#he knows he's not perfect. not every relationship is perfect at all. but sometimes he feels like he's too far gone to be “fixed” anymore

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: this masterpiece being on repeat made me like this 😵‍💫

HOUSTON'S BEST. | Aaron Pierre

Terry Richmond x Black! Female Stripper Reader.

Warnings: MDNI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( oral sex, (male receiving) penetrat!on (unprotected p in v, don't do that!), breath play, water sports, slapping/hitting, degradation), extreme language (cursing, use of b-word and others.) slight daddy kink if you squint. Not proofread.

Summary: in which Terry meets an exotic dancer during his deployment and recounts their heated sexual relationship.

you used to strip out of east Atlanta,

probably where you learned all your talents.

He never knew her real name, or anything that was actually concrete to her, but he did know how his hazel eyes stayed trained on the exotic dancer in front of him the first time he saw her, the strobe lights made it a bit impossible to focus in on her face—as well as her many tricks and whirls around the pole. But her silhouette was perfect, and with a body as perfect as hers he was sure her face had to be a perfect match.

That wasn't his usual scene though, he'd been nearly forced there with his homeboys. Due to his recent breakup at the time, and a dreary deployment, his friends swore he needed a night of fun. And obviously their idea of a night of fun, was six deep in an east Atlanta strip club. He didn't usually spend his pastimes in Atlanta strip clubs, blowing his last dollars on a half-dressed woman, but if every stripper was enchanting as this one, he understood.

They introduced her as Houston, something he only understood when he found himself at her apartment. Only a few blocks away, from the club she worked at four nights a week, the other three days were supposedly spent in trade school where she was training to be a dental hygienist.

Not to mention, her face definitely did match her body.

Terry was unsure of how he made it to her quaint apartment the first time. He remembered how she sauntered over to the bar sometime after her set, she sported an oversized jogging suit, her low, brown eyes seemed to stare right through him, her smile was sinful. Everything about her screamed, trouble.

Anyway, even with a couple of shots flowing through him he was sober enough to hear the country edge to her voice—soft, elongated vowels, with that slight drawl that captivated him with each word. For a man who'd been deployed in and out of the states, he knew a Houston accent from anywhere, he'd spent four years there after all. That's where her stage name came from.

She'd never volunteered her real name, and always seemed hesitant when he asked about it. Obviously there was things she was keeping secret from this arrangement, and even three months deep into this said arrangement, she was still just Houston.

Terry never knew how they advanced to sex so quickly, the first time. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol in his system that night, maybe it was how naturally bold Houston was. Maybe it was because she kept casually sitting on his lap, complimenting him. Looking at him with those low, seductive eyes.

But it wasn't the first time anymore. Or the second. Or the third, and that was because Houston kept him coming back. She was a needed stress reliever. She knew what she was doing.

Houston knew exactly what she was doing though. And she was best at the shit too. The art of seduction through her dance—had nothing on her art of seduction in the bedroom. She would stare at him through her long lashes and low eyes, when she had him halfway back in the back of her throat. Coughing, gagging, eyes watery and red, but she still managed to hold that mockingly innocent gaze with him. Her hands nuzzled in the thin material of the strip lingerie she wore for him, vigorously rubbing away at her hard clit. Pleasing him, pleased her—and all that shit pleased him.

"Fuuuuckkk," he'd grunt, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as she fucked her own throat on his dick, almost like she was eager to taste all of him, her tongue swiping the underside of his dick as she eagerly took all of him. Her almost violent gagging and choking seemed to not deter her in the slightest, and it definitely hadn't deterred him either. Both his hands cradling the back of her head as he fucked himself into her throat, his own brows furrowed, lips parted as his grunts and groans seemed to follow one after another, eyes boring into hers. The feeling of the tightness of her throat, around him was unmatched. The way she did this shit like she had no regard for him was unmatched. Breathing clearly didn't matter to Houston. The hardwood flooring underneath them had collected a puddle of the saliva that seemed to pool out of her mouth and off of him, in the process.

"Fuckkk, imma nut! Imma nut, bae—jus' like that!" He rushed out, breathless and slurred. His hips stilling, but she never stopped taking him in, fucking her own throat once again, she looked up at him. His own eyes, slowly falling closed as she kept up her volatile movements.

"Mhm," she hummed on his dick, her blurred vision taking him in earnestly, her own fingers slipping inside her hole once again as she watched his facial expressions hungrily, as she brung him over the edge. The loud, groans queuing her to his orgasm, she pulled back from him with a loud pop. A growing smile on her lips as she stroked him off over her face, the warm ropes of cum painting her face just as she liked. What a messy girl she was, indeed.

She was the best at that shit.

But then again, she was the best at everything. She was definitely the best at doggystyle. Her face pressed into the cushioning of her sofa, his fingers squeezing and kneading the meaty flesh of her hips as she sat on her knees, ass perfectly arched up for him. Tip pressing against the spongy spot that caused the slight trembling in her thighs, and those deep gasping breaths to leave her mouth. Her hands flying up to the arm of the couch to gain leverage to slam back against him, her ass ricocheting off his pelvis with loud plaps. He'd run his thumb over the small butterfly tattoo etched into the skin right on the top of her ass.

"Don't run," he'd coach firmly, his voice stern hands growing tighter around her waist, his knees following hers, a harsh slap to her ass following his words, "don't fuckin' run. I can't get in that shit?" He'd ask over her whimpers.

"Yesssss," she'd slut out loudly, his stern voice and harsh slaps always put her back into motion, taking it like he knew she could.

"Right there, right there, right there!" She'd urgently call out, voice shaky and strained. "Right there, baby! I'm bout to cum, daddy!" Her whimpered voice muffled by Terry pushing her face down into the cushions, his focus solely on hitting against the spot, she repeatedly referred to.

"Where it's at?" He'd mutter, the lingerie of her little strip tease outfit now bunched around her waist, in his grasp as he used it as more leverage to thrust into her. "Where it's at, baby?" He'd ask again when he received no proper response from her, just her inaudible babbling and squealing moans.

"It's right there, daddy!"

"Give it to me then," he coolly replied hand roughly slapping at against her reddening brown skin, "give that shit to daddy, paint my dick. Lemme see it," he'd coax her orgasm right out of her, with her erratic breathing and faltering limbs.

Houston was also the best at missionary. And she didn't even have to do anything in this position, she just always looked so pretty and dazed. Mouth agape, eyes soft and low, darting back and forth between Terry's gaze, and his dick slipping in and out of her slick pussy. Her loud guttural moans would follow behind Terry's soft groans, his hands placed steadily on the back on her thighs, his knees allowing him to steadily drop dick in her. Her walls squeezing around him tighter and breathing hindering, every time he went just a little too deep.

She always looked too good in this position. His hands clamped tightly around her neck, he'd watch the color in her face tint to red. "You wanna breathe don't you? Yeah? Squirt on my dick then, show me how bad you wanna breathe. Show me that shit." He'd taunt, his dick roughly plowing into her, he'd watch with complete adoration as her eyes rolled back, her chest heaving, no sound leaving her lips but he strained breathing as he neared her orgasm. No sound would alert him, just her juices spurting out of her wildly, drenching her lower tummy and thighs, as well as his.

Or maybe she was the best at riding. Balancing her weight on the tips of her toes, her hands fisting the top of the couch on either side of him, strings of sticky arousal from her pussy connected the two, as she milked him up and down with loud sticky plaps. His thumbs and pointer fingers tweaking with her pierced, sensitive mounds. Pulling and pinching at her nipples as he muttered, lewd phrases and exploitative words against the flesh of her neck.

"You gon nut?" He'd ask her at the same time. Watching her nod eagerly over a series of moans. He'd slap against her cheek firmly, not quite satisfied with her non-verbal response. "You gon nut?" He'd ask again.

"Yesss!" She'd cry out, nodding vigorously, big brown eyes brimming with tears, the tightness in her belly threatening to burst open.

"Nah you ain't," he'd reply, eyes staring into hers so casually as if he wasn't having her plow herself onto his dick for his pleasure, "you been cummin' all night. It's my turn."

"Look at you fuckin' yourself on my dick," he tsk'd, his hand coming up once again to firmly slap against her cheek, "you ain't gon tell nobody about this right? Bout how you bein' such a lil easy bitch on my dick, makin' a mess. You ain't gon tell nobody?"

"No, daddy!" She'd stammer out through hindered breaths and broken moans. Her eyes slowly falling open as she continue to fuck herself on his dick, he was making her edge herself, and the shit felt torturous.

"Jus' like that, baby," he'd praise, hands dropping to knead both her ass cheeks as she rode him, "make me nut. Make me nut in this pussy." Hand leaving a series of hard echoing snacks there, until he came deep inside her.

Houston knew exactly what she was doing.

Hope you enjoyed, Houston! <3

tag list: @avoidthings @megamindsecretlair @nickidub718 @keehendrixx @planetblaque @blowmymbackout @b2hotty @partypoison00 @grooveoftiro @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @dxddykenn @motheroffae @kaylaahisthebestest- @hello-therree

[mythicmanuscripts]

hello!!! love your blog!!

Could you talk about what intense subdrop is like with Aegon, Aemond, and Jace? like what makes them drop, and what happened/how it went the first time it happened in front of the reader? with lots of soft aftercare? thank you!!!

Of course I can anon! Absolutely. So I definitely have spoken vaguely about subdrop with all of the main three but I don't think I've ever sort of just given overviews of it? So for each of them I'm gonna write a bit about what I think their general triggers for subdrop would be and what they'd need, etc cause then I think we can have a really nice groundwork to discuss some of the stuff further. So let me know if any of these thoughts inspire you! Or you can always apply them to an AU as well.

I'm also happy to share or hear thoughts about other characters for this as well :)) Anyway, there's some non-graphic NSFW content in this answer so if that's not your think then feel free to scroll on by otherwise, enjoy!

AEMOND:

So with Aemond I think he'd only experience subdrop a few months into your relationship, when you've already had sex multiple times and he's already showing his submissive side quite a bit. I think it would only start then because until he reached that level of comfort he always had his walls up?

Even though you were praising him and commanding him and giving him aftercare, he still stayed guarded. Make no mistake, he loved every single moment with you, but despite knowing that his brain still takes longer to catch up to the fact that he's actually allowed to properly let go. As a result, you get lulled into a false sense of security where it seems like the only aftercare Aemond wants is for you to help clean him up and dress him and cuddle a little bit. He was always up and about within an hour after the scene had ended. But this wasn't because he was fully recovered, this was because he had never let himself fall fully into you and so had less to recover from.

It's when you finally does start to do that when this arises. I think the trigger event for him fully lowering all his walls might actually be when you start to indulge him in non-sexual submission? You have him kneel while you read to him, watch him from the bed while he folds your laundry, etc. It's the praise and safety he feels in those moments that allows him to give himself fully later.

He drops hard after the first time he stopped trying to hide. You noticed a difference of course, he was much louder than before, much clingier too. He's just so expressive. Of course you praise him for it, telling him how pretty he looks and sounds like this.

But then the scene is over and you immediately get up to begin drawing a bath for him. When you return with the bucket he's curled up in bed, crying softly to himself.

Needless to say, a much more involved routine is created after that moment. But even with that, subdrop is something he never really grows out of? Doesn't matter how much he loves you and how perfect the aftercare routine is, the bottom line is that he's used to always being on high alert and sometimes he's going to drop when he has to come back from finally giving up that responsibility.

AEGON:

Aegon is another one that just lives to please. Before you he would try to please his mother and father and the whole bloody kingdom, but from the moment he feels the satisfaction of knowing you are pleased with him.... well none of the others matter anymore.

Of course you love that about him, and you always make sure to give him both enough commands and praise. But Aegon's problem is that he doesn't only want to please you, he also wants and arguably needs your attention and time? That's where his conflict comes from. He never ever wants to be a nuisance to you, but despite that desire he still needs to be kissed and held and comforted, and of course he also needs to be dommed.

He tries to balance those two needs but if one must be chosen over the other then he will always choose to serve and please before he chooses the attention. This is a recipe for disaster of course, especially because it forms a very vicious cycle where he needs you more because he's so unsettled because he hasn't pleased you but not having pleased you only makes him need the comfort worse and so it goes.

The solution to this isn't to try and strike a balance between domming him and commanding him, but rather to just stop the cycle completely? There's nothing that turns Aegon's mind off more than when you take over fully and he just does as you say.

Now when you start to see the signs, start to see him looking for things to do with you, hovering over thresholds of doors uncertain if he should come in and spend time with you, then you act. You actually have to be very firm with him, tell him that you're the one in charge so he doesn't get to decide what you do with him. That coupled with staying at his side for a few days sorts him out, at least for a while anyway.

JACAERYS:

His subdrops tend to have one of two main triggers. Firstly, and most obviously, is when he cums and can't do anything else. He gets better at lasting longer and feeling less sensitive afterwards, but there will always be times where his orgasm takes the wind right out of him and he's left unable to do more than just whine and grab your hand. He always feels so guilty, especially at the start when you're still getting used to being able to tell what stimulation will send him over the edge too quick. He feels like a complete failure and that tends to trigger a drop most times, which unfortunately you can't really mitigate the risk of because he's just wired like that.

The only way to comfort him is to promise him that you will let him please you once he's recovered? He won't allow himself to have your comfort until you've told him exactly what he can do to you once he's recovered.

The second trigger is actually something happening outside of your relationship? Jace can't separate those two parts of himself. When he feels he hasn't lived up to his responsibilities as prince then he carries that feeling into the bedroom, and no amount of love and praise can get him out of that headspace. You've tried simply telling him that you won't dom him that night and you can either have vanilla sex or do no more than cuddle but this backfires because he sees it as another rejection.

At first you had no idea how to lower the chances of that trigger for subdrop because you can't change his duties to his mother and the realm and you certainly can't talk him out of scening at all without making it much worse. The only thing that helps is when you give him very detailed instructions for very easy tasks. You watch him closely as he makes the bed or folds the clothes or takes out and repacks the bookshelves, etc. It's always tasks that are very easy but that's the point, the point of the command is so that Jace can do something 100% correctly and receive praise for it.

[netherfeildren]

Cannibals : 1. House of Fools

An At the Restaurant story

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It's two days til Christmas, and the two of you sit side by side, thighs pressed warmly together, giggling at one another for absolutely no reason other than it’s been such a good day. All the best things the two of you do, wrapped into a perfect set of twelve hours.

It's two day's til Christmas, and one of the more bizarre aspects of life is how everything can fall apart from one moment to the next.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship to real love AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alternate Universe; Modern AU Din Djarin; Holiday Season AU; Fluff and Angst; Angst with a Happy Ending; Unhealthy Relationships; Emotionally Unavailable Idiots; But Also, Idiots in Love; Complicated Characterizations of Imperfect People; If that's not your thing, click away dear reader; Grief; Unprotected Sex; So Down Bad it Makes You Look Stupid; Commitment Issues; Found Family; Self Esteem Issues; Insecurity; It's Called Fuckboy Conversion Therapy Look It Up; Toxic Relationship

A/N: Happy New Year, beautiful people.

Word Count: 7.5K

Read on AO3

House of Fools

Glass shattered on the white cloth  Everybody moved on Help, I’m still at the restaurant

The tree is set with multi-colored lights and tinsel and care. It’s a good tree, the one the two of you put up together as his little brother cheers you on. Too tall, fluffy and charmingly droopy, shoved into the corner of the two bedroom bungalow you’d helped them move into months ago. 

Three years is a long time to know a person. It is an even longer time to love someone. 

And yet, sometimes, it remains a half-full sort of love. 

You watch as he lifts his brother’s small frame above his shoulders to set the star atop, final touch sparkle, and you’re still looking in through the window of this honest and heartbreaking home of two, even from your seat within their warm living room. 

