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saintobio · 1 year ago

Text

sincerely yours. (11)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. depression, cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships

notes. 12k wc. we're so close to the finale <3 thanks so much for the continued support and for the patience you guys have with this series :')

series masterlist -> episode twelve

For better and worse.

Weddings are funny things. Despite the strict adherence to ceremonial traditions, they didn’t guarantee a happily ever after. Exchanging vows and the signing of marriage certificates could become meaningless when a couple faces challenges that would drive them apart. Consider the high-profile divorces of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck, or Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise. Divorce had become so common that it almost seemed inevitable for many couples, even the ones with the most fairytale-like relationships. No one was safe from the idea of a divorce. So, was having a wedding really that important? Would it really define the quality and longevity of a relationship?

Satoru might have been thinking bitterly about it, given that his own marriage wasn’t exactly a shining success. However, he was also being rational when he said that weddings weren’t necessary to prove your love for each other. Early in his marriage, he certainly wasn’t the best husband, but over time, he learned to genuinely become a good partner to his ex-wife. There was no specific time frame for loving someone. You could be together for weeks, months, or years, yet the depth of love you share might remain unchanged. This constancy can be either a blessing or a curse, depending on how deep your love was from the beginning.

Well… On the topic of marriages, Satoru had no good thing to say. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t participate in it. Weddings were still considered a special celebration for families and close friends, and He would be selfish not to share in such a beautiful event with his best friends. Besides, wasn’t it always expected that Suguru and Shoko would end up marrying each other? They were lucky—fortunate because their marriage was built on a foundation of genuine love. In contrast, Satoru’s marriage began out of convenience, which ultimately led to all the terrible things that followed.

As the best man, Satoru strode confidently alongside Suguru down the aisle, both adorned in princely tuxedos, drawing the eyes of the guests as they followed their procession. There were teasing remarks, smiles all around, and even a comment from one of the groom’s female cousins about how handsome they both looked. Despite the gentle commotion, Satoru understood why Suguru remained nervous as they reached the end of the aisle. He comfortingly stood by his side, offered a reassuring pat on the back, silently communicating to his best friend that everything would be alright.

“Don’t tell me you’ll back out now,” Satoru jested, whispering in Suguru’s ear as they observed the guests entering in accordance with the processional order.

Suguru, with his once long hair now neatly trimmed and slicked back, cleared his throat in an attempt to appear less anxious. “What if she gets cold feet?”

Gojou couldn’t help but tease. “Shoko? You really think she’d have cold feet?” he chuckled. “She’d be the one dragging your ass back to this garden if you tried to run away.”

“Fair enough.”

Just the night before, they had checked into the Hoshinoya Fuji to celebrate Suguru's last night of freedom. While there was drinking involved, one of the groomsmen insisted it wouldn’t be a proper bachelor’s party without some female company. So, inevitably, there were women in the hotel room, one of whom even gave Suguru a lap dance even though he showed no interest whatsoever. It was amusing to Satoru, considering his best friend used to be the biggest casanova, and now he was a committed and loyal man who, not only was terrified out of his wits on his wedding day, but was also afraid that the one woman he loved might run away from him.

Such genuine, pure love.

As Satoru pondered, his gaze landed on Akemi, who was seated a couple of rows back among the other guests. She had just arrived, her hair tied elegantly in a low ponytail and her silky sage dress accentuating her womanly figure flawlessly. She was wearing the diamond Tiffany & Co. earrings he had gifted her, which made her stand out among the rest of the people in that garden. Their eyes also met at the perfect moment, her gaze sparkling upon seeing Satoru in his tuxedo. He offered her a smile, one that silently conveyed ‘I’ll be there with you later,’ and she immediately understood.

How fortunate was Satoru to have her? Perhaps the reason for her late appearance was because she had been looking after Sachiro back home, fulfilling the duties that his ex-wife should have been doing. She was truly a mother who stepped up, especially during a time when both he and his son felt most abandoned.

And what about you? Who knew if you would even attend the wedding? You were meant to be Ieiri’s maid-of-honor, yet you were conspicuously absent. Perhaps you were still in Monaco, enjoying your time playing house with Toji, making a wedding like this seem insignificant to you. You would have informed Miwa in advance and picked up Sachiro if you had returned to Tokyo, right? Suguru also hadn’t mentioned anything about your arrival at the accommodation, hinting that someone else would have to step in as Shoko's maid-of-honor.

But who would it be? Shoko’s cousin? One of her other female co-workers? Her high school friend?

“Look, mom! She’s beautiful~”

Satoru was rendered speechless, utterly captivated by the sight before him. His fingers tingled with anticipation, his heart raced in his chest, his feet felt rooted to the ground, and his eyes remained fixed on the next lady gracefully making her way down the aisle. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what struck him the most: was it the sight of you in a stunning light green dress, resembling an angel descended from the heavens, or was it the haunting reminder of his own wedding day, when you walked down the same aisle as his most beautiful bride?

His breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening with each step you took down the aisle. Satoru felt like a statue, frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away from you. You had become the sole focus of his attention, the rest of the world fading into a blur around him. He couldn’t comprehend it. Why was it so effortless for him to let his guard down around you?

This woman, he thought. This woman is Sachiro’s mother. This was the same woman that carried his flesh and blood for nine months, now appearing as radiant as a freshly bloomed flower, as if untouched by the stresses of unexpected motherhood. What had transpired in Monaco to transform you into this vision of beauty?

“You’re drooling.” Suguru nudged him on the chest. “This isn’t your wedding. You had your chance.”

Yes, he was well aware. This wasn’t his wedding, and he needed to maintain composure. Yet, it felt as though he was being drawn inexorably towards the mesmerizing goddess before him. With each beat of his heart quickening, he struggled to remind himself: No, Satoru. She's nothing to you now.

And because he was lost in a trance, he remained oblivious to the bride’s entrance and even Suguru’s emotional reaction to seeing his bride. His attention was solely fixated on you as he stole glances your way whenever he could. It wasn’t until the exchanging of rings, when you two had to stand side by side to assist the bride and groom, that he snapped back to reality. With you so close yet seemingly distant, Satoru felt a pang of disappointment as you never returned his gaze. The whispers and side comments from the guests also added to his discomfort, making him acutely aware of the scrutiny placed upon the best man and maid-of-honor.

“Aren’t they divorced?”

“Yeah, their marriage was a wreck.”

“They’re bad luck. I hope they don’t pass it onto the couple.”

For the first time in a long time, Satoru was gripped by an unprecedented desire to retort, to refute the misconceptions surrounding his marriage. Yet, he knew it was futile. Engaging in a verbal sparring match with another guest would only ruin his best friends' special day. Moreover, he might risk causing unintentional hurt to Akemi by defending a marriage that had long ceased to exist. So, despite the internal turmoil, he remained silent, allowing the whispers to persist unchecked.

And, with that, the wedding ceremony ended. Shoko and Suguru were now declared husband and wife.

— —

The reception was a time for socializing, enjoying drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and congratulating the newlyweds. For Suguru and Shoko, this part of the celebration felt effortless and their energies were seamlessly complementing each other’s. Unlike arranged marriages, there was no sense of haste or coercion; theirs was a union born of genuine affection. You couldn’t help but feel foolish for ever entertaining the notion that this was merely a conventional wedding experience. Here, before your eyes, unfolded a true celebration of love between two people.

Did Satoru share the same sentiments? You wondered what thoughts raced through his mind during the proceedings. Did the event trigger memories of his own past, or stir feelings of longing for what could have been?

You refused to subject yourself to the torment of dwelling on your past. If anything, your time living alone in Monaco had been a crucial step in your healing journey. While the process was far from complete, that solitary retreat had provided a much-needed respite from the source of your stress. It afforded you the opportunity to contemplate the life you were destined to lead, albeit alone for the foreseeable future.

By allowing Sachiro to spend more time with his father, you not only facilitated the rebuilding of their fractured relationship, but also acclimated your child to your absence. It was a necessary adjustment, one that would prepare him for the reality of your impending solitary existence. At least, Sachiro had a chance to live in a loving household with Satoru and Akemi, instead of a miserable and lonely way of living together with you.

In the end, it was all for your child.

As for the potential emotional minefield of attending this wedding, you were there for Shoko, who had always been a steadfast and understanding presence in your life. Her genuine friendship meant more to you than mere familial bonds ever could. Even at the risk of stirring up unhealthy emotions by being in a room full of people who hurt you, you couldn’t bear to disappoint Ieiri.

Admittedly though, navigating the wedding crowd was a delicate balance of warmth and formality. Ieiri’s side of the family, who were doctors heavily acquainted with your family, greeted you with genuine warmth. While Suguru’s relatives, who were more closely tied to the Gojou family, maintained a polite distance. Although there were occasional moments of discomfort, you knew how to maintain composure throughout.

As for Toji’s absence, while a part of you wished he could have been there as a supportive presence, you also recognized the value in learning to handle situations involving your ex-husband independently. He had an unavoidable business trip, but that also provided an opportunity for you to stop relying on him and navigate such occasions like these on your own. He was nothing more than a friend now.

While that ex-husband, Satoru, was here with your best friend. It didn’t surprise you that he had brought Akemi as a plus one. In fact, you had expected it to happen. It just wasn’t the best feeling to be the maid-of-honor when the best man clearly had another lady for it in mind.

It was quite amusing, too. Not once had Akemi approached you during the reception. You understood that she wanted to keep her distance, but you found it disrespectful that she was ignoring your existence. Was she scared to talk to you? Scared of what you had to say? You had heard over a million hurtful things from other people, yet she was afraid to hear a few pieces of advice from you?

Forget it. Forget her and Satoru. Focus on the reception, Y/N.

But really, how could you? As the moment arrived for the newlyweds’ first dance, tradition dictated that the best man and maid-of-honor should also take to the floor. You sensed the tension in the air as Satoru hesitated, surrounded by urging groomsmen, deciding whether or not he should ask you for a dance. He looked like he was battling with what was right and wrong in his mind, yet ultimately he chose to pass by you, extending his hand to Akemi instead.

It wasn’t feelings of shame that slapped you to reality. It was seeing Satoru holding Akemi’s hand, another on her waist, as they slowly danced to Can’t Help Falling In Love, a song that was played on your wedding day.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

Oh, for I can’t help

Falling in love with you

It shouldn’t hurt anymore. You were doing better. You were doing so good, you were doing… you were okay. You should be okay. Or did you overestimate your emotions a little too much? Because this, seeing the man you loved with all your heart holding another woman in his arms, was tortuous to your soul. You could feel the pains of your past tugging at your heart, wondering why he never danced like that with you on your wedding day? Why he never stared at you like you were the most beautiful girl in the world, why he never showed you off in a room full of curious people, why he never respected you enough to treat you with such… with such love.

“Everything okay?”

You didn’t expect Nanami, out of all people, to be offering you a handkerchief. You hadn’t even realized that your eyes were already pooling of the tears if he had not cut you out of trance, offering a comforting and sympathetic smile. You had to blink multiple times just to push your tears back in.

“Yeah,” you answered with a grateful expression. I’m strong. I’ll be fine. “Thank you.”

Nanami took that as a sign to offer his hand. “Care for a dance, then?”

Wiping your eyes, you nodded, smiling at the man. “Why not?”

After the dance, the reception continued as follows. The cake cutting, the dinner service, then the toasts and speeches. If it wasn’t for Nanami, you wouldn’t have been able to pick yourself back up after the humiliation of seeing Satoru and Akemi dancing together. You just needed a decent amount of air to breathe and gather yourself together again. It was a nice help from someone who wasn’t a personal acquaintance of yours, that despite being Satoru’s right hand man in the company, Nanami still had some kindness in him that you would forever be thankful for.

And when it was time for you to do your speech as the MOH, you didn’t let a single vulnerable emotion slip out of you. For that short moment, you tried not to think about who was in the audience, about what they thought of you, and about what other preconceived notions they had of you. You focused on the newlyweds as you stood in front of the mic stand, eye-to-eye with Shoko and Suguru, who were holding each other’s hands.

“Shoko,” you began, smiling genuinely at the couple, “Through the laughter and tears, you’ve been my constant, my confidante, my rock. And today, as I watch you embark on this new chapter of your life, I’m honestly a bit overwhelmed with emotion.”

The bride returned your smile, and you can tell Shoko was holding back tears of her own as she glanced between you and Satoru.

You continued your speech, observing Suguru’s supportive gesture towards his wife as you spoke. “Shoko, I recall our late-night conversations, the tears shed over broken marriages, and the pain of shattered relationships. Yet, through it all, you’ve remained steadfast in your belief in love, in hope, in the possibility of a happily ever after.” Turning to Suguru, although he still had that lingering discomfort around you, you offered him nothing but heartfelt words. “As I look at you and Suguru, I’m reminded that true love exists—a love that is patient, kind, and enduring. My wish for you both is a lifetime filled with laughter, joy, and unwavering support for each other. May you cherish each other’s hearts, protect each other’s dreams, and weather life’s storms together, stronger in your love. Suguru, during your challenging days as a married couple, I pray that you always look at Shoko and remember why you love her. I pray that you will always have the capacity to cherish and respect her as your wife and the future mother of your children. May you keep her in your heart, no matter what challenges may come your way.”

As tears welled in Ieiri’s eyes, your voice faltered, the magnitude of your wishes for their marriage weighing heavily on your own unfulfilled desires. You weren’t trying to make this about you, and you hoped they thought that, too.

“As I raise my glass to toast this beautiful union,” you said, raising the champagne glass on your hand, “I do so with a heart full of love and a silent prayer—that your love story will be one of triumph, of healing, and of endless happiness. Congratulations, Shoko and Suguru!”

— —

Satoru was deeply affected by your speech. Both in good and bad ways. On one hand, he was touched by the sincerity of your words and the genuine wishes you extended to the newlywed couple. On the other hand, he couldn’t shake off the pang of guilt and remorse that accompanied your words, knowing all too well the history behind them. When you expressed your hopes for Suguru to always cherish and respect Shoko, Satoru couldn’t help but reflect on his own behavior during your marriage and the ways in which he may have fallen short.

Each action he did definitely had a lasting impact on you.

But what about the good ones? Had you forgotten about the times he treated you well? Had you forgotten the lengths he took just to prove to you that he was a changed man? That at one point in his life, he would do everything in him just to show you how much he loved you?

It was unfair. Why did you only ever look at the bad things he did and never the good ones? Why did you still see him as a villain in your marriage when he knew he had paid his dues after he lost you?

It was truly, honestly unfair, that you get to be happy with Toji, but he ought to feel guilty for being with Akemi.

“I think they’re about to do the bouquet and garter toss,” spoke Akemi, tugging at Satoru’s arm while they sat on their designated table. She held a napkin on her other hand to wipe her partner’s chin, smiling in excitement. “You should go and join.”

Where were you? After your speech, Satoru couldn’t seem to find you anymore. Where had you gone off to? Did you leave already?

“Y-Yeah,” Satoru answered, looking around the venue before turning to Akemi. “What about you? Won’t you join the bouquet toss thing?”

She shook her head, hesitantly. “Isn’t it only for bridesmaids?”

He grabbed her hand and urged her up. “No, it’s for all unmarried female guests. Come on.”

The reason Satoru dragged her along was because Akemi loved weddings, and she especially enjoyed the traditions that came with it. She herself once dreamt about the picture perfect wedding, but never got to fully have her own, so attending such occasions made up for the lack of personally experiencing it.

Gojou couldn’t exactly remember if he did the garter toss in his own wedding. If so, who had caught it? Who had caught your bouquet? His eyes swept across the entire venue once more, searching for your familiar figure among the guests. He was too occupied to realize that Shoko had already tossed her bouquet, and the frenzy of eager ladies ensued until it landed in Akemi’s hands.

He genuinely felt happy for Akemi. The joy in her eyes upon catching Shoko’s bouquet was unmistakable. Yet, as the playful teasing about a potential wedding for him shifted in his direction, Satoru couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pressure. It wasn’t supposed to weigh on him like this. It was too soon to have that expectation of him.

“Looks like someone’s getting married next!”

And while he was feeling suffocated from the pressure placed upon him, the receiver of the tossed garter happened to have been Nanami.

Immediately, the teasing ensued, with the other guests urging Nanami to wear the garter on Akemi’s leg. Out of respect, Nanami looked at Gojou for permission, but honestly? He was just grateful he didn’t have to do all that and be pressured about another wedding that he had not yet thought about. Fuck it, thank God Nanami had caught the garter because Satoru was sure as hell starting to feel uneasy there.

“Go for it,” was the only thing Satoru said to Nanami, gesturing his chin at Akemi’s direction.

While everyone was focused on the situation between Nanami and Akemi, Satoru took that opportunity to escape from the crowd and find his peace at the balcony. He hastily made his way out of the reception hall, feeling a sense of relief as he could finally breathe.

And there you were, standing alone, lost in contemplation, and your gaze fixed upon the tranquil expanse of the lakeside. The chill breeze caressed your hair softly, as if mirroring the calm that enveloped your countenance. In another universe, this would have been an opportune moment to hug you from behind, sharing the warmth of his embrace around your figure. But he was living in a universe where you and him weren’t meant to be together.

In fact, you were probably thinking about another man as you stared at the lake, hoping that he was there with you.

“Did you have fun in Monaco with Toji?” Satoru was crazy for going straight to the point, and he knew it was a blunt inquiry, bordering on intrusive, but it tumbled out nonetheless, revealing the thoughts that had been plaguing in his mind. His words spilled out before he could rein them in, a question born of curiosity and perhaps a touch of jealousy.

As for you, with your peace in the balcony now ruined, you briefly opened your mouth to respond, but held back against it as you met Gojou’s eyes with a distant stare. You were even quick to look away and sigh, like he was not worth the conversation. You had not spoken a word to him since the wedding ceremony and you were definitely going to keep doing it.

And man, did that hurt his ego.

So, for a very stupid reason, he felt the need to hurt yours in return. “Do you know Sachi calls Akemi ‘mama’ in his sleep?”

Your eyes remained empty. “Good for you, then. You won’t have a hard time getting him accustomed to it.”

“Y/N.” Satoru’s voice came out as a warning, and he was about to start an argument on why you were abandoning him and Sachi over Toji, but he was interrupted at the appearance of Akemi carrying Shoko’s bouquet as she tried to search for her lover. This meant that the conversation with the ex-wife was over.

But as he glanced between you and Akemi, his bitter past and his sweet present, why did Satoru’s heart still lingered with you when it shouldn’t?

“You should go,” you briefly muttered, walking in the opposite direction, “Your future wife’s looking for you.”

Satoru’s sudden grip on your wrist halted your steps abruptly. His voice carried a bitter edge as he reminded you of the agreement you had made. “Y/N, we agreed to co-parent Sachiro properly. Why are you choosing Toji over your own son?”

The accusation left a tense atmosphere, eliciting a sharp response from you as you yanked your hand away, a flash of anger igniting in your eyes. “You have no idea what you're talking about, Satoru.”

— —

“Welcome to Hoshinoya Fuji, Ms. L/N!”

You stepped out of the car, taking in the serene beauty of the lakeside cabin that would be your sanctuary for the next three days and two nights. Nestled among towering pines and sturdy oaks, the cabin exuded a rustic charm that blended seamlessly with the natural landscape. Its weathered wooden exterior, adorned with a green tin roof, seemed to have grown organically from the earth itself.

The cabin sat on a gentle slope that led directly to the water’s edge. A wooden deck wrapped around the front, offering a perfect vantage point for gazing out over the tranquil lake. Your room also had the best view of Mount Fuji, which you thought was the highlight of this luxurious accommodation.

After the newlywed send-off, you were quickly ushered in by Shoko and Suguru’s staff, who were in charge of attending to the special guests staying a few extra days at the cabin. Though the couple wouldn’t start their proper honeymoon until their 6-month long cruise trip in two weeks, they wanted their guests to enjoy the accommodations they had arranged. You were relieved to hear that, despite Satoru and Akemi also being among the friends staying, each guest had their own private cabin reserved.

The thing was, you could leave any time if you wanted to. Shoko also reassured you that it would be okay and that she would understand if you wanted to go home right away. She knew that the situation may be uncomfortable for you, and that she felt bad you even had to deal with it during the ceremony, but you made a promise to her. You were her maid-of-honor for a reason, and part of your duty was to help with the post-ceremony tasks to ensure that Shoko can focus on enjoying her pre and post-wedding activities.

So, in some ways, you felt obliged to stay. You didn’t need to interact much with others during your stay, anyway. You were content staying in your room, perhaps taking some occasional walks outside. Satoru could do whatever he wanted with Akemi; you were determined to avoid crossing their paths.

Besides, inside the cabin was a cozy retreat. The main living area featured large windows that framed the picturesque view, allowing moonlight to spill in and illuminate the space. A stone fireplace, complete with a rustic mantel adorned with pinecones and candles, stood as the centerpiece of the room. Plush armchairs and a worn leather sofa invited relaxation, while a handwoven rug added a touch of warmth and color.

As you moved towards the bedroom, you found a comfortable queen-sized bed covered in a soft, plaid quilt. The scent of pine mingled with the faint aroma of fresh linens, creating an atmosphere of peaceful haven. An old-fashioned dresser and a bedside table, topped with a simple lamp, completed the room. The windows here, too, offered a glimpse of the sparkling lake, ensuring that the beauty of nature would greet you each morning.

Stepping outside, you walked down a short path to the water’s edge, where a small wooden dock extended into the lake. A pair of Adirondack chairs sat invitingly at the end of the dock, perfect for soaking in the sunset or stargazing at night. Nearby, a fire pit surrounded by stones and logs as seating promised cozy evenings under the stars, with the gentle sound of lapping water providing a soothing backdrop.

On your first night there, you ended up falling asleep right away. The physical and emotional exhaustion, combined with jetlag, knocked you out. However, the next day promised a few tasks to complete the post-wedding cleanup.

The second night, however, was a different story.

When you returned to the cabin, the cool evening air was crisp against your skin. The temperature went down a couple of celsius compared to yesterday, so as you walked down the path toward the lakeside, you were drawn to the flickering glow of a fire pit illuminating the area near the water’s edge. Drawing closer, the soft sounds of laughter and conversation reached your ears, mingling with the gentle crackle of burning logs.

The fire pit was surrounded by a group, their faces lit by the warm, golden light of the flames. They sat on a circle of logs and foldable chairs, leaning in to feel the comforting heat. Some held mugs of steaming cocoa, while others toasted marshmallows on long sticks, their tips glowing bright orange before transforming into gooey, sugary treats.

You paused for a moment and took in the scene. Was it a safe space for you to be in? You noticed familiar faces among the group—some of the couple’s old friends from the wedding, now relaxed and enjoying the peaceful night. One of the guests strummed a guitar softly, the melody adding to the cozy, inviting atmosphere. Another guest told a story, their animated expressions and gestures causing bursts of laughter from the listeners.

There was no sight of Satoru and Akemi. Perhaps, it might be okay to join in.

As you approached, Suguru emerged from a nearby cabin, smiling in a way that felt unusual. Why was he being friendly all of a sudden? Last time you checked, he still held a grudge against you. But now, he showed no signs of antagonism, and was even approaching you with his usual friendly demeanor.

“Y/N,” he said, the fog of his breath visible in the cold air, “I never got to thank you properly for helping us with everything here. I didn’t think you’d make it last minute.”

You wrapped your shawl tighter around yourself to ward off the chill. “It’s no trouble. I’m glad to help out and be here for you guys,” you replied warmly. And while glancing around, you noticed the absence of Shoko. “Where’s the missus?”

Suguru’s smile took on a mischievous edge. “Sleeping. She’s still pretty tired and…”

You interrupted him with a laugh, catching onto his suggestive tone. “Alright, you two. You’re wild.”

His grin softened into a sincere expression. “No, seriously. I never got to properly thank you. I never got to apologize to you either.” Suguru looked down with guilt. “I’m sorry for being an asshole to you. I was focusing too much on Satoru’s point-of-view, dismissing how it must be like to be in your position amidst all that mess. Shoko helped me understand why you made certain decisions, why you had no other option. She helped me see things from your perspective, to realize the extent of your suffering. We all knew that, I guess. We all knew you were constantly dealt a bad hand, yet you remain kind and resilient. You continue to show empathy to others, even when the world hasn’t been fair to you.”

In the ensuing silence, your heart seemed to thunder in your chest. His words carried weight far beyond what he might have intended, and you genuinely appreciated his apology. Even if he didn’t need to say them.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, you’re a gem, Y/N.” Suguru gave your back a gentle pat. “You deserve to be happy in your own special way. And just like how you wished us well with our marriage, I hope you’ll find your own path to a happy marriage, too.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down with a forlorn smile.

