.

But from the slight blush on her face, he knew that he only needed to try and she would agree.

He bought the pot she had been eyeing so longingly just moments before, then hurried to go get the paints Feyre had asked for.

He was so sure he wouldn’t have to resort to poetry.

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The next day, Azriel was back at the market square, trying to figure out which direction she had gone. He had probably been wandering around aimlessly when he spotted the beautiful head of the lady he was so enthralled by.

"Hey. Pleasant day." He said as he fell in step beside the unsuspecting female.

She jumped, wide, frantic eyes meeting his own. Exasperation spread through her features as she realised it was him.

"You- what are you doing here?"

He shrugged, grinning as he held his gloved hand out. "I’m Azriel."

Her brows furrowed. She probably thought Azriel was loose in the head. "Y/n."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful lady."

She sighed. "Look, I’ve already told you I’m not interested."

"Why not?"

She paused. "I don’t like males who think they’re entitled to my time."

He nodded sagely. "Me neither. I hate people like that. But look at this like this, I want to get to know you. Maybe this could be something-"

She sighed. "No. Sorry."

Azriel’s palms turned sweaty. He had found her again, he did not want to let her go without getting something out of this. Even one evening of talking was enough. "I- I am the high lord’s shadowsinger."

Her gaze hardened. "Are you threatening me?"

His eyes widened. "No! I could never! I’m just trying…"

"Trying what?"

"To make you interested in me. It has worked before."

She rolled her eyes. "I don’t like males who try to entice me by stating their high powers."

Panic seized Azriel. This was going very wrong very quickly, and he did not like it one bit.

"I did not mean it that way-"

"Really, sir, I do not care what you meant and what you didn’t. Just leave me alone."

Azriel was left gaping after her, breathing heavy.

Fuck.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Azriel balled up another paper, throwing it behind him before clutching his head.

He had decided that being arrogant and trying to keep up his records of never having to resort to poetry would not help him.

Your eyes like the sun,Shining so beautiful,Your hair like waterfall,You-

Was Azriel truly so bad at poetry?

He was doomed.

She wouldn’t give him the time of day, evident by her refusal to even acknowledge him the three times he had tried to interact with her after that day at the market, and he was losing hope. He had sent countless letters and poems already to her house through his shadows, and he still had received no response.

Maybe he was well and truly doomed.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"You know, I still have all those letters and poems."

Azriel’s head whipped to look at his wife, eyes wide. "Why?"

She shrugged, getting up from the couch and taking the cup from Hazel and kaden, both who grinned unabashedly.

"You think I would burn or throw away letters of desperation sent by the spymaster?" Y/n snorted. "Let me get them for you, children."

"No!" Azriel semi-yelled, shooting to his feet before dashing into their bedroom, hoping to stop her before she even tried to reveal all his secrets.

Loud laughter followed the frantic spymaster, but he did not care. All he cared about was finding those letters and burning them, or maybe atleast hiding them away so his wife couldn’t tease him about it.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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taintedbenevolence · 2 years ago

Text

YAN! WRIOTHESLEY X FEM! READER

m i n o r s d o n o t i n t e r a c t !

" 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒. "

— 𝐖��𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 —

do not interact/read if the following triggers you! MENTIONS OF / IMPLIED STALKING, IMPLIED MURDER, MENTIONS OF BLOOD, USE OF APHRODISIACS, ODAXELAGNIA, NON-CONSENSUAL DISPLAY OF AFFECTION, IMPLIED MASTURBATION, UNPROTECTED SEX, BREEDING KINK, ORAL SEX [RECEIVING], AND FINGERING IMPLIED / DESCRIBED.

OVERPROTECTIVE AND TOXIC / OBSESSIVE / POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR.

•,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,• You should've known better than to blindly follow an order to enter Wriothesley's office that day.

Your morning had started off rather normal, with the exception of Sigewinne visiting you to leave you a letter written by none other than the Duke. At first, you thought it was just a notice for you, one related to business matters, or one about ordeals within the Fortress.

The letter resulted to be nothing at all what you expected it to be.

It was merely a note. "Please pass by my quarters when you have time today. Preferably during evening hours. I'd like to have a chat with you." That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Simple, direct, and straight to the point. Just like the man himself.