Finally, Din turns, and gives you that pink-glow smile, the one you love. Right corner of his mouth, pulling upwards—a dimple, tan skin and the flush of his appled cheek, and he’s really beautiful, sometimes yours, dedicated to many things before he is dedicated to you. But you’re here. And you’re grateful. The spaces for the shiny red ornaments you’d been assigned, carefully chosen and hung on the tree. Your imprint is there, in this small decision. Your mark on their home, on their Christmas tree. Your handwriting, looping and careful on the tags on the gifts you’d helped him wrap beneath the branches. Grogu, not Greg, thank you, written out with all the care and consideration you feel for the small boy who you’ve come to love as much as you love his brother. 

The two of you had come to some sort of staid agreement in the past year. Together. That’s what you are. Afraid of each other, too. Perhaps. Afraid of what you feel, of what could become of it. But aware enough now that you can both understand you can not be without one another, so that any sort of lingering fear or trepidation was forced to become secondary. There were eggshells still, to be treaded on. A carefulness about the way the two of you approach one another day in and day out. An awareness on your part, that there is so much past loss and even more future responsibility awaiting him so that he’ll always live his life afraid and with bated breath for the worst still yet to come. On his part, the awareness of an easily broken heart and a willingness to give more of yourself than is right. And a promise to be careful with those things. Or at least to try. 

But you’re together and it’s not easy, per se, but it’s necessary, and you don’t ask for more even though you want it. Even though there’s still that small bit missing. And every time you look at him, every time he’s sweet and considerate and so aware of you it’s almost overwhelming, and when he touches you in that way that is so delicious it should be illegal, you’ll say: I like you so much, Din because you’re afraid to say the stronger word out loud. 

You prepare for the holidays with frenzy. In between classes and your thesis and a reading list so long you’re afraid your eyesight will never recover this finals season, you still find the time to do your gift shopping and help him with his. The three of you go out one evening in early December to buy their tree. Taller than Din, is Grogu’s stipulation and the decree that leads to the slightly hunched behemoth with the lopsided star held on by the sheer force of a zip tie’s will. 

The two boys meander slowly amongst the evergreens while you trail behind, watching them. The way Din towers over the young boy, occasionally bopping him over the chunky green hat with the droopy knit ears, listening intently at Grogu’s excited chatter. The sweater Din has on had been carefully chosen between you and your mother for his birthday, navy blue half-zip knit that makes him look so sexy and is so, so exciting to unzip, bearing the sharp edges of his collar bones, keeping him warm so that when you slip your hand beneath the hem and up against his hard stomach his skin almost burns. 

Or maybe it’s just you, the burning. Maybe it’s what you make together. 

Grogu had vetoed seven trees thus far—not fat enough, not tall enough, too wimpy, doesn’t have the right “vibe”. The kid said it needed to be wide enough so that all the naked little angel babies he loved to collect, and for which he’d been soundly sent home from school two weeks ago for—and this is a direct quote from the principal Mrs. Armorer as per Din—‘enabling a covert trading ring as if these artifacts were the most insidious of contraband being distributed amongst the most derelict of city streets’. An exaggeration surely, but Din’s own hatred for the little angels only reinforced the gravity of the boy’s crime. And as he’d so eloquently put it, “When I looked up in the shower the other day to find twenty of them watching me wash my dick, I knew we had a problem.”

If only he also knew you were the one constantly buying them for the kid. 

When you blink your daze away, resurfacing from your thoughts, the boys have disappeared. You can hear the sound of Grogu’s voice in the distance, high pitched and laughing, and when you look up at the dark night sky, the first flurries of snow are starting their spiral fall. The warmth of the cocoa the three of you had bought at the entrance of the Christmas tree farm has long since left you, and you burrow further into the damp warmth of the scarf wrapped around your neck, suddenly unable to catch any sound but the rhythm of your own breaths. 

You take a few more steps forward, peering through the trees and seeing no one—there had been so many people just minutes ago—when a strong tug at the back of your puffer pulls you between the branches of two of the larger evergreens. 

His breath is warm on your face, you can smell the sweetness of the chocolate and marshmallows, but his lips are cold when they press against the corner of your eye, pulling you in close against him, pushing you deeper into the pines.

“Kiss me. I’m cold,” he pouts, another flutter of lips to the apple of your cheek, the point of your chin, and then he’s licking against your mouth and his tongue is hot as sin, sweeter than the chocolate. You open for him, pulling him against yourself as tightly as he pulls you, pressing up on your tippy toes to get even closer.

“I couldn't find you. Din—” you gasp, kissing him again, again. 

“Can’t get lost in the snow, baby.” The puff of his laugh is warm against your face, the tip of his cold reddened nose nudging against your own. You cling to him more tightly, feeling unfocused, almost drunk—the tip of his tongue against the arch of your cupid's bow. There are snowflakes catching in his eyelashes. The deep green of the trees, the sky, dark and falling above you, the cold everywhere except for where he touches you, presses against you. 

“Need this kid to pick out a tree so we can go the fuck home and get in bed,” he says, shivering and grouchy. “Still gotta strap it to the car, lug it inside…” He buries his face in the warm space between your throat and scarf and whines. 

His hair is long enough right now it sticks out the back of his beanie, curling against the edge, and you tangle your fingers in the soft locks, holding him there pressed against you. You can hear Grogu sing-songing your names, coming up behind where you’re embracing with loud stomping gallops, bulldozing into your back hard enough he’d knock you over if you didn’t have his brother there to hold you up. The boy wraps his arms around your waist, shaking the two of you out of your daze, demanding you stop making out and get moving. 

“Don’t whine, I’m going to help you.” You say it laughing, fond and grateful. Grateful that you get the chance to be here with the two of them. 

-

“You use laundry softener?”

 Wham! plays softly through the overhead speaker of the empty grocery store. It’s early on a Friday, and both of you had found yourselves with the rare treat of being off work and out of classes at the same time. It would be a busy weekend for him, the last home stretch before Christmas. The 23rd and he’d be swamped at the bar the next two nights, facing the revelers returning home for the holiday, eager to get drunk on booze and merry joy. 

“Yeah. Don’t you?” He turns to press his mouth against your temple where you cling to his arm, slumped over the shopping cart he's been slowly pushing through each aisle. He has a list he’s not looked at once, throwing things into the basket thoughtlessly. When you get home, you know he’ll complain he got too much he didn’t need, but you keep quiet, happy to see him have his indulgence. 

“I do. Yeah.” You don’t know why the sight of the lavender scented softener makes you pause—the same one your mother buys for your parent’s home. Maybe because in some moments, the reminder that Din is also someone’s mother is more sobering and obvious than others. 

“Smells good,” he says as he reaches for a box of Scooby Doo fruit snacks. Two boxes of granola bars go in next, peanut butter protein for himself and double-chocolate puff for Grogu. 

Pressing your face into the hard muscle of his shoulder, you inhale deeply. Silently agreeing with a nod of your head, pressing your fingers into the swell of his bicep beneath the thick fabric of his dark hoodie. 

Tipping his chin, he gives you a sly, knowing look. “What?” He asks—half-crooked smirk. But you can’t even say, and anyways he knows. You drag your fingernails against his muscle, tummy going tight, hiding your face in the warm cotton, shaking your head. 

His laugh is soft and gently teasing. 

The post office is a mess after the grocery store, and the two of you stand in line for forty-five minutes, waiting to buy stamps and post the last minute Christmas cards to your friends you’d entirely forgotten about in the mania of turning in the final draft of your thesis to your advisor. Another thing that was in the home stretch—your fight to get your masters had been a long journey of indecision and self doubt, but you were so close to being done you could taste the freedom. Your edits were going smoothly, and your advisor, Luke, had been a great help this past year. Disheveled beard and mind in a million places at once, a little bit of a hippie, but always patient and kind and in tune with your wants and ideas when you were really desperate for him to be so. Din had been so supportive, as well. Staying up late with you when you needed to study or write, perfecting the art of a BLT and keeping you fed, because as he put it, there was much more to the construction of it than just bacon, lettuce and tomato. Even though they always ended up being nothing more than just that, it was the action that counted. 

You’d be presenting at the end of January, and you were looking forward to being done with school once and for all and being able to work. You’d been offered a position at the public library as the junior librarian over heading the non-fiction department, and you were more eager than words could express. It wasn’t only the idea of leaving behind your little job at the bookstore and being able to come home with something more than a meager paycheck, it was also the notion that you’d finally done something. You’d made a decision for your life, and you’d seen it through, and come January 19th with no extraneous tragedies, you’ll have succeeded. It wasn’t something you were used to, making a sure decision and seeing it to completion. Throughout the course of your program there had been so many times when you’d felt as if it was all a play-act, a game you were taking part in through each step and that eventually, the rouse would be up and you’d realize you weren’t actually passing your classes or enjoying the field you’d chosen for yourself or doing well at this thing you’d so agonized over the decision of. 

But here you are now. You’d committed to something and you’d seen it through and not only had you not coasted by, but you’d excelled to a degree that had gotten you a job you were extremely happy with. 

And amidst all this, there was also something about doing this and having the people in your life see you do this—having Din see you do this. Having Din see you commit to something and stick to it with your whole heart. You wanted him to know you were capable of such a thing. 

After the post office, he obliges you with a wander through the frantically busy Old Port streets. Picking up some last minute wrapping paper you’d been eyeing for the little box of earrings you’d gotten your mother, delicately hand-painted trees and golf leaf holly, some cigars for your father’s stocking. You purchase a box of assorted salt water taffy when his back is turned, large enough it should last him at least half the year, hopefully, considering the way he goes through it. And you stop to get a little cup of gelato to share between the two of you despite the twenty degree day. You walk slowly, your arm looped through his and your hands twined together, your fingerless gloves folded warmly into his fleece covered palms, protected. And this is how you best love being with him—sharing bites of sweet cream gelato from the tiny spoon held in his long fingered hands, he feeds you every other step—when he feels so yours. When he’s most like your boyfriend, and the whole world can see that the two of you are together so that it’s real, so that there’s proof and witnesses you can revel in. 

Perhaps it’s insecurity, this feeling. Low self esteem that demands constant reassurance. Perhaps it’s pride. Candid and unashamed elation you feel when people see the two of you on the streets together and know you belong to each other. 

He drives you over the bridge and into the Cape after lunch to pick up a package from your parent’s house that had been mistakenly delivered there. The place is quiet, neither of them home yet, but you can see the Christmas tree lit up and sparkling warmly through the large bay windows in the family room, your mother’s heirloom hand-blown ornaments backlit and glowing.

The kid is at a sleepover tonight, the last Christmas celebration for him and his friends before the 25th, smores and ghost stories and a game of white elephant. Making the most of your freedom, the two of you pick up large coffees before heading to the North Viewpoint to sit together for a few hours before Din has to head in for his shift at the bar. The sun begins to set at about four this time of year, and you’re able to catch the last fiery burst of it slipping beneath the water’s edge before you’re left in the murky darkness of the oceanfront. The horizon turns to a purple grey frisson you feel imitated in the over-eager beat of your heart. All there is to hear is the sound of your synchronized breaths and the furious salt spray crashing against the rock cliffs. It’s like you’re the only two people left in the whole world. 

It’s been a perfect day so far. 

Twin splashes of the Baileys you’d nicked from your parents house while Din hunted for your package, go into your coffees, and the two of you settle into a contented silence. The heater is on full blast, warming your frigid fingers and toes, while your Irish coffee melts you from the inside out. Makes you go all soft. The sweet of the drink makes you tipsy fast, and you eagerly go for a second helping from the thermos he’d prepared while he paces himself for his shift later. 

Frank Sinatra’s I’ll Be Home for Christmas comes on the radio, and Din drops your fingers he’d been playing with to turn up the volume. 

“This is my favorite one,” he says softly, reaching for your hand again and bringing it up to his mouth to press a kiss against the quickly warming skin. Your fingertips buzz and tingle, suppressing a heart-set-to-burst sigh, and you want to say that it’s your favorite too, all of it. The two of you here together, the overwhelm of the water, so dark if you were to fall in you’d surely disappear off the face of the earth never to be found again. The suspended stillness of you sitting here before it. 

This is the neighborhood you grew up in, the exact spot you’d had your first kiss at thirteen and then clumsily gone to second base a couple years later with your highschool boyfriend. Din had found that small piece of your history endlessly fascinating, knowing he was sitting in the place of your ‘historic first fingering’. You’d tried to throttle him when he’d said that, flushing with embarrassment from head to toe, and then a flush of a different sort when he’d made you come on his own hand afterwards. And in record time, lest he be outdone by the competition of your teenage past. 

But it was true, this was a place significant to your history, and now, it had become a place the two of you found yourselves at often, together. The playground of your upbringing you’d been able to share with him as much as he’d allowed. All the times he’d driven you over the bridge to your parent’s house to spend the night—never coming in, but always kissing you soundly and waiting to drive off until you’d made it safely inside. It didn’t hurt your feelings, you wouldn’t let it, his not coming in. And anyways, you’d never formally asked him except for that time your father had thrown your mother’s fifty-fifth birthday party. A large and extravagant thing because he claimed double fives were lucky. Din had played dumb until the last minute, and then politely refused, sending flowers in his stead. You hadn’t been upset because you’d expected the refusal. He’d claimed he couldn’t find a babysitter, lied, but you knew it was a hard limit for him. The metaphorical line that could not be crossed. Whether that was because it would inevitably be a hallmark simply too serious and devoted to come back from. Or, and more devastating an option to consider, because it was too hard for him to see the happiness that still lived through your family, the care and love you and your parents had for each other. The closeness. You knew. You know. You could see it in the look in his eyes when he dropped you off once a week for family dinner and a sleepover, wine nights and board games and things he couldn’t understand. Saw the way he’d look up at you the moment before you’d open the front door, eyes full of yearning and hurt for parents who would never again be. A look that said he didn’t think he could ever belong to something like that. 

His twelve minute drive to drop you off was enough. It meant more to you than perhaps it meant to him, his bringing you to the doorstep of your home full of love and parents who were still alive. So you didn’t, wouldn’t, let it hurt your feelings, his refusal to join you. 

And anyways, your mother knew all there was to know about him. Your father, aware of his existence but unwilling to extend the benefit of his doubt or any sort of grace because he held it against Din that he’d never shown his face in their home. He couldn’t understand, thought that getting the chance to be with you should’ve been enough to cure whatever past trauma kept Din from committing himself fully to his little girl. Your mother was keener, though, more understanding. Especially after you'd run into him once at the grocery store together. He’d had to run in unexpectedly for last minute cookie supplies Grogu had conveniently forgotten to mention he needed for school the next day. And the way Din had blushed and stammered, shaken her hand no less than three entire times, babbling about how he was so glad he’d gotten the chance to meet her, the glaze in his eyes when he’d looked at you, like he was begging you to see how pleased he was, how ashamed, how confused and hurt and shy and out of his depth. How desperate he was to be approved of but how unwilling he was to let himself be. 

Your mother had held your hand afterwards, in the car on the way home, while you’d been unable to hold back a few helpless tears for the heartbroken boy you couldn’t help but love. And still, you promised yourself your feelings weren’t hurt. You promised yourself it was enough and that you could understand. 

He takes a long pull of his warm drink, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, pressing your thighs together to assuage the tight heat in your belly. His cheeks are flushed with bright red splotches from the bite of the cold outside and the blasting heat of the car’s vents, the spike of whiskey, and you can see his eyes swing from one end of the dark ocean to the other. Wondrous, almost. You’d tell him you feel the same if you didn’t want to keep him. 

“What’re you looking at?” He says without turning, half smile and the flash of a dimple. 

“I think I’m buzzed already,” you mumble, cheek smooshed against the seatback. 

He laughs softly, corners of his eyes creasing so endearingly that your heart gives a stupid, pitiful throb. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Finally, he turns to look at you. You cross your legs tightly, can’t help it, and his gaze flashes briefly, knowingly, to your legs. “My little light weight. Can’t handle shit.” He chucks you under the chin, voice full of fondness, pinching the soft skin to pull you towards himself. 

“You know whiskey makes me drunk fast,” lashes fluttering as he presses a bitter sugared kiss to your mouth. 