“We’re here for you, okay?” he offered, “Shoko and I. You can count on us if you need us, if you need help with Sachiro, if you need help with life in general.”

“I appreciate it, really.”

And by then, he cleared his throat, opening up a topic that caught you off guard. You didn’t expect it from Suguru out of all people. “Y/N, I know why you were in Monaco.”

Of course. He’d know it from Shoko.

“I also know,” he continued, dark narrow eyes staring straight at yours, “why you left Sachiro with his father.”

You were a deer caught in the headlights. You wouldn’t say it felt invasive to have someone be aware of the reasoning behind your personal decisions, but it was just an altogether different feeling to know that it was your ex-husband’s best friend who knew.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” he asked, referring to Satoru, “That you broke up with Toji?”

You took a deep breath. “I don’t see the point of telling him.”

“What if I were to tell you that he’d come running desperately to you the moment he finds out?” he posed another burning question. “You still love him, right? You and him would likely get together without much difficulty if he were aware. So, why hesitate?”

“Because I don’t want that,” you answered, feeling words caught in your throat in a moment of vulnerability. “Because I’m scared to get back with him. Because he has Akemi now. Because I don’t wanna keep ruining the lives of the people around me. We’re better off this way, Suguru. I don’t want to mess up the second time around, and I definitely don’t think Satoru would be able to fully move on with his life with me still in the picture. He seems to be happy with Akemi already.”

Suguru smiled sadly. “You don’t even wanna get your revenge? Don’t wanna get back at your best friend for dating your ex?” he paused to correct himself, “Well, dating is the wrong term. Satoru insists they’re not exclusive, you know?”

You shook your head, sighing. Satoru, you haven’t changed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine with the way things are.”

He was on the verge of continuing, poised to persuade further, but the arrival of the very individuals in question brought an abrupt halt to his words. Descending the cabin steps was Shoko, trailed by Satoru, who, in a gesture of warmth, had draped his jacket around Akemi, with his arms encircling her.

All five of you found yourselves in an awkward situation, now faced with two couples, one of which was at the core of your distress. The tension was palpable, and it didn’t help that Satoru’s vivid blue eyes met yours, seemingly trying to decode the conversation between you and Suguru. That was none of his business. He could continue his affectionate display with Akemi, while you had other matters to attend to than be part of an awkward quintet.

“I should go,” you declared, avoiding eye contact with everyone, unwilling to play the fifth wheel. You were hoping to evade Satoru and Akemi’s presence, but both Shoko and Suguru already caught your arm.

“Y/N, please,” Shoko urged, her arm reaching out to you. “Don't isolate yourself tonight. Come join us.”

The memory of Bora Bora flooded your mind, a painful reminder of a similar situation when Shoko had extended the same invitation, leading to the discomfort of witnessing Sera’s closeness with Satoru. You knew that wasn’t Shoko’s intention, but it was your ex-husband who couldn’t stop catching himself in these situations.

This was a bad idea. You knew that.

So, why did you agree?

Despite your reservations, curiosity got the best of you. You would vehemently deny it if asked, but deep down, you pondered whether Suguru’s words held any truth about Satoru’s lingering feelings for you. It wasn’t out of pettiness, but rather a desire to confirm if Satoru was truly committed to Akemi. You knew this could potentially hurt you, but after enduring so much pain, you couldn’t imagine anything worse.

“Hey, you guys!”

“It’s nice of you to join us!”

“What’s up newlyweds?”

Upon joining the group at the fireplace, you were partly grateful that you weren’t exactly a fifth wheel in the situation. There were about ten or twelve people in total, with the earlier group still remaining in their seats. It just so happened that you were seated right across your ex-husband, who was too busy trying to keep Akemi warm and cozy.

“So, Y/N…” spoke a man from the group, who appeared to be Suguru’s colleague. “Are you single?”

The unexpected question caught you off guard, especially the tension it seemed to create, particularly with Satoru who sat stiffly next to Akemi. Even Shoko and Suguru seemed apologetic for their friend’s behavior, but you brushed it off, recognizing that he had probably indulged a bit too much with beer. He was harmless enough when sober.

“Don’t be asking questions like that,” Suguru intervened, tapping the back of his friend’s head in a playful scold. “That’s rude.”

The friend protested, still oblivious to the discomfort he had caused. “I was just asking! She’s attractive. I have the right to know.”

You forced a smile, accepting the can of beer he had offered. “Thanks, but I—”

“Even if she’s single, she’s not interested in you,” Shoko chimed in, keeping a casual mien. She had to keep things cool, especially with an explosive Gojou around. You were just thankful that she didn’t exactly reveal the status of your relationship with Toji, and that she was doing her best to divert the attention away from you.

In this little scene, you caught a glimpse of Akemi tugging at Satoru’s arm, like she was uncomfortable with the conversation. Why? Did it trigger an insecurity within her? She couldn’t even return eye-contact, constantly avoiding your eyes and reacting to any conversation remotely related to you. But Satoru was there acting like a concerned boyfriend, whispering reassurance into her ear, and rubbing her knee in a comforting fashion.

“You two make a lovely couple,” remarked one of the girls, directing her compliment to Satoru and Akemi.“Weren’t you the girl who caught the bouquet? Looks like there might be another wedding on the horizon.”

“Oooh!”

“They’re an attractive couple, too.”

“You guys planning for any children?”

Just like Bora Bora. A bitter smile lingered on your face, but you decided not to look at Satoru anymore. He must be enjoying this.

Shoko leaned in and placed an arm around you to whisper her apologies. “I’m sorry, Y/N. This was a bad idea.”

“It’s okay,” you assured, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I’ll leave after I finish my beer so it won’t be awkward.”

As the night wore on, conversation flowed easily at first, with everyone exchanging stories and laughter, and eventually more beers and liquor were passed around. Shoko and Suguru were lost in the glow of newlywed bliss, while you found yourself increasingly uneasy as memories of the past mingled with the present.

Satoru’s presence beside Akemi was a constant reminder of your failed marriage, and you struggled to suppress the weakness in your chest that threatened to surface. They held hands and watched the fire together, her head resting on his shoulder, his lips on top of her head. She was trying to voice out a specific concern to him, and he was sweetly listening to her. Did they even realize the ex-wife was in the same area with them? It was insensitive. You never knew Satoru could be this insensitive around you, no matter what his reasons were, his romantic gestures towards her was a clear slap to your face. And he succeeded, because you would be foolish not to admit that it broke your heart in half to witness him choosing another woman over you.

Again, Satoru. Here we go again. You tried to stop the pounding on your chest. Here we fucking are the second time around.

Desperate to ease the tension, Shoko and Suguru attempted to steer the conversation toward lighter topics, but their efforts only served to highlight the underlying tension in the air. You forced a smile and nodded along with the conversation, but inside, your heart was heavy with unresolved emotions.

And then someone had to bring up that stupid truth or dare game.

“Satoru-kun, I dare you to kiss the prettiest woman in this group.”

“Whoo! Do it! Do it! Do it!”

Satoru was initially hesitant as he clearly found himself at a crossroads. He had two options here. Should he risk hurting Akemi by refusing to kiss her? Or should he risk hurting you by kissing another woman in front of you?

The clear winner was Akemi, because as soon as Gojou pressed his lips onto hers, you were already walking out of there. You had already excused yourself from the group, your footsteps as heavy as your heart. And unbeknownst to you, Satoru watched you go with a flicker of remorse in his eyes, but it was too late for apologies or second chances. The fire continued to crackle and pop as you left, its flames casting long shadows across the empty space where you had sat.

It was game over. Satoru had won his game.

— —

Satoru was puzzled by your behavior since the wedding. You seemed determined to avoid him, which made sense with Akemi constantly by his side, but there was also an air of desperation to your avoidance. What baffled him even more was the jealousy you exhibited, as if you weren’t involved with another man, to the point where you even flew to another country just to spend more time with him.

Like you said, you two were no longer married. It was about time you moved on. Yet, how come you were acting heartbroken over seeing Satoru with another woman?

Did you really think leaving the fire pit so abruptly had gone unnoticed?

Did you really think he had taken his eyes off you?

If not for Akemi telling him that she was having pelvic cramps, Gojou would have run off to follow you the minute you left the fire pit. Clearly, you still had an issue seeing him with another girl and he wanted you to voice it out. But if there was anything he learned during your time together, you would never be the first one to admit that you were jealous. Heck, didn’t you even allow him to bring Sera to Bora Bora that one time?

Look, he didn’t want to hurt you all over again. And if you had walked up to him and called him an asshole for having Akemi around, he would even agree with you. But it was your decision to choose Toji, it was your request for Satoru to find someone else, so why did it seem like you were suddenly changing your mind?

“I’m sorry for being a party pooper,” Akemi groaned in discomfort as Gojou helped her back to their cabin. He quickly refocused on their conversation, reminding himself not to dwell on thoughts of you when Akemi needed his attention—it wouldn’t be fair to her. She was suffering from a terrible illness that he wouldn’t wish upon anyone and he had to be her rock. “It’s been hurting quite a bit lately. I really should start with my treatment.”

Once inside their room, he swiftly settled her into bed. “Where does it hurt?” He applied a gentle touch to her pelvic bone, massaging the area to alleviate her discomfort. “Here?”

“Mhm. Thank you,” she lightly spoke, her soft hand caressing his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

“You look really pale, though. I’m worried,” he remarked, sympathizing with her. Her complexion betrayed the pain she was holding back, though she likely hesitated to admit she wanted to go home and rest. “Do you wanna go home? Even if it’s in the middle of the night, I can have my driver pick us up.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, no. Please, I'll be fine. You won't get to see Shoko and Suguru for a while once they’re on their honeymoon, so I want you to spend time with them here.”

“You sure? But you always come first.”

“I’ll be okay.”

As Satoru continued to massage the area where Akemi felt pain, his thoughts inevitably drifted to you. He recalled the time when you were pregnant with Sachiro, experiencing frequent lower abdominal pain as your body adjusted to the baby. Each night, Satoru stayed up, gently rubbing your belly until you drifted off to sleep. It was one of his happiest memories during your marriage—the domestic bliss of being your husband and the memory of him caring for his wife. He wasn’t sure if he was missing it, or if he was just recalling a past memory, but looking at Akemi, Satoru wondered if he was prepared to have all that again but with another woman.

He couldn’t give himself an answer.

“I’m such a terrible person.”

He should be telling himself that, but it was Akemi who said those words out loud as her brown doe-eyes stared at him solemnly, an expression that reflected guilt and remorse in equal measure.

“How come?” Satoru’s voice was barely above a whisper as he asked, gently tucking the sheets around her while perching on the edge of the bed.

Her smile held a touch of sorrow, yet there was a glimmer of relief in her eyes. “I feel like I’ve failed Y/N. She treated me like family, like a sister, and now I can’t even face her properly. I’m just terrified, you know? I don’t want to keep letting her down. I never meant to cause her pain.”

For a moment, Gojou fell silent at her admission. “It’s all my fault. You two never would have been in this position if it wasn’t for me.”

“Absolutely not,” Akemi persisted before leaning in to plant a tender kiss on his cheek. “Tonight, you’ve shown me that you’ve truly moved on from her. I was starting to worry, afraid that I could never fill the space she held in your heart. But since the wedding, you’ve never sidelined me or made me feel like an afterthought. You’ve never made me feel like second best. You’ve always prioritized me. I understand it’s hard seeing your ex-wife, but I appreciate your efforts more than you know. You make me feel incredibly special.”

Satoru swallowed hard. The mention of your name sent a pang of guilt coursing through his chest. He knew he had hurt Akemi with his lingering attachment to his past and his inability to fully let go of the woman who had once held his heart in her hands. He wanted to agree with Akemi, to reassure her that he had chosen her, but the truth remained elusive, buried beneath layers of denial and self-deception. He even had to close his eyes for a minute, unable to meet her gaze as a tumult of conflicting emotions swirled within him. He wanted to tell her the truth, to confess the depth of his feelings for his ex-wife, but the words were caught in his throat.

In that moment, Satoru felt more lost and alone than ever before, trapped in a web of his own making, and unable to confront the truth behind his true feelings. Moved on? Had he truly moved on from you, or had he simply buried his feelings beneath a facade of indifference?

“You should rest your eyes,” was the only thing he could tell her, planting a kiss on her forehead before he had turned off the lights.

With the clock ticking past 11 o’clock and their recent conversation still echoing in his mind, Satoru felt an urgent need for clarity. He knew he had to confront his thoughts alone. So, without disturbing Akemi’s peaceful slumber, he quietly slipped out of the cabin, seeking solace in the night air. Immediately, as he got out, he was met with the apologetic eyes of his best friend.

“Hey,” Satoru greeted, confused by the urgency in Suguru’s expression. “What’s up?”

Suguru took a deep breath before he rubbed the back of his head. “There’s something I ought to tell you.”

— —

You had been standing at the edge of the lake for a while now, the cool night air sending shivers down your spine as you gazed out at the shimmering expanse of water before you. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the tranquil scene, its soft light dancing on the surface of the lake like a thousand tiny stars.

The temptation to dive into the dark waters below tugged at your heart like a siren’s song, beckoning you to leave behind the pain and sorrow that had plagued you for so long. You longed to feel the icy embrace of the lake envelop you, to lose yourself in its depths and wash away the memories that haunted you every waking moment.

Is this how it feels like to finally let go?

As you stood on the shore, your toes just inches from the water’s edge, a wave of despair then washed over you, threatening to pull you under like the undertow of a riptide. You thought of Sachiro, your sweet, innocent son, asleep in his bed back in Tokyo, his laughter and smiles serving as an antidote to the pain in your heart.

And then him…

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you thought of Satoru. Despite the pain he had caused you, it was impossible not to yearn for him still, because his memory was a ghost that haunted you in every waking moment. But you knew that you couldn’t continue to live in the shadow of your past marriage. You had to escape being trapped in a cycle of longing and regret. You owed it to Sachiro to be strong, to find the courage to let go of the man who had once been your everything.

With your empty gaze, the calm lake shimmered in the moonlight like a blanket of liquid silver. You had come to the lake seeking solace, seeking escape from the unbearable pain that gnawed at your heart like a relentless tide. But as tears left your eyes, your emotions threatened to drown you in a sea of despair.

Without hesitation, you dropped your shawl to the side, shedding yourself off of the cloth with a sense of reckless abandon. The fright of swimming in open water, especially at night, could have you passed out in a matter of seconds, but you paid it no mind as you waded into the water.

Is this how it feels to finally give up?

The lake embraced you like an old friend, enfolding you in its cool embrace as you swam out into the darkness. Each stroke brought you closer to the center of the lake, closer to the heart of your pain, and yet you felt strangely at peace, as if the water itself held the key to your salvation. You took time floating on your back, staring up at the stars that glittered like diamonds in the night sky, you felt a sense of clarity wash over you. You knew that your love for Satoru was a burden you could no longer bear.

But more than that, you knew that you couldn’t let your own pain dictate the course of your son’s life. Sachiro deserved better than a mother consumed by sorrow, better than a life overshadowed by the ghosts of the past.

With a deep breath, you let go of the pain that had held you captive for so long. You submerged yourself into the depths of the lake, watching as the night sky vanished beneath the surface like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

In that moment, you felt a sense of freedom unlike anything you had ever known. You just had to stay still. You had to keep yourself underwater, hold your breath until you no longer needed it, and…

And…

You struggled to breathe, your mind consumed in panic telling you that you would die if you had kept yourself submerged for another minute, but you were adamant on staying there. You fought battles in your own mind, despite your body fighting back to keep you alive.

At least soon, you would finally meet your mom again.

“...”

“......”

“....Y/N!”

“.......Y/N!”

Feeling your vision blur and your limbs growing limp, you surrendered to the natural sway of the water. Bubbles escaped from your nose, your mouth tightly sealed shut. And the next thing you knew, you were back on the water surface, drawing breath like a fish out of the water. You could feel someone tugging at your arm, could feel the presence of another person dragging you out of the water, his arms pulling you into an embrace.

“Y/N! What the hell are you thinking?!”

You sobbed uncontrollably, your heartache pouring out as Satoru cradled you in his arms, his white hair damp from his efforts to rescue you from the water. How and when did he arrive? Your mind couldn’t process the details amidst the turmoil. All you could do was surrender to the flood of tears, feeling paralyzed from head to toe as you cried into his embrace.

Is this another dream?

Is this another hallucination?

You released a bitter laugh. Please. You closed your eyes, laughing and crying like a mad person. Please stop the pain.

“Y/N, please,” his whispers were tender, yet tinged with a sorrow that amplified your heartache. “What about Sachiro?” He, too, shed his own tears, his ocean-blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight as they filled with tears, his voice breaking. “What about me?”

Your face was pressed against his chest, anguish coursing through you, feeling as if your very soul was being torn asunder. “Th-That’s the... the same thing... I’ve been asking myself,” you managed between sobs, struggling to draw a steady breath. “I’m... I’m always th-thinking about other people... and never myself.”

He fell silent, his response lost in the weight of your words, perhaps laden with guilt or his own sorrow. But his presence there, holding you close, as if he still harbored love for you, tore another piece from your already battered heart. He shouldn’t be here. He should have been with Akemi. He should be anywhere but near you. With a surge of adrenaline, you began to push him away, propelling yourself through the water, racing toward the shore despite the weakness in your limbs. Satoru called out your name, his voice a desperate plea, as he followed after you, his movements slower but filled with urgency.

“Stop!” Your voice rose, echoing against the night as you stood on the shore, water cascading from your body in sync with the tears streaming down your face. “L-Leave me alone... Please. Why are you here?”

You knew Satoru well enough to understand what had driven him to chase after you. Perhaps he had grown concerned, either from noticing your absence or from someone informing him of your uncharacteristic nighttime swim. His actions were undoubtedly unusual; he knew all too well of your fear of open water, prompting him to leap into action to rescue you.

But you didn’t need him to be here. You didn’t need him anywhere. He wasn’t yours anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of confusion and concern, his steps cautious as he approached you. He looked at you with tears in his eyes, his expression vulnerable and pleading, like a child seeking comfort, desperately hoping to be understood, to be heard. “You’re not with Toji anymore.”

“Why should I?” You struggled to compose yourself, wiping away the tears that blurred your vision. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It fucking matters, Y/N!”

“It shouldn’t matter!” Your voice cracked with emotion, your heart pounding painfully against your ribs. “Why should it matter, huh?”

“Because I love you!” His words echoed through the night, raw with emotion that had never been confronted until now. “Because I can’t fucking get over you. Because I’m a fool for you!”

You pushed him away, a surge of anger and hurt rising within you. “H-How dare you,” you choked out, your fists trembling as you struck his chest. “How dare you say that to me when you’re with someone else! You n-never truly loved me, Satoru. Y-You never did!”

“You wanted me to find someone new, Y/N,” his voice cracked with emotion, pained by his own words, “I just did what you asked me to do, even if that wasn’t what I truly wanted.”

You vehemently denied his assertion in your mind, shaking your head in refusal. “Stop saying that. Just stop. Please.”

He already had his grip on your hand, pulling you closer. “Y/N—”

You jerked your hand away sharply, but then a wave of despair washed over you. “Every time I see you with her, I convince myself that I’m fine with it, that this is what I wanted, what I chose.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled every heartbreak. “I tell myself that I deserve it, that you deserve to be with someone who can make you happier. But then I remember our past…” You paused, closing your eyes to stem the tears. “And then I compare it to your relationship with her now. I can’t help but wonder, why didn’t I receive that kind of love and respect from the beginning? Why did it take me nearly drowning in an ocean for you to realize and try to make things right three years ago?”

His grip on your hand tightened, as if he wanted to hold onto you and never let go, as if he wanted to reassure you with his touch that he was there, listening, understanding, feeling every word you uttered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the crashing waves and the heavy weight of your emotions. “I’m sorry for everything I did wrong, for every moment I failed to show you the love and respect you deserved, Y/N.”

You hated it. You hated hearing his words now, because it was three years all too late. You had already gone through so much suffering, so much anguish that you didn’t deserve, just because you wanted a happy marriage. Just because you wanted to love and be loved. By him. By the person you married.

“It d-doesn’t change anything,” you murmured, your voice breaking with sorrow. “I can’t undo the pain, the heartache. I can’t erase the memories.”

“I know,” he replied softly, his eyes filled with remorse. “But let’s try again. Let me try again, Y/N. Please.”

You wanted to believe him, to believe that he meant every word, that he was sincere in his intentions. But the wounds of the past were still fresh, and the memories of betrayal were still lingering in your mind.

“You know what hurts me more?” you asked, “It’s the fact that you didn’t lose your memories of me, but you still ended up falling for her,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru’s silence felt like a confirmation to you. Perhaps he had indeed fallen in love with Akemi, and you were the obstacle standing in the way of his complete commitment to her. You were just a relic of his past, a piece that he needed to discard in order to embrace his future with Akemi. It seemed that fate had already decided that you and Satoru would never find happiness together, and this should serve as nothing more than a closure.

But god be damned, it was tearing you apart.

You tugged at the necklace around your neck, the pendant bearing half of his heart, and in your trembling hand, you ripped it off. As painful as it was, your next action was to hurl it into the darkness of the lake, discarding the last remnant that linked him to you, watching as it disappeared beneath the surface of the lake with a soft splash.

You know the difference between us, Satoru? You thought silently. I dove into the ocean just to find our wedding ring, but you would never plunge into that lake to retrieve that necklace.

With determined steps, you turned away before he could react, walking away from that place, walking away from him. You resolved that this would be your final encounter with Satoru Gojou in your lifetime, because there was no need for him in your life, just as he no longer needed you in his. You two would remain in the past, a memory best left behind.

This was you letting him go.

But then, just as you were about to walk away, you heard a faint noise from the darkness behind you—a splash, followed by the sound of another frantic splashing.

Your heart pounded heavily in your chest. You turned back toward the lake, your eyes widening in shock as you saw Satoru thrashing in the water, his arms flailing as he searched desperately for the necklace you had thrown away.

“Satoru, you idiot!” you cried out, your voice filled with disbelief and concern and pain and overwhelming heartache. Without a second thought, you ran back to the cold water, your feet sinking into the soft sand as you waded into the lake. “Satoru, what are you doing?!” you called out again, your heart racing as you reached out to him, your fingers brushing against his arm as he struggled to stay afloat.

“I have to find it,” Satoru gasped, his voice strained with exertion. “I have to find the necklace you threw.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked into his eyes, seeing the desperation and determination that burned within them. You knew then that you couldn’t let him risk his life for a piece of jewelry, no matter how sentimental it may be.

“Satoru, please,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s not worth it. Let it go—”

But Satoru shook his head, his gaze fixed on the dark waters below. “I have to find it," he insisted, his eyes tearful. “It’s my heart. I gave it to you.”

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

The tension between you crackled like electricity in the air. In that moment, all of your walls came crashing down, your heart laid bare before the man you had once loved with all your soul.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you reached out and pulled Satoru into your arms, your lips meeting his in a desperate, longing kiss. It was a kiss filled with years of pent-up emotion, a bittersweet union of love and pain that left you both breathless and raw. Your lips moved together in a tender dance, each kiss a silent plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for a second chance at the love you had lost. It was a kiss that spoke of regrets and what-ifs, of dreams left unfulfilled and promises broken.

For years, you had been strangers, your hearts closed off to each other in an attempt to shield yourselves from the pain of your past. But in that moment, as you clung to each other in the darkness, you couldn’t deny the truth that still lingered between you—that your love for each other had never truly died.

As you finally pulled apart, gasping for air, you looked into Satoru’s eyes, seeing the depth of his pain mirrored in your own. “I hate you,” you whispered, your voice laced with grief and surrender, "so much."

Satoru reached out and brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and tender. “I hate me, too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes shining with guilt, “for hurting you.”

You couldn’t erase the past, nor could you predict the future. But as you stood together in the middle of the lake, your hearts entwined once more, you found solace in the simple act of being together, of sharing your pain and your love in the darkness of the night. And as you held each other tight, the gravity of your connection pulled you to kiss him again.

Once more, you met his lips in a deeper kiss. His lips moved in perfect sync with yours, and the taste of his tongue was met with the familiarity you two shared. It was as if your bodies were moving on its own, and you allowed it to dictate whatever action it desired. Forget everything for now, was all you could think of in your head. In your mind, it was all Satoru. It was the man you love. The man you married. The man you share a child with.