The little Melusine who handed you the letter wore a bright yet small smile on her face as she stood up straight. "It seems you've caught the eye of His Grace," she says, almost teasingly, though you shook your head. "I wouldn't go as far as to say I've caught the attention of someone like him," you reply with a wry smile, though a part of you silently wishes it were otherwise.

But you had caught his eye, and from far early on too. The Lord of the Fortress of Meropide rarely traveled to the surface. It wasn't every once in a million years, naturally, but, it wasn't a common sight. Most cases, he was there strictly on business and other important matters rather than on vacation.

That, however, changed the moment he saw you. You were breathtaking, and better yet, you were not intimidated by his presence alone. Most people would keep their distance, look away, unable to meet his gaze, and lack the ability to keep their composure around him. But you?

You were perfectly fine being near him, wearing small smiles that gave him absolute butterflies, as much as he hated to admit. You were honest and though maybe partly reserved, still willing to share a proper chat when he approached you. He liked that. Sigewinne noticed.

And he wasn't sure whether he liked the little Melusine nosing around whenever he met you, because for all he knew, she could start getting ideas, and that... wouldn't have been ideal, put it lightly.

Nevertheless, it's easy to say that his visits to the surface became more frequent. He made your acquaintance and quickly enough became friends with you. It was smooth riding so far, and he was finding that the situation was going well for him.

Occasionally, the two of you would talk over a cup of tea and you'd chat about how things had been in your lives, whether maybe you'd lost a pendant you liked, or how there was a coffee you tried somewhere that was rather bitter, or how he had less work than usual, so he decided to spare some time to relax on the surface.

It was fine.

That is until he found out you had fallen in love the past days. But oh no, you were not in love with him. You were in love with someone else. That was the issue. So he began to inquire. How did this person act? How did you meet them? Do you think they'd make a great partner?

Simple questions just to see what was your view of them.

Don't get him wrong — he's glad that you've found someone you love. He's just upset that the person you've fallen for isn't him. So he then decides to find the person for whom you fell for. It doesn't take long for him to find them, and it's not much effort to convince them that he's only visiting on behalf of business matters.

He returns every so often back to the surface to meet with you and to keep eyes on your interest, making sure there are no "unwanted" advances between the two of you, and when he's at the Fortress, he simply has to hope that nothing occurs. Having someone work for this type of thing would be rather inefficient and would raise unnecessary suspicions.

Sure, people don't really need to understand what the Duke's motives are, but that doesn't refrain them from filing a report to the Chief Justice about unusual behavior. The two are acquainted, after all, and Neuvillette is more than adept at reading the behavior of humans.

So with that in mind, he decided it was best to do things himself. After all, if you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself. One day, whilst you conversed with Wriothesley, you spoke of how you planned to finally confess. He was immediately interested, and he, of course, listened, even if deep in his mind the person whom you treasured was a pool of blood.

If your confession proved to be successful, he'd have to find a way to slowly seed problems into the relationship. He isn't fond of what he'd have to do, but unfortunately enough, the small feeling of jealousy that has wrapped itself around his heart is eating away at him.

He'd find the little details that bring you and your significant other apart and slowly begin to rip those traits up to the surface. He'd at times advise you that there were things you should watch out for, given this would be your first time in a relationship (or he'd assume so), and most likely, he'll find a way to tear down the relationship bit by bit and make it seem like it wasn't even his fault. It will appear as if it was just that you were mistaken, that this relationship wouldn't really work out.

That being said, if your confession resulted in a rejection, he'd comfort you. He knows how much it'd hurt having your feelings being rejected like that, and he especially doesn't want you crying for someone else who isn't deserving of causing your sorrow. He wouldn't want you tearing up to the one who had the audacity of even making you cry. He'd probably be mad at the person, but not enough to walk back at them and talk to them about it, as much as he'd wish to rip them into two. He exercises self-control, and somehow manages to control himself.

Depending how the person reacted to your confession, would Wriothesley's anger be gauged. Unfortunately enough for you, and much to Wriothesley's pleasure, you were rejected. Now, don't get him wrong; he wants you to have a successful relationship, but he also doesn't want you being with someone that doesn't deserve you.