“That’s your excuse for everything we drink.” You pout against him, breathing a don’t tease against his mouth when he kisses you again, changing the angle, deepening it, giving you his tongue. “It’s alright, I like you just the way you are.”

The sound of his favorite song throbs in your ears before it floats away, and then it’s just the sound of your heavy breathing again as you tug him closer by the collar of his sweater, wanting to pull him over the console and on top of you. His mouth slides a wet path over your cheek to suck on the sensitive spot beneath your ear he loves best, humming deep in his chest at the taste of you. 

Nothing has ever felt better than touching him. 

The hand at the back of your neck moves to your front, slowly pulling the zip of your jacket down; the sound loud and shocking amidst the heave of your panting. Despite the heater, you’re wracked with shivers as he pushes your jacket open and over your shoulder, cupping your breast as he sucks on your neck. 

“You gonna get in the backseat and fuck me?” He murmurs between wet kisses and a soft bite. 

He pulls you across his lap after your mad scramble between the seats into the back of his little 2008 hunk-of-junk Corolla, silver and shitty but reliable, according to Din. The space is too small for his tall frame, and the burst of biting cold that’s let in during his thirty second spin to join you in the back has you shivering against his broad chest. Long legs bent against your back and spread wide but allowing you ample space to sit on strong thighs. Now it’s your turn to taste him, scraping your teeth against the hard edge of his jaw while your cold fingers sneak their way under his hoodie, dragging your nails over the hard planes of his abdomen, pulling a gruff whimper from his throat. You spread your thighs wide, grinding down against the hard bulge in his jeans, finding the perfect angle to press your clit against the seam of denim. 

“Fuck, baby. Fuck me—” he moans your name and it’s the greatest sound in the world. Worth everything. 

Your kisses turn sloppy, desperate, fingers twisting tightly into his hair, pulling his mouth against yours until it hurts. And there’s something about the fact that no matter how many times the two of you do this together—whether it’s hard and fast in the back of a shitty car in the freezing cold or slow and deep and helpless, when he wakes you in the middle of the night, warm and naked in his bed, sliding over you and between your thighs, tasting your cunt before he’s pressing inside, needing inside of you—it’s always, always bursting with a sort of frenzy. A desperation, even in the slow, that helps make up for other things that might be missing—that proves a point. A promise in the way he touches you, like he’ll never get enough, like he’ll always want more, even if it’s just of this. 

When you pull him from his jeans, hot and heavy in your palm, his breathing goes ragged and the flush in his cheeks meets the hot splotchiness of lust crawling up his neck and over his jaw. His moan is broken, needy, head falling back against the seat and eyes rolling backwards, the soft curls around his ears damp with sweat. You lick your palm, gripping him tight and slick, twisting at the thick head as he tries to fuck himself into your fist, hips jerking helplessly. He’s yours like this. Gorgeous and vulnerable in the palm of your hand, moaning that you make him feel so good, that you’re doing it just right, that you’re his good girl. He wants you so much like this, gripping your hip with one wide palm, the other clutching at your ass to pull you in closer. You wrap your fingers halfway around the wide base, squeezing, other hand concentrated at the tip, working him round and round. You’d make him come like this, quick and sloppy in seconds if he’d let you, show him how good you are and how quickly you can make him feel better than anyone else ever has. 

But soon he’s demanding, “Inside. Want inside your cunt,” and shoving you sideways to rip your boot and one side of your leggings off, yanking the center of your thong aside to slick his tip against your swollen wet before he’s pressing against your entrance. All “Let me in. Let me in. You’re fucking perfect—” Chest heaving. 

He works himself inside slowly, in stuttered thrusts of his hips, moaning while he goes. Clutching at your hips and rocking you forward while he forces his way in from below. The sticky wet sound of your grinding against him, your clit rocking against his pelvis until you’ve taken him so deep the pressure is just this shy of painful so that you know you’re going to come quick and hard and wet. 

His hand snakes it’s way beneath your sweater, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers as he makes his way up your back, gripping tightly at the nape of your neck, squeezing, his other palm flat against the base of your spine to hold you imobile. Allowed nothing but the helpless jerk of your hips, chasing your pleasure, desperate for your orgasm while you feel him throb against the deepest part of you. 

“Please, Din.”

“Wait. Wait. Not yet. You feel so fucking good.” 

The sex is messy. He tells you he wants more. The wet sound of his thighs slapping against your ass as he starts to thrust again, gripping the swell of your bottom to bounce you on his cock, meeting each other on the up and down. In tune with one another’s bodies in a way you've never been with anyone else. Your cunt clenches tight, it almost hurts, and he laughs, bends his head to bite at your breast over the thick knit of your sweater. Please, baby, I want more. Hold on just a little longer. Your face and throat flush hot, burning, you can feel the sweat collect at your temples and along your spine as he tugs gently at your nipple with his teeth, fucks into you with snapping hips, the rock forward of your clit sliding against his hard stomach. 

It’s dizzying. You can’t help it. You come with a cry of his name, clutching him to your breast, wrapping your arms around his head as his bite turns reprimanding, “Fucking lightweight, I told you.” Another laugh that turns into a strangled moan when the heat of his come fills you as your muscles clench tightly around him. The gruff sound he makes: masculine, vulnerable again—the way you wish he’d always be��a mix of your name and a whine. Now that, that makes all the rest of it worth it. 

-

You’re supposed to meet Bo and her girlfriend for drinks at a new wine bar at half past eight. A cosy little place tucked into the cobbled streets of downtown you’ve all been desperate to try. She’d mentioned the plan every day for two weeks, giving away her nerves at the prospect of the three of you getting together. Likely afraid of your reaction at what you’re sure will be the announcement that she and Fennec are planning to move in together, news you've been expecting for a while and which you’ll take more than happily. They’re in love and your friend, who had always been known to be light and wandering as a butterfly in love, was ready to settle down and commit herself to someone she truly wanted to be with in a real way. There was never the possibility of your being anything but happy and excited for the two women. After all, you and Bo had been waiting for this for a long time, steadiness, commitment, a forsaking of that fear of forever you’d always found camaraderie in. 

And it only added to that keen sense the past few months had brought along, that the two of you were growing up in a real and immeasurable way. Your lives were changing, moving on, who you were as people was evolving. Leaving behind the last vestiges of your frivolous youth full of too much partying and more fun than anyone should probably rightfully have for something steadier, more reliable. Grown up. As much as you’d miss your friend, your housemate of the past five years, this move spoke well of what was to come for the both of you. 

Din makes the two of you a quick dinner before you have to part ways for the night—a creamy mushroom risotto and a crisp glass of white wine for you. The man likes to get you drunk and slutty. Watching him move around the kitchen, lithe and capable, makes you squirm for more of what he’d given you earlier, the sound of his moans in your ear and the wash of his hot breath against your throat while he throbs inside of you. 

The house is cozy, the warmth of the tree, the toys strewn across the living room floor, the precariously leaning tower of Din’s cookbooks at the edge of the kitchen counter, the overflowing pile of laundry on the sofa waiting to be folded and Grogu’s art pinned by spaceship magnets to the refrigerator door. Something you’d always admired in the way Din had taken on parenting his brother, the way he'd nurtured and preserved Grogu’s childhood, giving him the space and safety to be a little boy for as long as he needed without the pressure of feeling like he had to grow up too fast. Not the way Din had. 

He brings your dinner to you on the sofa, presenting it to you with a flourish of steam and his beautifully proud grin, like, look what I’ve made for you, aren’t I a nice boy? And the two of you sit side by side, thighs pressed warmly together, silverware clinking as you watch each other eat, giggling softly at one another for absolutely no reason other than that it’s been such a good day. All the best things the two of you do together, wrapped into a perfect set of twelve hours. 

Then, one of the more bizarre aspects of life: how everything can fall apart from one moment to the next. 

“You and Greg should come to dinner at my parents tomorrow night.” You don’t know why you say it, or where it comes from. “My mom would really love to have you, and she makes a great Christmas Eve roast.” Probably because it’s simply the truth. You want him there, quite desperately. Both of them. And your mother had asked. Your dad too, why he wasn’t joining you all, why he didn’t want to. 

You suppose you also want to hear why he doesn’t want to. What excuse he'll give. 

He goes silent, fork halfway to his open mouth, and a stupidly shocked expression on his face you could slap off of him. 

Suddenly, you’re angry enough you could cry. 

“My dad got some really nice wine too, something about a two thousand ten harvest—he said it’s something real special,” you press. “Do you want to come? My mom can make up a room for you guys so you don’t have to drive back, and then on Christmas morning we can—”

“No,” he says abruptly. “We can’t. What are you doing?” He sets his plate down loudly on the coffee table, the rattle of his fork making you jerk. 

Your throat convulses around a swallow, your own plate held shakily in your lap. You should stop, but you feel ruinous. Half-full and ready to self implode. 

It had been such a perfect day, resplendent with that knick of time possibility. That maybe forever tease. But in the end, what is this casual intimacy, and why does it always feel like a wait in line for the execution block? He should want to spend tomorrow with you, let it be another perfect day. 

“Why not? Why can’t you?” 

“We have plans already.”

“What plans? You’re just going to be here. My father wants to meet you.”

“Well I don’t want to meet him. What is it that you’re trying to do here?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head quickly in a nod. Okay. Okay. Open your eyes again. “Okay. Then tell me what your parents were like.”

He jerks back in a flinch. “What?”

“Tell me. You’ve never told me about them before. Not really. I want to know what they were like. All I have to go by is a fucking photograph I had to rifle through your drawers for. Do you have traditions for Christmas they left you with? What were they like? Tell me, Din.” Your tone is perfunctory, cold and biting, too fast and not the tender sort a conversation like this requires. 

And he gives you a sort of look—one that asks, are we really doing this? But you’ve already decided you won’t let him get away with it this time. You’ll ruin it all if you have to. And you know he won’t ever tell anyone else, so he might as well tell you. Right? You, who knows and cares and asks. 

Who else will ask you these sorts of things? You want to say. Who else will help you remember? Who’s going to love you like I do?

Your gaze is persistent, and he nods once, swallowing acceptance, finally understanding what it is you’re doing—ruining it all. 

“What is any parent that’s gone like? Perfect in your memory. I don’t know… They were real and busy and kind and thoughtless. All the things all parents are. But they’re absent now. That’s all I'm left with, which I hate. They’re dead, and that’s all they’ll ever be and I resent them for it. What else do you want me to say? What would I do at your parent’s house? I don’t know what I…I wouldn’t belong—We wouldn’t—” His jaw is set in anger as he says it, choking on his stumbled words. 

Your chest aches with a repressed sob, and you refuse to blink and miss a single second of this. 

“What were you like as a child?” He looks at you like he can’t understand why you’re doing this to him. 

“Solitary, but not lonely.” I’m equipped for this in reverse, you think. “And then Greg was born, and I was a kid for only a very short time longer. Why are you asking me this? I don’t have anything for you but sorry answers. Is this really the shit you want to talk about?”

You clutch your plate more tightly. “I want to kn-know you. I—”

“You do!” His voice goes from measured to a yell very quickly. “You know me better than anyone else! What more do you fucking want from me? Jesus Christ—” he spits, shoving himself off the couch to pace away from you, running his fingers through his hair, agitated, angry. You’re never satisfied, he says at the wall. 

It’s true. You’re not. 

It’s helpless. You feel big and greedy. You’re never going to be able to stop wanting more. And you’d always told yourself, tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow, it will—he will—be different. Something will change because it has to, because everything always changes. 

But you realize in this moment that maybe the only change here has ever needed to come from you. 

You realize that you’ve been eating your own illusions for too long, selling yourself snake oil. 

“I don’t want to be alone in this anymore,” you tell him. “I want more.”

“But what? What more is there? You’re not alone, and I don’t—” he makes some choked noise of frustration, “This is all I have to give. Can’t you see that? I don’t know—” The look he gives you, palms out and pleading, like some infinitely lost boy—half abandoned child, half apology. 

“I don’t know either,” you cut him off, setting your plate down next to his with a surprisingly steady hand. 

It’s a lost battle, no more starry eyed sleight of hand, all the cards are on the table. 

When you look back at him you can see the emotion choked behind his eyes. That you’ve pushed him beyond the line of his own reasoning and into hurt. But his comfort had to become secondary to yours eventually. You couldn’t tend to it forever with as much care as you’d always done without hurting yourself. 

And everything has a breaking point. 

“Maybe I wanted you to think of someone other than yourself for once.” You see the blow land. The snapping bone, wrong-thing-said reaction. It’s a lie, after all, you know it. A terrible lie, a terrible thing to say to someone who has so obviously given up everything and their whole life, their youth, for the sake of another, and done so gladly. 

Perhaps a wiser person would take this as reasoning enough for Din’s behavior. For his lack of ability to give more of himself to a relationship. Perhaps for someone more mature or with more experience, with a greater sense of self, it would be obvious, the fact that a person who’d lost so much of themselves so young found it hard to love, to give themselves over to partnership and the sort of commitment needed for a fully functioning adult relationship. But you can’t, or choose not to see it anymore. Perhaps you’re tired of fighting, of working so hard for it. Perhaps you’re tired of waiting. 

His face turns away like you’ve struck him, and for a long moment he doesn't turn back, but when he does there’s anger almost like hate, and his eyes are wet with tears. You wish you could be cruel, laugh in his face, but your own drip from your chin as well. And anyways, it’s so shocking there isn’t any room for cruelty. 

You go gasping fish silent, until he says, “I do. It’s just not you.” The salt lie drips from his long lashes and he moves, turning away from you towards the Christmas tree you’d picked out and decorated together, the gifts for his brother you’d chosen and wrapped with him. 

“What did you want here? From this?” Maybe he means the fight now, but what does it matter compared to the whole mess and lie of this entire fraught ordeal. 

“Well…” you stand, moving for your purse on the kitchen table. There is, in everyone, a limit to the amount of pain you’ll put up with for love. You can’t ever know the limit beforehand, but once you’re there, you know, and then it’s impossible to move the line. “I figured you’d love me.”

The word out loud is shocking, never before been said. 

You hear his stuttered breath, the way your words might make him angry. Throwing this lacking of his in his face—his inability to love the person who loves him. You think you should tell him that you’ll hate him now, but you’ve never been a talented liar. You think you should ask him if it’s such a bad thing, to want his love. But you know he won’t have an answer. You know he doesn’t believe he has it in himself. 

You move towards the door, pausing at the mouth of the hall to their bedrooms. The lopsided ‘Greg’ sign tacked to the kid’s door. The ‘E’ had been haphazardly turned into an ‘O’, a ‘U’ scribbled on at the end, the slip of the shaky marker bleeding out messily onto the wood of the door at the tail end of the letter. Like the child had been hasty in his vandalism and slipped, afraid he’d be caught by his older brother. 

It makes you smile dimly. 

And below that, in a green meld of water colors and marker and crayon, depicted in a manner so lovely it could only come from the imagination of a child, a drawing of the three of you together, stick-figured and holding hands. 

Like a family. 

“We’re eating each other alive,” you whisper at the imagination family. He moves forward, his socked footsteps towards your turned back.

You’re truly crying now, unable to hold back the sob of grief, of too much time wasted and a loss of yourself you’ve yet to fathom the depth of. He’s looking at your face again, finally, and you think, let this be the last time. Let this be the end of it now so that I’ll never have to feel like this again. 

He’s crying too, and you want to be angry at him, at the lie you have to take it for. He cannot cry and not love you back. It’s not possible. 

“Is that it?” All you can manage is a half nod that dislodges the cold tears clinging to your chin. “We had a good run,” he says like an almost question, and looks at you very sadly—tiny flame of struggling hope about to die. A held breath: should I go with grace? sort of look-back. But the gleam in his eyes, like he really might care, like this hurts, like he might feel anything—there are no notions of valor left. 

No benevolence to be found in this moment. You’re very tired. “Did we?” Head cocked to the side gracelessly. If ever you could hurt him the way you’ve been hurt here, now would be the time. The last chance. 

“Maybe not.”