You were too engrossed with the feeling of his lips that you didn’t even realize he had your legs wrapped around his waist. And with your arms around his neck, you could feel him lift you up, never breaking the kiss as he carried you out of the lake. With each step he took, your kiss only got deeper and deeper. You had never felt such intensity throughout your marriage, and you were intoxicated by the feeling of kissing him again.

Of feeling his lips around your jawline. Your neck. Your chest. You were gasping on his mouth, had his lips completely enveloped with yours, not realizing you were stumbling inside your cabin, desperate to find somewhere to lay on.

And before you knew it, the night had played way differently than expected.

Both your wet clothes were on the floor in a tangle of fabric, forgotten in the heat of your passion. And now, with your bare body on top of him. His arms caressed the smooth skin of your back, his lips feathering kisses along your bust. As you moved your hips slowly, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips. Satoru’s member was warm inside you. Your bodies were tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking in the dimly lit room. And when you pulled away, your eyes were locked in a silent exchange of yearning.

Without a word, Satoru reached out and gently cupped your breast, his touch sending electricity down your spine. You leaned into his touch, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you felt the heat of his body pressing against yours.

Your lips met once more, a tender exploration of each other’s mouths, and he was taking that chance to shift the position you were in. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to enter you again. You were whimpering under him, melting into his passionate movements. You have had sex with Satoru multiple times before, but it was never this emotional. It was never this passionate. You could feel the difference with the way he kissed you, with the way he looked at you, with the way he touched you.

“S-Satoru—!”

“Mmm… I missed you so fucking much, Y/N.”

And then, finally, you came together in a flurry of hands and lips and skin, your bodies melding into one as you gave yourselves over to the exquisite pleasure of your lovemaking.

At that exact moment, as you moved together in perfect harmony, you knew that you were home.

— —

When Akemi woke up, she could tell something felt wrong.

It didn’t help that Satoru was not by her side as she opened her eyes, blinded by the sunlight that peeked through the window. Was he out for a morning run? Or perhaps he was indulging in a leisurely bath? She entertained the idea of joining him, wanting to express her gratitude for his care and support.

Her heart swelled with love for him, despite all the risks and uncertainties. He was her rock, her confidant, her everything. In him, she found solace and strength, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him. Despite the troubles of his past, she felt blessed to have crossed paths with him. She longed for the kind of deep connection and lasting commitment that she saw in others’ marriages, a dream she harbored for her own future. And in Satoru, she saw the perfect partner to share that dream with, to build a family and a life together that she had always yearned for.

Akemi wasn’t ashamed by how smitten she was with him. In fact, she was beginning to have more confidence in her decision to pursue a relationship with him. She just hoped you would understand, that you would eventually let go of the grudge in your heart. At the end of the day, she wasn’t trying to hurt you. She was only trying to pursue her happiness.

And the exact source of her happiness was someone she endeavored to find that morning. She put on a robe and searched every room in the cabin, calling out for his name, wondering why she couldn’t hear his voice.

With no response forthcoming, Akemi decided to exit the cabin in search of Satoru. Assuming he had likely been with Suguru all night, she scanned the vicinity, expecting to spot his tall, white-haired figure. Yet, after several minutes of fruitless searching, she couldn’t find him and instead, encountered a hotel staff member. That was when she decided to finally inquire about his whereabouts.

“Excuse me,” she began, halting the staff member’s stride, “Have you seen my boyfriend? He’s tall, with white hair and blue eyes.”

“Ah, Mr. Gojou?” the hotel staff responded, scratching her head as realization dawned. She then gestured toward the last place Akemi wished him to be. “Um, I think he’s in there.”

Akemi’s heart raced as if she had seen a ghost. Her complexion drained of color, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized that the cabin she had been directed to was yours. And in a twist of fate, just as she stood there in shock, the man she loved emerged from the cabin, equally wide-eyed.

“‘Kemi…” he began, frozen in place, “Let’s talk first—”

But she cut him off with a scoff. Her hands trembled with a tumult of emotions—anger, pain, and betrayal—threatening to overwhelm her. She was on the verge of collapse, her mind reeling with questions. Was he going to explain his actions? No, there was only one question that demanded an answer.

“Did you… did you do it?” she asked through gritted teeth, her voice laced with accusation.

Satoru didn’t need to respond. As Akemi pushed the door open, her worst fears were confirmed as she saw you standing behind him, draped in nothing but a blanket. Tears welled in her eyes, and before she could think, her body reacted, her hand connecting with Gojou’s cheek in a resounding slap.

“You never changed!” she cried out, her voice cracking with anguish. “You’re still a cheater!”

Satoru struggled to deflect each fist she hurled at him, but her rage and despair overwhelmed any attempt to reason with her. She was consumed by her pain and the looming betrayal she anticipated, unable to comprehend that her worst fears were coming true before her eyes.

“‘Kemi, please,” Satoru pleaded in vain.

“...Akemi, I'm sorry,” you interjected, your voice heavy with remorse as you wiped your tears. “It’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

Upon hearing your words, Akemi erupted. She disregarded your friendship, cast aside your shared memories, and denied that she had ever considered you a friend. Her tear-filled eyes bore into you with accusation. “Y-You,” she began, her voice choking with sobs, “You’re a hypocrite, Y/N!”

You remained silent, absorbing her words.

Akemi pressed on with her onslaught. “You’re a hypocrite! You’ve become the person you despised the most when you were married,” she accused, recalling the anguish you endured during Gojou’s affair. “You’re no better than Sera! And that’s why you’re miserable, and you’ll forever be miserable! If this is your way of getting back at me,” she paused, betrayed by the anguish in her voice, “Then jokes on you, because Satoru will never be faithful to you. He’ll keep cheating on you, just like he did now with me! You two belong in that cycle!”

She fled before she could hear your response, but Satoru’s whispered apology lingered in the air, unclear of who its intended recipient was. At that moment, she didn’t care anymore. She raced back to her cabin, tears streaming down her face as she hastily packed her belongings.

She moved mechanically, tossing her belongings into her luggage while grappling with the overwhelming pain of his infidelity. Try as she might to focus on the task at hand, her tears flowed freely, and she surrendered to her grief, cradling her face in her hands.

Amidst her anguish, she couldn’t ignore the escalating pain in her pelvic region, a physical echo of the agony in her heart. Each sob seemed to intensify both sensations, leaving her feeling utterly shattered.

With that confrontation, Satoru faced a pivotal choice: to stay with you or to pursue Akemi.

While Akemi had anticipated that he might choose you, she was taken aback when she swung the door open,

bags in hand,

only to find Satoru Gojou standing on her doorstep.

#series: sincerely yours #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo angst #jjk x you

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babydollybun · 1 month ago

Text

milk & gunpowder ♡

pairing: leader!rafe cameron x soft!survivor!reader

warnings: dead dove do not eat. dubcon/noncon, captivity, forced domesticity, breeding kink, ddlg undertones, age gap, psychological manipulation, obsession, violence, implied past SA (not by rafe), trauma response, infantilization, soft!bambi-coded reader, predator/prey dynamic, twisted “marriage,” ownership, pet names ("wife," "baby," "sweet girl"), survival horror themes, smut, misogyny, 1950s housewife fantasy meets post-apocalyptic nightmare, extreme possessiveness, sadism masked as love, gunplay, grooming tones. reader is of age. no actual zombies mentioned, but heavily twd/last of us–inspired setting. rafe is unhinged. you have been warned.

you didn’t mean to find his outpost.

the world had crumbled around you, leaving only dust and echoing gunshots in the distance. the air tasted of burnt metal and decay. you’d been running for days—no direction, no hope, just desperation pushing you forward with a few cans of food, a knife you barely knew how to use, and the clothes on your back.

when you stumbled into the camp—cold, starving, alone—you hadn’t expected much. you thought it was another group of survivors, a few weeks into hiding, holed up in some building like the others. you never imagined it would be his camp.

they caught you quickly—too quickly—hands grabbing at you, pulling your arms back in ways that made your head spin, shouting orders you didn’t understand. you saw them—men, dirty, powerful, armed with guns and knives. a few women watched from the shadows—some seemingly content, others hollow-eyed. but they all stared as if you didn’t belong, as if you weren’t meant to be there.

and then, he appeared.

rafe cameron.

you’d seen men like him before—leaders, tyrants, kings. the ones who took what they wanted and didn’t care about the bodies left behind. but rafe was different. he wasn’t just a man. he was a force.

he looked you over, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, his boots scraping against the dirt. his grin was dark, like he was savoring some private joke, and you hated him instantly for it. you opened your mouth to protest, to say you were fine—just lost, just needed help—but his finger pressed against your lips before you could speak.

“shh,” he whispered, his voice smooth yet unyielding, like velvet over steel. “you’re gonna be okay, sweet thing.”

you weren’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t matter. because from that moment, you were his.

—

the first night was the worst.

they threw you into a small room—nothing but a dark corner with a mattress on the floor and cracked, cold walls. you hadn’t seen a window in hours, and the door locked behind you. you could hear the men outside, shouting and laughing, but you were trapped.

your hands shook as you tried to sit on the mattress, the air thick and suffocating.

then, rafe came in.

he didn’t knock. didn’t ask. he just pushed open the door and walked in like he owned the place—and, for all you knew, he did.

his eyes swept over you, curled up, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to make yourself small.

“you scared, baby?” he asked, voice low and teasing, like he didn’t care about the answer.

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

he chuckled, stepping closer. “don’t worry, princess. you’ll get used to this. i’ll take care of you.”

he moved closer, his hand trailing along your cheek, fingers soft but controlling. you flinched, but he didn’t stop.

“i’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, his thumb brushing your lip. “well … not in a way you won’t like.”

you wanted to scream, to run, but there was nowhere to go. you were in his world now.

“you’ll see,” he whispered. “i’ll make sure you don’t have to fight anymore.”

the last thing you heard before he left was his chuckle.

“sweet girl. you’re gonna be just fine.”

—

one: you don’t open the door.

two: you don’t talk to the men.

three: you don’t touch yourself unless he tells you to.

four: you smile when he says to.

five: you sleep in his bed, under him, next to his gun.

and if you break any of them, he doesn’t yell. he just gets quiet. and somehow, that’s worse.

—

he brings you a dress—yellow, soft cotton with tiny white flowers. looks like something from a photo album—1950s, backyard picnic, lemonade stand smile. you stare at it like it might bite you.

“go on,” he says, tossing it at the bed. “put it on for me.”

you don’t move. your hands stay clenched in your lap.

he sighs, slow and theatrical, like you’re the one being difficult.

“baby,” he says, “don’t make me ask twice.”

you flinch. your body obeys, even if your mind doesn’t. you pick it up with trembling fingers, and he watches the whole time. sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, gun on his thigh. his eyes follow every movement, lazy and hungry.

you turn your back when you undress. it doesn’t help. you still feel his gaze, heavy as chains.

“that’s my good girl,” he murmurs when you face him again, the dress hanging loose over your frame. “you look like a little wife already.”

you don’t answer. your throat’s too dry.

—

he makes you clean. not for the camp. not even for survival. just for him.

he walks you to a kitchen space carved from some old cafeteria. it’s spotless, but that doesn’t matter. he hands you a rag and a bottle of water and says, “wipe every inch. get on your knees if you have to.”

he sits back in a chair while you work, boots kicked up, gun in hand. always the gun.

“this is what you were made for,” he says, voice smooth. “soft hands. soft mouth. soft little brain.”

your hands shake—not from fear, not exactly. it’s the humiliation. the way he watches you like a predator admiring a caged thing.

he gets up once—to tug the back of your dress higher, just to see your panties when you scrub the floor.

“you’re already learning,” he praises, petting your hair like you’re a dog. “my perfect little housewife.”

that night, he doesn’t leave.

you’re curled on the far side of the mattress, trying not to cry. you’re tired. hungry. you miss the sound of wind in the trees, the smell of grass. you miss your mom’s perfume and the way sunlight used to hit your bedroom carpet.

he gets in behind you. his body is all heat and gun oil, and you hate that you’ve learned to recognize it.

his arm snakes around your waist, pulls you back into him.

“you did good today,” he mumbles against your neck. “think i’ll keep you forever.”

you try to disappear, but his grip tightens.

“baby,” he warns. “don’t wriggle. just let me hold you.”

you freeze. like prey. like a bunny in a trap.

“that’s it,” he breathes. “good girl. my girl.”

—

there’s a collar on the dresser. pastel pink. velvet. a little bell that jingles when you move.

you don’t touch it. don’t ask. but he sees how your eyes catch on it when you brush your hair in the mirror like he told you to.

he smirks, slow and sharp.

“baby’s curious,” he drawls. “wanna ask what it’s for?”

you don’t speak. not until he stands behind you, warm breath on your neck, fingers toying with the hem of your dress.

“i like when you look at it,” he murmurs. “you know why? ‘cause it means you’re starting to get it.”

you swallow hard.

“get what?”

he grins. “that you’re mine.”

—

the ring comes next. not a real one. not gold or silver. just a piece of wire, twisted around your finger, bent until it fits.

“every wife needs a ring,” he says. “and you are my wife, right?”

you shake your head, but he tilts it with a finger under your chin.

“wrong answer, sweet girl.”

he kisses you. not soft. not sweet. his mouth is hot, invasive, tasting of blood and smoke and everything you’ve tried to forget.

your hands stay limp at your sides. you don’t kiss back. but you don’t pull away either.

“good girl,” he whispers, breath thick against your lips. “you’ll learn.”

—

dinner’s quiet that night. he makes you sit in his lap while he eats, hand resting just above your thigh.

he feeds you little bites, like you’re helpless. like you’re his doll.

“open up,” he coos, fork held to your lips. “c’mon, be good for daddy.”

you hesitate. he clicks the safety off his gun. doesn’t point it but just lays it on the table.

you open your mouth.

he hums, pleased. wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb.

“knew you’d be a natural.”

later, he presses you down into the mattress. doesn’t fuck you—not yet. he says he’s saving that. says you’re not ready.

but he gets close. mouth on your throat. hips pressed to your ass.

you cry, quietly.

he shushes you, nuzzling into your hair like it’s something tender.

“don’t cry, baby. it’s just love.”

he whispers into your ear before you fall asleep, voice sticky and low.

“gonna knock you up soon,” he promises. “make this little house a home.”

your heart pounds.

he wraps an arm tight around your waist.

“you’ll be so pretty, all round and full. fuckin’ glowing f’me.”

he says it like it’s heaven. like you should thank him for it.

“daddy’s gonna take such good care of you.”

—

it’s not a church. it’s a warehouse.

the windows are broken. light spills through in stripes. the floor’s littered with flower petals—torn from somewhere, or someone—and in the center, there’s an altar made of crates and bullets.

you wear white. not really a dress. just some scrap of fabric he liked on you. torn lace, too tight across your chest. he braided your hair. made you sit still while he did it, fingers surprisingly gentle.

“can’t marry a mess,” he said. “you gotta look like something pure. something worth owning.”

you don’t speak. you haven’t all day.

he wears black. his fatigues. his boots. the same belt he uses to punish you.

there’s blood on his shirt. but you don’t ask whose. you never do.

he holds a gun in one hand. a ring in the other. it’s made from a bullet casing, polished, engraved with your initials. you know he did it himself.

he stands in front of you. tall. smirking. terrifying.

“on your knees,” he says.

you obey.

he presses the barrel to your chin. you flinch, but you don’t cry.

he’s taught you better than that.

“say it,” he whispers.

you swallow. your voice shakes.

“i … i do.”

he hums, pleased.

“gonna be a good wife for me, baby?”

you nod.

“gonna keep the house clean, keep my bed warm, keep your mouth shut unless i say otherwise?”

“…yes.”

he grins. kneels in front of you. pushes the ring onto your finger.

“then we’re married,” he says. “officially.”

you don’t get a kiss.

you get a collar. snapped around your neck with one hand. the other still holding the gun.

—

he doesn’t wait.

he takes you right there. on the altar. in front of god and nobody.

his gun stays pressed to your belly the whole time.

“don’t move,” he warns. “don’t breathe unless i let you.”

you’re shaking. trembling. ruined.

he kisses your tears.

“shh,” he murmurs. “it’s supposed to hurt the first time, baby. that means it’s working.”

you sob. he smiles.

“gonna fill you up,” he breathes. “make you a mama. make you mine for real.”

you whimper.

he pushes deeper. harder. your thighs burn. your lungs ache. the gun digs into your stomach like a promise.

“say thank you,” he growls.

you don’t want to. but the barrel clicks.

“…thank you.”

he groans. finishes with a low growl in your ear.

“that’s my wife.”

after, he holds you. rocks you gently in his lap, your dress bunched around your waist.

you’re bleeding. shaking. silent.

he kisses your temple.

“you’ll understand soon,” he whispers. “this world’s broken. but i fixed us. i fixed you.”

you close your eyes.

the ring is heavy. the collar is tight. the gun’s still warm beside you.

you’re married. you’re his. and there’s no way out.

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ryuucam · 3 months ago

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MY SAVIOR, BEAUTIFUL SOUL

⋆｡𖦹°‧ the oak family head has always intrigued you, but your sworn loyalty to the nameless led you to raise your sword against him in battle. but now that it’s all over, and he’s repented his sins, will you let him get closer to your heart?

contains friends to lovers but it’s more like love at first sight, slight aventurine x reader, purity-corruption talk, slight yan!sunday, gopher wood and sunday backstory, religious imagery, character study?, very very slight gore but as a rhetorical device, pov changes (reader -> sunday), scent kink, virgin!reader (implied) and virgin!sunday, he’s an asshole about virginity, cunningulus, pussy referred to as “she”, dubcon-noncon creampie

notes this was supposed to be a drabble idk what went wrong, take this as a thank u for all the support <33 feel free to send in requests

sunday, dominicus, the oak family head. ever since you arrived in penacony, you’ve heard these names countless times - but you can’t blame the citizens, because, as the ipc gambler said, he is the most famous man in the whole planet of festivities (well, he said handsome, but thinking about how attractive he is will just make you even more distracted). you can’t deny that you feel intrigued by the halovian, but, with all that happened, it is very unlikely that you’d ever interact with him again. well, that’s the harsh reality of the trailblaze - as march told you in one of your “girl talks” in your room in the reverie. and as soon as you start coming to terms that your little crush on sunday is destined to be inconclusive, you suddenly receive a text from mr. yang: the man you’ve been infatuated with is joining the express.

you’re a bit ashamed of your lack of hesitation when it’s time to vote in favor of the new member of the astral express - at least caelus and the others agree with you in looking past all the ena chaos. well, it’s not like you went against your better judgment: it’s clear that sunday has had a change of heart, and all his actions are a product of years of grooming and abuse by another member of the family. as he came to terms with this knowledge, though, sunday changed. the meticulous oak family head is no more, and all that’s left behind is a bird with no wings, no freedom, nothing. but, despite being just a shadow of his former self, the halovian is not a stranger to humanity, to feelings. he saw your behavior on penacony (your courage, your strength, your desire for freedom), and he saw how you stood up for him for his addition to the nameless. and he admires you.

as weeks go by on the express, sunday slowly starts getting closer to you: first, it’s offering you some insight on books he’s read, that are most certainly in your interest, miss y/n, then, it’s joining you for breakfast. and when you two are close enough - closer than he is to any other member on the express - he starts being more physical. resting his knee against yours (unknowingly making your heart skip a beat, or two), lying his hand on your shoulder, and slowly inching his face closer and closer to yours. even if he’s long abandoned the manipulative powers of ena, you still feel trapped by his gaze. however, it’s not controlling - far from it - but the sheer sensibility and vulnerability that pool in his irises are enough to make you go weak in the knees.

one night, you’re both sprawled out on your bed, staring at the stars in the ceiling. while you’re seemingly relaxed, sunday feels like his brain is about to short circuit any second now: his nose is filled with your perfume, his fingers are less than an inch apart from yours, and his eyes are stuck on your face. have you always looked this good? yes, he’s sure of it: your hair frames your face so well, your complexion looks exceptionally dreamy, and the way your eyes melt into his is enough to make him feel lightheaded. and your body - god, your body. sunday has lived a life of chastity, of strict rules and limited, if not any, freedom. even so, he can’t help but feel guilty when he feels his cock inevitably strain against his pants when you unintentionally get closer to him. his breath hitches, and he hopes, prays even, that you don’t notice the twitching. sunday feels like the guilt could eat him alive: you’re so sweet, so willing to accept him for who he is - and he’s doing nothing but tainting the sweet image has of you.

who is he kidding? the second he met you, you were corrupted by him. since your first introduction in the reverie, when he wasn’t an outcast, a fugitive yet, but the most respectable man in penacony, he had his mind set on you. he was disgusted with himself when he felt his stomach churn at every interaction you had with the stoneheart. sunday knew he had no business involving himself with your affairs with aventurine, but he went against his better judgment and spent just a tiny bit more time torturing the avgin man. of course, he feels like a monster now. and he felt like one when you were on the battlefield, fighting against the harmonious choir, against him. but, sunday is now a new man. so, deep in his heart, he hopes that you’ll forgive him for lusting over you.

“sunday? are you okay?”

oh. your voice, your sweet, honey-like voice. it’s enough for him to be stripped away from his thoughts, a saint arriving at a land of sin and evil. he coughs - a lousy way to mask his thinking. “i…yes. don’t concern yourself, miss y/n”. your eyes soften. “sunday… you can tell me what’s wrong. you’re not alone anymore.”

right - he’s not alone. he has you, mr. yang, caelus… he is no longer trapped in a cage, and his newfound freedom is hard to process. the world sunday has known for years has collapsed, but rebuilding a new one is easy if you’re with him. and he knows you won’t leave. right? how could you leave? an angel like you is above all cruelty he’s known, and you’ll take care of him. so he smiles, and closes his eyes, denying himself to stare at you any further.

you just sigh: after all that’s happened, you can’t bring yourself to pry further in his mind. you don’t know what you’ll find. so, unconsciously, you reach out to him, hand sneaking over his face, caressing his cheek. you don’t miss the hitching of his breath, or how his eyebrows form a slight frown. sunday, on the other hand, is feeling everything all at once: he feels like he’s crash landing in a groundless void. the more he sits there, helpless, the more he feels disgusted with himself. how can he not do anything in this situation?

but he knows, deep down, that you won’t blame him for being weak: you’re worshipping him as much as he does you, and for just a second, sunday feels the robbed divinity rush in his veins again.

and with this newfound confidence, sunday open his eyes and almost closes the gap between you two. it’s bold, irrational, and so unlike him, but he sees no trace of malevolence in your eyes - just genuine surprise. he thinks you look so cute like this, so surprised. so he’ll keep going, so long as he gets to see you like this. he inches closer, and everything around him stops. his heart and mind are racing with questions, unresolved reasonings, but sunday thinks it’s time to let this all go. maybe he’s trying to cope with the lustful, sinful, but oh so addicting thoughts he has of you, but maybe, just maybe, he’s a tired man seeking solace.

and maybe he can be both, he concludes. his lips press against yours, clumsy and inexperienced, and his eyes flutter shut. sunday feels the oxygen flowing back into his lungs when you mimic his actions. the hand that was resting on his cheek now serves as a way to pull you both closer to each other, both unknowingly afraid to break the kiss. it’s fragile, raw, but so is sunday. you’re the first to pull away, reluctantly, but the halovian knocked all air out of your lungs. your hand doesn’t move, though, and a line of spit that connects your lips serves as a testimony to what just happened. you’re breathless, wordless, but sunday sees your dilated pupils and reddened cheeks - maybe you need him in the same way he needs you. that must be it.