So the moment that you come to him, your expression more solemn and down than usual, he already knows what's happened. He invites you over to the Fortress inside to cheer you up and for a change in atmosphere. While taking you to a place meant for imprisonment isn't exactly one's definition of "fun," you were rather curious to see what was the place this man called home.

To your surprise, it was well kept, and didn't look like it was rotting as you thought it would be. He also showed you around his quarters, to let you know where he'd be, and of course he introduced you to Sigewinne, who was more than happy to meet you.

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[| "Y/N, this is Sigewinne, our head nurse."[| "Oh, is this the person you've been rambling on about lately, Your Grace?"[| "... Sigewinne."

•,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•

You could've sworn that you saw a small smirk on the Melusine's face because she knew that His Grace was head over heels for you. Of course, you didn't know that, but... she did. You were later on dismissed, and for the next weeks, you stayed at the Fortress, given you met several new people in there and wished to get to know them better.

Wriothesley being the busy man he is, doesn't always have time to get out of his quarters, but god, with you around he can't help but give a few more rounds to the Fortress just to watch you as you go about your day. How he remembers your smiles, when you mentioned to some your hobbies, your interests, and so on so forth...

His gaze often falls on your small frame and his mind will wander to how perfectly it will fit against his larger figure when he's deep inside of you and—

Wriothesley thinks this is wrong. He thinks this is twisted in more ways than one, but he can't bring himself to stop it. He's helpless to the thought of you running your hands through the soft tufts of his hair whilst he holds you to himself, the way your lips would feel when matches them with his own, or how beautiful you'd sound when he inserts his digits into you as you struggle to not moan out his name.

He hates that he can't feel you. It's driving him mad.

Sometimes he's filling in and signing the mountain of paperwork he has on his desk and his mind trails off to you, and archons it's not even a minute before he has to stand up and drink some tea to clear his head. On some occasions, he'll feel so utterly pent up that there's nothing left for him to do than to lock his doors and let his hand soothe his frustrations and urges while he wishes his hand were your own or your mouth instead.

His mind is clouded with thoughts he wouldn't speak of in front of the rest and a part of him feels guilty about feeling in such a way towards you, yet he knows he wouldn't have it any other way. He's completely enthralled by you and obsessed by the thought of being able to claim you as his own.

It grows to the point that every day he sees you becomes unbearable. He can't stand how your sweet voice falls on those who don't deserve to hear it, how you smile at the prisoners whenever you get to speak with them and help them out during their shifts, how your hands sometimes barely brush together when you walk amidst crowds and he swears that a single touch of yours is enough to make him want to pick you up right then and there and fuck you raw away from prying eyes.

He is desperate. And he needs you.

So he decides that today is that day. After a few days of spending time with Sigewinne in order to mix in certain herbs with tea, he ends up with a particularly sweet tea. He reserves it for you. He's pacing in his office before he sits down in a relaxed manner, waiting for you to enter.

And the moment he hears the gentle knocking on his door accompanied by your voice asking for permission to enter, he can already feel his heart hammering. Allowing you to enter, you close the doors behind you, and for a man who's obsessed in every sense of the word, he's certainly composed.

He gestures for you to take a seat, to which you comply, and then he goes off to get the tea. After all, what better way to host a small meeting like this than to talk over a cup of tea? You're able to take in its sweet aroma and taste, and to say you liked it may have been an understatement.

"So how have you been finding the Fortress?" he muses, one leg crossed comfortably over the other. You only smile softly as you respond, taking a quick sip of your tea before answering. "Certainly different than what I expected it to be, but it seems to be managed well."

His Grace only smiles in return, and he then clicks tongue. "Say, have you enjoyed your stay here?" he asks, taking a sip as he waits. "It's been great. While some have a sharp tongue, there are a couple of people who have been good company, even if most of the time I'm around Sigewinne," you answer.

"Speaking of, where has she been?" you state, because now that you thought about it, you hadn't seen the little Melusine around the Fortress recently. Wriothesley just blinks as he then slightly mouths an 'oh.' "She's been off gathering herbs for medicine and treatment," he replies, before finishing the rest of the tea in his cup.