We were so close. We almost had it. You’re so, so tired. You could sleep for an age. 

You take your hurt and go after that, not entirely understanding what it is that’s happened here between the two of you, why you’ve wrought it so suddenly. Also, relieved. That finally, everything’s been ruined for good. That there might be rest now. 

Christmas comes, neither one of you calls, there’s nothing else left to say. 

2. LOVE.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[bokutosbabe]

i didn't know the spotify wrapped event was ending n u were starting a new event ... 🍊 🍫 w sae😈😈

dawg I'm coming back to ur acc every day now I love ur works

💌

awee thank you so much, that's so sweet :,)

a sae itoshi chocolate covered orange

જ⁀♡⊹｡° don't you say you've missed me

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event !

♡ content — sae itoshi x gn! reader, ex bf! sae, sae itoshi x gn! reader, second chance romance, slight pining?, angst (kinda)

♡ synopsis — sae itoshi broke your heart years ago, and this simulation is giving him the perfect opportunity to do it again.

It was almost cruel how life worked sometimes. Out of all the people in the world, it had to be him.

Sae Itoshi stood across from you, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable as the instructor explained the expectations of the marriage simulation program. He hadn’t so much as glanced your way, and you hadn’t said a word to him either.

You wondered if he was as shocked as you were when his name was called alongside yours—or if he even cared.

The last time you’d spoken was years ago, back when the two of you were more than just strangers passing each other by. Back when his hand used to find yours in crowded places, and his words carried a softness that now seemed impossible to imagine.

Back when you still believed in him.

The shared apartment was unnervingly quiet that first evening. Sae unpacked in silence, his every movement precise and deliberate. You tried to busy yourself by organizing your side of the space, but the weight of his presence was impossible to ignore.

“So,” he said finally, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “This is awkward.”

You turned to face him, surprised he’d broken the silence. His expression was calm, but there was a faint edge to his tone.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Neither did I.” He looked at you then, his teal eyes sharp and assessing. “But it’s just a program. Let’s get through it and move on.”

His words stung more than you wanted to admit.

Despite his detached demeanor, Sae was annoyingly good at the simulation.

He remembered every detail the program tested on—your supposed "anniversary," your "favorite" flowers, even how you took your coffee. He played the part of the perfect partner effortlessly, charming the instructors and the other couples with ease.

But you knew better.

Behind the façade, he was as distant as ever. Every word he spoke, every gesture he made, felt rehearsed, like he was reciting lines from a script.

It reminded you of how things had been near the end of your relationship—the way he’d started pulling away, hiding behind excuses and half-truths until there was nothing left between you but empty space.

One evening, as you sat together at the kitchen table, going over the week’s assignments, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Do you even care about this?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Sae didn’t look up from his notebook. “What do you mean?”

“This.” You gestured around the room. “The program, the simulation, us. Do you care about any of it, or is this just another thing you’re good at?”

He finally met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you said, your chest tightening. “It matters to me.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his teal eyes piercing. Then he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s just a program,” he said quietly. “None of this is real.”

But it had been real once.

You remembered the late-night phone calls, the stolen moments between his games and your busy schedule. The way he used to look at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

And you remembered the way it all fell apart.

The arguments, the distance, the day he told you he was leaving for Spain—and the way he didn’t ask you to come with him. The way he didn't bother when you offered to do long distance.

The way he got over you so easily.

You’d told yourself you were over it. That you’d moved on.

But sitting there, across from him, the weight of everything unsaid between you pressed down like a storm cloud, and you wondered if you ever really had.

The final week of the program arrived, and with it, the “partner reflection” exercise.

Each couple was tasked with writing a letter to their partner, summarizing their experience in the program and what they’d learned. The letters would be shared during the final evaluation.

You spent hours staring at a blank page, the words refusing to come. What could you possibly say to Sae that hadn’t already been said—or left unsaid—years ago?

When the day came, you sat in the evaluation room, your letter clutched tightly in your hands. Sae sat beside you, calm and composed as always, his letter folded neatly on the table.

When it was time to read, he went first.

His words were precise, calculated, perfectly crafted to impress the instructors. He spoke about teamwork, communication, and personal growth, his tone polite but detached.

It was everything you expected—and nothing you wanted to hear.

When it was your turn, you hesitated. The letter in your hands felt heavy, the weight of all your unspoken feelings pressing down on you.

In the end, you set it down on the table, unopened.

“I don’t have anything to say,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

The instructors looked surprised, but they didn’t press you.

Sae didn’t say anything either.

The program ended the next day.

As you packed up your things, Sae lingered by the door, his expression unreadable.

“This was… interesting,” he said finally, his tone carefully neutral.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something more. But then he turned, his hand on the doorknob.

“Take care of yourself,” he said softly, without looking back.

And then he was gone.

As the door closed behind him, you felt a strange sense of finality settle over you.

Maybe this was how it was always meant to end—two people, once close, now strangers again, moving on in opposite directions.

You told yourself it was for the best.

But as you stood alone in the empty apartment, your chest ached with the weight of everything you’d lost.

i'm obsessed with 2nd chance romance

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[moonmaiden1996]

Sanji as a Romantic partner to a reader.

Okay, hear me out. Sanji is a flirty, chivalrous man with a tendency to be, well, a little extra. Some might call him a pervert because of his over-the-top reactions to women, and yeah, there’s definitely a pent-up side to his personality. I mean do I need to mention him nearly dying in the Fishman Island arc from lose of blood due to the near constant nosebleeds (not to mention *willingly* ready to die just to look at Shirahoshi) . But let’s take a step back and explore why he’s like this. I believe Sanji’s loving (and sometimes dramatic) nature stems from three key things:

His Respectful Nature

Sanji’s respect for women is unmatched. He’d rather hurt himself than raise a hand against a woman, no matter the circumstances. This isn’t just a quirk—it’s a deep-seated principle rooted in his past. Growing up with an abusive father and witnessing the mistreatment of his mother (which ultimately led to her death), Sanji likely developed a powerful desire to treat women with kindness and admiration. It’s his way of rejecting the cruelty he grew up around.

His Romantic Idealism

Let’s be real—Sanji is a hopeless romantic. He sees the best in every woman he meets and isn’t afraid to express his feelings, no matter how grand or unreciprocated they might be. One of the best examples of this is his dynamic with Charlotte Pudding. Even when she intended to deceive him, Sanji still saw her goodness and treated her with compassion. His romanticism feels like a shield against the harsh realities of his past—a way of holding onto hope and beauty in a sometimes-ugly world.

His Need for Love

Sanji’s childhood was, to put it lightly, rough. Between his family’s cruelty, the loss of his mother, and the trauma of being shipwrecked and adopted by Zeff, he’s been through a lot. It’s no surprise that these experiences left him craving connection and love. Sanji’s unwavering adoration for women is his way of forging those relationships and filling the void left by his turbulent upbringing. Does he have issues? Maybe a few. But underneath it all is a guy who wants to love and be loved in return.

So, Who’s Sanji’s Ideal Reader?

When it comes to the type of person Sanji would fall for, there are a few things to consider.

First off, as we’ve seen with Nami and Robin (especially Nami), Sanji gravitates toward women who can handle his enthusiasm. He’s not oblivious—he knows when people are using him. But because of his overwhelming need to serve and be useful, he doesn’t mind. In fact, he leans into it. Sanji is, in essence, the dictionary definition of a Golden Retriever Boy: loyal, eager to please, and full of boundless energy.

With that in mind, I think Sanji would pair perfectly with someone who has a soft-but-bossy vibe. Someone who exudes no-nonsense energy but can still appreciate his devotion. Aesthetic matters, too. Sanji loves beautiful things—not necessarily perfect things, but things he finds beauty in and he see beauty in most things (apart from Zoro). While many might imagine him with a girly-girl type, I think he’d be drawn to someone more unique—maybe a goth girl, a reserved librarian type, or anyone with an unconventional charm.

With that Sanji’s desire to worship someone comes hand-in-hand with his longing to belong. He wants to be someone’s, but he also wants someone to be his—someone who’ll let him dote on them endlessly while appreciating the loyalty he brings to the table but at the same time someone who is going to keep a firm hand on him and make him feel just as loved and wanted. Also, let not forget the reader will be pampered with endless butler serve.

And that reader is going to be in for a handful of trouble as Sanji is defiantly going to have a new dream ''Opening a restaurant on the all blue run buy a very noise and load family that he has made with the reader, theirs or adopted doesn't matter. He gives me wanting to a daddy figure vibes (especially with how he looks after Chopper)

So what do you think? I would love to hear you opinion!

[ickyrafe]

i feel like what the anons have been saying ab ward in the twin au is so…correct? Like I hadn’t thought about his place in it much but,

It’s literally CANON that Ward and Rafe have their own dick swinging contest about who is the man…and I feel like both of them would use reader as a pawn to upstage each other even more. It’s so twisted omfg like sometimes they forget that they are literally talking about someone they’re related to, then they remember, feel slightly sick about it and then the cycle repeats.

Anytime Ward is an asshole to Rafe reader would definitely console Rafe and Rafe would only say, “You and I have very different fathers.” So then reader would feel bad and guilt trip Ward later by being all weepy - bc she’s just as protective as Rafe, but not in the aggressive way like himself, more manipulative and conniving. Ward thinks she’s sweet and vulnerable because that’s who she needs to be for him to give her what she wants.

There are just so many freaking layers in this oh my god like Ward might even treat her like that BECAUSE she looks so much like his dead wife who, idk i read this somewhere, was the ‘perfect woman’ to Ward.

Furthermore!! In my head like the sick and twisted relationship (because let’s remember that incest IS sick and twisted) between reader and Rafe started because Ward was always a dick to Rafe and was always icky to reader like he would treat her like a mini wife as anons said. They sort of had shared trauma and because reader didn’t know anything other than Ward’s subverted love, she didn’t fully comprehend the reality of her relationship with Rafe?

Rafe on the other hand I think is a freaking messed up incel so he probably was jealous (like he is w Sarah in the show) of how ‘nice’ Ward treated Reader so he has the urge to be mean to her, but then he realises that he also wants to watch out for her so he can’t do that lmao.

Anytime Ward is an asshole to Rafe reader would definitely console Rafe and Rafe would only say, “You and I have very different fathers.”

oh my god like Ward might even treat her like that BECAUSE she looks so much like his dead wife who, idk i read this somewhere, was the ‘perfect woman’ to Ward.

i’m genuinely dizzy after those points… but i 100% agree with a good chunk of this, if not all of it. rafe and twin!reader are trauma bonded with every fiber of their being and bone in their body. even just from the perspective of them being the eldest, having to deal with losing their mother and ward spiraling for a bit. that being said i don’t think ward necessarily expects or forces reader to fall into the “wife” role at all nor does he mean to treat her like one at times… it just happens. if anything he does expect her to take on a lot of responsibility because as you said, all he can see is his dead wife when he looks at her. the mother of his fucked up children. i can see him turning to twin!reader for advice and comfort as opposed to rose A LOT, and it’s even more sick because he has her in his lap the whole time, using that tone that makes rafe want to beat his face in. the vibes in the house are rancid and twin!reader knows how to play both of them just right.

[atriza]

Behind the Spotlight

Yandere Idol Jay Park x Reader

Summary: As a member of a rising K-pop group, Y/N’s relationship with Jay Park is nothing more than a carefully crafted public image, one designed to please fans and keep the media at bay. But while Y/N tries to keep things professional, Jay’s obsession grows deeper. To him, their “fake” relationship is the most real thing in his life.

Word Count: 2,400

Trigger Warnings:

Obsessive behavior

Emotional manipulation

Control

Themes of unhealthy relationships

The flashing lights of the cameras, the screams of the fans, the rehearsals, and the endless practice—this was the life you’d signed up for. As a member of one of the top K-pop groups, your every move was watched, analyzed, and criticized. But there was one thing that always stood out, a constant in your life, like a shadow that followed you everywhere.

Jay Park.

On stage, you and Jay played the part of the perfect couple—laughter, playful touches, and the occasional stolen kiss. It was all part of the act, of course. A relationship designed for the fans, for the cameras, to satisfy the desires of the public who believed every scripted moment was real.

But you were beginning to wonder how much longer you could keep pretending.

---

You sat in the dressing room, staring at your phone. The notifications from your group’s social media accounts were endless, fan comments flooding every post. Many of them congratulated you and Jay on your “perfect” relationship. The images of the two of you holding hands, laughing, sharing intimate moments—they were all part of the illusion.

But when the cameras weren’t on you, when the rehearsals ended, there was a different story.

Jay was obsessive, possessive in a way you hadn’t fully realized until recently. At first, you thought it was just his personality—he was protective, always looking out for you, making sure you were well taken care of. But slowly, it started to feel like more than that.

He kept track of where you were at all times, made sure no one got too close, and always had an eye on you, even when the cameras were off. You had brushed it off at first, convincing yourself that it was just a part of the job, that he was only looking out for you, as any good “boyfriend” would. But then the small things started to add up—the way he would linger after every interaction, his constant need to know where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

One evening after a concert, you were chatting with your members backstage when you felt someone watching you. When you turned around, you found Jay standing just a few feet away, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin crawl.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice smooth, but there was an edge to it. “I need to talk to you.”

You smiled awkwardly, excusing yourself from your group. “Sure, Jay. What’s up?”

Jay smiled back, but there was something almost predatory about it. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You seemed a little distracted tonight. Anything on your mind?”

You forced a smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Jay didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied you with that same unsettling look. “You sure? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know,” you said, stepping back slightly. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, making your skin prickle. “I’m just—”

“Good,” he interrupted, his tone suddenly softer. “Because I don’t want you getting too close to anyone else, okay? You know I’m the only one who can take care of you.”

His words hit you like a slap, but you masked your surprise with a forced chuckle. “Jay, we’ve been through this. It’s just for the fans, remember?”

Jay’s smile faltered for a split second, but he quickly regained his composure. “I know. But sometimes, I just wish you could see how much I care. It’s not just for the fans, Y/N. It’s real to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had heard him say similar things before, but tonight, his words felt heavier, more intense.

“I know you care,” you replied, your voice wavering slightly. “But we can’t blur the lines, Jay. It’s part of the job.”

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “The job? Y/N, we’ve been doing this for months now. Do you really think I don’t notice how you act around me? How you look at me? It’s real. To me, it’s very real.”

You took a step back, your throat dry. “I think you’re reading too much into this.”

Jay’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. “No. I’m not. I know exactly what’s going on. You’re mine, Y/N. You’ve always been mine. And if you keep pushing me away, I’m going to make sure you see that.”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “Jay, this isn’t healthy.”

“It’s not healthy for you to keep pretending like we’re just playing a part. You don’t have to hide it, Y/N. I can make it work. We can make it work—no more pretending.”

The pressure in the room thickened as Jay took another step forward, his hand gently brushing the back of your neck. His touch was delicate, but you could feel the force of his need, his desire to claim you in ways that went far beyond the public eye.

“I need you to trust me,” he whispered. “This is real, and I’ll make you realize it. You belong to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the intensity of his gaze locked you in place. You couldn’t look away, and a part of you was terrified of what would happen if you tried.

You had always known Jay was possessive—had known he wanted more than what was shown in front of the cameras. But in that moment, you saw the full extent of it. This wasn’t just about the fans. This wasn’t just a show for the public. For Jay, you were his, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

---

Over the next few weeks, things began to feel even more suffocating. Jay’s constant presence was overwhelming. He was always there, always watching, always a step behind you. The lines between reality and performance blurred to the point where you didn’t know if you were living for the cameras or living for him.

Whenever you interacted with your group members or other idols, Jay was never far behind, hovering in the background like a shadow. He had begun to make his feelings clear, and every time you tried to remind him that your relationship was just for show, he became more insistent.

At a fan meeting, you were signing autographs when you felt a hand slip into yours. You looked up to see Jay standing beside you, his thumb lightly stroking the back of your hand. His gaze was soft, but the possessiveness was undeniable.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered, leaning in close. “Just remember who you belong to.”