“miss y/n…” sunday speaks first. your expression softens. he sees it, and suddenly every word that comes to his mind seems meaningless, unworthy of being uttered in your presence. you deserve more, much more, and sunday fears he’ll never be able to communicate with you - not even by ripping out his heart and handing it to you. you sense this (and sunday wonders how: surely you have not been blessed by xipe?), and rest your forehead against his. you smile, and he feels powerless. experimentally, you rest your lips on top of his. “is this okay?”, you murmur, lips not leaving his.

god, yes. sunday feels no hesitation as he crashes into the kiss, breaking the soft and gentle balance you tried to build. he knows he’s never done this before, but he doesn’t worry about self consciousness, insecurities or whatnot. he forgets about lust, maybe because he’s already been taken over by it, or maybe because what he’s feeling is love. either answer is foreign to sunday, who keeps following his instinct. he gently moves on top of you, one hand holding yours, while your other hand lowered itself on the nape of his neck. he kisses you again, and again, until you’re both panting, lips swollen and wet with spit. and the he feels it - how could he have forgotten it? the strain in his pants is more evident than ever, nudging at your soft thigh. he whimpers at the friction, feeling his clothed sensitive tip nudge against your skin. sunday feels his stomach churn: what now? he’s never done this before - he has never touched his cock, let alone have it done by someone else.

then, he hears it. and he feels like he could listen to that angelic sound for the rest of his life.

you whimpered - or is that a stifled moan? sunday does not know, but it doesn’t matter as he’s now painfully aware of your presence. he feels lightheaded, his mouth is inexplicably dry: he swallows, then closes his eyes. he gets closer to you, nose prodding at your cheek, taking in your scent - it’s sweet, just like you, but it’s just so human, so raw. is this what arousal smells like? sunday’s head is spinning, and he feels like all the blood his poor heart is pumping out is going straight to his pants. his free hands goes from your cheek, your neck, your collarbones. then, he hesitates: he needs to tell you something, he can’t just take you. “miss y/n… will you let me?” your eyes are watery, your face is burning. you can just nod, not being able to let out any word but a sweet, sweet whimper. sunday smiles: you’re just so cute. “you have to tell me… can’t do anything otherwise. can you do that for me, miss?”

embarrassment pools over you. when did he get so bold? but his erection feels so good on your skin, and you need more: so, you do as he commands. “please, sunday… t-touch me? please-ah!…” sunday rolls his hips into your crotch as you speak, tip hitting your poor cunt. he smiles, and kisses you again. he keeps on kissing you, trying his best to keep you quiet - and him. his hands sneak down to your chest, feeling the soft, supple flesh sink into his cold, trembling fingers: your breasts are even better than what he imagined (countless nights spent stifling his noises as he pumped his cock, thinking about you), and he feels his dick twitch when he feels your nipples hardening. as he unbuttons your shirt, he wonders how he could’ve lived without this, without you, for so long. you’re left in your bra - it’s nothing elaborated or fancy, just a white, lacy bra that cups your boobs so well. sunday breaks the kiss to press pecks all the way down to your neck, pressing his lips on your soft mounds and nose on your cleavy. aeons, you smell so good. “pl-please… help me take this off.” you don’t question his inexperience, and slowly unhook your bra. sunday’s the one that takes it off, and he swears his briefs are drenched in precum. he latches his mouth on your nipple, hand playing with the other, first sucking gently - and as you moan and cry louder, he gets harsher. he’s unaware of the hickeys tainting your smooth skin: even if he wasn’t, he’s too busy playing with your tits. his cock is subconsciously prodding at your crotch, and you can’t take it anymore: “sund-ah! sunday!… ngh, n-need you to-hm!… do m-more…”

oh. how can he deny you? he leaves a goodbye kiss on your nipple, so lewd but so him, and moves his hands to your waist, slowly tugging down your skirt. once it’s off, sunday focuses on your panties - oh, they’re matching with your bra. did you do this for him?, he wonders. you minx, you knew that he’s infatuated with you. well, now’s not the time to dwell on this, he concludes, and strips you of your panties. now he’s left stunned: your puffy cunny is staring right back at him. “y-y/n… you’re gonna let me touch this? this pretty pussy? please?…” you nod - the praise making your head spin and eyes roll back into your skull. sunday smiles, relieved: he didn’t know what he’d do if you denied him of your sweet hole any longer. his face hovers over your crotch, lips kissing your labia, your clit, your hole.

his nose is pressed against your clit, bumping on it as he makes out with your cunt - and you cry, thrashing desperately because this is so lewd, so perverted! how’s sunday supposed to know all this? your thoughts are interrupted when he sighs, and reluctantly leaves your pussy alone. you gulp as he raises his body, undoing his belt and letting his pants fall. he’s in his briefs, and you can clearly see the fat outline of his cock. it’s hard, thick, and there’s a wet spot right where the tip is: sunday lets out a deep breath, and tugs down his pants. your mouth is watering, and you feel your neglected cunt leak as his cock springs free, hard and angry, so different from its owner. sunday is delicate, pure, and his length is swollen, veins leading to the oh so delicious mushroom tip.

sunday’s embarrassed: why are you staring at him? is his cock so horrid? why- oh.

he lets out a moan when your hand engulfs his dick, soft skin wrapped around his aching flesh, and sunday thinks lust has really taken over him. “please, let me-ah, lemme put this inside. need y-you!” and how can you say no?

you lean back, and sunday’s on you like a starved man - he knows he should lick your hole a bit more, maybe stick a finger or two in it, but he has long forgotten all the knowledge he got from some blooodhounds years ago. his tip prods at your small hole, and he worries about breaking you. can you take it? his sweet angel, you’re so perfect for him and he’s about to defile you - oh, he feels like he could cum just like this. tip pressed against your clit, both of your juices mixing together in a candied mix. he lowers his cock a bit, enough to be face to face with your entrance. the world stops when he slips it in: your pained moans, your walls fluttering shut around him, your tears staining your white sheets. sunday has ruined you, corrupted you with his lust, but now that he’s known how your cunt feels, he can’t get enough.

he moves, and his thrusts are messy, sloppy, inexperienced, his balls slapping and bruising your soft skin. sunday feels like he’s reached heaven, and he won’t stop. he can’t - you’re sucking him in so hard, so desperate to be fucked by your halovian companion. oh, you must be a pervert too, sunday realizes, letting a defiled angel like him taint you. but now you’re his, forever robbed of your purity and pride, and you’re not going anywhere.

“‘m gonna c-cum, ‘kay a-ah, angel? let me cu-uhm! in you, please? y’re g-gonna be ngh! a sweetheart, yeah? lemme claim your cunny, ‘kay?” sunday’s voice is slurred, words flowing out of his lips without his control. you nod, maybe even say something back, but sunday can’t hear you - you’re pussy’s the one he’s listening to right now. and she’s pleading so sweetly for sunday to cum in her. so, maybe you’re telling him no, that it’s risky, it’s wrong - but he’s not listening.

sunday empties his load deep in your pussy, kissing your cervix and womb with it, and he’s happy. he kisses you, poor you who’s all fucked out on your bed. don’t worry though, sunday will take care of you. it’s only natural - you’re bound together now, and maybe this realization is the reason you creamed so sweetly around his cock. he kisses you again, and you succumb yourself to him.

he’s happy, and he feels his cock twitch at the thought of doing this again. then, he’ll take his time tasting and ruining you again, and again, until he’s sure you won’t leave him: not for the avgin, not for the trailblazer, not for dan heng. you’re his, and he’s yours. forever.

#cw dubcon #writing #smut #x reader #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr smut #hsr fluff #hsr angst #honkai star rail fluff #honkai star rail angst #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #sunday smut #sunday fluff #sunday angst

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the-crooked-library · 5 months ago

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Nuance, Narratives, and Nosferatu

As of today, Robert Eggers' Nosferatu (2024) has only been in theatres for 4 full days; and, coincidentally, that is about as long as I am able to let my thoughts marinate before they demand to be communicated. Before going into any further detail, let it be known that this film was made by freaks for freaks; it exists for the goths, the gays, the monsterfuckers, the historians, and for all those who delight in moral and thematic complexity.

With that being said - spoilers under the cut!

There are two principal narratives running through the flesh of Nosferatu, both of them rooted heavily in the cultural and literary origins of the story. It is a nightmare; it is also an erotic fantasy. It is horrifying, and it is also achingly romantic. From what I've seen so far, the vast majority of discourse that has already emerged around the film is caused by people misunderstanding or deliberately ignoring the relationship between these different lines of analysis; so please trust me when I say, from the bottom of my heart, that this duality is the very lifeblood of the movie.

The reason for that is, quite simply, that Nosferatu is a gothic horror film, set in 1830s German Confederation; and its plot relies on the same (sometimes contradictory) complexities often displayed in Victorian gothic fiction.

From the beginning of the movie, we are given to understand that Ellen Hutter met Count Orlok - the eponymous nosferatu - psychically, when she was very young. They spoke, she pledged herself to him, and was horrified to realize what she had done when he revealed his true visage to her in their first visual (and sexual) encounter.

Here, under the lilacs, the paths diverge.

The first reading of the film is perhaps the more straightforward. A young girl is essentially catfished and groomed by a much older, dangerous man. When they meet for the first time, she is a teenager; the lilacs that bloom where it happens become a trigger. He is the source of her madness and "melancholy" (depression), she has nightmares about him regularly enough that her husband is aware of them, and it is implied that she has been institutionalized in the past. Thomas Hutter is the physical representation of her one desperate hope for a normal life - but as the story progresses, she finds herself being denied even that. Orlok's psychic connection with her verges on demonic possession; in chilling, The Exorcist-inspired sequences, she writhes and mutters, prophesying a city-wide reign of death and terror. In pursuit of his claim on Ellen, Orlok terrorizes her husband, murders her friends - and, eventually, she gives her life to take him with her to the grave, saving the city from the plague he caused.

That is the horror element of Nosferatu; it deals with an exploration of childhood trauma, of PTSD, of difficulties maintaining a social life after the fact. It is easy to understand even from a modern viewpoint, and it pushes the film to its conclusion with a bleak, heart-wrenching punch.

The horror is not the only element of Nosferatu.

To contextualize the alternate - though just as correct - reading of the film, it is essential to understand that Ellen’s society was extremely sexually repressed, especially in regards to female and queer sexuality.

Both were severely medicalized, demonized, and restricted; and as such, when these topics do make an appearance in contemporary fiction, they are often inextricable from disgust and fear.

Dedicated as always to historical accuracy, Eggers maintains the same setting-based narrative coding.

In anticipation of morality arguments vis à vis monstrosity, depiction, and modern purity culture, let me clarify: this is something that works within his chosen genre. Horror, and especially gothic horror, invites a deeper analysis in regard to morality and motivation, and in this case, Eggers' homage to the origins of that genre grounds the narrative in its time and location, as well as fleshing it out much further than a purely modern cultural lens would permit. In this context, the details of Ellen's connection with Orlok become paramount to the understanding of the film.

As bits and pieces of their background become revealed, the audience realizes that her psychic gift did not begin with him - and neither did her melancholy, or her isolation. She was born with her abilities, and throughout her childhood, she was a bit of a tomboy by her contemporary standards, running wild in the woods near her father's property; however, once she foretold her mother's death, and once she was too old to get away with eccentricities, her father became frightened of her abnormality. She was isolated, confined indoors, and that is when her melancholy had begun. Painfully lonely and aching for some form of companionship, she called out into the ether; and Orlok responded.

Over the course of their story, he becomes the physical manifestation of everything Ellen perceives as dark and sinful about herself.

He is psychic, he is vicious, possessive, and blatantly sexual; her sensual affection with Anna parallels the evident and physical attraction he displays towards Thomas; and the social power he so easily commands is the same that she lacks, being a woman in a rigidly patriarchal society.

In the end, the severely questionable age gap, the murders, the coercion, the betrayal - all of that comes down to respect. Throughout the film, that is the one thing that Ellen is consistently denied. She is young when she meets Orlok, yes; but she is aggressively infantilized by her surrounding society even when she is a grown, adult, married woman.

It starts from the beginning of the film, when the Hutters visit the Harding family. During those scenes, the men are shown talking business - while the women play with children in the parlour; and the same social framing persists into the body of the film. When Ellen is suffering from what appears to be some form of mental illness, she is referred to as a child by multiple different characters; and when the condition progresses, she is swiftly diagnosed with hysteria and drugged - thus being forcibly removed from the discussion of her own illness. The general reactions to that illness - which is, in fact, a display of her psychic abilities - range from annoyance to fear to curiosity; it is seen either as a disability or a curse, rather than anything entirely innate to who she is. Her fears are dismissed. Harding tells her to learn some deference. Even closer to the finale, when Von Franz admits that she could have been a great priestess in another age, he does so with pity rather than anything else; in their industrial era, he cannot help but see her only as a tragic sacrifice - horrible, but necessary to save the city from a plague. Brought in to heal her, he instead guides her to her death.

All these aspects of Ellen's circumstances find a direct opposite in her relationship with Orlok. Unlike all other characters in the film, he only ever sees her as his equal, which is made even more evident when his interactions with Thomas and Herr Knock are brought into consideration. With both men, Orlok insists on being addressed by his lordly title, "as his blood demands it"; and yet, Ellen never calls him by any title at all, be it "My Lord" or even a simple "Herr." She argues with him freely, and there is a familiarity between them that he is demonstrated to never tolerate from anyone else. Similarly, while he disguises the covenant he makes with Thomas, the terms of his covenant with Ellen are laid out clearly, in full. He does not hide from her; she already knows the worst of him, the same way he knows that she is intelligent, that she is powerful, and that she is not meant to be demure and deferring. Again and again, Orlok insists that Ellen is not meant for humanity - and the true horror, the horror she cannot bring herself to face, is that he is right.

In a sense, he is a mirror held up in front of her own face. Ellen is painfully aware that she does not fit in, and that she never has. The "normal" society, epitomized by the Hardings (wealthy husband, pretty blonde wife, 2.5 kids), has no place for her - and actively dislikes her.

The film makes this ostracism impossible for the viewer to ignore. As the story progresses, it becomes evident that the other human characters - even those that do sincerely care for Ellen - never truly know her. Anna loves her, but wishes she would not talk of dreadful things - and lashes out as a result of that discomfort, scolding her. Sievers finds himself bewildered by her; Knock sees her as an object to trade; Von Franz pities her, Harding hates her, and Thomas cannot truly satisfy her, even after being touched by the supernatural himself.

Seeing a flash of a monstrous face while they are together, he flings her away. To him, his experience with Orlok is merely traumatic, and he wishes for nothing more than to leave it behind. However, to her, it is something she cannot help but crave; and she continues to wear her lilac perfume.*

All that to say - Count Orlok is, simultaneously, everything Ellen wants and everything she is terrified of being.

That specific dichotomy reaches its climax during their mutual finale. As it is to be expected from a vampire wedding night, they rejoin in a sequence of sex, blood, and renewed vows - and what is particularly notable is that (unlike Murnau) Eggers makes it clear that this Orlok never intended to kill his Ellen, despite his inability to resist her blood. Though he drinks from her through the night, he stops at cock-crow; and she guides his head back down herself, distracting him long enough for the sun to rise. It is a duet of accident and intention. He drains her; and she holds him as the sun drains him. They cling together as they end - on a bed that serves their wedding and their death.

It is romantic. it is unquestionably romantic. However, that does not mean that the horror isn't also present; Ellen's consent, under these circumstances, is highly debatable, and Orlok is cruel, amoral, and murderously possessive. At the same time, the characters are also acting out folkloric archetypes, with precious little adjustment to that framework - which further removes them from a modern understanding of morality. He is Death, a Koschei the Deathless, a monster; she is the Maiden, a Vasilisa, a damsel. I hesitate to liken them to the Beauty and the Beast, largely because in the original premise of that story, the Beauty falls in love with the kindness that the Beast consistently displays; and it is essential to stress that Orlok has none. He does care for Ellen, in his own way, but he admits to being incapable of love as she defines it in human terms;** and, curiously, that seems to be her primary concern when it comes to the idea of accepting his proposal - rather than all the blood and carnage.

What I'm trying to say, I suppose, is that there are multiple ways of following a story, and multiple different stories in a film as nuanced as Nosferatu. Yes, it is about grooming and trauma. Yes, it is about finding love outside of the cage that is "polite society." I'm sure that it is many other things besides, with as many meanings as there are people in the theatres; after all, I am only one person, and the film grossed something over $40M in its first three days. The point is, really, that this is a story in which a rotting vampire is woken from centuries of deathlike slumber by a lonely voice asking him to be her friend; and whatever these two strange and aching souls do with that can go down any myriad of paths. The film trusts the viewer to interpret the narrative they choose.

* LILAC PERFUME - in fact, it is such a consistent favourite of Ellen's that Orlok smells it on her hair in the locket she sends with Thomas to the castle. Thomas never really learns the reason she likes that scent - even though he knows that preference well enough that he gifts her lilacs in the beginning of the film.

** ORLOK'S OBSESSION - this is a side note, but: the vampire wedding sequence reminds me strongly of the third season of NBC's Hannibal. I suppose that was to be expected, considering that Hannibal is also a Dracula offshoot, much like Orlok himself. When Ellen snaps at Orlok that he cannot love, he responds that "no; but only with you, I can be truly sated." Similarly - "Is Hannibal in love with me?" asks Will; and Bedelia responds - "Could he feel a daily stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you?" I'd say if you liked that series, you should try and see the film. It works with a familiar blend of aesthetic horror.

#nosferatu #nosferatu 2024 #robert eggers #lily rose depp #bill skarsgård #nicholas hoult #nosferatu spoilers #nosferatu analysis #nosferatu movie #willem dafoe #nosferatu meta #gothic horror #horror #horror film analysis #this movie respects its audience's intelligence #and that is everything to me #it doesn't spoon-feed you. it doesn't cave to over-explanation #it allows you to do the analysis yourself and read into the details #everyone say thank you robert eggers

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suzukiblu · 7 months ago

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Day nine of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim doesn't let himself kiss Kon for quite as long as he wants to this time. He doesn't want to say he doesn't want to move too fast and then get them both all riled up five seconds later and, well–undercut that, or whatever. Or seem like he didn’t actually mean it, maybe.

Also he does still need to make sure Kon’s gotten in enough calories today; he definitely still needs to do that. There’s gotta be a decent place they can get in last-minute with a carefully-applied bribe or two, if nothing else. Kon deserves “nice”, still, and also Tim is not gonna half-ass the date after that conversation. Whole-ass all the way.

“Um,” he says, clearing his throat again. Kon grins all sunny and pretty at him and it is a very, very flustering sight. Tim wants to smudge his eyeliner and mess up his hair and buy him an entire apartment block, or at least a suburb or two. “Wanna find someplace to eat? Maybe look through a couple shops on the way?”

“Oh, just a couple, huh?” Kon teases, his grin widening giddily. Tim feels very flustered.

“I mean, we are in the shopping district,” Tim says, refusing to admit to any embarrassment about being that easily seen-through. He has an entire lifestyle to fund for Kon here, alright, and that he is gonna not only whole-ass but double-ass. Triple-ass, maybe. Quadruple.

. . . though modeling age-appropriate relationship behaviors was already gonna be hard enough with how little personal dating experience he has, much less the sugar daddy thing.

Yeah, that’s gonna require some planning.

“And that was totally an accident, right?” Kon asks with a laugh that is actually more like a giggle than anything else, which Tim’s brain unhelpfully burns down an entire metaphorical warehouse district about.

“I plead the fifth,” he says, tugging Kon back onto the sidewalk, and Kon giggles again and ducks his head as he shakes it, squeezing his hands one last time before letting go of one to follow him more easily. Tim feels stupidly wooed and soft and definitely wants to destroy the lives of everyone who has ever so much as mildly inconvenienced the adorable bastard. Kon wasn’t cute before, dammit. He was not prepared for Kon to turn out to be cute.

“You are literally fucking ridiculous, babe, I hope you know that,” Kon tells him, still grinning as his face flushes again and tugging the collar of his jacket up over his mouth with his free hand. “Like, you actually got me a friggin’ flower, you friggin’ nerd. Like–seriously?”

Tim can’t help suspecting Kon’s joking about that because flowers and cute little dating clichés aren’t the kind of thing he thinks anyone should bother doing for him, which honestly at this point seems like a pattern of behavior. Especially after earlier. Which–it's not like he didn't go into this already knowing that Kon's loudly overinflated self-esteem and cocky attitude was partially bluster and self-defense, but the more time they spend together like this, the more it seems less like “partially”, and more like “entirely”.

Tim is going to get this adorable bastard so many flowers as soon as he gets him in a cul-de-sac to be keeping them in. He is gonna keep Kon in flowers until the goddamn heat-death of the goddamn universe. He’ll get a florist and set up a weekly order of varying tropical flowers and make sure the neighborhood is full of flowering bushes and trees and bring a bouquet to at least two dates a month, if not just literally every single one of them.

“I wanted to,” he replies with a shrug, because that sounds more normal to say than any of the rest of it and sincerity seems to be the most efficient way to cut the legs out from underneath any attempts Kon’s making at downplaying the point of the gesture. “I was hoping you'd like it.”

Kon turns red, then ducks his head and grins helplessly wide, still half-hiding his mouth behind his jacket collar. Tim feels an irrational urge to smother him. Like, affectionately, he means, but also kind of literally.

Maybe he has some wires crossed right now, given how much of a workout the supervillain timeline’s been getting lately.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon #implied past grooming #implied past abuse

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dear-aubade · 5 months ago

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Oh my good God your writing is absolutely fabulousssss 🤤 The way you write about Joel and his baby girl is sending me into orbit!!! Genuinely I cannot wait to read more of your work 😍 Do you think that you would ever do one where Joel comforts his baby if she got jealous? There’s a few different ways this could go but the idea of him comforting his sweet girl when she’s upset over something like seeing another woman in Jackson hit on him or something makes me think terrible, nsfw thoughts 😆🩷🎀

This was so fun to write, thank you for the ask anon! Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: When you see a woman making a move on Joel and storm out in a flurry of tears, Joel realizes exactly how much he’s been neglecting his baby. He’s determined to make it up to you.

Notes: Smut, oral (f receiving), dom!joel, sub!reader, praise, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, babygirl, little girl, honey, darling, any fanfic-typical nickname Joel has for reader), jealous!reader, oblivious!joel (sorta), semi-public, implied age gap

You were fuming.

It was Tommy’s birthday and Maria had decided to invite the entire town of Jackson to the Tipsy Bison that night to celebrate. The bar was lively with the hum of chatter and small talk, the smell of whiskey and beer curling in the air, paper lanterns hung in a zig-zag pattern across the ceiling.

Normally you would have loved to go out like this. It gave you an excuse to dress up all pretty and do your makeup, maybe even get Joel to abandon his stone-faced stoic facade and go dancing with you after he’d had a couple drinks.

Except for the fact that the night had gotten off to a horrible start.

The past few weeks Joel had been busy. Very busy. Which you didn’t blame him for, of course—he was one of the town’s strongest working men and the people needed him to help with patrol. But recently a worker at the Bison had sprained his ankle and Seth had asked Joel to help cover him while he healed, which meant that now Joel was gone during the day for patrol and several nights during the week while he fixed barstools or whatever it was Seth had him working on.

The nights he actually was home, he usually went straight to bed with you after placing a kiss to your lips and gave a murmured, “Goodnight.” You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d touched you, really touched you.

And you knew that Joel was a good man, that the reason he was so exhausted all the time now was because he was doing work for the community.

It didn’t stop his girl from getting a little needy and missing him.

Tonight you had taken advantage of the outing. You’d made sure to do your makeup immaculately, with your lips glossed and eyes lined to make them look all doe-like and pretty, how Joel liked them. You’d curled your hair and pinned the top part of it back in a half-updo with a white satin bow. You’d even worn a new dress that you’d traded for a couple days before. It was baby pink, hugging your bust and waist before flaring out the smallest bit around your hips. The short hem paired with your white heels showed off your legs very nicely.

You’d thought that maybe if you put enough effort into your appearance tonight, Joel would want to touch you no matter how tired he was.

Unfortunately, so much self-grooming had caused you and Joel to be a little late, which meant rushing out the door and speed-walking over to the Bison so you two weren’t more tardy than you already were, which meant there wasn’t time for Joel to appreciate his princess in her pretty dress.

Now that you guys were here at the bar, he was hardly looking at you. His large hand was still holding yours so you wouldn’t get lost in the crowd, but he hadn’t even said anything about how you looked tonight. Did he even care? It made you want to whine and cry or stamp your little heeled foot against the floor until he paid attention to you.

But you didn’t. You wanted to be his good girl…and you didn’t want to ruin Tommy’s birthday, either, by making a scene.

Joel kept craning his neck around to look for his brother, and when he found Tommy and Maria standing at the bar, he guided you over with him with a hand on the small of your back.

“Joel!” Tommy exclaimed, expression bright as he embraced his brother—overly bright. It was clear he’d already had a few glasses.

Joel slapped Tommy on the back. “Happy Birthday.”

“Happy Birthday, Tommy,” you said softly right as Maria was thanking the both of you for coming.

“What did you get me?” Tommy asked his brother.

Joel grunted as he put his hand back on your waist. “Right to the point, aren’t you?”

“A book? A shirt? A razor? I’ve been needin’ a new one of those, mine broke just yesterday—“

“Boots,” Joel said. “Traded for ‘em last week. They’re back at the house.”

Tommy grinned. “Awe, now you’ve just ruined the surprise.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Tommy—“

“Oh, that reminds me! There’s somethin’ I need to show you real quick.” Tommy turned to you. “Mind if I borrow him for a few?”