You hum in understanding as you stay still, having finished your own cup as well. "I see. Anyways, thank you for the tea," you reply in gratitude. The Duke only nods, as he remains there, seemingly observing you for any changes.

The two of you keep conversing, but throughout the conversation, you start to take note of something. You feel a little... moist. Perhaps you were exerting yourself too much recently?.. No, that couldn't be it — you felt as if you were getting warm all of a sudden. You couldn't exactly place your finger on what the sensation was.

Additionally, you couldn't exactly shake off the feeling no matter how hard you tried to focus on the man in front of you, and as time passed, you began to lose focus on the conversation you held with Wriothesley and your attention shifted to yourself, your gaze falling in between your thighs, the space feeling rather wet, for a lack of better words, the only thing in your mind being how unusually much you wished to be—

"Y/N?"

Wriothesley's voice snapped you back to the present as you felt blood rush to your face. No, that wasn't right, why were you feeling like this...? This was wrong... The man in front of you could only pretend for so long that he didn't know what was happening, but he wasn't in a far too different situation. The seemingly faint bulge in his pants grew ever slightly, and he was already starting to feel a little trapped and tight in his coat. He knew that you were starting to receive the effects already, so it was only a matter of time.

"Are you feeling well?" He murmurs, placing a hand on your shoulder before giving it a light squeeze, and you can swear that for a split moment you almost shiver. "... I.. it's.. sorry," you manage to murmur as you sigh quietly as you shook your head. "Is it just me, or.. is it getting rather hot in here..?"

Oh, how he wants to laugh.

You almost feel stupid having asked something of the like, and Wriothesley's barely holding himself together as he breathes quietly and calmly. He's on the verge of taking you right here and then, but he decides against it just to see what you'll do. "I feel it too," he replies relaxed, and your eyes seem to slightly light up. "Oh, so it's not just me..? That's at least a bit reassuring..."

He's so fucking desperate. Can't you tell?

And then he asks the magical question. "Why do you think I asked you to come in here?"

You blink, thinking through the question, before answering, a bit perplexed. "Because you wanted to talk...?" you reply. The man chuckles softly, though he shakes his head. "More than that, there was... something else." Confusion begins to run through your mind as you try to inquire as to what he means but before you can say another word, he picks you up, and carries you away as if you were nothing but a feather.

He locks the door to his office, and he walks up the stairs with you in his arms. "Wriothesley, what're you doing?—" you can barely say, your face pressed up against his clothed chest, but he silences you as he lays you flat on his desk.

His firm hands are quick to undo your clothing in your lower body, as he he carefully but easily slides off your undergarments. You can only feel the heat rush through you as your heart pounds. "Wriothesley, what are you—"

And your voice leaves you as you feel him spread apart your legs with his cold fingers, a bitter chill running through your spine as his tongue only starts to tease you by dampening furthermore your already wet folds. You can only bite your tongue to hold in a moan, though it proves futile when he begins to work on your clit, teasing and tracing faint circles with his tongue, causing a few whines to escape your mouth.

You can't tell whether to feel pleasured or scared. Wriothesley gives you no time to think.

He makes no effort to stop whilst you can only grasp and tug his hair, while you nervously and shakily run your hands down his smooth, black locks that glisten beneath the amber lights of his office. It doesn't take much longer for him to reach your entrance, and you clasp your mouth with your hand as you inevitably moan involuntarily. You feel your eyes practically roll back as you try to maintain your gaze focused on the raven-haired male, feeling the wet muscle continuously slipping in and out of your tightened entrance and you're certainly grateful the walls of his office are soundproof.

"Wriothesley, I can't— f-fuck!"

You can't help but squirm, your heart racing as your chest heaves up and down. Your vision is somewhat hazed, your attempts to shift comfortably failing as a new wave of pleasure surges through you as your entrance and clit are endlessly teased and caressed, a pressure building up inside you.

He's eating you out, and you're not even exactly sure if your mind would agree that you enjoy it, but your body sure as hell is, because your senses are getting stimulated beyond possibility. Your breathing is definitely evident and no longer quiet, and you can barely muffle how vocal you're growing until at a moment, you feel him retract at last.