You stiffened, pulling your hand back as politely as possible, plastering a smile on your face for the fans. “Thanks, Jay. I’ve got this.”

Jay didn’t seem to mind, his smile growing wider. “I know you do. I’ll be watching.”

As he stepped away, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach.

---

Later that night, after the performance, you found yourself standing alone in the dimly lit hallway, waiting for your ride back to the dorms. You checked your phone, but before you could even scroll through the messages, Jay appeared in front of you, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve been distant,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

You didn’t respond right away, not trusting yourself to speak. Instead, you focused on your shoes, feeling the weight of his gaze bearing down on you.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Jay took a step closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “I get it. But you don’t need to push me away, Y/N. I’m here. I’m always here.”

You took a deep breath, shaking your head. “You don’t get it, Jay. I’m not yours, not like that. We’re not... this isn’t real.”

Jay’s eyes darkened, the softness in his expression melting into something colder, more possessive. “Don’t say that. You’re mine, and you always will be. The only thing you need to understand is that I’m the one who’ll take care of you. You’ll see. Eventually, you’ll understand what I’m doing for you.”

His hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You’ll see, Y/N. I’ll make you see.”

And for the first time, you truly understood how far Jay was willing to go.

---

[isaiahking]

Isaiah watched Violet with a mix of admiration and concern. He knew how hard she worked to keep up the image of perfect happiness in the classroom, how she wore that smile like armor. But behind it, he saw the strain—the weight she carried quietly, the anxious thoughts swirling in her mind. She never let anyone see it, not even him sometimes, and though he understood her need to keep it all in, it hurt him. He just wanted to help, to ease her burden, but Violet had always been fiercely independent, even when it meant holding everything in. When she teased him about being a gentleman, Isaiah smirked, but there was warmth in his eyes. "Yeah, well," he said with a chuckle, "someone has to be, right?" He appreciated her playful nature; it kept things light when life seemed heavy. When she shifted the conversation to Ayiden and Reign, he could see the care in Violet’s eyes, the love she had for her son and the caution she took in every decision. He knew how deeply Violet felt everything, how she lived for Ayiden's happiness, and the fear she had of causing him more hurt. Isaiah respected her strength, but sometimes he wished she'd let herself lean on others a bit more. He gave her a soft, understanding look. "Finding somebody that loves you is important but he's got to realise that he's got a great kid to come and love too. Reign’s gonna prove he’s worth it - I know it. You are both similar. He's got Nalani. You have Ayiden. You both love deeply and show it." When she spoke about Leo, Isaiah felt his heart swell with gratitude. Violet had always been one of the few people who saw him clearly, and her support for his relationship meant the world to him. “Thanks, Vi,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Leo makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I know he feels the same.” Then, when Violet mentioned how quickly the last five years had passed, Isaiah couldn’t help but smile. His mind wandered to their future together, imagining the Christmas dinners she dreamed of—children running around, laughter filling the air. His heart swelled at the thought. " I can totally picture our chaotic, perfect Christmas with the kids. It’s going to be... absolutely perfect." Isaiah chuckled at the idea of Ayiden ‘practicing’ with Nala. He was already the best 'big brother' figure in the world, and the thought of him with more little ones in the future made his heart ache with joy. He was starting to experience life with having someone younger than him being around sometimes. "No matter what, Ayd's always going to be your perfect baby boy." Isaiah shot a fond look over to Violet's son. He loved him like his own. To distract himself, he picked up some leftover and chucked at his best friend's head before picking up another scrap and throwing it into his mouth. "Stop getting me all up in my feelings over here, you."

violet tried to make teaching her outlet for joy, her excuse to wear a constant smile. she never wanted the kids to see her sad. in the classroom, her life was sunshine and laughter, but outside of it? it was anything but perfect. her mind was a whirlwind of overthinking and anxieties she couldn’t seem to shake. she carried it all quietly, keeping her struggles hidden even from the people closest to her. when ayiden asked about her mood, she’d always give the same response: “i’m fine, my love, just tired.” it worked well enough, though ayiden often reminded her it was what she always said. “you’re not like a couple of teenagers because you’re not teenagers anymore,” she teased, winking at her best friend playfully. “but i wouldn’t expect anything less—you’re such a gentleman.” her smile softened as she continued, “leo deserves to be loved, and i know you’re doing an amazing job of that.” she shifted slightly, her gaze falling on ayiden playing nearby. “reign isn’t like the others i’ve dated,” she said thoughtfully. “i wouldn’t even consider this if he were. i don’t want any more assholes walking in and out of ayiden’s life. it broke him when austin stopped coming around—he cried for weeks.” her voice cracked slightly, but she steadied herself. “i can’t do that to him again. if this doesn’t work... i’ll stop trying. i won’t traumatize him because of my relationships.” but despite her worries, there was hope in her eyes. reign was different, perfect even. she wanted so badly for it to work, to have a love that could be a foundation for her little family. “that’s what makes me so sure about you and leo,” she said, smiling warmly. “you two are perfect for each other. he loves you so much, and you love him just the same. i couldn’t be happier for you.” violet’s gaze returned to ayiden, her heart swelling with love. he was her entire world, the love of her life. being his mom had once terrified her, but now? she couldn’t imagine her life any other way. in fact, she was open to doing it all again. and in some ways, she already was—with nala. while not her biological daughter, violet loved her as if she were her own. “those last five years went by way too fast,” she mused, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “but we’re strong, and we’ve got so much to be grateful for.” she chuckled at her best friend’s excitement. “i told you, the next step is you and leo having kids. i want to be an aunt so bad,” she said, grinning. “and you know i’ll love your kids with all my heart. ayiden will love it, too—he’s already practicing with baby nala.” her eyes lit up as she imagined it. “just think about it—our christmas dinner, with all the kids running around, laughing, and making memories. absolute perfection.”

[circlesthatyoufind]

i completely understand the bisexual headcanons but there is something so 👌👏👍🤌 about gay and lesbian steve and nancy. like...the comphet is brain deadening.

[hecksupremechips]

I’m not deep enough in the yttd fandom to really know if this is a controversial take to have but. I think soushin is interesting. I don’t think this in a “omg wow they’re soooo in love and I want them to be together” way, not at all lol. But I think to act like it’s impossible to see a romantic/sexual aspect of their relationship is really fucking stupid. I try to refrain from acting like there’s a solid truth to their relationship cuz the game isn’t finished yet so there’s always the likelihood that we’ll get more information later, but the thing that always gets me is when ai shin mentions that hiyori claimed to be an older student at his school but he later learned that wasn’t true. It sounds so eerily like a grooming story and the way we see human shin retreating into himself In reaction to that hits really hard, like he’s embarrassed it ever happened

Then there’s stuff like the detail that hiyori would always take pictures of shin without consent and would hang them up, or the fact that hiyori kept a personal shin ai for himself that he had control over, or the way that maple is supposed to parallel shin. It all just sounds like they had a relationship that blurred the lines a lot in a way that was very uncomfortable for shin. Moments like the shin ai sobbing and Hiyori saying “no don’t be like that show me your cool side shin!” and shin reacting to that, it’s like hiyori is trying to praise shin while hurting him. Seems way too much like a common occurrence

I think also (but maybe im just projecting) that shin is pretty queer coded in a lot of ways (hot springs scene, soft-natured personality that he tries to smother, his relationship with hiyori paralleling a romantic one, etc) and I think this plays into his relationship with hiyori a lot. Because of gender roles and toxic masculinity bullshit, i really doubt shins soft personality was allowed to fly under the radar for most people, so he was isolated a lot. Hiyori probably made him feel special at first with the way he seemed to like this about shin, but it becomes pretty clear that hiyori loves to fawn over shin and treat him like a cute baby and really only loves shins personality cuz he sees it as easy to take advantage of. I think it’s really easy to imagine a scenario where shin is a closeted teenager who finally has someone he feels he can confide in and hiyori blurs the lines between romantic and platonic a lot and shin latches onto this because he wants to feel like he can be loved by another boy and thinks this is his only shot. It’s way too common and all the pieces just fit right into place, you know? And I’m aware of the line where shin says hiyori is like an older brother to him but imo I think these two things can actually perfectly coexist cuz again, theres blurring of lines going on cuz this is an abusive relationship and feelings are being toyed with constantly

Basically all this to say, I very much think it’s likely that there was a romantic and sexual aspect to this relationship going on. I wouldn’t say they were labeling themselves as boyfriends or anything, more like it was a vague mess that hiyori refused to elaborate on. I don’t ship these two cuz I think it’s pretty clear shin wants out of this relationship, but I think inherently being mad someone wants to explore the idea of them having this kinda relationship is really ignorant and is only gonna result in only shallow ass takes about abusive relationships being allowed

[anthromimicry]

jandy nelson, i'll give you the sun | jean anouilh tr, by lewis galantière | @soulinkpoetry | trista mateer, the dogs i have kissed | the bible

[lovinglin]

My best bet in lore posting is if I just don't think abt it too much

[nessvn]

I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABT RAYMONDE

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Miss ma’am, hi hello how are you?

I am presenting myself here, very very humbly to ask if we could please get another part of your Nerd Nanami fic?🥹🥹 please please puhleaseeeeeeeee

That was an actual masterpiece, I had to read it very slowly and savour it, making sure to process every single sentence of that fic. You’re so talented it makes me cry

Please offer us more Nanami, pleaseeeeeee

Giving the nerd a chance… part two

Tags: nerd!Nanami x fem!Reader, college au, smut with plot, nsfw, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink, dom!nanami, sub!reader, marathon sex, exhibitionism if you squint real hard, mdni

Synopsis: Your nerdy boyfriend is so prim and proper in real life, but he has big dick energy over text.

An: 4K Follower Special! I got over 20 requests for a part two of this fic. At this time, it is my best performing fic on tumblr, and I fear… I may have peaked with it. I never EVER intended on writing a second part because I was sure that I couldn’t ever follow that fic up with something as good, but this sweet anon request warmed my heart so much that I decided to give the people what they’re asking for. This one’s going to be a long one… pace yourself because there will NOT be a third part… right?

Nanami’s a stoic lover. He doesn’t keep you hidden, but he doesn’t outwardly drag attention towards your relationship. Too much attention meant drama, and Nanami hates drama.

Nanami asked you to be his girlfriend a few weeks after the first time you two slept together. Of course, everyone in his friend group saw it coming long before you two had even hooked up.

They saw the longing gazes between you two when you pined for each other. They saw the cheeky glances once you two finally started texting. They noticed how their dear friend smiled more — was more laid back and relaxed.

Everyone welcomed you into their small found family with open arms. They simply couldn’t have picked anyone better to balance out Nanami’s far too strict nature.

Things with Nanami were absolutely a dream. You two had great chemistry emotionally and physically. Of course, he just made things so easy for you.

While he is a stoic lover, you never ever feel unloved by him. He’s always there to reassure you with words of affirmation or small touches that just remind you that he’s there.

Like when you two are at one of Satoru’s “exclusive” gatherings, if you’re not in Nanami’s lap, then he’s got his hand on you somewhere. Sometimes he gets so bored during those little get togethers that he spends his time leisurely pressing kisses into your cheek and neck. He never quite understood Satoru’s and Suguru’s affinity with public displays of affection until he met you.

Or there's those times when you need a little extra help with your studies. Kento is right behind you, with you on his lap, his cock is snuggly being squeezed by your warm leaking cunt. He presses small chaste kisses against your temple and ear while you try your hardest to focus on the homework.

"Do you remember this one, sweetheart? We went over it in class yesterday... Aw, don't go all stupid on me now."

When you get an answer right, he'll reward you with small, shallow thrusts, but you have to finish the whole assignment to get him to really fuck you.

Or if you two are walking together in the halls, Nanami holds his arm out for you, letting you latch onto him so he can guide you two through the crowd of people. He knows how you are in crowded areas, so he's keen on not letting anyone get too close to you.

Nanami’s a true gentleman too. His parents made sure they raised nothing less than a perfect man. You’ve never had to touch a door handle, any of your own money, or bags when you two go shopping. Nanami handles all of that for you. He doesn’t let you walk on the outside when you two are on the sidewalk. He’s respectful of you and your time, and he always listens to everything you have to say with his full attention because you deserve nothing less.

Nanami’s parents truly did their best work with him, and speaking of his parents, Nanami’s the type that wants to take you back home to meet them.

It was nearly fall break as you were sitting in your experimental research class — your final class before you’re free from the hell hole of academics for a full week.

You glance down at your phone as it buzzes in your lap. You and Nanami had been planning a trip out to his family’s home in Hakone for a little bit now, and the closer that time gets to you two leaving, the more stressed out Nanami feels.

Nanami: We’ll probably leave out early tomorrow morning and catch the first train. Will you be okay with that?

Yn: Mhm. That sounds fine, Ken.

Nanami: After class, I need to inform you a little bit more about my parents… I just don’t want you to feel shocked or surprised when you meet them.

Yn: I’m not sure why I’d be shocked or surprised, but I’m excited to hear more.

Nanami: Don’t get too excited.

You stare at his message for a bit, pondering what he could’ve meant by that. He hadn’t ever spoke poorly of his parents, but he didn’t necessarily praise them either. Actually… he never spoke of them.

*** *** ***

For the rest of the class, you wondered just what you were getting yourself into by going and meeting them. Maybe you two were moving too fast or..

“Sweetheart.” His steady voice broke your trance. He’s crouched down next to your desk to be eye-level with you, and the palms of his hand is gently caressing your cheek. “There you are. Spaced out on me.”

The entire classroom is empty. Class must’ve ended a minute ago because not even the professor is in the room now. You must’ve been deep in your own head.

You let force out an awkward laugh before nuzzling your cheek further into his palm, seeking out his affections as comfort from the insecure thoughts that somehow always manage to find a way in.

“I was just.. thinkin’ about your parents is all..” You finally give him some sort of explanation, and Nanami softens a bit.

“It’s just a weekend, my love. Then, I’ll make it up to you.” His words are a promise. You know for a fact Nanami doesn’t say things that he doesn’t mean.

“I think that was the part where you were supposed to reassure me that they’ll like me-“

Nanami pulls you forward and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll still love you regardless.”

Gods, his words are so sweet, but they cut deep like daggers.

“They’re… not going to like me..?” You mumble in a tone that makes Nanami’s heart sink. He takes your hands into his as he gets on his knee to better talk to you while you’re seated.

“My parents are… very traditional.” He carefully explains, and his hazel eyes search yours for a reaction before he reluctantly continues. “They want me to marry a girl from a specific family-“

“An arranged marriage!?” You blurt out — unable to control your emotions as it feels like your heart is trying to force its way up your throat.

“Something like that - but not exactly. It’s not arranged, but it’s definitely heavily pushed.” He tries to keep his tone steady, but seeing you so upset like this has him feeling raw with emotion as well.

“So, no, they will not be happy to know that I’m going against their wishes, but they’ll come around eventually.” His eyes focus on yours, and he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“… and if they don’t?” A small sniffle escapes you before you can stop it. The thought of Nanami being with anyone else has your head spinning. There’s another girl out there who might be expecting for him to take her hand in marriage.

“Hey... look at me.” He coaxes softly as his hand guides your face to look him in the eyes. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I’m doing this as a courtesy for them — not because I need their approval.”

Chills shoot up your spine from his words. Nanami rarely cusses, but when he does, it’s enough to even make Satoru blush when he hears it.

Your worry instantly flees your body when Nanami’s lips press against yours to seal the deal. This was just a visit to his parents. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“I’m still gonna love you…” He mumbles his words against your lips before seeking out more of your honeyed kisses. “…still gonna marry you one day…” His deep voice groans a little as he gently suckles on your bottom lip. “…still gonna fuck you senseless every night.”

“Ken..” A breathy whine; a whimper; a plea.

“Because you need it every night, don’t you?” His lips are still chasing yours with an insatiable hunger. It just wasn’t enough. If the next class wasn’t coming in the next 10 minutes, he’d take you right here on your desk, but he doesn’t fancy the idea of anyone else’s eyes accidentally falling upon your ethereal body.