You frowned. “Well—“

Without waiting for a response Tommy dragged Joel away, heading for some unseen destination across the bar. You couldn’t tell where they were going from your position in the crowd. You tried not to wilt.

A moment later Maria handed you a drink. “You look nice,” she commented.

“At least someone noticed,” you grumbled, taking a sip. The alcohol burned your throat.

“Joel giving you trouble?”

You shrugged.

Maria waited for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, she pressed. “I was going to go sit with some friends over there.” She gestured to her right somewhere. “Want to join?”

You sighed, then shook your head. “I don’t think so. Thank you Maria, but I don’t want my mood to infect your guys’.”

“Well…alright. If you’re sure.” And with that, she left you to your own devices.

It had been hours. Or…maybe a half hour. Forty five minutes? You weren’t sure. Enough time for you to have made a home for yourself on one of the barstools with several now-empty liquor glasses in front of you.

And Joel still wasn’t back.

Your toes were starting to go numb in your tight shoes even just sitting there, so you huffed and got to your feet—you only swayed a little. You were determined to find Joel and make him dance with you.

You weaved in and out of the crowd as you searched. Where had Tommy taken Joel? Was it….this way? That way? You couldn’t think very clearly right now. How many glasses had you….?

You finally spotted the back of Joel’s head through the throng of partygoers. Your eyes lit up and you started to move in that direction, ready to tug on Joel’s hand and stand on your tiptoes for a kiss. Why had you even been upset again?

You squirmed between two people to move closer and—

There was a woman beside Joel. She had honey brown hair and keen, wise eyes. She was older than you—much older. Closer to Joel’s age. Her name was Sharon…Shannon…something?

You froze as she laughed at something someone said and put a hand on Joel’s arm.

Your eyes went wide and you didn’t know whether you wanted to scream or start crying. Joel suddenly turned his head and met your gaze.

Your body decided for you. Tears pooled on your lashes and you turned to duck out of the bar before you made even more of a fool of yourself.

The crisp, cool night air greeted you as you escaped the Tipsy Bison’s warmth. You sniffled and kept walking, not even really sure where you were going.

“Darlin’?” Joel’s voice reached you and you heard footsteps from behind.

You sped up.

But Joel was Joel, and so he quickly caught up to you with his long legs. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Not now, Joel.”

“Hey.” He grabbed you and turned you around, his grip gentle but firm. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

“Get offa me,” you protested, trying to push away.

“What’re you…” He paused. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you whined. You broke out of his grip and kept walking, turning around the corner of the Bison and walking around the back of the building. “Leave me alone.”

“Baby.”

At his tone you stopped. Even though you were embarrassed and upset and didn’t want to see his face, a small part of you still wanted to be obedient.

He came around your front and lifted your chin so you were looking up at him. His stern gaze melted away and his eyes softened. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Your bottom lip quivered. “What’s wrong?” You sniffled and took a step back. His hand fell away.

“What’s wrong is that you don’t pay attention to me anymore. You work all day and all night and it feels like you hardly have time for me now. I even got all dressed up tonight for you, wore a new dress and everything, a-and you didn’t say anything, didn’t even look—“

You blinked and more tears ran down your face. “And now I jus’ saw Sharon or Shannon or whoever that woman was flirting with you, and you didn’t do anything—”

You cut off as your face crumpled. You looked down, shivering from the cold.

“I know she’s older and…and probably smarter, and she—”

“Whoa, whoa, sweetheart.” Joel tenderly gripped your upper arms, ducking his head to try and get you to meet your gaze. “What…what are you thinkin’? You think she could ever compare to my babygirl?”

You opened your mouth to respond but he prattled on before you had the chance. “The moment she touched me I pulled away. I don’t know if you didn’t see or what, but…” He shook his head. “Baby, I only have eyes for you. You know that.”

He wiped your tears with his thumbs. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often. It’s just until Seth’s friend heals up that I’ll be gone. I should be out of bar duty by next week.”

“And what about tonight?” you whined.

At that, Joel smiled. “You really think I didn’t notice how pretty you looked, sweet girl? I was trying not to get a hard on in the middle of Tommy’s party.”

You almost smiled. Almost. But you were still mad about Shannon, and you still felt needy and lonely and you were pretty sure you were way more than tipsy and you still kind of felt like punching Joel in his handsome face a little bit.

He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “So sorry that I made my baby feel alone….and needy…and neglected…” He punctuated each word with a kiss to a different part of your face—your cheek, your nose, your lips.

Now that you were alone, Joel’s eyes roved over your body shamelessly. “Look at you….” he cooed. “So beautiful.” His hands fell to your waist. “And this pretty new dress.” His eyes looked lower, down to your feet, and he grinned. “Your shoes match your bow. You said you dressed up just for me?”

You sniffed and nodded. “M’still a little mad at you.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He kissed your jaw. “Why don’t you let me make it up to you?”

That sobered you up real quick. “Wh….here?”

“Why not?” Joel pressed your back to the wall of the building. “No one’s around.”

“But someone could—”

“Shhh.” He kissed lower this time, at the skin beneath your jaw. “Here’s what’s going to happen.” He pressed a kiss lower. “I’m going to make my little girl feel good right here and now so she doesn’t have to wait another minute.” Another kiss. “After that I’m gonna carry her back to our bed….” Another. “And there I’m gonna make love to her until she gets absolutely sick of it.”

You squirmed as his beard dragged along your skin the lower and lower he kissed, lips now at your collarbone. “I-I don’t know if I’d ever get sick of it….”

He nipped at your skin and you gasped. “Then you had better have enough energy to be up all night, sweetheart.”

Joel kissed down the center of your clavicle, the middle of your breasts, down your tummy over your dress….soon he was kneeling before you, looking up to meet your gaze with those dark brown eyes of his.

“Joel—” you said, still a bit uncertain.

“Lean back against the wall, babygirl.”

You hesitated, but obeyed. Any complaints or protests you had against the situation dissolved as soon as Joel lifted one of your legs and pressed a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

His lips traveled upward. He kissed along your calf….the inside of your knee…your thigh….soon he pressed the skirt of your dress up to your waist.

He paused.

Then:

“Oh, sweetheart.” It was nearly a groan. His eyes flicked up to yours. “No panties?”

You smiled shyly. The truth was you’d forgotten almost entirely about that—it had been a quick last minute decision to forego wearing anything beneath your dress, but seeing his eyes dark with lust now….you definitely did not regret it.

“I’m a little glad I didn’t have time to look you over properly before coming here,” he murmured, lips skimming your hip bone. “If I knew you weren’t wearin’ anything under this we would have never left the house.”

You could feel his breath on your inner thigh now as he moved his head and you whimpered. “Joel.”

“Shhh, no whining honey, ‘less it’s about how good it feels.” He placed a kiss right above the patch of skin above your bud. “Just let that pretty head of yours empty—I’ll take care of you.”

Whatever you were about to say in response left your head as Joel hiked your leg over his shoulder and started to lick at your clit.

You gasped and one of your hands threaded through his salt and pepper curls to steady yourself. His tongue flicked against your swollen, needy button teasingly. Your lower belly simmered with the heat of crackling coals.

Joel’s large hand found purchase on your hip and he squeezed in response to each noise that escaped you. He was soon embracing you with his full mouth, tongue licking between your folds, at your bud, into you. It was as if he was everywhere, helping himself to your taste and enjoying every bit of it.

“Oh,” you sighed, pushing your hips into his mouth involuntarily and his head bobbed in time with his motions.

Each flick, each twist of his tongue had you nearly writhing, and you were pretty sure it was only Joel’s hand on your hip keeping you from collapsing.

“Joel, I—it’s—oh please, I can’t—” You were babbling mindlessly, head empty, unsure of what you were even really saying.

Joel just chuckled against you, the vibrations running through your core making you gasp.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmured as he sucked and licked at your wetness. “‘S like you were made for me—just keep rockin’ your hips—oh, good girl.”

He lapped at you as you let out a high-pitched whine. You were there, right there, with his nose nudging at your clit and his warm wet tongue pushing into you and he was shaking his head and oh—

You bit your knuckle to muffle your moan as you came, your folds drenched, your lower belly warm, your legs shaking, your clit tingling.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Joel kept murmuring praises as you came down from your high, hips squirming from oversensitivity.

He placed soft and slow kisses on your right hip before rising and gripping your waist. Your legs nearly buckled.

Joel chuckled and caught you as you stumbled a bit, sweeping you up in his arms, the ease in which he lifted you making your belly swoop.

He pressed his lips to your hairline in an achingly sweet kiss. “How’s my girl feeling now?”

You let out a happy hum and rested your head on his shoulder. “Better.”

“Good.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he started to walk, carrying you like you were a princess. You supposed that you were, in a sort of way. You were his.

“Don’t go fallin’ asleep yet, babygirl.”

You hadn’t even realized that you’d been drifting off until he had said something. It wasn’t your fault. The gentle sway of him walking with you had rocked you to sleep…

“Sorry.” You yawned.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, honey,” he said. He held you closer. “And you gotta stay awake with me. I got a lot more I wanna do to apologize to my princess.”

The low voice he used made your heart flutter.

You were in for a very long night.

#bambi writes #bambi babbles #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #n$4w

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cadaveerie · 7 months ago

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cw: child abuse and non-sexual grooming

VEILGUARD SPOILERS (from lucanis' writing, a mission towards the ending and a little general)

About Lucanis and the Antivan Crows...

after finishing datv, I can finally say for sure that despite the fact that i find this game was overall fine, there are several things about it that have disappointed me. one of those things is about lucanis (and it's not even the only thing about lucanis that bothers me, but we'll leave that discussion for another time, because there's a lot to say about the writing).

in this game, Caterina Dellamorte (lucanis and illario's grandmother) is portrayed as a woman that's cold and demanding. not particularly nice, lucanis fully acknowledges that she's not exactly the loving type, and it's easy to assume things about her and about their relationship based on that... but for some reason it's never addressed that she abused lucanis when he was a child, by beating him and starving him. this is something that you can read in lucanis' story in tevinter nights, the wigmaker job, which was lucanis' introduction.

"Memories of sweat-ﬁlled days without food or water came unbidden Lucanis’s back tingled from where his grandmother’s cane had bruised his ﬂesh for letting his guard down or fumbling his footwork. For years, he’d hated her. But his time as a Master taught Lucanis that Caterina’s cruelty was her way he was prepared for this life—that he survived."

I was waiting to finish the game before I said it, because I expected him to mention at some point but... no, nothing. I don't know if there's anything in a codex or something specific I missed, but even if that's the case, I expected it to be significant at all. it wasn't.

i'm not even going to get into what lucanis should feel about this. before the game came out i talked about some of my hopes for him based on the info we had about him, and imo there was not even half of that level of depth to his character. but i wouldnt have minded if the game went in another direction, or if lucanis simply just wasnt open to discuss it, or if he came to the conclusion that it was fine. i won't get into how "problematic" thinking that is, because i could understand that he tells himself that, and as a fucking assassin, i understand that he's come to terms with it because otherwise he probably wouldnt have survived in such a dangerous enviroment. i won't get into it bc as i said, i can understand it. my problem is that lucanis never says it. he never tells rook or anyone else that caterina abused him, or that the crows overall are very abusive and that they do this to children and break their minds basically in order to become emotionless living weapons. and if this is said in any banter, then i missed it in my 91h of gameplay, and i had lucanis in my party every single time we went outside. or it might be in a codex entry, idk. the point is that even if that's the case, that's not a great way to tell this info, especially when in the story theres no other way to learn anything like this about the crows. ppl that i talked to that didnt read tevinter nights didnt know this fact abt caterina and lucanis' past, they simply didnt cause how could they. I just wanted to say this because I think it's important to know if you like lucanis, or the antivan crows, and it's never even actually implied.

I also have many other issues with his writing, but the antivan crows are unfortunately also whitewashed. at least if you've played dragon age origins you know this, but our first antivan crow companion, zevran, talks about how he was taken as a child by the antivan crows. how he was literally bought by them as an orphan, and forced to become an assassin, and when he tries to flee, they attempt to murder him throughout the game. he even talks about how apparently some crows even made their members go through blood magic rituals to acquire abilities (SOUND FAMILIAR? IT'S LITERALLY WHAT ZARA DOES TO LUCANIS, ISN'T IT. HOW FUCKED UP). i think it's so disrespectful to dragon age's worldbuilding and so appalling that they simply... ignored all of this. I'm very upset that this was completely whitewashed. i wont get into it, but i assume they didn't show the crows being awful because, well... they have to be the good alternative for government in antiva. the bad guys are the antaam, and that's it. but one of the things i always loved about dragon age is how they treat these sort of political things. as i said, in origins the crows were more of an antagonistic figure, but at least it made them feel more real and serious. and people loved the crows like they were, fucked up assassins. in this game... idk, am i supposed to believe the assassin guys are nice? why hide the ugly? of course it's gonna be there, and it's ok. irl it happens a lot that oppressed people have to rely on groups that are less than ideal for their liberation, and a lot of times citizens are kinda ok w it bc no one else will stand up for them, so they have to work w what they have, and they're just relieved theres someone there for them. and it also shows that people are not perfect victims. if you're putting ppl in a corner, at some point ppl are rarely gonna care about being "good", and it's only human. and im not even gonna get into being an antivan crow rook because... sigh, it's more of the same. just disappointing. rook even mentions that theyre an orphan. and im pretty sure in the final mission about treviso, at least if you helped jacobus, he is like "i'll take in orphans and give them a chance". oh man, yeah. cool. please tell me how you'll raise them to be, im so curious to see how you won't groom children and abuse them into becoming mindless cold soldiers. that's fucking insane. this feels like fucking US army levels of propaganda and grooming. i love when we normalize child soldiers that's so fucking awesome i love this "woke" game when it's pro-military and anti-fucking-questioning-anything-a-military-force-does.

i even wondered if all of this has been retconned or simply ignored. i dont have a problem w retconning overall, and it's only natural it would happen in a franchise that's as old as DA, but the thing is... why would you do it. it literally just makes them flatter, it doesn't make any fucking sense.

so yes. im VERY disappointed in this game and the writing. this is one of the many things in the writing that disappointed me. the antivan crows are an organization that bring hope, and im perfectly fine with them being portrayed as "saviors", but im not ok with them conveniently not addressing any of their very bad issues. it's unrealistic. it's disrespectful to our intelligence, to dragon age fans and to dragon age origins. it's disrespectful to characters like zevran, who got into an insane war with them for a fucking reason. it's disrespectful to every antivan crow character to be honest. and im sorry, i dont even think this is insane to ask from them. like.... im literally just asking for consistency. they had it already, i dont understand why they did this. i had faith in them, but perhaps that's on me. im so heartbroken.

and i promise i actually think the game overall is ok. it was fun. definitely one of my least favorite games, if not my least favorite, but still. i appreciate it, and LOVED. LOVEEED some scenes. in fact, it might have at the very least one of my favorite scenes from the whole franchise. i think this game has very low points, and very high points, so it's hard to say what i think about it in few words.... but there are so many things like this in the writing, and it's just SO upsetting and disrespectful. im sorry. im truly sorry, you don't know how much i wanted to love this game and the writing. you have no idea. but i have self respect, and i don't lie to myself when i see something i dont like. it feels like they're whitewashing the crows cause we'd be too stupid to understand complex political issues. i thought this game was mature and could handle mature themes, but it doesnt seem like it's the case anymore. perhaps bioware is dead. i still want to believe they can come back from this but......... the post credit scene doesnt reassure me AT ALL. sigh. im just upset and sad. and as i said, this is only one of my many issues. i'll talk about the rest in the future, but im writing all of it down and i need time for that. i hope you understand that this comes from a place of genuine love. sorry i can't be happy about this game, but some of the stuff i see just ruins the rest for me.

edit: someone told me that apparently theres a banter when you go to dellamorte's villa and lucanis *implies* that he was beat by his grandmother (at least to another antivan crow rook). this whole post still stands though. i think that should have not been a banter that i (and im sure others) missed. and again, it also ties to how i think the crows as an organization and their methods were whitewashed. even if it's not particularly a lucanis problem, it could have been to some extent addressed by him.

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tddyhyck · 10 days ago

Text

our secret, right? [ s. jn ]

pairings ⇢ stepdad!johnny x fem!reader / side unnamed mom and johnny

warnings ⇢ 18+, stepcest, grooming, vaginal fingering, pet names (dad/daddy/baby/little one/kiddo/others), piss (swallowing, covering, wetting), gaslighting, oral m/f, public peeing, bra fitting??, naive reader, cum swallowing, feet stuff, reader has a bad mom, creep johnny, implied kidnapping, use of cunny and dad cock

word count ⇢ 17.7k

a/n ⇢ HIIIII

pt 2 ⇢ practice makes perfect

pt 3 ⇢ nobody baby but you and me

masterlist | ao3 | kofi

it didn’t take long for johnny to fully integrate himself into your family. you’d never seen your mom so happy and in love, she’d slowly started to trust you more even. you didn’t know that johnny had spent a while watching you seeing you out for church every sunday with your mom and on saturday for your errands.

most of your time was spent at home, your mom sheltering you from an early age. after your father died she became obsessed with keeping you inside, from homeschooling to limiting your time outside to once a week. when you turned 16 she upped it to twice a week and even let you spend a few hours home alone.

johnny noticed you at the park on a warm saturday, you and your mother were picnicking. he’d immediately been enthralled by your innocent face reeling him in like a fish to a worm. johnny was immediately drawn to you, his mind racing with filthy things he’d want to do to you.

he’d debated while he watched you from a park bench. would it be morally better to weasel his way into your life. probably better than just snatching you up and driving off with you. his mind wandered to a good way to sneak into your family life, did you need a handyman, maybe a father figure, or possibly a tutor.

that’s why he couldn’t help following you and your mother home. writing down her license plate and address to find more information about you two. he spent the next week researching and learning your habits or lack thereof. you stayed home everyday but saturday and sunday and your mother only left for exactly two hours each weekday.

it didn’t take long for him to find out her profession. that was how they met. johnny charming your mother until he married her a few short months later. you were so happy to have a father figure, especially one you liked so much. you warmed up to johnny easily he was kind and sweet and a lot more fun compared to your mother.

with him working from the home office your mother trusted him to watch you so she could spend more time out working with clients. you really didn’t need anyone to watch you do your university classes from your parental locked computer, but johnny didn’t mind. of course he didn't, he used that opportunity to spend more and more time with you.

johnny felt giddy the moment he pretended to enjoy kissing his wife goodbye hearing your exaggerated ewwws from the kitchen table. he’d shut the door, turn around and tease you. saying you were too grown up to care about adults kissing. you didn’t tell him you felt a little jealous wishing he’d kiss you the way he does your mom.

you’d even been practicing after their wedding and seeing them kiss. you stayed up past your bedtime lips mashing against your pillow as if it was your new dad. softly trying to mimic the way he had cupped your mother’s face before tilting her head and pressing his lips to hers. it made you frustrated.

it didn’t take long for you to feel comfortable with the new man of the house. quickly adapting to his routine so you could spend more time with him. you dreamed of finding a man just like your dad, soft but strong and very handsome. you’d never met a single boy who came close to your new dad’s qualities but you could dream.

soon enough johnny was no longer johnny he was dad or sometimes even daddy when you were really sleepy, and johnny didn’t mind. he cooed at you the first time you asked if you could call him dad. he sat you in his lap pouring praises at you for it. saying how much he loved you and this was another step towards your good father daughter relationship.

of course johnny didn’t mind it was all a part of his plan.

one morning during the beginning of the summer heat you came to the kitchen later than normal. your summer bedtime and alarm later by one whole hour. you rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you walked to the fridge bending down to grab your favorite juice. mumbling a good morning to your dad.

when you turned you woke up immediately, seeing your dad’s bare back as he leaned over the stove cooking eggs. large muscles on full display making you gasp.

“what’s wrong, little one?” he turned, showing his chest making sweat form at the base of your neck.

“uh, your, where’s your shirt? mom doesn’t like us to be naked,” you stammer, pointing to his naked chest.

“oh sorry darling, i spilled some oil on it.” he points to his shirt draped over his chair at the table. “it’s okay for us though dads and daughters can show skin. your mom’s just more strict with herself.”

“oh, are you sure?” you feel almost dizzy having never seen a boy without a shirt on you didn’t even know what to think.

“of course, baby. dads and daughters can be naked together, but don’t tell your mom you know she’d think we were yucky,” he grins like it’s your little secret.

“really!” you loved having things that were special just you and your dad. “then can i take my shirt off too?”

“well i think it’s only fair since you have to put up with your old dad’s chest,” he chuckles, turning the stove off before patting his stomach brushing over a small trail of hair. he acted like he was some beast but he was so handsome.

“you won’t laugh?”

“why would i laugh, you’re so beautiful,” he coos walking over to you hugging you close. his bare skin is warm and envelopes you, you can even smell the nice cologne he wears.

“you think so, dad?” you look up at him.

“i know so i’m lookin right at ya,” he teased, tapping your nose with his finger. “do you want dad’s help?”

“please,” you mutter looking away as his hands go to the hem of your shirt slowly pulling it up as you raise your arms for him.

“atta girl, you’re so brave for me,” he praises, watching your skin slowly appear. “such a pretty girl.” you stand in silence for a moment as your hair falls from the collar of the shirt looking to him for more confirmation.

“now why were you worried,” he grins, holding your shirt in his hand as he pets your head fixing your hair.

“it’s just, they aren’t too small,” you mumble, reaching to squeeze your small boobs.

“they’re just right for you, kiddo,” he assures, eyes staring at your hands squishing the soft mounds nipples hard from the air.

“i know some people- well mom she has way bigger ones. mine are so small,” you pout.

“everyone has different things, yours will grow soon, but if they don’t you still look so perfect to me. my precious little girl. isn’t it so nice we get to share this time and be together,” he says, making your tummy heat up at the praise. you nod in response it is so nice to have a dad who’s so open your mom would scold you for even asking.

“now how about some breakfast, kiddo?”

you sit across from each other at the table, his shirt still draped over his chair, yours folded neatly on the island. you told him about how you slept and talked about your dreams. his were always so silly but yours were so normal.

“now, when your mom gets home we will have to put our shirts back on but for now we can just stay like this, okay?” you nod looking to the clock counting the hours until your mom would arrive. right at 4pm on the dot everyday.

“but it’s our secret right? you won’t tell mom i was naked?”

“oh no baby, it’s our secret,” he holds out his hand pinky lifted to you. this was something knew he’d taught you. when it was a secret just you had he called it a pinky promise. your twist your little finger around his and stamp your thumbs together sealing it between you.

the thing that you loved the most about your new dad was how he didn’t tease you if you didn’t know something. when you were a kid the others your age in sunday school would tease you if you didn’t know something or if you asked a question. johnny never made you feel dumb or silly, he just gave you a really smart grown up answer and you appreciated it. he treated you like a grown up girl compared to your mom who acted like you were still a stupid little baby.

the whole first summer you spent taking your shirts off at breakfast like it was a big secret. giggling at each other when you’d see each other bare. leaving your shirts at the table so you could grab them. johnny even set an alarm so you wouldn’t forget.

that summer you spent a lot of time with johnny mainly on the couch or in his office. he was showing you all these movies you had only ever heard about. it was another one of your secrets getting to watch movies your mom didn’t want you to see.

in johnny’s office you’d ask him lots of questions about his work and he’d let you sit on his lap while he sent emails. that was probably your favorite. his warm skin touching yours as you’d lay back against him. sometimes even his nipples would touch your back.

“this is our special father daughter time,” he whispered, rubbing his hands over your legs making your heart swell.

“i love spending time with you, dad,” you grinned, turning your head to see his face.

“you’re such a sweet girl, you know most girls your age are sick of their dads. they’d rather be out partying, but you are so sweet to hang out with me.” he pinched your cheek.

“what? no way! i’d much rather be with you than anyone else. i love you so much,” you grinned, lifting your arms to hug him, squeezing him tight. he loved when you did this, your small perky nipples pushing into his chest completely oblivious to the effect you had on him.