Yet before you're able to question it, he repositions himself above you, and he's pinning your wrists above your head, his knees at either side of you as his imposing figure looms over your body, casting a slight shadow on you. "You sure are — hah — quite loud," he whispers with a teasing smirk edging on his face, his tone of voice growing a bit rasped as he reaches for an item that dangles on his hips — one you're quite familiar with.

Handcuffs.

And before you know it he's clipped them onto you and bound your wrists to his desk above your head, not allowing you to move them, their silver hue glister, glimmering in the dark shadows. "You're fucking mine," he snarls before he kisses you on the lips with fervor, almost as if he might just devour you on the spot if you don't do anything about it.

He's rough and passionate, not giving you a chance to breathe. The sudden ferocity and intensity in his act is more than enough to leave you breathless whilst you try to get used to it, to which he responds with a low growl. It's as if he's been starved for ages and his hunger is to never be sated. He bites down softly on your lower lip, effectively causing you to part your lips, giving him a chance to slide his tongue within.

The rush it gave you was almost feverish, even if it was wrong at its core. He tastes sweet, you think, as your tongues mingle together, the sweetness flooding your palates. Your train of thought was interrupted once more when he finally separated, and you breathed heavily. He was catching his breath, his mouth slightly hung open, giving you a view of the sharp canines he possesses. A small, barely noticeable trail of saliva connected your lips to his own, and he stared down at you, licking his lips to rid the saliva before his gaze landed on your neck. His hands, even with wraps and binds, were cold to the touch as he caressed your soft skin.

You're still catching your breath, blood rushing to your face when you feel him bite into your flesh, a quiet cry akin to a whine leaving you, only fueling his desire. He quietly growls, and he almost seems feral as he licks over the wound, moving quickly to other uncovered areas in your neck as he litters kisses around it. He bites hard and deep, sucking on the skin just enough to leave a couple of hickeys on you.

"You're all mine."

No words are required to be exchanged as he pauses, just leaning back. Seeing your taken-aback expression, he just chuckles softly, his icy gaze combined with the ever earnest smirk he wears already enough to keep you still beneath his iron grip. "I could just eat you up and you'd beg for more, wouldn't you, huh?" He states, his voice sounding like music to your ears.

"Bet you'd want me to fuck you dumb too."

He tugs on his tie, letting it fall loose untied with ease as his coat soon follows, allowing you to gain an exposed view of his scarred body. There's nothing more you'd like than to run your hands through his chest but the handcuffs don't allow you to move your arms in the slightest. He's depriving you of one pleasure, and he relishes in that.

"My eyes are up here, sweetheart."

And god does he love it when you try to avert your gaze in embarrassment, knowing that your eyes had solely been focused on his body. He takes his hand and tilts your chin so you're forced to meet his gaze, and he delights in the way you shudder at his mere touch — he has you at the mercy of his fingertips, he'd bet.

You're being driven mad, something he enjoys — he's no sadist, but he definitely likes seeing you having to put up with the building pressure and urges he held back on this entire time. He decides to toy furthermore with you, as he slowly begins to unclasp the belt around his waist as his pants come off loose.

You know what the man wants.

It doesn't take much time for the rest to come off, and it's very clear to you where this is going. The back of your mind is screaming at you to run, to move, anything, but your body just lies and stays still without making a sound. His hips are pressed into yours, and he has zero hesitation as he begins to slide himself inside you, positioning himself as you whimper, tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes as you feel your walls stretching to accommodate to the sudden, large length that was pushed inside of you. It's too much for you, but he hushes you, caressing your face softly and wiping your tears.

"You're going to take all of it in for me, aren't you? Hah, so fuckin' tight..."

It hurts, and his gentle caresses are a sharp contrast to how he continuously pushes inside you until he finally reaches that place that would make you scream out in pleasure. And he knows it. He's impatient, and won't waste another second, and in just a few more seconds, he's already ramming his hips against yours, bulging cock sliding in and out at a pace you can no longer register.

"God — you're so good for me — no one else is allowed to see you like this, understood?"