“Mhm… need it.” You murmur against his lips quietly in agreement.

Nanami suddenly pulls away, and he reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist. “Come on before I fuck you right here.” He threatens and picks your bag up off the floor for you.

*** *** ***

A gasp flees you as Nanami pushes your back against his bed. His lips are immediately assaulting your neck: suckling soft red marks into your skin and nipping at you gently.

He loves to see the aftermath of his love on you, but he has to be careful this time. Can’t have you going to meet his parents with hickeys all over your neck, can you?

“Mmm~ What about Haibara?” You ask now before you find yourself too hypnotized by his affections.

“He has a class right now.” Nanami answers before his hand trails up your thighs towards your already damp panties. He has had this on his mind all day since he saw you in that cute little skirt you’re wearing.

“Already so wet.” He groans into your neck before biting at your shoulder. The pads of his fingers tease your sensitive clit through the cloth of your cotton panties. “Fuck. You’re so good to me.”

Nanami drops to his knees on the edge of the bed, and his strong arms pull you by your legs to where you’re situated at the edge for him to eat you out to his heart’s desire.

He doesn’t even remove your panties before he leans in and presses a sloppy kiss to your cunt. He can already taste you through the fabric, and he needs more.

His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and he tugs them down your legs, carefully placing them on his bedside table. If he can swing it, he’ll definitely hide them from you and claim that you lose them — just so he can keep them for when you’re not around.

He’s not a pervert!! Well… he loves jerking off into his girlfriend’s panties when he’s too needy at night… Feeling the wet fabric that was pressed so unceremoniously against your heavenly cunt is more than enough to get him off quickly. It would be ungentlemanly to wake you up at your dorm for such a scandalous adventure. At least he washes and returns them to you promptly after using them a couple of times.

As soon as your panties are safely discarded, Nanami has his face right back between your legs. He uses his hands to prop your legs up on his shoulder, and he just.. absolutely begins to devour you.

“Ngh.. oh fuck— wait Ken.. I wan..” You can barely get your words out right while his tongue is lapping at your slippery folds.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to interrupt someone during a meal?” His hazel eyes look up at you with such a serious look — you feel like you’re being scolded.

Your face flushes a bright red before you relax back into his bed — accepting your fate. Kento smiles to himself, knowing that it doesn’t take much to pacify you. You’re too much of a good girl for him.

“Mmm~ that’s right. Just lay back and take what I give you, pretty girl.” He hums in satisfaction as his tongue connects with your cunt once more.

He licks up all the sticky wetness that you so graciously leak for him. He’s so messy with it, practically french kissing with your cunt. Your juices are smeared across his chin from him hopelessly lapping at you. His tongue writes love letters to you against your clit, making your body shiver with pleasure and excitement.

One of your hands is clasping at the sheets, and the other hand is entangled in Kento’s blonde hair, giving him small tugs as he gives you the best head of your life.

Your thighs unconsciously press together, trying to run from the weird sensations that his mouth gives to you. Your boyfriend grunts in dissatisfaction — not enjoying the sudden disobedience from you.

His hand press against each of your knees, and he forces your legs back open — spreading you wiiiide open for him.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He asks while looking up at you through his lashes.

“Please — please~” You whine. Your hips involuntarily buck up, trying to get any sort of friction.

“Then be good, and sit still.” Nanami orders, and his hand ever so carefully swats at your sensitive cunt — sending shockwaves of electrifying pleasure through your nerve endings.

“‘m sorry.. ‘m sorry.. please.” You’re so whiny and desperate to be stretching by him. It’s honestly so pathetic that he pities you.

“My poor sweet girl.” He chuckles lowly before pressing a more gentle kiss against your clit. His tongue carefully dips into your wet heat. “Tastes too sweet for your own good. How am I supposed to stop enjoying you, huh?”

A glob of spit rolls down your cunt from Nanami’s mouth, and he uses his own two fingers to spread it around, softly toying with your glistening pussy. A smirk curls on his lips as he watches the way your entrance flutters — so enticed by the potential of being filled by him.

You quietly stifle a squeal as he stuffs you with two of his thick fingers. “So reactive, baby.” He murmurs as his tongue darts back out to gently lap and flick at your clit.

“Ken.. fuck, fuck-! Mmmph..” Your hips start to roll against his fingers, trying to force them inside you. Your boyfriend obliges your silent request, and he pushes his fingers in deeper, curling upwards to that spot he knows will make you cry out his name…

“Nanami-!” There it is. His fingers begin to roughly pump in and out, abusing your sensitive g-spot over and over again.

“Better be a good girl and tell me you love me.” He mutters lowly into your cunt. He knows he doesn’t have to tell you anymore — you’re already conditioned to tell him you love him when you cum. Even if he’s not the one making you finish, you’ll text him a quick “I love you” as you clench around your own fingers to the thought of him.

Your hips roll harder, and your moans are way more throaty — interrupted by small gasps for air. He can tell that you’re getting close. His mouth gently begins to suckle on the small bundle of nerves, and he focuses his tongue on swirling circles around your clit.

It’s all so much. It feels like Nanami is literally playing you like an instrument. He knows exactly what to do to make you a whiny trembling mess.

His fat fingers are pummeling into you, slamming into your sweet spot — making overstimulated tears well up in your eyes. “Sh-shit.. gonna cum.. Nanami… ah~ more..” You’re babbling utter nonsense while trying to find your orgasm.

Your stomach starts to clench, and it almost feels uncomfortable. Your breath stutters as Nanami murmurs into your pussy. “Let go for me, darling. Let it alllll out.” He encourages you as if his fingers and tongue aren’t absolutely tag teaming you.

“Ah~ Mmph… I.. fuck- I love you-!” You moan as you finally feel your orgasm suddenly break. Your tight walls clench around Nanami’s fingers, and fluids from your arousal gush out, making a big mess on his face and clothes.

Nanami quietly chuckles as he comes to realization that you just squirted on him. “Oh? That’s how you feel, huh?” He mocks playfully before pressing one last french kiss against your cunt. “I love you more darling.”

For a moment, you don’t know if it’s more directed towards you or your pussy.

*** *** ***

The early morning train ride was spent with your head cozied into Nanami’s shoulder as he had a protective arm around you. The scenery outside was beautiful. Hakone is known for their breathtaking sights of Mount Fiji. Too bad your eyelids were so heavy from getting up so early.

Nanami takes the silence as a time to reflect. He truly can’t remember a time when he was nervous like this. It was as if that emotion left him when he was a teenage boy. His family’s harsh regime for raising him left no room for shy or nervous behavior. Men were strong, confident, sophisticated. They exuded chivalry in everything they do.

Honestly, he’s glad that he was raised the way he was. Every time he bears witness to Gojo’s crude behavior, he can only think of how happy he is to have had a strict childhood.

But right now, he wishes he wasn’t so nervous. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s silently praying that you can’t hear it. Even though he didn’t care what his parents thought of you, he didn’t fancy the idea of seeing you torn down by his parents. Hopefully, they’ll have enough class to take up the issues with him — not you.

*** *** ***

Nanami’s parent’s house had a very traditional vibe to it, and it was easily twice as big as the house you grew up in. It was beautifully decorated, and the lawn was obviously meticulously cared for. It makes sense that Nanami grew up here.

“Just one weekend. Then, we’ll be back to normal.” Nanami murmurs softly into your ear. Though, he doesn’t know if he’s reassuring you or himself at this point. He takes a deep breath before knocking on the door with a heavy fist.

“Oh, Kennn.” His mother immediately ran up to Nanami and gave him a big hug after answering the door, which he returned back to her.

“It’s good to see you, mom.” He responds heartily before he holds out his hand to his dad.

“Look at you. Our son has grown up on us.” His dad gives a sweet smile while gently nudging his mom with his elbow.

“Don’t remind me!” His mom practically wails with her arms still wrapped around Nanami, and you’re awkwardly on standby.

Nanami finally puts his hands on his mom’s shoulders, and he forces her to take a step back. “It hasn’t even been that long since you two saw me, and besides, I brought someone for you two to meet.”

His arm carefully wraps back around your waist, and he looks at his parents before collecting himself briefly. “This is my girlfriend, Yn. Yn, these are my parents.”

His mom’s smile falters almost unnoticeably, but you immediately pick up on her dissatisfaction. His dad seems to just he surprised.

“Ah, yes, welcome to our home, yn.” His dad finally says with an earnest smile, and he subtly nudges his wife. It’s definitely a silent reminder for her to stop looking at you like you’re an intruder.

“Your home is lovely, Mr. and Mrs. Nanami. It’s nice to meet you two.” You try your best to not sound nervous at all, but his mom’s face just makes your stomach turn.

His parents guide you through their home, but they mostly focus their attention on Nanami: asking him about his studies, asking how Gojo’s doing, and asking if he’s contacted some girl named… Allegra. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was the girl who they wanted him to marry instead.

They didn’t ask you very many questions. His dad was friendly, but it seemed like he was tip toeing around all the awkward tension. His mom was just flat out ignoring your presence — clearly in denial about her son having a girlfriend who wasn’t this mysterious Allegra girl.

When it came time for dinner, his dad finally broke the awkward tension and asked about you.

“So yn, you go to the same college as Kento?” His dad seems to be genuinely sweet — just more on the passive shy side.

“Yeah, Ken and I actually share quite a few classes together.” You smile as your utensil grazes along the food they prepared. It smells delicious, but your nerves will barely allow you to nibble on it.

“What are you studying?”

“Oh, I’m in general studies for now. I’m still deciding on what to major in.” You reply as you finally feel yourself beginning to relax in your chair.

“Did you tell your friend that Allegra is studying to become a doctor? Wouldn’t that be nice to have in the family?” His mom finally speaks up, only addressing Nanami and not you.

Your stomach sinks as you realize why Nanami was so apologetic and reassuring this entire time. He knew his mom was just going to take subtle digs at you the entire time.

“One, she’s my girlfriend — not friend. Two, no, I have no reason to speak about Allegra with my girlfriend.” Nanami responds, and he gives his mom a subtle look. It appears they have a brief challenging moment before his mom looks away and relents.

Nanami’s foot gently nudges yours underneath the table, and you try to give him a small smile in response. It’s just hard when clearly you’re not wanted in this household.

The dinner goes silent for a moment, and the dining area fills with the sounds of chopsticks gently touching against plates. You subtly check your phone for an escape.

Nanami: Don’t pay her any mind, okay?

Nanami: I promise I’ll make up for this tonight. I’ll kiss you for every rude thing she says.

Yn: and for every time she says Allegra?

Nanami: I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember her name… make you so dumb until you can only remember my name. That’s all you need to know anyways.

Yeah, that’ll do it. The negative emotions are gone — replaced by a feral need for his cock. You take a subtle breath before putting your phone away, not wanting anyone to accidentally see him dirty talking you right in front of his parents.

“Ah, do you think you can help me out with the car tomorrow, Kento? Your old man is getting too old and worn out to crawl underneath there.” His dad finally breaks the silence once more.

“Of course, dad. What are you needing done on it? I’ll probably wake up early and get it done before day breaks.” Your boyfriend is such a good son. It’s no wonder that his mom is stupid protective over him.

“I just need to breaks changed on it. It’s probably due for an oil change too.” His dad explains, and Nanami assures him that he’ll get it done.

“I didn’t know you knew much about cars.” You take the chance of speaking up, and Nanami’s hazel eyes meet yours. His face instantly softens, and his mouth opens to speak. Too bad his mom beats him too it.

“Of course, he does. He needs to know all sorts of things like that in case his future wife needs her car repaired.” His mom says with a hint of hostility in her tone. “Speaking of which, Allegra just bought a new car a few months ago.”

You sit in silence for a moment, and you feel your stomach twisting in discomfort. You don’t know why you care so much for this woman’s opinion of you. Nanami already warned you that they likely wouldn’t approve of you, but you didn’t know you signed up to practically be bullied all weekend.

“I know a few basic things about cars. Nothing major.” Nanami responds to you — ignoring his mother’s comments. “I can show you too if you’re interested.”

A small smile curls on your lips, and you swallow back your emotions— trying to stay strong for him. “That’d be nice.”

“You definitely have a….”

“Mom.” Nanami immediately warns, staring down his mother before she can even finish her sentence.

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything mean.” She’s immediately on the defensive, casually laughing as if she’s been nothing but friendly this entire time. “I was just going to say that your friend certainly has a bold personality… wearing red to meet someone’s parents is definitely… a choice.”

Your eyes look down at the nice blouse you’re wearing, and you swallow harshly. Nanami was actually the one to pick it out for you. He reassured you this morning that you looked gorgeous — unknowingly signing you up to be bullied.

Your face is burning hot with embarrassment, and you wish you could just fold in on yourself and die right on the spot.

“Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.” Nanami frowns, and he puts his chopsticks down on his plate. “I’m serious. Being a bully at your age is unbecoming to you as a mother.”

“Kento.” His dad warns, but Nanami doesn’t relent for a second.

“No. I’m not going to sit here and allow her to continue disrespecting my girlfriend like that.” Your boyfriend retorts, and he switches back to glaring at his mother. “I’m not dating Allegra — nor do I want to. I’m doing you a favor by introducing you to yn. I figured you’d like to know your future daughter in law.” He gestures to you,

The color leaves his mom’s face as she stares back at her son — as if him implying that he is going to marry you is the worst news she’s ever heard. Her eyes cut over towards you in a vicious glare. “How long have you even known my son?”

Your heart is beating straight through your chest. Confrontation isn’t your strong suit, and to be honest, his mother was terrifying even though she’s literally shorter than you are.

“W-well, we met in college so…” You inwardly curse for stumbling over your words, and Nanami frowns as he looks at you. He hates that his parents are making you so unsure of yourself and your role in his life. He wants to take all your insecurities away and make you forget this ever even happened.

“It’s not even been that long! You don’t even have history with this girl. Allegra was your first kiss.. your first everything!” His mother raises her voice at Nanami, making exasperating hand motions.

His first everything? He told you that you were his first.

Tears prick into your eyes before you can even think to stop him. Overwhelmed by shame and just utter defeat, you don’t even know what to do other than to hide and cry.

Nanami’s eyes widen as he sees you clearly trying to cover up the tears streaming down your cheeks. His jaw tightens as he returns his gaze to his mother.

“That’s funny. I don’t recall you ever being present for any of those things.” His mom starts to speak up, but he is quick to shut her back down. “I kissed Allegra because you were breathing down my neck to. I was barely 15 at that time, and it happened once. That was the first and only time I ever even touched her.”

His mom starts to try to speak up again to probably bring up some other point about why he should be with Allegra. Nanami interrupts her again.

“Allegra and I do not like each other. We hardly tolerated each other for yours and her parents’ sake. You have to get over it. I’m with yn, and I’m happy — happier than I’ve ever been. She was my first everything. My first real kiss, my first girlfriend, and since you seem to want to stick your nose so far in my business, she was my first in bed too.”

“Kento, you’re being incredibly disrespectful.” Her voice is much more strict now as she scolds her grown son.

“I wonder where I get it from. It seems as though we both have a propensity for being rude.” He retorts, and while he’s arguing, his hand slides over to your inner thigh under the table, and he gropes it harshly.

He’s so pissed. He doesn’t even know how to get rid of this anger. His hand squeezes your thigh tightly, making your face go bright red as you look away from everyone.

“I’m not accepting her into this family. You can forget that. She’s changed you.” His mother’s words are growing harsher, and his dad is trying to quietly calm her. She doesn’t pay him any mind though.

“Fine. We’ll just go make our own family.” Nanami scoots his chair back, and he stands up. His hand roughly pulls you up as well — not giving you a chance to even think about what he just said. He bends down and effortlessly throw you over his shoulder, making you gape in surprise. His arm securing you by wrapping around the back of your thighs. “And by the way, I chose the red blouse. It matches the cute bra she’s wearing that I also chose for her.”