“aww i love you soooo much,” he cooed, relishing the soft skin against his.

between your time with him in the office or on the couch you read. your mother had a set number of words for you each summer and you didn’t mind really, enjoying the fictional worlds you could find yourself in. you used to like it more, before johnny came around. now you just wanted to spend time with him in the real world.

after you finished a few chapters you’d go to the kitchen and get something to drink. after a few weeks of summer you noticed something, the door to the bathroom was slightly opened. you couldn’t help curious eyes peeking in seeing your dad peeing. you’d never seen a boy pee or even their thing. your mom had told you boys have different parts and they use the bathroom differently but you never knew what she meant.

but now it was standing in your face. well your dad was. standing facing the toilet holding his parts as he shot yellow liquid from himself. his head tilted back relaxed as he emptied so much into the bowl.

you watched intently staring at his hand gripping his big thing. you wondered how he hid it in his pants. as his stream slowed he grunted using his hand to stroke himself slowly before he shook the last of the dribbles off of the tip.

as soon as he started putting himself back in his pants you’d scurry off. hoping not to get caught watching him during his private time. you knew johnny probably wouldn’t care he was so kind and open but you still felt like you weren’t supposed to watch him. you held your pinky to yourself making a personal promise to not bother him again.

it didn’t take long for you to see him in the bathroom again. the time he was taking a shower though. and you really didn’t mean to but the water was running and you knew your mother would hate if someone had left it on.

when you walked to the open door you stopped in your tracks. seeing johnny’s bare back and even his boy butt as he rubbed shampoo in his hair. the fresh smell swirling out of the room along with the steam and you couldn’t stop yourself. standing right in the doorway watching his every move through the glass.

you don’t know how long you’d stayed there, but it was long enough to see him rinse the suds from his hair. then he turned lathering his body with soap. you couldn’t help the wandering eyes seeing his boy parts again. he was so pretty and strong and the smell coming from the steamy room was so him. you stayed until he reached for the faucet before scurrying off to your room.

at some point you didn’t care about his private time he was leaving the door open anyways. peeking from behind the door watching him spurt pee into the bowl hard and fast and sometimes it made you have to go. not realizing you’d been holding your pee and now his warm yellow stream tempted you.

you probably watched him at least once a day. it made you curious about your own pee. holding yourself open so you could watch it spray out of you. you weren’t really sure how or where it came out of you, couldn’t really see it.

you had spent some late nights in front of your mirror the moon illuminating your girl parts so you could investigate. constantly looking over your shoulder anytime you heard a sound scared your mom would punish you for looking at yourself. you folded the skin back peeking at your privates looking and poking at the bits. it was really sticky down there so you used tissues to wipe before poking more.

you knew sort of what was going on but you never saw a hole where pee could come out of. so you’d crawl on the bathroom counter squeezing yourself close to the mirror spreading yourself to look. there was a slit there maybe that’s where your pee came from.

during one of your movie mornings a scene made you curious. a boy in the movie leaned against a wall and started making a puddle. your eyes widened surprised by such a private moment on tv. shy you looked over to johnny who watched the screen.

“daddy,” you asked, leaning over the cushions to him.

“what’s up, baby,” he reached for the remote pausing the movie.

“can i ask you a question?”

“well that was a question, do you need one more?” he grinned and you laughed now familiar with his “dad jokes.”

“silly,” you giggled. “you don’t have to answer but- when boys peepee where does it come out?”

“hmm well boy parts are different from girl parts you know, but boys have a hole and it comes out from there.”

“do girls have a hole too?” he nods at you, grinning and pulling you close to him.

“yes girls actually have two holes down there but one is for peepee.”

“why two?”

“well one is for babies to come out of way, way later for you,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. it’s quiet for a minute before he breaks the silence. “i know you’ve been peeking at dad while he pees.”

“i- i’m sorry i,” you babble apologies embarrassment filling your tummy and tears pricking your eyes.

“shhh, baby you are okay. dad’s not mad, you're just curious. i just wish you’d ask me so i could show you,” he says, soothing you by rubbing his hand over your arm.

“you aren’t gonna punish me?” you whimper sucking in the tears.

“of course not. you know i’m a cool dad.” he grins at you.

“i just never. i never saw boy parts before, i didn’t know it was so big.” you sniffle.

“do you wanna see dad’s parts? i don’t mind showing my curious girl.”

“can i? just you promise not to tell mom, she’d be so mad at me,” you look away shyly.

“this is our thing remember,” he lifts your chin to meet your eyes. “just a dad and daughter lesson special for us.”

“thanks for not being mad, i promise i won’t peek,” you assure him.

“it’s okay, kiddo. i’ll let you watch if you’re curious.”

“really, can i now?” you get a little giddy bouncing closer to him.

“mmm i think i could go now.” he nods, lifting himself off the couch and helping you up. it’s quiet as you walk down the hall just feet pattering on the floor as he leads the way. the tile is cold and he flips the light switch pulling you to him.

“do you wanna sit here?” he pulls you to the edge of the tub letting you sit, the cold material makes you jump, your boobs bouncing as you look up at him.

“how about you look at my dad parts first, so you won’t have to wonder,” he grins down at you using his thumbs to push his sweats down.

“oh wow, how do you-“ you pause, not forming any words as his big part is right in front of you. you reach a hand but stop yourself embarrassed. he lifts his shirt showing you a patch of dark trimmed hair over a long stick hanging down.

“you can touch it, my baby’s gotta learn,” he grins, ruffling your hair. you reach a timid hand toward him staring at the large shaft. your small hand shakes as you touch him, fingers barely wrapping around him.

“good girl, you’re so brave asking dad questions,” he coos, you stare at the slit where his pee comes from, eyes racking from the plush tip down the larger part lifting it in your hand to see the small seam on the underside.

“it’s really pretty, dad,” you grin, it really is something. your eyes trail farther seeing the two large sacks hanging loosely under him. you’d heard about that before when a boy got kicked in the balls and it hurt.

“thank you, darling,” he lifts a finger pointing to the slit. “this is where boys peepee.” you move your free hand rubbing your small finger over it, face close enough he can feel your breath. “mmm, right there. just between us dad usually calls his parts his cock, but you can call it whatever you want.”

“dad you have such a big cock. so heavy,” you murmur, eyes roving over him. the filthy word coming from your mouth makes blood rush to his heavy member.

“some boys are smaller or bigger. everyone is different just like you and your mom have different girl parts.” you nod at him but it’s hard to imagine any other cock but your dads.

“will you show me,” you bite your lip as you look up at him, feeling his shaft pump in your hand.

“yeah let dad relax a bit,” you let go as he turns facing the toilet. you lean your head over watching as he sighs and a thick stream pours out of the slit. he reaches for your hand letting you hold him as he keeps streaming.

“do you keep it all in there,” you ask, holding his balls in your hand making him grunt.

“no baby, that's where dad keeps his special stuff,” he coos, slowing his stream. you mimic his movements shaking his cock letting the drips fall into the water.

“do i have special stuff?” you let go of him softly letting his parts rest.

“yes you do, just in different places,” he grins.

“dad i kinda,” you squirm still looking at him.

“do you need to peepee too?” you nod at him.

“just when you went it made me need to,” you twist your legs together bouncing a knee.

“i can go, baby,” but you grab his arm before he can move.

“no, i wanna show you how i pee.”

“aren’t you sweet, dad can help you with your parts too,” he grins, helping you up as you squirm with need.

“unhh,” you moan gripping over your privates as you try to hold it.

“aww did you wait too long, baby, ‘s okay,” he coos.

“just, i can,” you pout, squeezing yourself before you slowly peel your panties down shifting awkwardly.

“doing so good, you’re so strong,” the praise melted into your skin like hot wax. you slide your butt onto the cold seat lifting your skirt and peeking at your cunt.

“let dad see,” he squatted in front of you leaning in and spreading your legs as you squeezed every muscle to keep your pee in.

“such pretty girl parts,” he smiled up at you.

“really? mom says they’re icky that’s why we have to wax them,” you nod, looking at your parts a chubby hairless mound with a long slit down the middle.

“mom is so silly.” he huffed a laugh, pushing your legs wider. “such a soft, pretty girl. can you show dad?”

“it gets really sticky lately, but i promise i clean it a lot,” you babble.

“that’s your special stuff just like dad has. sticky is normal, it’s okay you can keep it a little sticky. it’s healthy,” he stares as you pull your sticky lips apart. getting the perfect view of your swollen bud and the tightest little hole. he loves how aroused you are just from watching him piss holding his cock in your hand has you all wet for him.

“oh so it’s not icky?” he shakes his head leaning closer to you inspecting your most private parts.

“when you’re this pretty you know what we call girl parts?” he paused as you shook your head looking to him for reassurance. “i like to call it a cunny, and you have the most beautiful cunny dad has ever seen.”

“really,” you feel so giddy with excitement. it makes a small dribble of piss spill from you.

“does that make you excited,” he grinned at you holding your thighs open as the small trickle spilled. “when dad compliments your pretty cunny?”

“unhuh, i just like that dad likes me,” you mumble.

“you’re so cute, of course dad likes you. dad loves you and your cunny,” he grins, his large hand soothing over your knee.

“i love you dad. thanks for teaching me.”

“that’s what dads are for. now you see that little nub,” he asks pointing to the swollen raised bud on your cunny. you nod looking between your legs pulling the mound back to expose the swollen bud.

“that’s your clitty and right under there is a tiny hole for special girl pee,” you nod but you can’t see much below the swollen bump. “when you don’t have to go so bad dad can show you in the mirror all your parts.”

“yeah, i’d like that,” you grin, squirming again.

“go ahead and go you’ve been doing so good for your dad,” he coos, massaging his hand over your thigh. you relax into his touch whimpering as you let your pee go. hot splashing into the water already filled with your dad’s pee. you felt sort of warm and heavy at the thought of your pee mixing with his like it was special.

“let it all out, such a good girl for your dad,” you look down at him staring into his eyes as you empty all you were holding, craving more of his touch but you’re always too shy to ask.

that was the first time you showed your dad your cunny.

now almost every morning your dad would pull you into the bathroom letting you hold his dad cock. you’d hold him helping aim his yellow stream into the bowl before it was your turn. you hurry and tug your shorts down spreading your legs for your dad showing him your cunny over and over.

he even helped you see the tiny hole where your pee came out. held a mirror in front of you so you could see it. he was really the best. you still peeked at him when he was in the shower you couldn’t help it. you wondered if he watched you too while you left the door open.

most of the time he peed first but mornings like this where you really had to go he’d let you sit first.

“oh, baby, i don’t know if i can wait, can dad go with you?” he stood in front of you and you looked up at him nodding.

“how are you gonna do that?” you giggled.

“spread your legs for dad,” you did as he said, pushing your thighs back as his cock was in your face. he held it letting the hot stream aim right in front of your cunny.

you loved hearing the moan he let out when he really had to go. watching his pee hole right from the front was even better, his pee hitting the stream you were letting out. you reached up to hold his cock helping him aim as he shut his eyes releasing all he’d been saving up.

your stream was slowing but his seemed to keep going, spilling out and even hitting your thighs. you kind of liked it, warm drops of your dad’s pee on your legs. it made you feel so warm and close to him.

“such a good girl,” he pets your hair as you stare at his yellow pee starting to slow down.

“you have so much pee, dad,” you giggled, accidentally moving your hand making his pee hit your cunny.

“unhhh.” you whined, the sensation felt so good. so you aimed what was left letting it hit your cunny right in the center making you whine.

“mmm, thanks for helping?” you nodded as he dribbled the last of his pee between your thighs. he didn’t mention the way you had used his pee to feel tingly on your cunny.

you started doing that more often. your dad standing in front of you letting you aim his pee onto your cunny. he definitely saw you doing it, saw you spreading yourself and pointing his stream right on you. saw you rutting your hips and biting your lips.

you really felt so special having a dad like him. no one had ever paid so much attention to you and your needs but your dad sure did. he even helped you pick out your clothes for church on sunday. helping you go through your closet and finding the perfect pretty dress.

“you know, little bit, i think it might be time we get you a big girl bra,” he turned facing you as you sat on your floor rummaging through your dresser.

“really? i always wanted one, but mom says i have to keep them flat so they don’t distract,” you pout, shutting the drawer.

“well you’re a growing girl. your pretty tits are swelling now, we need to get you something to hold them.” he assures, squatting beside you nodding to your bare chest.

“but mom won’t let me,” you stare at your chest nipples puffy.

“it can be our thing. dad can take you and we can get you fit for one maybe even get you some pretty matching panties,” he grins, rubbing his large hand over your calf.

“oh really! dad you’re the best,” you squeal bouncing and hugging him close. you pull him off balance making him fall on top of you his hard chest pushing into yours.

“silly girl,” he grins, holding his hand on your cheek. you stay like that for a moment just staring at his pretty eyes and the shadow of stubble over his lips.

“dad can you kiss me? like you do mom?” you don’t even think before you ask, you’d stop doing that with him a while ago.

“aww you want a kiss? i know you get jealous when dad kisses mom in the morning,” he teases, lowering himself over you.

“i just wanna be dad’s favorite,” you pout puffing your lips up.

“you are dad’s favorite, just don’t tell mom,” he grins.

“our secret?” you hold your pinky up and he takes it.

“our secret,” he confirms linking his pinky with yours.

“i’m ready,” you push your lips out and shut your eyes. he can’t get enough of how precious you are. holding your pinky as he leans in and pecks your lips before pulling away.

“daddddd,” you groan, kicking your feet under him. “you use your tongue with mom.”

“even jealous of that? when we have some time dad will use his tongue, but your mom’s almost home we need to get ready,” his answer makes you pout craving his tongue.

“i wish she never came home. i like being with you.”

“i know, baby,” he coos, brushing your hair.

“can we pee before she comes home? i have a lot and your big dad cock is pushing on my tummy,” you squirm under him.

“mmm i think we have time.” he grins, standing up and helping you to the bathroom. he can’t help the blood pumping into his member, hearing you say things like that so casually.

before your mom got home dad promised to take you shopping tomorrow for a big grown up girl bra. you couldn’t sleep, you were so excited to go out. mom would be so mad if dad hadn’t asked her nicely.

but johnny didn’t ask mom.

that morning you felt so excited, giddy, and grinning and not sleeping in despite staying up late into the night thinking of your outing. you practically bounced into the kitchen grinning when you saw your dad.

“need me to help you get ready?” he smiled when he saw you still in your pjs.

“i’m so excited i couldn’t even sleep,” you bounced on your feet almost jumping over to him like a bunny.

“you’re so cute! been thinking about what you wanna get? maybe a color you want?” he smooths your messy hair.

“mmm i can’t decide i think pink would be so pretty but red is nice and mom always had those pretty black ones with lace.” you ramble on about all of your bra ideas.

“we can get whatever you want,” he confirms, tapping your nose.

“you’re the best dad ever.”

you felt so sneaky getting into johnny’s car riding in the passenger seat like a grown up. your mom always made you ride in the backseat saying it was safer, but now you were up front beside your dad and going out on a day you wouldn’t normally wouldn’t. you wondered what was so different on wednesday’s compared to saturday and sunday.

the weather was so sunny as you stared out the window looking at all the people walking or biking, even seeing some dogs. everything was so beautiful outside you didn’t understand why your mom didn’t like you going out.

you drove down roads you didn’t recognize taking in all the new scenery. you came to huge building bigger than any you had scene before and the parking lot was just as massive.

“wow,” you looked at the rows of cars in awe.

“now there’s gonna be a lot of people, okay? this is a mall and lots of people come to shop and hang out,” he tells you. you nod, taking in the expansive space.

“are there more stores? is it just one big store?” you questioned unbuckling your seatbelt and jumping out.

“lots of different stores, they have clothing shops, food, toys, all different stuff,” he smiles, he holds a hand out and you take it. “you don’t mind holding your dad’s hand, i don't want you getting lost.”

“i loveeee holding your hand,” you squeeze his large palm skipping down the parking lot towards the building.

the place is massive, with elevators and even moving stairs going up and down with loads of people. you feel like you’re in a movie and you’re the main character. there’s shops beside shops and rows of stores as you walk in. your dad leads the way keeping your hand in his.

“it’s so huge,” you mumble, taking everything in letting your head turn back and forth as you gawk.

“is it too much?” he stops beside you, making you look at him and you shake your head.

“i love it. i wanna live here,” you grin, tugging his hand to get him walking again. he just smiles, squeezing your hand and leading you again. you pass so many people and you smile at everyone, grinning when you see a chubby-faced baby or a dog in a vest. before long you get turned and dragged into a store almost tripping over your feet since you aren’t paying attention.

“hi welcome in,” a store worker says. you smile and wave looking around the room at all the neutral walls covered in racks with bright colored bras and panties. “do you need any help today?”

“we do actually, she’s wanting to get a fitting, but is it okay if we look around first?” johnny leads the conversation as you rake your eyes over the merchandise taking in all the patterns.

“of course, i will get my things together, you can come find me when you’re ready.” she smiles, directing her hand to the large showroom that you’re already immersed in.

“it’s amazing,” you coo, pulling johnny’s arm to the first rack you see.

“now don’t pick too much, let's start with three you like,” he instructs and you nod your head using your free hand to comb through the displays.

“wow, they even have sparkly ones,” you grin, holding up a sparkly padded bra.

“how cute,” he nods, helping you sort through. you meander through the different displays so many racks of so many different things. there’s small bras and different shapes, even strapless. there were bras attached to dresses and even one piece with panties. you and so many questions like how did you pee in that, or how does the bra stay with no straps, and did you wear the bra dresses as a dress.

“ok i like these two the most,” you grin, holding up two bras, one soft pink with floral swirling lace and the other a teal with lace and a bow.

“those are such good choices. what about the third one?”

“will you pick one i want one you like,” you bite your lip.

“aren’t you sweet, hmmm,” he says, glancing over the racks before pulling you to the one he’s set on. “this one would look beautiful.”

“wow, it’s so pretty,” you stare at the soft white bra, it was mesh with small lace details and you think you’re in love. “you think?” you ask him, holding up the small hanger to your chest.

“mmm, yep that’s the one,” he wants to moan in the middle of the store, his pretty girl posing in front of him, his cock starting to fill up.

“find anything you like?” the worker walks up again and you nod holding the three choices in your hands. “perfect, if you will follow me we can start the fitting.”

she leads the way and johnny lets you follow but stays close behind you with a comforting hand on your waist. she walks to the back to the store, opening a large curtain with other curtains along the walls, most of them opened.

“okay we will be in here,” she motions to the room and you enter. “have you ever had a fitting done?” you shake your head suddenly shy.

“can he stay with me?” you ask biting your lip and throwing a thumb over your shoulder to johnny.

“of course! since it’s your first fitting it’s good to have someone you trust,” she smiles politely motioning for you and johnny to go in. “if you want to get changed there is a robe right here and just let me know when you’re ready.

“thank you,” johnny smiles and you nod. she walks backwards, shutting the curtain behind her. you turn to johnny quickly pushing your head into his chest face heating up.

“shh, don’t be nervous, little one. you know how we take our clothes off,” he pauses and you lift your head nodding to him. “just like that okay, and she’s very nice. gonna use her measuring tape so it will fit perfect,” he soothes your anxiety by rubbing small circles with his big hands over your back.

“will you help me?” you grip his shirt pulling him somehow closer smelling his cologne to calm yours.

“mhmm, can you lift your arms?” you pull away lifting your hands over your head as his hand glide under the hem softly touching your skin before lifting the fabric and pulling it over your head. he had told you not to wear your training bra since you could get one here so you were bare. nipple hard in the cool store air poking out embarrassingly. your chest had started growing some more over summer slightly bulging out of your tiny bra.

“good girl,” he coos, tossing the fabric on the chair in the corner before turning back to you. “let dad get your shoes.” he kneels in front of you untying your white sneakers, letting you hold onto his large shoulder as you step out.

“you sneaky girl,” he grins up at you peeking under your skirt seeing your bare cunny. you grin back pushing your hands over your front trying to hide.

“just thought you said no bra so maybe none of these too?” you wiggle your hips in front of him. his large hands cover your thighs as he spreads your legs using his fingers he opens your cunny to him.

“hnnn,” you jerk as the cool air from the room hits your privates not aware that it’s your dad blowing a stream of air onto you.

“getting so excited aren’t you?” he teases, hands roaming higher before finding the zipper of your skirt easily. he slides it slowly and lets the fabric fall to the floor and pool at your feet.

“step back,” he instructs and you do, moving over so he can lift the skirt and toss it with your shirt. then he stands back in front of you grabbing your arms and turning you to the mirror.

“see how pretty you are, dad’s little beauty,” he whispers in your ear, making you shiver, his hands massaging your tummy. he turns to grab the robe hanging on the wall and helps you into it, tying it neatly over you.

“ready?” you nod your head the nerves in your tummy have calmed significantly. he leans his head out of the curtain summoning the lady back to the room.

“are you ready?” you nod to her facing her as she walks to you johnny takes a seat on the chair folding your clothes neatly beside him.

“okay, first let’s just loosen your tie just a bit and slip your arms out so you are still covered down there,” she helps you loosen the knot and slide your arms out of the silky sleeve exposing your small chest.

“now i’m going to use this to help measure you in five different places,” she smiles at you through the mirror.

“okay,” you agree, letting her lift your arms as she loops the yellow ribbon around you once, twice, and three times before writing in a small notebook.

“now we do the shoulders,” you nod, peeking over at your dad through the mirror and he’s already smiling back watching as her hand slides the tape over your skin. she pauses and right more in her notebook. “let’s get that back on.” she comments, helping you put your arms back into the robe.

“that’s it?”

“yep, easy peasy,” she grins. “i’ll go grab these in your size and be right back.” she smiles as she leaves, grabbing the three bras on the hook by the door.

“not so bad?” johnny says and you turn to him, cheesing at him as if you’ve just won first place.

“i thought she was gonna use like a big machine or something,” you say, standing in front of your dad.

“you were so brave,” he says looking up at you. “such a good girl.”

“thanks for helping me not be nervous,” you reach for his face touching his stubbly cheek with your small hand soothing him the way he does you.

“you know i love helping you, but you did it all yourself my brave little girl,” he coos, leaning into your hand. you hear a knock on the wall and pull away before the worker enters.

“so i have these in your size,” she hangs the bras on the hook. “i also grabbed these in your size but different styles so you can see what you like.” she smiles sweetly and you look at the new bras she brought in dark plums and emeralds. “i got the matching panties for you. if you need any help let me know.”

“want help?” he grins up at you as she leaves and you nod, pulling his hand to stand him up. he reaches to pull the tie of your robe, helping you out of it and laying it over the chair he had been sitting in.

“so pretty,” he mumbles, eyes grazing your body, making you shy.

“daddd,” you giggled pushing at his hard chest. he grabbed your hand and then the other pulling them away from your body so he could look you over.

“which do you wanna try first?” he asked, pulling you to the hooks on the way filled with bras. you pointed at the pretty pink one you had picked out.

“good choice.” he smirks, letting go of your hands and taking the bra from the hanger. he turns you around, moving you in front of the mirror while he looms behind you. he’s so much bigger than you, taller and wider as he lingers behind you.

he unclasps the bra and reaches around you holding the cups over your small breasts as you slide your arms through the straps. you can feel him breathing on your neck as his hands pull the clasps together and snap them closed. he uses a finger to lift the straps straightening them over your shoulders before his hands lower sliding over the skin of your tummy just about your cunny.

“mmm i like this one,” he coos, letting his chin rest on your shoulder.

“the color is so pretty,” you smile softly, watching him in the mirror more than yourself.

“does everything feel okay? no poking or too tight?” he smoothed his hands in small circles over your hips.

“nuhuh, feels okay,” you mumble distractedly.

“let dad feel okay?” you nod as he slips his hands higher softly passing your rib cage and cupping your small breasts over the fabric.

“unh,” you whimper as his large hands engulf you massaging your skin.

“feel good?” you nod stupidly, biting your lip and leaning into his touch. “fits you so good, kiddo. cute little tits sitting all perfect.” he compliments using his fingers to dance over the fabric covering your now hard nipples making you buck at the touch. he grins, lowering his hands back to your hips.

“more touch me more, dad,” you murmur, holding a hand over your own breast.

“mmm, feels really good huh?” you nod as he lifts his left hand again keeping his other hand on your hip as he touches you. you try to copy his movements but your small hand is nothing compared to his. “pretty girl, so glad you’re my daughter.” you whimper again trying to hide your face in his as he gropes you.

“makes me so,” you huff, his other hand now cupping yours helping you move over your breast.

“tell dad how it makes you feel.”

“tingly,” you puff, breathing harder as he grins at you watching you squirm in the mirror, hips jerking at every touch.

“where, baby?”

“my,” you pause letting his fingers push and circle your nipples poking through the fabric. “cunny.”

“mmm yeah? makes dad’s cock feel tingly too,” he says rubbing his hardening bulge against your small butt.

“unhhh, really?” you blink up at him, lips wet from spit that’s started spilling out.