The both of you are lost in lust, and your heart hammers in you whilst fear and pleasure courses right through your veins. You get the feeling he's not just pleasuring you — he's marking you, through and through, making sure that by the time you're walking out, people will only perceive his scent on you wherever you go. He wants you and you alone.

Anyone who wishes to debate his posture is more than welcome to have a word with him in the ring.

You're barely able to choke out his name as he fucks you senseless, giving you no space to plead or speak at all, for that matter. The only noise you get out are your helpless moans as you shudder from each thrust. He's feral, hungry and starved for your love, and he wants to consume every bit of it.

"Wriothesley — fuck — I-"

If it weren't for the fact he's fucking you to oblivion on his desk, he'd probably find it amusing how helpless you've become in the span of a few minutes. He loves it. Your eyes are half-lidded and brimming with tears, your moans resounding through the entirety of his office, to which thankfully, there is no one else within except the two of you. You might've not registered it but you're sure he's already torn through all the clothes covering your chest too, leaving you now entirely exposed and vulnerable to his touch.

You start to feel the building pressure you had before, and your breathing is labored, heavy. You don't think you can take this for much longer, your folds wet and walls tightening around his cock. You really weren't sure how in hell you were going to fit all of it in, but you seemed to be taking it rather well.

Your synchronized moans and his groans paired together combine, slowing into a perfectioned, rhythmic catharsis as you finally reach your climax, your fluids coating him and staining the firm material beneath you, to which you can't help but wonder how exactly does he plan to clean.

Yet as you finally release, he still doesn't stop. He's not stopping, not yet, not when he's finally got you fucked over and whimpering, helplessly begging him to cum inside of you. All of your senses and inhibitions have been tossed aside, leaving you a forlorn, flustered mess. He craves you, he might just devour you, he's unable to contain himself.

"You look so adorable when you beg, yeah? So wet and tight for me, 'M just gonna have to keep going for you..."

He is relentless. By the time he cums, you're already left breathless, voice broken and unable to say a thing other than a quiet whine. He's breathing heavily, letting his seed settle within you as his residual flows leak through your thighs, painting you as his own.

"Hah... that look in your eyes.. you wanna be rewarded, don't you? 'M just gonna have to stuff you full, hm?"

He nuzzles his head in your neck, letting the soft tufts of his hair caress your skin softly. He's still inside you, his cum still leaking through your thighs and out of your worn-out, throbbing pussy. Slowly, he slides out of you, earning a faint, muffled hum akin to that of a moan as you catch your breath. "Wrio..." you mumble out, and he presses a light kiss to your neck, right on a mark he left by earlier.

"'M gonna fill you up and make you cum 'till you can't think..." he murmured, one of his hands soothingly caressing your neck as he runs his hand through your back, his other, free hand reaching down towards your wet folds, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your clit as he teases you gently, causing a few moans and whimpers to escape you. "'M gonna breed you.. make you all mine, darlin'."

He inserts two of his digits inside you fervently, fingering you, keeping you wet and tight as you squirm from his touch. He pulls in and out, unending and denying your pleads to stop. "P-please, Wrio — fuck — I can't-" He ignores your cries. Instead, he presses kisses across your jawline until meeting your lips, keeping you encased, trapped in a passionate kiss whilst being pleasured to no end.

"You can take it. Easy there, love."

You only respond with a whine as you feel yourself slowly reach your climax again, fluids seeping through your body and covering his digits, that slowly pull out with a wet sound. Your mouth is slightly hung open, your face with faint tints of red hidden by your disheveled hair, your body numb and almost limp.

The black-haired man simply held you tight, holding you close, never letting go, his voice whispering to you sweet nothings. His grip was tight, and unbeknownst to you, tears slowly smeared, falling across your face. You felt filthy. You felt violated. Anything but loved. And you knew more than ever, that from this day forth, you'd only ever be his.

His to love. His to hold.

For a night and forevermore, you were solely his to behold.

•,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•

A/N - I am utterly in love with this man. This prompt was also meant for yesterday bc Halloween n all, but I didn't make it- so- here you are- a little belated but still here! Same applies to the Imbibitor Lunae prompt that is soon to come! Love you all, remember to stay safe.

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