His parents stare at him — both completely dumbfounded by what just happened. They didn’t raise him to be like that, but what were they going to do?? Stop him? That’s a laughable thought. You’re not even sure God himself could pull Ken off of you when he’s feral like this.

His footsteps are heavy as he stomps up the stairs towards his teenage bedroom. Nothing has changed since he was last in here. It’s still completely sterile from how he was made to clean it each day. The walls are littered with posters of various science related things, and he has some posters of older video games he use to enjoy.

Your body is practically flung onto the bed, and Nanami doesn’t waste a single second. His heart is pounding in his chest. His mind is fogged with pure anger. He hasn’t felt like this in so long. It reminds him of why he took up going to the gym.

With no punching bag in sight, you’re his only outlet.

His body is unwavering on top of yours — a force to be reckoned with, and his mouth immediately connects with yours in a suffocating kiss. Quiet hums and moans fill the air between you two, and he quite literally steals the breath from your lungs. His fingers wrap around your wrists easily, pinning them above your head on the bed.

No longer satiated from robbing you of your breath, Nanami trails his kisses down to your neck. To hell with not marking you — he needs to see his brand on your neck. You’re his, aren’t you? Who cares if his parents see?

“Ah~” You let out a breathy whimper as he angrily sucks and bites on your neck. Your skin is sensitive - already turning bright shades of blue and purple from his mouth. His dental imprint litters your neck and shoulders.

“K-Ken.. what about..?” You start to ask about his parents. They’re going to hear you two. Wouldn’t that just make things worse?

“Don’t care.” He responds so brashly. If he thinks about his parent’s behavior any longer, he’s going to need to fuck you into next week to get all his anger out.

Riiiip!

Your eyes widen as you look up at your boyfriend’s hulking figure. The blouse that you were just criticized for was now more like a coat, split down the middle, revealing your perfect breasts, so prettily on display in your red lacy bra.

His mouth waters as he looks you up and down. You have almost this panicked look in your eye, provoked by his unpredictability, and for whatever reason, it’s driving him insane.

His mouth is back on you like it never left: kissing and biting on your mounds, painting them so beautifully with his mark. “You’re mine.” He grunts lowly. His jealousy almost makes it sound like his parents were insinuating that you should marry someone else.

“Say it.” He demands before his teeth graze over your collarbone. His warm breath fans over your skin, making you shiver.

“Yours.” You comply with such a small whimper, and your body jolts when you feel his raging bulge rub against you.

“See what you do to me?” He rumbles lowly as he looks down to where he’s now shamelessly dry humping you through clothes like he’s a horny teenager.

“Fuck… Ken..” You whisper as you’re also mesmerized by the sight. His slacks are completely taught, outlining the shape of his cock so well. You can almost see the veins that protrude on him.

His hips rolls slowly against yours, savoring the way the fabric rubs against him and you. His dick is painfully throbbing — begging for the reprieve of being squeezed by your gummy walls.

“Are you as much of a mess as I am, baby?” He asks as his hand dips into your pants. His eyebrows furrow, and he lets out a low groan as his fingers are instantly coated in your slick. He slips his hand back out of your pants just to slide his fingers into his mouth. He holds eye contact with you as he hums in satisfaction. He'll never get enough of your taste.

“You want this, don’t you? Want me to fuck you where my parents can hear you?” He slides his hand back down into your pants, and his fingers rub tight, firm circles against your clit, making your body squirm from pleasure.

“Nngh~ ah!” You’re already so noisy, and he hasn’t even began fucking you yet.

“Give ‘em a show, baby. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”

“Mmm~ Ken…” You moan as your back arches up off the bed. His fingers press down harder on your swollen clit.

“You can do better than that, darling.” He can be so condescending in bed, using that insatiable need for praise against you.

“Ken!” You shout, all logical thought has abandoned you. He tells you to do better? You do better.

“Good girl.” He purrs before sliding his hand out of your pants. He can’t get your clothes off of you quick enough. His cock is beckoning for attention, still neglected from yesterday of just eating you out.

Your hands shakily try to unbutton his shirt, and he chuckles lowly at your pitiful efforts. “Aw, my poor girl. Already so shaken up. Go on. You can do it.”

You huff at his taunting. Usually, he’d just see you struggling and take off his clothes for you, but today he was thriving off watching you so desperately trying to get his clothes off him.

It takes you a minute to get his clothes off him, and you don’t even properly take off his pants. You merely shoved them down along with his boxers just low enough for his monstrous cock to spring out. Nanami merely watches you with a cocky smirk.

“Yeah? This is what you wanted?” He purrs lowly, and he carefully drags his tip up and down your core, smearing his precum along your lips as if his tip was giving you a sloppy kiss.

“Gonna take all of it, aren’t you?” His other hand releases your wrists, and he lovingly cups your cheek. His hand is so big compared to your face. He loves watching you nuzzle up into his palm.

You nod your head quickly in response, lifting your hips up to meet his with each slow movement. Wet slippery noises from your cunt weeping for him fill the room.

“Use your words.” He demands before he speaks up louder — just to spite his parents who are right below you two. “I said. You’re going to take this dick like a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” You whine before your body is completely shell shocked from a quick slap to your cunt. His cock is so heavy — you can feel the weight of it as his rudely smacks it against you again.

“Louder.”

“Yes sir-!” You immediately oblige, following his commands without a second thought in your brain.

His lips curl into a lopsided grin, and he carefully guides his sweltering tip towards your entrance, plugging your hole with just his head.

“Keep being a good girl like that, and I might have to give you baby. Do you want that?” He asks while carefully stretching you by fucking his tip in and out of your tight hole. “You wanna have my baby, don’t you?”

“Ffffuck- Ken! T-too much..” You squirm your body against his bedsheets, and he chuckles at your poor attempt at getting away.

“You clearly want this, so why are you running?” He hands latch onto your thighs, and he pulls you back down towards him, inadvertently impaling you even further on his cock.

A smug chuckles bubbles up in his throat as he sees how much of a mindless mess you are. He loves how he can make you all dumb so quickly with his dick. It brings him great joy to know that you trust him and can just let go, letting the more primal urges take over.

“Mmm~ so tight and wet for me, aren’t you darling? Need to just let Ken take care of you, yeah?” His voice is like velvet as he slowly thrusts himself in and out, sinking deeper into you with each movement, splitting you wide open.

“Ah~! nnnnn… so good.” You manage to whine out.

“What a crybaby. I know you can take me better than that, darling.” Nanami gives you a soft kiss on the forehead before his large hand wraps around your neck, applying pressure in just the right spots to make you all lightheaded.

"Come on. Show me how good you can take it~" His hips snap forward suddenly, sinking his full length deep inside you. Your eyes roll back into your head as he takes full control over you.

His hips are pounding forward, bumping his tip right against your cervix with every mean thrust. His balls are heavy and slapping against the flesh of your ass — a reminder for how pent up he's been recently.

Maybe it's the lack of an orgasm for the last couple of days or maybe it's his parents being utter assholes to you, but Kento finds himself feeling frustrated all over again. Low grunts and growls escape him, and he uses his grip on your neck to push himself in even further -- harder.

The sound of skin clapping against skin fills the room, and his childhood beds starts to squeak out with each forceful blow. He knows for a fact that his parents can hear every single noise. The thin walls of this house absolutely hide nothing. He may as well have fucked you right there against the kitchen table to really prove a point.

"Fuck-! Kenkenkenken! Ah~" You can't even form sentences much less words other than his name. Before you can even warn him, your walls begin to pulse around him - practically milking him while your orgasm takes you over. "Nnngh~ I-I love you.."

"Mmnn~ I didn't tell you that you could do that, sweetheart." He hazel eyes bore into your very soul as his grin shifts to a more wild one. His hips move with even more vigor as if he's trying to push himself straight into your womb,

His hand lets go of your throat, finally allowing you to get a deep breath of air while trying to cope with his massive size pumping in and out of you as if you're nothing but a senseless fuck toy, but you clearly fucking love it. You're practically dripping all over him, soaking his bedsheets in your arousal.

At this point, his parents aren't sure if he's killing you or fucking you. Either way, they're too afraid to intervene. They didn't raise a gentleman at all. They raised a monster.

"Mmph... Need to give you a baby. Can I? You'd make such a pretty mama. School be damned. I need you." Normally, Nanami is pretty controlled over his pillow talk. He's really good at it, but right now, he's completely lost in you -- just babbling promises of giving you a baby and marrying you.

"Y-yes, Ken! Fuck... give me a baby, please." Your legs are trembling around his waist, and your fingernails are giving him such pretty decorations along his back. Small trophies for fucking you just right.

"Fuuuck- Take it. T... take it all..." His voice is a gravely groan as his cock twitches inside you, spilling all of his seed directly into your tummy. It's so fucking much from holding back for a couple of days - completely filling you up. "I love you so much. Gonna marry you one day."

The house is eerily silent for a moment as both you and Nanami catch your breaths. He stays planted on top of you, keeping your legs hooked around his waist. Small creaks of footsteps against a floorboard fill the air, and you tense up, thinking his parents were going to come in there and raise all sorts of problems.

Nanami gently strokes your face with the back of his hand. "Shhh, they're not coming in here. Promise." He whispers lowly, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You slowly relax in his arms, trusting his words that his parents weren't going to come in there.

You can hear a door open and shut, and it sounds like bickering back and forth between his parents.

"See? They're just going to bed." He presses another reassuring kiss to your cheek.

His hips continue to lazily pump in and out of you, basically fucking his cum back into you as it seeps out. His cock is hyper sensitive, but he can't get enough. You're completely drenched for him. You deserve more of his loving.

"Keennn~" You whine quietly, shifting in the bed slightly as your legs are all achy and sore from him taking out all of his anger on you.

"What is it, baby?" He asks in a hushed whisper against your ear. His breath tickles your skin, making you slightly squirm in response. "I'm just making sure it takes, yeah?" His cock sinks further into you, already growing hard all over again even though he just finished.

"Mmmph~" You hum as your eyes slipped closed. Nanami smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead, knowing that you're already needy all over again for him.

"Answer me, darling. Want me to stop?" He asks while peppering kisses all over your face. If the last round was about degradation and taking his anger out, then this one was about how much he loves you and can't get enough of you.

"Nonono... don't stop, please." You murmur out quickly, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.

"That's my good girl... Always needin' more, aren't you?" He hums lowly, and his cock pumps in and out so slowly, delicately smushing against your cervix with each loving thrust.

"Mmn.. I love you." You slur out, completely cock drunk at this point. Kento just smiles and continues to dote on your with messy kisses against your cheeks and neck. His hand is gently massaging your breast, just barely teasing your nipple while he makes love to you.

"And I love you, darling." He responds before he feels you squeezing around him already. "Oh pretty, again?" He asks as his eyes look down to your fluids gushing around his length. "Such a mess. How are we meant to sleep on these sheets now?"

"'m sorry... I c-couldn't help it. 'm so sorry." You whimper as your face dips into his shoulder, hiding you obvious embarrassment.

Kento's arms wrap around your waist, and he uses his hold on you to drag you up and down along his length — still moving at such a torturously slow pace, making you feel every inch as it enters you.

"Aw, that's alright, darling. I'll clean us up. Just take a little bit more for me, yeah?" He whispers into your ear while your pelvis is slotting against his. He's damn near holding you up into his arms. Lucky you for having such a strong boyfriend.

His lips find yours for a messy kiss. His tongue slips past your lips, claiming your mouth as his completely. A few seconds later, his cock is pumping you full again with his cum — still so much on the second round.

Without even missing a beat, Nanami's mumbling breathily in your ear. "Mmm, I know I said I'd clean us up, but you wouldn't hate a third round, would you?"

*** *** ***

Nanami didn't wake you up the next morning to watch him work on the car. He knew your poor little body was put through the ringer yesterday, so he gave you a tender kiss on the temple before making his way into the garage in just his sleeping pants and socks.

His father's car was already propped up on the jack, and his father groaned as he leaned up off the ground. "Well good morning." He says in a knowing tone.

"Good morning. Why are you down there? I told you I'd fix it today." Nanami asks as he shoos his dad out of his way, and he slides himself underneath the car.

"Well, I didn't know if you'd be up for it after your fun ventures last night." His dad hands Nanami a tool to help get the brake pads off the car.

Nanami stays silent. In his new found clarity, he does know that fucking you so loudly to where his parents can hear was a weird retaliation method, but he doesn't regret doing it.

"Your mother cried all night last night."

"Maybe she needs a reality check if she's that damn upset about who I choose to romantically involve myself with." Nanami rolls his eyes, and he grunts as he forces the brake pad away from the car.

"I don't think she was crying because of that. I think she realizes just how far she drove you away from her with her constant pressure over your love life." His dad explains, and he hands Nanami the new brake pad to replace on the car. "I'm not saying you or yn have to forgive her for how she acted today, but I am asking that you try to give her another chance today. I think she understands now."

Nanami takes a deep breath, but he nods quietly. "She's got one more time to say anything rude to my girlfriend, and we're taking the first train back to the university."

*** *** ***

Your eyes darted over to Nanami's nervously when his mother asked you to have a girl's day with her, but your boyfriend gently rubbed your back, silently assuring you that it'd be okay. At least, he hoped it'd be okay.

Nanami: Text me if she says anything rude. I'll pack our stuff up and we'll leave, okay?

Luckily, you didn't have to text him at all that day. His mom took you sight seeing around the town, out to eat at one of Hakone's favorite restaurants, and you two got your nails done.

"You know, I was being a bad person yesterday." She starts off as you two are sat next to each other. Her feet are being massaged by one of the workers, and you're getting your toes painted. "I guess I just had this idea of how I wanted Kento's life to go, and when things started not going to plan, I started trying to grasp onto anything that'd give me control."

You glance over at his mother, and she has a small nostalgic smile upon her face. "I can't believe I allowed myself to act that way towards you... especially after my parents did the same thing to Kento's dad."

"Your parents didn't accept Kento either?" You curiously ask, wondering how similar your stories were.

"No, but they didn't try to arrange me into a marriage either. They just didn't think Kento's dad was manly enough for me. They didn't like seeing me wear the pants in the relationship, but that's just what works for us... I use to beg for them to just let us be happy, but they never stopped criticizing him. I finally just.. stopping talking to them when I fell pregnant with Kento." She explains in a voice raw with emotion. You can clearly see how this still impacts her to this day.

"I don't want Ken to do the same to me... I want to be in his and your life and my future grandchild's life if that's what you two choose to do. I raised him well, and I know he has a good judgement of character. So, I know you must be a good person. If he's happy, then that's all that matters to me." She goes on, giving you a small apologetic smile. "I'm really sorry for how I acted towards you last night. It will never happen again."

*** *** ***

Nanami had spent the whole day checking his phone religiously while his dad kept him employed with random home renovation tasks. He was waiting for the moment to start packing up your stuff and telling his mom that he wasn't going to speak to them again.

When he heard sounds of wailing coming from the front door, he immediately hopped off the ladder that his dad was holding for him.

"Kento-!" His dad shouts as he wobbles around, but Nanami was already speed walking towards the front door to see what was happening.

To his surprise, there was no wailing. It was only hysterical laughter coming from you and his mom. He stood in the door way with a confused look on his face as he observed you two.

"Yes, he was such a cutie pie.." His mom laughs as she shows you another picture of Kento in high school.

"Aww, Ken... you didn't tell me you were emo." You greeted your boyfriend with a fit of giggles from seeing his high school photos. His fringe proudly in view.

Nanami rakes his hands through his shorter hair now, and he lets out a relieved laugh. Seeing you interact so happily with his mom was enough to make him feel full with love. His heart feels at ease now... until he remembers that he has to meet your parents at some point.

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @theuniversesnepobaby

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS TOXIC TRAITS / RED FLAGS + GREEN FLAGS ── .✦

a/n: the thing is, they all aren’t like problematic when it comes to relationships but they do have some things and flaws which when heard sound “oh okay that’s fine” but may be like super annoying in a irl relationship also this was a request by anon (here)! (Tags: batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Chronic People-Pleaser: Will prioritize everyone’s needs over his own (or yours), leading to burnout… and you having to remind him you exist.