“mhmm, i know it feels good baby, but we gotta try on these bras okay?” you pout at him wanting to stomp your feet like a brat. “how about dad makes a little deal with you?”

“what kind?” you ask, his grip loosening but still massaging you.

“if you be really, really good and try on all these pretty bras, dad will get you a few, then we can go to any stores you want,” he pauses and you nod as he continues. “then when we get home dad can touch you some more?”

“please,” you whine, pleading eyes looking up at him.

“mmm, now be a good girl okay,” you nod. he pulls his hands away much to your dismay but you think of the delicious reward that will await.

he takes his time helping you try on all the bras and letting you pick your favorites. you end up leaving with five bras and matching panties. you can’t help the grin that fills your face as you hold his hand the large bag in the other filled with goodies for you.

he lets you pick out some shops to explore and spoils you rotten. getting you new outfits that are mainly for his enjoyment, skimpy pajamas, tiny skirts, and a new church dress. he let you browse some stores and get new hair clips and some new stuffed animals for your bed.

you picked out a bear saying it looked just like your dad saying you’d hold it close every night. it makes his cock twitch, seeing his pretty girl sleeping with her legs wrapped around a big bear like her dad.

he even takes you to get a slushie full of sugar and something he called a pretzel but was way too big and soft to be a pretzel. but the cinnamon sugar and icing made it the best thing you’d ever had. your mom didn’t let you have sugar, caffeine, or dyes so this was like a sneaky birthday party.

you held his big hand as you skipped down the parking lot back to his car, giggling as you watched him try to skip beside you holding all the bags in one hand. you stand beside him as he loads all the items in the trunk when it hits you the sudden urge to pee making you squeeze your legs together.

“you okay?” he looks at you with concern on his face as he slams the trunk.

“pee, gotta,” you whine, cupping yourself as you jump.

“aww baby, did you get so excited you forgot?” he coos, holding your face as you pout to him nodding.

“sorry, dad,” you blubber, bouncing your legs making your skirt flash your butt to whoever was walking by.

“it’s okay, shhh,” he soothes, pulling you to him for a hug. he smirks over your head the idea of what he can get you to do. “hmm let’s see.”

“i dunno if i can hold it,” you whimper, squeezing a hand over your cunny.

“c’mere,” he pulls you between his car and the one beside it looking around to see who was walking by. “squat for me.”

“can’t ’s gonna,” you want to listen but the push on your bladder will make you spill.

“it’s okay baby, dad will keep watch, you can’t help it.” he holds your hand rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “go ahead, little one.”

you listen to him moaning as you bend your knees, the push on your bladder growing. you try to keep it in but a small gush comes out soaking your hand through your skirt as it hisses out onto the pavement.

“it’s okay,” he coos standing over you watching you slowly lower yourself lifting your damp skirt with your hand. you squeeze his palm before the stream pushes out of you hot piss arching from your cunny soaking your lips as it sprays out.

“good girl, spread your cunny so you don’t get wet,” he grins, he feels sick in the head. his cock hardening as people pass looking at you spreading your virgin cunt spraying piss over your own shoes and your dads.

you moan letting your head fall back as your stream continues, hot yellow liquid puddling all over the pavement and even if you wanted to stop you can’t it feels too good. you don’t notice the people walking by grinning at your accident.

“you had to go huh?” he pets over your head watching the piss start to trickle down the pavement flowing like a river. you nod stupidly overtaken by the pleasure of your full bladder emptying under you. your pretty white shoes yellow as you douse them with the flow. as you slow you open your eyes looking up at your dad who’s already staring back a small sweet smile on his face.

“oh no,” you whine, spurting out the last of the pee with a jerk of your hips. the mess is huge, a large pool under you and on your shoes dripped down the pavement and under the next car.

“you’re okay, baby,” he coos, helping you up. your dripping cunny is slippery under your fingers

“i’m dirty, dad,” you pout, showing him the drips hanging on to your mound and slit.

“i’ll help you,” he says, opening the door behind you, sitting you on the edge of the seat. he squats down in front of you spreading your thighs as you lift your soaked skirt showing him the golden droplets.

“dad’s gonna use his tongue to clean you up, okay, kiddo?” he says, leaning his face closer to you.

“ ‘s too dirty,” you whine, but he comes closer, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue over your cunny.

“oh, dad,” you gasp, melting back into the hot leather seat. his tongue dips into you sliding over the folds over your cunny collecting every drop and then some. he spreads your lips pushing his tongue into your sticky slit gliding it up and down swirling it over your pee hole and your clitty.

you moan out too naive to know what you’re feeling. johnny savors it the first mouth to ever touch your cunt and it’s your sweet dad’s. hips bucking chasing the foreign feeling you don’t fully understand just know it feels so good.

“dad, dad,” you mumble, jerking your hips into his face. he’s grinning between your thighs trying to close around him, slipping his tongue deeper not letting you escape. your taste is addictive bitter piss mixing with your sweet, sweet virgin juices making him dizzy.

he couldn’t stop diving into you like a cold pool on a hot day. his tongue slurping at your fluttering hole before finding your clitty and sucking it between his lips. your breathing growing ragged and uneven as you fall closer to some peak.

“so, oh my, dad,” you aren’t coming up with the right words leaning back against the center console as he slurps you up. your slick practically pouring from your hole drowning his tongue as he drinks you. the pleasure building in your tummy makes you whine and squirm craving pleasure but it’s almost overwhelming.

“gonna pee, dad, can’t,” you mewl, far too innocent to know this is an orgasm. squeezing your eyes as you jerk under him, gripping at the seat. his hot tongue flicking over your clitty as your legs shake muscles spasming as you squirt the last of your pee into his mouth.

he grins drinking you up the thought of your first orgasm in a parking lot on your dad’s tongue such an icky girl he has. his mind races and fills his cock with the ways he wants to ruin you. too naive to know you’ve just cum on your dad’s tongue in front of passersby.

he doesn’t stop lapping up the gushes of cum and piss from your cunny slurping it up like you were earlier with your slushy. your legs are vibrating around his head as he cleans the last of your juices before pulling away.

he watches you catching your breath, licking his lips tasting all of you. your cunny is slimy and swollen, still dripping from your slit, clit twitching as you come down. there’s another puddle under his car now from the juices you couldn’t help but drip, it’s a shame he didn’t get to savor them.

“you okay?” he whispers, rubbing his hand over your knee. you nod stupidly, your hair ruffling against the seat.

“so, oh wow, dad,” you mumble, lifting your lazy head looking down at him. “i felt so weird and so good.”

“mmm, you did good for dad, now you’re all clean,” he grins at you cum and piss glistening on his chin.

“sorry for making a mess,” you mumble looking away as you try to sit up. your whole body feels like jelly.

“no baby, dad likes when you make messes. you know i like cleaning up, and what better than to clean up my girl,” he grins, standing up and ruffling your hair helping you sit in the car before buckling your seatbelt. you fall asleep before he even starts the car overwhelmed and satisfied with your day cunny still dripping on the leather seat. as he drives off he looks back at the puddle you made wishing he got a picture so he could start that father daughter scrapbook.

you couldn’t help but crave the same feeling your dad had given you when he cleaned you up. every time you peed you wondered why it didn’t feel the same when you cleaned yourself up. you wanted his tongue to slurp over your cunny and get all the pee out of you.

you were sitting at the kitchen table just finished breakfast and squirming with the need to pee. you were being patient waiting for your dad to finish putting the dishes in the dishwasher. you were bouncing in your chair pushing your heel into your cunny to keep your pee in. the running water coming from behind you made it worse, thoughts of emptying yourself making you push your cunny harder.

“gotta go?” you turn your head seeing dad watching your squirming and you nod.

“think i had too much juice,” you pout, pushing yourself against your heel.

“how about we get all that pee out?” he turns the water off and dries his hands walking over to you.

“it’s so hard, dad, pushing on my cunny,” you wiggle, as he steps in front of you.

“you think you can make it?” he puts a hand on the back of your chair.

“dunno, i can try,” you whimper.

“c’mere,” he coos, wrapping an arm around your waist lifting your arms to wrap around him. he lifts you with one hand using the other to cup your cunny, helping keep the pee in. “so full your little tummy is swelling.”

“unhuh,” you mumble peeking at the bulge in your belly rubbing a hand over your taut skin. “kinda like how it feels dad. makes my cunny tingle when it’s all full.”

“mmm, yeah? dad likes it too makes his cock tingle,” he coos, rubbing his hand over your cunny keeping pressure on you as he walks down the hall towards the bathroom.

“really, so it’s not weird?” you ask, looking at his face, his fluffy hair bouncing with each step.

“nope, it’s good to feel good, and cunny tingles are really good,” he grins at you but walks past the bathroom.

“dad,” you ask, turning to see the door pass you by.

“going to mom and dad’s room. gonna be hard for you to get your panties off so i can help you in the tub,” he says casually and you nod your head, tummy sloshing. his warm hand feels so good on your cunny, rubbing softly and keeping the pressure as your bladder begs for release.

“so cunny tingles are normal and good?”

“so good baby, you know when dad helped clean you up?” you nod squeezing your legs at the memory. “made your cunny feel good right?”

“so good, would you clean me up again?” you ask shyly, leaning your head into his neck.

“of course baby,” he smiles, pushing open his bedroom door. the pictures on the wall of him and your mom getting married. she looked so pretty and your dad so handsome. he walked to the bathroom keeping his hand on your cunny as he let you down the gravity causing all the pee to push more making your bounce.

“let’s sit here,” he says, helping you to the tub and lifting you into it easily.

“can we pee in the bathtub? mom always said that was icky,” you say nervously.

“for dad and daughter time we can,” he grins, stepping into the large tub with you. his warm hand rubs against your cunny shorts damn but you don’t notice. “can you stand here.”

you follow his lead standing near the side of the tub. he squats in front of you using one hand to slide your shorts and panties down before sliding the other side. your cunny stays covered as he pulls the sides as low as they will go. then he slips his bare hand over your bare cunny holding you letting his finger push between your slick slit.

he grins to himself curling his finger slightly to feel your hole. letting your shorts fall to the tub before picking them up and tossing them out.

“are you gonna pee too?” you ask, staring down at his every move.

“of course, wouldn’t let you do it all alone,” he coos, standing up again his finger sliding through your virgin folds. “sit here baby.” he helps you sit down on the edge of the tub as one of his hands slides down his sweats letting his cock bob out fuller and heavier than you’ve seen.

“dad your cock is all bouncy,” you giggle, squeezing your legs around his hand.

“that’s cause dad’s cock getting tingly too,” he grins to you using one foot he kicks the sweats out of the tub. he stands bare in front of you, his heavy dad cock swaying as he moves the tip darker than you’ve seen it.

“dad you gotta go bad, you’re leaking,” you comment, noticing a dribble of what you guess is pee already sneaking out.

“happens when dad feels really tingly, like when your cunny gets sticky,” he grins, sliding his finger through the slick.

“wanna go,” you mumble the need overwhelming you suddenly.

“mmm, let it out baby,” he says, pulling sticky fingers from you staring as you spread your legs. it takes no time for a hot arch to spurt out of you making you moan in pleasure. tingling cunny mixing with the relief of peeing feels so good.

“good girl, get all that pee out for dad,” he coos, sticking his finger into his mouth tasting your juices. he’s been thinking about your taste for a week. dreaming about his teen daughter’s virgin cunt in his mouth, jerking off with thoughts of you and your little accident.

you use your fingers to spread your cunny pushing your pee out as you lift your knees showing off your stream. your head leaned back as you let go giving your dad a chance to lean in letting your stream hit his mouth. he moans at the taste as he pulls away hot yellow dripping down his chin as he savors you, keeping the liquid on his tongue.

“so good for dad, must have been so full,” he mewls, rubbing a hand over your inner thigh as he swallows. he leans closer letting your stream hit his chest and trickle down his filling cock. god he wants to jerk off right now get his cock covered in your piss and use it as lube. if only you knew how twisted your dad was.

“so full,” you pant, opening your eyes to meet your dads. his sweet soft face watching your cunny push out your pee as it splatters into the tub a large yellow puddle forming and flowing to the drain.

“so pretty baby, you pee so pretty for me,” he grins at you rubbing a thumb closer and closer to your center. your stream slows hissing quieting as you dribble the last bits letting it slide down your cunny and drip below you.

“felt so good,” you whimper.

“i know baby, dad’s gonna make you feel even better when he cleans you up,” he leans in, letting his knees hit the puddle you made but he doesn’t even care.

“thanks, dad,” you mumble, excitement bubbling in your tummy as his face comes closer, his breath hitting your dripping cunny. he uses his large hands to hold your thighs as he laps up your drips. you whine his hot tongue sliding over your cunny making you feel hot all over.

“mmmm, dad,” you call out, fingers gripping your knees as he grins into your cunt. his tongue fast and sloppy as he collects every golden drop savoring it on his tongue, your taste so addictive. slick and piss mixing in his mouth as he swirls over your hole licking up your pee hole to your clitty.

you can’t help but start panting, tongue falling from your mouth stupidly as he devours you. sloppy mouth slurping at you as he sucks your clitty into his mouth. you squeal, kicking your feet against his back at the pleasure, your eyes filling with overwhelmed tears.

part of you wants him to stop or slow down because it’s so much but another part of you wants more. that part wins. bucking hips into his face awkwardly craving more. he loves how stupid you get trying to grind against him begging for more as he sucks you in using his tongue perfectly.

“dad, more, more is coming out,” you whimper, slobbering on your chin as your legs start to shake. your tummy tightens until it lets go spraying into his mouth as you cum. legs shaking around him whining and moaning unable to control yourself. he drinks you up again letting his tongue linger on your gushing cunny flicking as he collects every drop.

he can’t help himself, he’s obsessed with the way you sound, your overwhelmed reaction to what you don’t know is an orgasm. he slows his flicks, lazily sliding his tongue up and down through your folds. your taste is addictive. he pulls away as you calm down lips and chin sticky watching your hips jerk in his hold.

“did so good for dad,” he praises, rubbing his hands over your skin.

“dad you clean me really good, get all the pee out,” you babble, looking at him with dazed eyes. “does it taste funny?”

“no baby, you taste so good. i think dads are made to like the taste of their daughters,” he tells you casually and you nod. “wanna taste?”

“i tasted my pee before, it’s kinda sour,” you admit, he’s sort of taken aback but the thought of your shy fingers collecting your piss to taste makes his cock bounce higher.

“gimme your fingers,” he says, holding his hand out and you give him what he wants. he uses your small fingers to rub over your slit collecting the last of your cum on your fingers.

“sensitive,” you whimper, eyes trained on where your fingers touch your cunny. he grins as he pulls your sticky fingers away, turning your hand and pushing it to your face. you open your mouth almost on command letting your fingers slide on your tongue. you don’t taste the same bitterness, it’s sweet and sticky like syrup.

“see, you taste so good,” he grins, and you nod, collecting all of the taste on your tongue.

“can i clean your cock when you pee?” he feels his heart race the thought of you using your tongue something he’s been dreaming of.

“wanna try?” you nod quickly letting your feet down, toes touching your puddle. his cock is even harder now bouncing bigger between his legs.

“yeah, i bet it tastes good too,” you smile.

“mmm, yeah daughters usually like how their dads taste too,” he grins standing up in front of you, his knees dripping from your pee as you lean forward.

“so big dad must feel really tingly?” you say, reaching to hold his standing cock.

“so tingly, especially when my pretty girl feels good,” he pets your sweet face as you look up at him, his cock still growing, your fingers not wrapping around him fully.

“dad why when i clean my cunny it doesn’t feel as good?” you ask.

“that’s cause dad’s doing it. feels so good when dad’s help their girls. it’s called cumming, dad made you cum,” he tells you and you nod stupidly.

“come where?”

“silly, when your cunny feels really good and you feel like you’re gonna pee it’s called cum.” he confirms, god you were so innocent.

“can i make dad cum?” you were really gonna kill him. his cock twitches at your words, more precum leaking from his tip.

“do you want to?” you nod eagerly, hand sliding over his shaft.

“such a sweet girl. let dad get his pee out first,” he pushes your hair back and you nod leaning closer to his cock.

“let it out dad, it feels so good,” you say, he groans above you pushing a small spurt of his out of his slit. it shoots up, your eyes wide following the high stream making you smile. “wow.”

“when dad gets hard and tingly it’s hard to aim,” he chuckles. you use your hand to angle his cock not pushing too far but it stands slit pointed to your tits.

“it’s ok dad, i got my pee on you,” you smile sweetly, coaxing him to let go again. he can’t help himself, thrusting his hips into your hand pushing his piss straight out letting it hit your chest. it splatters and you giggle hot liquid hitting you and dribbling down your tummy.

“do more, dad,” you beg, and he obliges, thrusting his hips into your hand forcing his pee onto you. your wide curious eyes watching the yellow liquid hit you. he bites his lip trying to keep himself from fully fucking your little hand.

“mmm, doing so good helping dad, you look so pretty with my pee on you,” he coos, you feel shy turning your eyes from his to focus on his spurting cock. “fuckkk.” he groans, thrusting into your hand.

“dadddd, language,” you grin.

“can’t help it feels so good,” he moans, his hand rubs down his chest and stomach, his fingers splitting holding the base of his cock.

“is it okay to say bad words when your cock feels good?”

“yeah, but just between us two. when your cunny feels good you can say it,” he hisses, his still thrusting slowly but his pee has mostly stopped gushing he’s too hard to go.

“are you all done?” you coo and he nods at you. “can i make you cum now, dad.”

“yeah baby, just use your tongue to clean dad up,” he says, you nod nervously eyes wide as you bring your face closer. you take an experimental lick over the slit collecting the drops of pee and something sticky. it tastes bitter but in a good way so you flick your tongue again.

“mmm, just like that baby, doing so good,” he moaned, watching your small mouth open using your tongue to swirl around his tip. he knows he’s gonna cum too fast, his fantasy coming to life right in front of him. his precious daughter tasting him using her mouth to make him cum.

you swirl your tongue like you would on a popsicle and that seems to make your dad really feel good. he groans above you watching as you do your best to clean him up. there’s more sticky stuff in your mouth and you like it so much and you can’t stop breathing in the musky smell from his cock.

“try using your mouth to suck the tip,” he directs, and you listen, opening your mouth and forcing his big cock inside, wrapping your small lips around the tip, sucking him like a straw. “unhuh, just like that, cleaning dad so good.”

you move your head back and forth taking as much of his tip into your mouth as you can, softly stroking the base of his cock. you’re so eager to hear more praise from his mouth so you speed up thinking that will work and it does. he calls out for you moaning your name and it makes your cunny tingle again but not with the need to pee.

“oh, baby, dad’s gonna cum,” he moans, stomach tightening as his release builds. “pull back, baby.”

it’s the first time you don’t listen to him craving more of his taste and working hard already. you want to make him cum making him feel like he makes you feel. so you keep your lips latching onto his tip as he tries to pull away. the pleasure fills him as he thrusts into your mouth making you choke hot liquid filling your mouth.

you pull back coughing and choking, spitting white onto his cock as more spills out. you watch in awe as white pee shoots from his slit hitting your mouth and chest. the taste is salty on your tongue as you catch your breath.

“didn’t listen to dad,” he groans, slowing his thrusts as the liquid slowly dribbles down his tip.

“just wanted to make you feel good,” you feel embarrassed and bad. your tummy filling with guilt for not listening to him.

“aww baby, is okay, just didn’t want to scare you,” he coos, petting over your head. you look back up at him, eyes watery and mouth dripping spit and cum and it makes a perfect image in his filthy head. innocent daughter, with her dad’s cum on her lips and chin such a filthy sight.

“sorry, dad,” you whimper.

“no baby, you did so good look at how much you made dad cum,” he grins. you see all the white puddling on the floor mixing with the pee and it makes you happy. his cock softening in your hand but you keep it wrapped in your fingers. “felt so good for dad. got all my cum out,” he says.

“is that the white pee?” you ask innocently, sliding your fingers on your lips and licking them.

“mhmm, that’s dad’s cum. boy cum is white and thick that’s the special stuff dad keeps here,” he tells you cupping his heavy balls.

“oh wow, tastes salty,” you smile, teeth sticky as white drips in your mouth.

“yeah? you did so good baby, dad came so much been so long since he felt so good,” he soothes your hair with some sticky white in the strands.

“really? i guess since you didn’t have a daughter until me it was hard to get it all out.”

“mhmm best when daughters do it for their dad’s,” he grins. sick mind swimming with lewder fantasies with you. “now let’s get cleaned up.”

johnny was falling deeper and deeper into his twisted desires, his mind swirling most of the day with what he wanted to do with you and to you. he thought you would be harder to crack harder to weasel his way to your trust, but you were much easier.

he’d wake up early cock hard as your mother slept beside him. his dreams full of your tiny virgin cunt he so desperately craved. thoughts of his fat cock shoving into you making you scream. when he first saw you he wanted to take you keep you locked in his house so he could fuck you whenever. this was working even better though.

it was harder though to get your mom to wear down enough to agree to a date. despite her desperation for a young cock and companionship she kept you under lock and key. he didn’t get to meet you officially until after he had proposed. sitting across from you at the table grinning and making you giggle at his silly jokes.

your mother liked how he paid attention to you but still “respected” her discipline. and you were worth it the long waiting game of getting her to crack and get into your family. he even had to wait to fuck her old cunt. their wedding night spent at home since you couldn’t be left alone.

she held a pillow over her face as johnny fucked her, saggy tits flopping, johnny imagined it was you. young and sweet and fertile. fucking his cum into his sweet new daughter filling her up while he took her innocence, but he was stuck with your mom for now. thankfully her libido was low so he didn’t have to struggle through too much sex.

he’d wake up and sneak to the bathroom for an early shower jerking his cock picturing your tiny cunt, now he didn’t have to imagine it he knew what it looked like. he spent his morning thinking about what he could get you to do while your mom was away. you weren’t too hard to convince.

innocent little girl, too sheltered to know normal dads didn’t lick their daughters cunny or help their girl pee. you didn’t know any better you were just happy to have the male attention.

he thought he’d still be grooming you to gain your trust but he was already three steps ahead of his plan. he thought he’d be waiting to make you cum until at least christmas, but he even got you to use your little mouth too. now he was onto his next step using his fingers.

he knew this would be harder but he had a few things in mind and whenever he thought too long about it his cock would fill too fast. luckily he had a sweet girl who was now obsessed with helping her dad like a good daughter would.

“dad, can i ask something?” you say, you’re sitting on your bed while your dad sits on the floor helping put together a new shelf for some new books.

“of course,” he puts his tools aside looking up at you.

“when you lick my cunny, why does it feel so good,” you ask, you’d been wondering for a while but felt too shy.

“that’s cause there’s lots of sensitive nerves all on and in your cunny,” he says, he sits up on his knees crawling over to your bed.

“inside?”

“yeah, you know dad told you you have two holes, a pee hole and one for babies?”

“yeah,” you trail, trying to imagine the inside of your cunny.

“the hole babies come out of has lots of nerves. it feels really good there too,” he puts his hands on your bed rubbing the sheets.

“do you put stuff in it to feel good?”

“mhmm you can, sometimes you use fingers or toys that are for that, and when you want to have a baby you use your dad’s cock,” he confirms, his cock growing now pressing against the mattress.

“that fits in there?” you can’t imagine your dad’s big cock fitting in anything.

“yeah but you have to get all stretched out for that.”

“so when people want babies they use their dad’s cocks?”

“yeah, when you want to have a baby in a long, long time you will need to use dad’s cock inside your cunny so he can put a baby in you,”

“oh wow really? so you’ll help me when i get married and want a baby?” he nods, rubbing his hand over your knee. the idea of you getting married to someone makes him sick. he will have to get rid of your mother so he can keep you and put babies in you.

“of course, that’s what dads are for, put as many babies in your little cunny that you want,” he coos.

“does it hurt a lot when you get cock in your cunny?”

“you have to stretch a lot, but that part feels good too baby. using fingers and rubbing all the nerves inside of you, you’d like it,” he confirms.

“can you stretch me some now? does it feel like when i cum?”

“i can if you want me to,” he smiles softly but his head is reeling. “feels like when you cum especially when dads use their mouth and fingers together.”

“oh i want you to please, will you dad. want your fingers in my cunny,” you beg, scooting closer to him.

“silly girl, you still want to, dad already made your cunny feel good earlier. can you handle it?”

“yes yes i can, please,” you whine, spreading your legs showing your slick cunny to him. he’d convinced you to keep your legs bare along with your top. saying this way when you held your pee too long it wouldn’t be so messy, but really it was so he could stare between your legs.