Flirty by Nature: He’s not trying to flirt… it just happens. That waitress? Nope, not on purpose, but yeah, you’ll roll your eyes a lot.

Hero Complex: He always has to “save” people, including you, even when you’re perfectly fine handling it yourself. “I got it, babe.” No, you don’t, Dick.

GREEN FLAGS:

Emotionally Intelligent: He can read your mood like a book and knows exactly how to make you smile (with pancakes shaped like hearts).

Physical Affection Expert: Hugs, cuddles, forehead kisses—you’re basically his personal teddy bear.

Supportive King: He’s your biggest cheerleader, hyping you up in the most genuine, heartfelt ways. “That’s my girl.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Anger Issues: He’ll throw hands for you at the slightest provocation. Guy looks at you wrong? Jason’s already removing his jacket.

Emotionally Guarded: Good luck getting him to open up. He’s more likely to tell you his deepest fears after you’ve fallen asleep.

Reckless Behavior: He’ll drag you into the most insane situations and act like it’s no big deal. “What do you mean this is dangerous? It’s fine.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Loyal to a Fault: He’ll defend you with his life, no questions asked. “You mess with her, you mess with me.”

Soft Romantic: Beneath the tough exterior, he’s writing you sweet notes and remembering the little things, like how you take your coffee.

Protective (in a good way): He won’t smother you, but he’ll make sure you always feel safe, even if it’s just crossing the street.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Workaholic: He’ll forget to eat, sleep, and sometimes text you back because “the case was just getting good!”

Overthinks Everything: Spends hours analyzing your last text to figure out if you were mad or just tired. “Was that period passive-aggressive?”

Terrible Self-Care: You’ll have to force him to drink water and go to bed like a mom with a rebellious child.

GREEN FLAGS:

Incredibly Thoughtful: He remembers every detail about you, from your favorite flower to that obscure hobby you mentioned once.

Adorably Awkward: His shy smiles and fumbling over words when you flirt back are endlessly endearing.

Problem Solver: He’ll find solutions to all your problems, from fixing your computer to making your bad day better with tea and soft music.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Insanely Jealous: He glares daggers at anyone who looks at you too long. “Why is he breathing near you?”

Judgmental: He might critique your taste in music, books, or anything else with his usual bluntness. “This… is what you listen to?”

Control Freak: He likes things done a certain way and will try to “help” you by micromanaging your life.

GREEN FLAGS:

Devoted Partner: Once he’s in, he’s all in. You’ll never doubt his commitment because he’s always showing up for you.

Loyal Beyond Measure: He’ll defend your honor to anyone, even Bruce. “She’s perfect, Father. You simply lack taste.”

Surprisingly Gentle: Despite his tough exterior, he has a soft side that only you get to see, like the way he pets animals—or you—so tenderly.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Emotionally Repressed: He’s basically a human brick wall when it comes to expressing his feelings. “I’m… fine.” No, Bruce, you’re not.

Work Comes First: He’ll disappear into the Batcave for days unless you drag him out by the cape which becomes quickly annoying.

Overprotective: He’ll want to track your every move, not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he worries too much. “It’s for your safety.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Quietly Romantic: He may not be overly expressive, but he’ll show love through subtle gestures—like a bouquet of your favorite flowers left on the table.

Ultimate Provider: He makes sure you never want for anything, whether it’s emotional support or physical comfort.

Unshakable Devotion: Once you’ve captured his heart, he’s yours forever. There’s no halfway with Bruce—he’s in it for the long haul.

[gghostwriter]

Three's a Sideshow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer misses an important date and ends up paying the consequences Trope:Angst w.c: 4.2k a/n: this is one of the many many requests of @lavonee (her exact request was: maybe spencer misses an important date/anniversary because of jj and reader is finally fed up being second place to her) trying my best to address all of them. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The hazy dim light of each candle on the white linen covered table gave the restaurant an orange hue. Various aromas of meat, wine, and complimentary cheese wafted through the enclosed space. Sensual tones of the saxophone lightly played on the speakers perfectly weave through each muted conversations between loved ones—couples and families. The high-end restaurant basked in good food and great company. 

Everything was perfect.

Every costumer joyous and warm from the delicious wine. 

All except for one, alone by the corner booth, phone pressed to your ear and eyes scanning for the tall, lithe form of the date for the night.

Beep. Beep. Be—

You grimaced at the busy line tone that answered you, again. Hands gripping the draped linen, trying your best not to tap your newly manicured fingers on the table—trying to blend into the background, unsuccessfully. 

You stuck out like a sore thumb. All dressed up with no partner or food on the table, just a glass of once chilled wine—condensation all around it like tears of abandonment and longing. 

The same waitress who escorted you to the table—15 minutes ago, approached with a perfectly rehearsed smile.

“Ma’am, are we ready to order?”

You sighed. “Actually, my boyfriend isn’t here yet—”

She bit her lip, nodding, before quickly averting her eyes to the queued up line outside the premise.

Right. It was a Friday night and every adult in the vicinity wanted a night out to unwind and start their weekend on the right foot.

You tightly smiled, the embarrassment of tonight painting your cheeks a deep maroon, unnoticed through the flickering of the orange candlelight. “—you know what, I think I’d just have a slice of your chocolate cake to go. Yeah, I’m sorry about holding up the table.”

The waitress nodded, understanding washing on her face. “That’s alright. I’ll have your order packed and ready to go.”

“Thanks,” you murmured as you watched her leave. 

Tonight was suppose to be special. 

You dressed up in the same white with purple printed flower midi length dress, styled your hair effortlessly, and spritzed on your favorite perfume that smelled like a luscious garden after a rainy night.

Everything was just like how it was two weeks ago—including your boyfriend of three years, Spencer Reid, not showing up for the date.

You didn’t even know why you bothered. Why his promise of being here tonight made you feel giddy and trusting. Why his commitment on having do-over for the actual anniversary dinner that he missed two weeks ago made you think it was going to end differently and why you gave him another chance—

Another chance to let you down.

Another crack in your belief that you were important.

Another heartache to soothe.

Another let down. 

When you first entered the relationship, you understood the gravity of his work. How his career will always come first and how unpredictable it all may be.

That part—accepting those facts, were easy. You were always one to be tolerant and understanding ever since childhood, labeled as the easy kid—the independent, the self-sufficient. Mixed in with your highly demanding career as a doctor, you got it—the patience and consideration of a saint.

A martyr, your good friend once bluntly said. 

But what good was being a martyr when the person you’re killing yourself for didn’t notice?

It didn’t matter at first. Missed messages, missed calls, missed dates were just a work of rotten timing from both ends. Sometimes it was you having to run to the hospital for an emergency surgery and sometimes it was him having to catch a plane to a latest serial killer case.

The tandem of both independent and busy people in the relationship worked, love blossomed regardless.

What made it different was, there was three of you in the relationship.

The third party being an intense platonic, as he once defended, connection with Her.

You felt it for the first time during a get together with his found family. Your set of eyes trained to read in between the lines for the truth patients unwittingly hide from their doctor. It was a skill that you honed and never hated, up until that moment.

The stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking.

The emotion veiled between the eyes.

The unsaid words that seemed to spill from the silence.

Never mind that there were two presences in the vicinity that could have their life altered in any minute from the secrets long hidden in vaults. It was as if you and her husband were considered ornaments, pieces of a possible aftermath not worth saving. 

You knew of their past—Spencer admitting to having a crush on her during his early days with the team, asking her out on a baseball game date, and her recent admission during a case.

Everything was water under the bridge, your boyfriend assured you. But the thing was, water had a way of overflowing from confinement, turning deadly, and ravaging what once was an idyllic garden that bloomed from your affection. 

Now as you pay for the tab and collect your things, you felt the tides that destroyed the solace inside of you well up to your eyes—wanting the release you’re fighting to keep at bay.

A fight you’re bound to lose.

You whispered a thank you to the waitress, soft and quiet that you were unsure if she even heard it but that was the best you could do, the sobs closing your vocal chords and threatening to escape, making you a spectacle—leaving the restaurant alone, with a boxed cake on hand.

What a sad sight.

You fumbled with the phone again, hands shaking as you insert the key on the ignition.

Beep. Beep. Be—

Nothing. 

What even was the point of all of this, you wondered. All this emotion, love, that was once sweet and heavenly now all felt rotten, puss oozing from its pores and flies exalting for a feast. 

Slowly backing your black 4-door sedan out of the parking lot, you pondered if this was the end—did you have any more left to give? Or was this just a bump on the road for the your future selves to learn and heartily laugh about? 

———

The rattling of your keys as you dropped it on the ceramic plate across the main door disrupted the silent, empty apartment.

A small smile graced your face as you remembered spontaneously booking a ceramic wheel class with Spencer in tow. His initial worries about getting under the nails dirty and the bacteria that could be collected from any stranger that used the items before the both of you swept away with your giggles and assurances to double up on vitamins. 

There was a wide grin on his face then, accepting defeat from the sight of your enthusiasm and glee. 

It was one of your greatest memory with Spencer and when the glazed pottery came from the mail—yours, a wonky blue green plate and his, an uneven moss green bowl, you had him promise to take you again.

A promise that never came to fruition.

You sighed, eyes tracking the rented space you never quite moved in to. The walls painted this dark green color, reflecting the somber mood you frequently found yourself in and the shelves filled to the brim with books you never dream of reading.

in hindsight, maybe your subconscious was telling you something. Why you never agreed to Spencer’s casual asking of you to live with him. Why you were adamant of keeping your own apartment regardless of the nights you spent outside of it.

This place became your pseudo-home, comfortable but never quite permanent. 

The distant murmur of a car being parked on the street had you clambering up from your defeated, slouched position on the leather couch. In your gut, you knew who it was.

You spotted them exiting the SUV.

The two figures that make the relationship three—a sideshow for everyone to see.

Spencer and JJ. 

They talked for a bit, probably saying pleasantries of goodbyes, before she leaned in for a hug. One that he reciprocated, patting her back as he went. 

They looked like a couple and if you were in your right state of mind, you’d chalk the exchange up to nothing but you weren’t—you were wounded and unsure of your standing ever since you exited the restaurant.

Were you his first still?

Or were you just second place? 

They were questions you never wanted no, needed, to be addressed but it seemed like tonight was the night of reckoning.

As you watched Spencer enter the apartment, the smile on his face from spotting you slowly become a furrow between his brows, you fidgeted—pulling the coat tighter to your body, the one you never hung on the back of the door—ready to bolt.

“Love, I’m so sorry I missed our reservation—”

He went in for a kiss on your glossy lips. 

A simple act that you didn’t have the energy to accept, you turned your head to the side. His lips catching your cheek instead.

“It’s fine,” you sardonically replied. “It wasn’t like I was waiting for you for half an hour to show up. It’s fine, Spencer.” 

His brow twitched. 

“It sounds like it’s not fine. Why don’t you tell me what you really feel? We promised to openly communicate, didn’t we?”

You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I said it’s fine, Spencer. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“You look beautiful,” his calloused fingers gently caressing your hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t show. It’s just that JJ and the tea—”

Your last thread of reason snapped clean from hearing her name.

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? Me coming after her?”

“Love.”

“Don’t touch me—don’t call me that,” you pushed his hands away, tucking the escaped tendrils behind your ears. 

His own, raking the wavy brown hair you loved, in frustration. You could tell, with how his hands opened and closed, that he was itching to touch you, comfort you. 

“Her? You mean, JJ? She’s a friend. Just a friend.” 

“And if this friend wasn’t married with kids, would you still be here with me now?”

Silence. 

There, you said it.

“What—yes, yes of course. Why would you ask that? Why would you doubt it? Doubt me?”

Your gut twisted inside of you. It was inconceivable for someone like Spencer to lie, wasn’t it? He was a good guy, one of the best. But all the hidden resentment in your heart—a pile you weren’t even aware of, no longer wanted to be silenced. It no longer wanted to be pushed to the side for optimism and denial. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Maybe it’s the way you look at her—” voice raising up an octave. You’ve lost control, verbally dumping out everything. “Do you think I don’t see it? You look at her with this, this nostalgia and—and this emotion that I can’t compare to—never seen it when you look at me! Or maybe, maybe it’s because you drop everything for her? Including me?”

“Are you talking about when Henry got sick?” his hands finding a home on his hips. “I thought you understood—you of all, should have.”

Your laughter turned into a sob. “I do—I did, until you dropped me of unceremoniously back here, in this apartment, just so you could rush out to her home. Like I was some kind of secret, you didn’t want to bring around her. Like I was some sort of disease, you didn’t want her catching. Didn’t you think I would be of great help? A licensed medical doctor?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight—I thought you, you shouldn’t be exposed to the type of flu Henry contracted. You could have gotten sick too and could have passed it on to your other patients.”

“It’s my job to take care of the sick, don’t you think I take measures for my own health? Spencer, please, for once just be honest with me.”

He tilted his head. “Honest about what?”

“If it’s her you really want and if I’m just a passable substitute to settle down with.”

You could see his eyes blazing with such—disgust? Anger? You didn’t know what emotion it was before it was snuffed out, leaving his expression blank and almost sad. It was a look you were familiar with, his profiler look.

“I don’t need you profiling me and my insecurities, Spencer. I just want the truth. The God-honest truth.” 

“I love you. I can’t imagine a life without you—I won’t imagine it. Isn’t that enough?”

Your hands drop to your side.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

The distance created by the silence between you and Spencer was vast. You’ve never felt quite alone and isolated in the relationship until this moment. Was this it, then? The end to your once dreamed of happy ever after? 

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner. Why don’t you let me make it up to you? We can book the same restaurant for next week and—”

“You can’t just make up for a make up anniversary dinner, that’s not how it works in real life, Spencer. And besides, I don’t want to see the same pitying looks the workers there give me when they realize my date is again, and again, a no-show.”

He sighed, slowly invading your space. The arms that once felt like home to you, circling your waist, now felt foreign. You never imagined you’d get here but then again, who did? 

Your hands clasped his button down before loosening its grip. Taking in one more whiff of his cedar-wood and mint perfume, you pushed him away. Stepping backwards from his presence and all he had to offer.

“It’s late. We’re both tired—”

He nervously smiled. Intertwining his fingers with yours and started to walk backwards to the direction of the bedroom. “Yeah, we can talk about it in the morning once you feel better.”

You wiggled your hand free.

“Actually, I think I have to go.”

Spencer paused, panic coloring his face. “That’s—that’s not what I meant, love. Anything but that. Please, please I love you and I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Spence. Me too.” 

You slowly gathered your things, sans the chocolate cake left opened and untouched on the coffee table. 

“Happy anniversary, I need space to think this all through—to think us through.”

He stood still, blocking your way, trying to wrap his head around the direction this was going to. The inevitable downfall of him and you. It was a car crash no one could no longer escape from. 

“Please, let me fix this. I can do it, just—tell me how. Do you want me to limit my time spent with JJ? I-I can try, just please, don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t a promise, you noted. With how many broken promises there were between the span of your relationship, you wondered if that was a conscious choice of wording from him. It sounded hopeful, gleaming with oath even. But they were just words at the end of the day, packaged pretty for you to swallow.

“I need time, Spencer. I’m not breaking up with you, I just need space,” you placed a kiss on his cheek, wet from tears. “Can you give me that, love?”

He choked a sob. 

“Promise me you’ll be back. Promise me.”

You tightly smiled, making your way back to the door. The unanswered plea hanging in the air like a blade, waiting to slash down between you—waiting to sever the connection that was once shiny and new. 

Shakily removing the spare key of the apartment from your chain, you chanced one last look at his hunched form—sobs emitting from his sweet lips and acid rain spilling down his cherub cheeks, regretting that this might be your last memory of Spencer Reid.

You didn’t know if you’d be back. 

If the thought of being second place will ever go away.

But the sinking feeling in your gut tells you the truth—that this is it.

This is final.

This is the end. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!