“okay, baby, tell dad if it feels uncomfortable or hurts,” he says, holding up his pinky for you to take. you nod your head, twisting his finger and pushing your thumb to his. he climbs onto your bed and you scoot back making room for him.

“so pretty, i love how curious you are baby,” he coos, making you smile, face heating up easily.

“just never had anyone i could ask you know,” you pout and he nods his head. he comes closer, his cock bouncing as he crawls to you.

“lay back for dad,” he rubs a hand over your arm as you lean back letting your head hit your pillows looking up at him. he reaches around you grabbing the stuffed bear he got you that you had named daddy after him. “in case it’s too much you can hold me.”

“thanks, dad,” you reach for the bear letting it curl into your arm like you do every night.

“now let dad see,” he uses his large hands to spread your legs. you’ve become familiar with this position spread open for your dad to peek and inspect your cunny.

“mmm, such a pretty cunny.” he grins using his right hand he slides his fingers through the folds making you jump on the mattress.

“been so sticky lately, dad,” you mumble, your cunny had been extra slick lately making your panties stain when you slept. you’d had dreams so often of making your dad cum and you’d wake up sticky.

“i know baby, just part of growing up. can’t believe my big girl is already getting her cunny stretched,” he coos, he pushes your legs farther back stretching your thigh as you try to spread wider for him. johnny had noticed the sticky strings between your lips when you peed for him and he was obsessed claiming he had to clean you to get all the sticky up.

when he tucked you in he would do a nightly cunny inspection taking your sticky panties off seeing the thick layer on the center of them. he’d spread your legs after your mom was in bed using his fingers to open your lips and make sure you were all clean before bed. using his tongue to swipe through your folds before putting your sticky panties back on. he’d pat your cunny, making sure you felt the dampness before kissing your cheek and letting you sleep.

“mmm your little hole is so tiny, baby, such a tight cunny,” he comments. you can’t tell if it’s good or bad but he’s smiling so you think it must be good. his fingers are sliding over you getting coated in your wetness. “gotta make sure you’re all sticky so it feels really good.”

“feels good now, dad,” you whine trying to buck your hips against his fingers but his hand is keeping you pushed into the bed. his muscles flex everytime you move and he looks so handsome and strong.

“you know baby once dad stretches your cunny he will have to every night during inspections okay,” he looks at you and you nod excitement bubbling in you. you love the way your dad sneaks into your room and spreads your cunny to check you before bed. the thought of it being longer makes you giddy.

“i like my cunny inspections dad,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around your teddy.

“yeah, me too baby, dad’s gonna push in now okay? hold my hand,” you nod, lacing your fingers into his. you feel pressure, a soft prodding in a place you didn’t know existed. there isn’t much resistance for johnny, his finger easing into your begging hole.

“oh, dad,” you whine, closing your eyes as his finger pushes into you. hot sticky wetness surrounding his digit as he pushes all the way in.

“feel okay?” he stares at your young cunny palm flush against you as you take his single finger.

“yeah, feels so weird but i like it,” you moan, when he curls his finger in you, grinning at your dramatic reaction.

“yeah, feels good doesn’t it? so many sensitive spots in your cunny,” he coos, he eases his finger in and out of you with ease. he loves the warmth of your tight hole wrapping around him and he can’t help but let his mind wander to what his cock is gonna feel when he shoves it into you one day.

“oh, dad, that,” you moan, arching off the bed as he hits your sweet spot. he can’t help but grin, your reaction so cute and innocent as you grip your dad bear.

“yeah, right here is extra sensitive,” he leans in, watching his finger disappear into you. dribbles of slick spilling down onto your perfect sheets as he pushes in and out. your hand squeezes his every time he hits your sweet spot.

“doing so good, baby, taking dad’s big fingers so well,” he pushes your thigh farther back, mashing your hand against your own skin as he gets lower. he leans in, using his tongue to slide over your swollen clit.

“dadddd,” you whine, squirming in his hands but he just grins into your center. his wrist speeding up slightly as he tastes your messy cunny. the pleasure is overwhelming, sending you deeper into a space between real life and heaven.

“oh feels so good. really good.” you moan out gripping his hand tighter. he suckles your clit slowly as he pumps into you he can feel your fluttering walls as you get closer, but he needs to add more he needs to stretch you open.

“gonna add a finger,” he mumbles into your cunt making you vibrate. your legs shake tummy tightening as you nod your head. he feels giddy your reactions egging him on as he slides his middle finger to your entrance.

“good girl,” he pushes the tip of his finger into you slowly. looking to you for approval, but you’re lost in the feeling of being stretched open for the first time. head back mouth open gasping at the feeling and he thinks like that’s confirmation enough.

“taking dad’s fingers so well,” he praises curling his fingers letting the tips brush into you making your call out to him.

“good, dad, feels so,” you whine, gripping your bear and his hand tighter. he leans in again, flicking over your clit slowly letting you savor his fingers. he pushes them in and out slick, pouring down your hole to your sheets.

your walls flutter with each flick of his tongue and wrist, clenching around his fingers as he fills you up over and over. tiny cunt trying to suck him deeper and deeper, and he knows you’re close you don’t take too long especially with his mouth. the frantic bucking of your little hips and heavy panting tipping him off.

“is coming, dad, coming out,” you whine, spit spilling over your lips as you reach your peak, each one better and better. he flicks his tongue faster, letting his fingers feel each squeeze of your cunt as you cum around them.

“good girl, that’s it,” he coos, curling his fingers over and over in you.

“get all that girl cum out.” he fucks his fingers into you pumping all your stickiness along with his digits. you whine and your eyes start to fill with tears obsessed with the feeling as it washes over you.

“dad, dad,” you call, tugging his hand. he slows knowing he’s being too rough, sending you into overstimulation but he knows your sensitive little cunny isn’t ready for that. he slows before pulling his fingers out strings of slick attached them to your cunny.

“look how pretty baby, got so much of that girl cum out of you,” he grins, holding his fingers up. you whimper watching him suck them into his mouth swirling and tasting your orgasm.

“did so fucking good for dad,” he says, making you hot his use of a bad word twisting your tummy.

“felt so good dad, i like it so much,” you whimper, he lets go of your thigh resting it on the bed. his fingers stay in yours as you peek down and see his heavy cock hard between his legs and your mouth waters.

“you had so much cum even after this morning,” he coos, he climbs up the bed laying beside you letting his sticky fingers pet your teddy.

“dad is your cock tingly?” you stare into his eyes innocently.

“so tingly baby, seeing you all pretty,” he grins, his cock is heavy laying on your hip.

“can i get your boy cum out?” your lewd words make him dizzy.

“you don’t have to, i know you’re tired, little one,” he says softly.

“wanna, i can just use my fingers like dad,” you beg you really wanna touch your dad you love making him feel good.

“if you’re sure,” he rubs a big hand over your face. you nod letting go of his hand to slide it over your tummy to the head of his cock.

“wanna do it for you, dad,” you mewled, slowly tugging his cock in your hands. he was so thick.

“mmm, baby, you’re so sweet,” he coos, beginning to thrust his hips into your fist.

“lemme,” you pull away and he watches your small hand reach between your legs, scooping your slick from your cunt with a sigh. the casualness of your act makes him twitch. the sight of your sticky fingers causes you to giggle when you see them.

“you need to be sticky too,” you giggle, watching your fingers glisten as you move, spreading them and seeing the sticky strings. “here, dad.” you wrap your hand around him using your sticky cum to rub your dad’s cock. he can’t help but groan pushing his head into your neck.

“my smart girl,” he purrs, his breath tickles you making you squirm. you keep your hand sliding up and down his thick shaft trying to wrap around him fully.

“so big, dad,” you comment, watching your hand slide over him.

“yeah, gonna have to stretch your cunny so much before i put any babies in you,” he grins. you bite your lip focusing on his cock letting your thumb slide over the pretty, dark tip.

“gonna be so full,” you babble, entranced by the slick bubbling out of his tip.

“so full, but you’re my good girl, you’ll take dad’s cock so good,” he moaned, bucking his hips into your hand. he reaches around you using his arms to cage you in so he could angle his cock into your fist.

“yeah, baby, just like that, doing so fucking good for dad,” he groans, staring at your small hand as he fucks into your fingers. you hold your teddy in your other hand like it isn’t making johnny crazy. his pretty soft baby was all deluded with pleasuring her dad.

“wanna taste,” you whimper, looking up at him with pleading eyes, his hair falling in his face. he grins down at you and if you were so enthralled with him he’d look like a predator claiming his prey.

“i can arrange that,” he says softly lifting off his one hand he brushes his hair from his face. he leans back pushing himself against the headboard, his cock slapping his stomach before he spreads his legs for you.

“wanna lay on my tummy,” you say crawling over to him, bear still in your hand. you settle between his legs leaning your arm over his leg.

“you’re so tiny, baby,” he says and you wiggle your butt in protest. “mmm, cute.” he pets your face and you lean into his touch soft and safe. reaching up you take his cock in your hand.

“wanna taste your dad cum, please,” you whine, leaning in you let your mouth wrap around his tip. you had been practicing for a bit now taking more and more of his cock each time craving the praise and the taste.

“mmm, you suck dad’s cock so good,” he hisses, holding your cheeks as they fill and empty with his cock. you bob your head taking more and more but making sure to breathe like dad had taught you.

“yeah, taking so much now, getting so brave,” he comments. you love how he talks to you, filling your head with gushy things and your tummy with heat. he always knows how to make the words touch you deep inside.

“fuckkk,” he bites his lip watching your eyes start to drip as you swallow around him taking in all you can your cheeks hollow as you suck. “look at your pretty face.”

you feel your cunny tingle more it never seems to go away for long lately. anytime you see your dad it makes you shiver and crave him. he was just so perfect and he told you lots of daughters got cunny tingles because of their dad.

his pretty moans filling your room as you soak his cock in spit, letting it dribble out of your mouth and down the rest of his shaft using your hands to slip it up and down. he tasted so good filling your mouth like a summer popsicle.

“so close baby, gonna cum for my girl,” he groans, gripping your pillow to keep from fucking into your mouth. you feel an urgent need, bobbing your head faster, swirling your tongue more to make him cum.

“open baby,” he grunts and you pull off strings of spit as you stroke his cock. you open wide letting your tongue lay against the tip as he shoots boy cum in your mouth. you let it fill your mouth your favorite taste on your tongue.

“mmm, so good baby, made dad feel so good,” he moans, watching the pretty white pool on your tongue. he taps your chin and you swallow. he’d trained you so well. you gulp him down greedily savoring the taste before sticking your bare tongue out his thumb hitting your chin.

“atta girl, got all dad’s boy cum,” he praises, making your tummy turn.

“tastes so good, dad, i like it so much,” you admit leaning your head on his big thigh.

“cause you’re my girl,” he coos his hand sliding over your cheek wiping tears from under your eyes. you nod you are his girl.

you feel silly when you wake up in the night with a bad dream startling you awake. someone taking your dad away and never letting him come back. you felt so sad and scared but you were grown up you couldn’t go crying to your mom she would tease you.

you patter down the hall teddy bear in hand pushing your parents bedroom door opened. your mom snoring her face mask over her eyes beside your dad who is sitting up reading glasses on looking at a book. his head tilts to you, concern on his face as he puts his book aside opening his arms to you.

you shuffle over leaning into his touch, his warmth wrapping around you reminding you it was just a dream.

“you okay?” he whispers into your neck. you shake your head. he pulls back eyes searching your face seeing your tears.

“what’s wrong, baby,” he shuffles up his legs sliding off the side of the bed to wrap you closer.

“bad dream,” you sniffle trying to keep quiet.

“aww darling,” you soothes his hands over your making you calm down.

“can you come lay with me,” you ask, not sure of his answer. your mom would say you were too old for that and call you silly.

“of course,” he says, standing up as he puts his glasses on the bedside table, clicking the lamp off before turning to you.

“let’s get you to bed,” he says calmly, his hand on your back leading you down the hall back to your room. he helps you get tucked in making sure you have all the things you need before he slides under the sheets, hot body pressing to you.

“wanna talk about it?” he asks, petting softly at your messy hair.

“just,” you pause, trying not to blubber. “mean people took you away from me and i was all alone.”

“oh baby no,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you pulling you to him. “no one will ever take dad from you.”

“felt so real,” you whimper, trying to keep your eyes from filling with tears.

“i know baby, i know.” he coddles, keeping you close to his bare chest reassuring you. “it’s okay, dad’s always gonna be with you.”

“i love you so much dad,” you say and he leans down kissing your head. “will you kiss me on my mouth to make me feel better?”

“would that help my girl?” he brushes hair from your face as you nod, hoping he will kiss you like he does your mom with tongue and all.

“please,” you plead, still whispering. he smiles at you, his hand cupping your cheek like he does to your mom pulling you to him. his soft lips push against yours, melting you with relief. you put your hand on his shoulder trying to keep him close, but he pulls away.

“dad,” you pout big lips begging for more.

“was that not enough,” he teases you as the moon shines on his cheek bones making him sparkle.

“no, want your tongue. please, want to try it,” you beg trying to squeeze close to him.

“you know you must be a grown up now this is how grownups kiss,” he coos at you.

“i am a grownup silly, i want to kiss dad like grownups,” you try to get him closer but you just settle for a small hand on his cheek like he does to you.

“mmm, okay, dad will kiss you like a grownup but you can’t ew like you do when i kiss your mom,” he grins and you nod eagerly closing your eyes and puffing your lips.

he leans in again. he lips are so soft and warm he tilts your face somehow closer to you, opening his mouth to slide his tongue over your lips. you follow your instincts parting your lips letting his tongue in your mouth. he tastes like cinnamon and you think about the tea he drinks every night. the taste fills your body from tongue to your toes. he’s all over you.

he pulls you closer sliding his leg between yours as his tongue glides against your. it felt like you understood everything, why grownups kiss like this, it all made sense. it felt so special and you felt so close to your dad. you swirl your tongue with his like it was a game his lips pushing against yours. he pulls away but you nibble his lip to bring him back and he groans bringing his mouth back to yours.

you flick your tongue into his mouth craving more cinnamon letting him suck your tongue like he does your clitty. he pulls away catching his breath as he looks at you, chest moving fast.

“not so icky huh?” he grins, you pull him to you, sticking your tongue out to swipe over his mouth and he obliges, opening his lips letting you explore. gripping his shoulder you buck into him rubbing your cunny over his knee as you flip your tongue in his wet mouth.

he sucks your tongue, pulling it into his mouth, sticky sounds filling your room as your rut against him. he uses his hand to slide down your body settling on the curve over your waist, helping you move back and forth against him. you whimper into his mouth, head overloaded with his taste and tongue and the tingles filling your body.

“slow down baby,” he pulls away watching you jerking fast against him.

“feel so good,” you whine, rubbing yourself against him.

“i know but mom’s down the hall, don’t wanna wake her.”

“can you touch me i’ll be so quiet,” you plead, big eyes looking up at him and he can’t say no.

“c’mere,” he says, turning you on your back letting his arm wrap around you. he uses his knee to part your legs before putting his hand over your panty covered cunny.

“gotta be quiet so dad’s gonna keep his hand over your mouth okay?” you nod reaching for his wrist to hold as his palm covers your swollen lips.

“good girl, so sticky from kissing dad,” he coos, his hand hiding the entire bottom half of your face. he slides his fingers over your cunny rubbing your through your panties. soft circles as he feels your swollen clit through the thigh fabric.

“clitty’s all hard baby,” he whispers, using a finger he flicks it over the bud making you arch your back. his hands grip you tightly, keeping you in place as he continues. his fingers circle your swollen nub, your tummy tight and fuzzy.

“being so good for dad,” he presses his lips to your forehead, a thin layer of sweat on your skin. your tummy bubbles with pleasure, his words hitting you right where his fingers touch. your legs start to shake trying to close around his hand.

“keep them open,” he directs and you force them open, letting his leg lock you in place. “good girl.” every word he says hangs in the air heavy and hot and pouring over you drawing you closer. he knows, knows your close reads your body like his favorite book.

“cum for dad, you can do it baby,” he mumbles into your skin, eyes focused on his fingers swirling over your panties. you whimper spit soaking his palm as you jerk in his hold hips rutting into his hand the final heat pouring down your body as you cum toes curling and legs twitching.

“that’s my girl, get all that cum out for dad,” he coos, slowing his fingers but keeping steady pressure as your head lolls in his hold. your panties are soaked and damp against you his digits rub the fabric.

you whine the touch almost too much and he stops keeping his hand resting on your still twitching cunny. he releases your mouth letting you catch your breath and spit coats his hand.

“so quiet for me, such a good girl,” he kisses your forehead and then your cheek. you turn your head letting his lips hit yours again, pushing your spit covered mouth to his chasing his taste again. you pull away licking his cinnamon flavor from your lips.

“thanks for making me feel better, daddy,” you push your head into his neck curling into him.

“getting sleepy, baby?” you nod into his chest spent and satisfied and feeling safe.

“love you, daddy,” you babble, closing your eyes. he can’t help but stare at you, so soft and gentle in his arms like he didn’t just make you cum with your mom down the hall. so sweet and naive.

“love you, little baby,” he soothes his hand over you, tucking you into him. he pulls your covers up and gets you settled, letting you rest in his arms.

he stays up thinking about how far he’s come in his plan. not even the end of summer and he’s so far ahead of schedule. he might even get to take your virginity before christmas if you kept this up.

the summer was coming to an end and johnny had been trying to convince your mom to go on a family vacation. she was very against it, claiming you wouldn’t do well out of the house or out of town. you pouted and whined to johnny saying you would do really well and be very good.

he knew you would and the thought of you in a swimsuit made him throb. thinking of touching your cunny under the water while your mom grumbled about being away from home. sliding the tight material aside so he could push his fingers into your little hole.

“i just think it would be nice, she’s trapped in here all day everyday and it would be good to get away. relax on the beach,” he tells your mom you listen to them from your room. your door is open and so is there’s, as you pretend to sleep.

“she doesn’t need to go out, she's safer at home, and what is so relaxing about sand in every crevice,” your mom groans. she was such a fun sucker.

“but think how nice it will be, sleeping in, the pool, maybe even massages,” you can hear your dad’s voice slowing, trying to convince her. you can’t see him walking to your mom holding her hips squeezing her butt.

“you’re too charming for your own good,” she teases. your mom is right about that. your dad was so charming and sweet.

“i just think it would be so much fun. i’ll watch her so you can go do whatever you want,” he grins at his wife convincing her that he’s in love with her as he rubs the bulge he’s got for her daughter against her.

“that sounds tempting, but i don’t think it would be good for her. i don’t want her thinking she can just leave whenever she pleases.”

“i know, you’re so protective and that’s so sexy, but we can keep her inside the whole time. i’ll watch her while mommy gets some sun and rest,” he coaxes her. he knows he can break her, it's not too hard. she’s desperate and easy and she secretly likes her hot young husband shirtless.

“fine, but only 3 days,” she grumbles, you grin with excitement filling your belly. you wonder what sand feels like on your feet.

“yesss,” he cheers, “mmm you’re such a good wife, i’ll book it for us.” he rubs his hands over her hips before spanking her playfully.

“yeah i don’t want to bother with that.”

“i’ll take care of everything. does she have a swimsuit or beach clothes?”

“i want her fully covered out there. no one needs to see her skimpy body,” you pout again. you wanted a pretty bikini like you saw on tv, maybe you could convince your dad.

“i’ll see if we can find a suit for her,” he pauses and you hear lips smacking. you feel anger wash over your heating your belly with jealousy. you should be kissing him instead. “what about mommy.”

“i have a few,” she says, laughing. “shut the door.”

“she’s asleep, just come here,” he drags her to the bed despite her protests.

“just be quiet,” she mumbles, pushing a pillow over her face like she always does. johnny does the work not bothering to stretch her just pushing his half hard cock into her slit after dousing himself in lube. you could hear the squelching, your dad’s familiar grunting and you felt jealous.

he was probably touching her cunny and she was touching his dad cock like you did. so unfair. you want his fingers and his mouth on your cunny the thought made you tingle.

“ffff,” he groaned, you giggled thinking of him saying fuck with you but not her. he tried his best to enjoy it but she just wasn’t his teen daughter. he didn’t care about getting her off in a sweet way so he just mashes his fingers against your clit hoping she’d cum fast so he could jerk off after. he didn’t want to waist any cum on your mom.

her old cunt bored him. he craved your young tight cunny small and slick from just a word. he imagined you below him spread out, hips stretching to accommodate his large thighs. watching your cunny suck him in a bulge growing in your tummy from his size.

he felt your mom tighten her orgasm approaching so he sped his fingers, letting her cum flatly on his cock. no pretty soft sounds, no arching into his touch, no soft skin, no cunny flutters. he pulled out when she pushed his hand away he jerked his cock groaning pretending to fill the condom while she kept her face covered.

he groaned fakely before acting like he had to catch his breath as he tugged the condom off. he’d save his boy cum for his girl in the morning. he tied the empty condom before going to the bathroom, tossing it in the trash letting his wife roll over lazily. she could clean herself up he frankly didn’t care. he knew she’d be snoring when he went back in there.

he hated her. despised her even. evil woman keeping his princess locked in a suburban castle. he wanted to steal you away. keep you safe with your dad away from her grubby hold.

pt 2 ⇢ practice makes perfect

pt 3 ⇢ nobody baby but you and me

©️tddyhyck

#johnny x reader #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh x you #johnny suh smut #johnny suh scenarios #johnny smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct hard hours #nct 127 hard hours

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simping-acefully · 1 year ago

Text

Ep 3 got me acting really unwise

Nsfw headcanons for Laios under the cut (gn unspecified partner for Laios)

Warnings: NSFWish, probably ooc, reader insert implied?, probably not very sexy because I used this for character analysis.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Laios is very attentive, though he's also very insecure when it comes to engaging with others. So I imagine he'd be a little clumsy, though very eager to provide the best aftercare for his partner. He's also very cuddly.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

The favorite part of his own body are his hands. They are strong and calloused, and he's used them to protect others and to create new stuff! (Aka, cooking) the fact that those hands can also help him please a partner is a plus.

On a partner? Probably lips. I imagine Laios struggles to read people's facial expressions (the 'tism go brr) but seeing his partner's smile is reassuring. He also really likes running his thumb over them and maybe getting his fingers nibbled.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He cums a lot.He has tasted his own cum out of curiosity in the past, too. And if he had a partner that ejaculated or squirted he would be delighted to taste it all.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has probably jerked off to thoughts of his partner before they get together and it's eating him alive :(

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Zero experience, lots of book knowledge though! He's confused but he's got the spirit. Will need some leading at first, but he's a quick learner and is curious enough to experiment and try new things once he's gained confidence.

As an ace myself, I like to think that Laios is either ace too, or has a low drive and thus, sexual intimacy is a matter of doing something intimate and unique with a partner.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position that will allow him to see his partner's face for smooching! The emotional intimacy is the most important part for him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He tries to be serious to the point he's almost uptight. But his clumsy and eager nature ends up organically devolving into somewhat goofy intimacy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet matches the drapes, but this man keeps it all natural because ?? Why would he waste time/energy on such things??? (Aka, he's not used to grooming the area, but he would do an effort if asked)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very!! The main driving force for the act. Laios is constantly kissing and checking with his partner. He loves them so much and this is a physical way to convey those feelings!

He holds hands with his partner, kisses their face and neck and tries to keep them as close as possible, the mental image of melting into a puddle together comes to mind.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Doesn't do it often, but when he does it's more of a thing of connecting with his own body than getting rid of any urges. He won't be able to get off unless he's in a good mood.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Has a wee bit of a praise kink that he doesn't fully understand.

Shibari is one he wants to delve into, too. There's something to be said about the artistry of the knots, and the feeling of compression can be quite comforting.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Probably his partner's bed. He shares a room with Falin, so intimacy on his place is a no-no. He doesn't particularly enjoy motels or inns either because he feels kind of self conscious/pressured to perform within a time limit. He was to take things slow and he wants to cuddle to sleep afterwards, dammit!

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I think his biggest driving force is an emotional connection. He craves to be understood and loved, so feeling that coming from his partner will make him want to show his appreciation in a physical way.

Probably jealousy is another good way to make Laios seek out his partner. He wants reassurance, to kill any doubts in his mind and any lingering feelings of inadequacy.

Also adrenaline too! Sometimes when the blood is pumping, his mind wanders. If he and his partner just were in a situation of danger, the physical reminder that they are there, alive and safe will make him desperate to feel them.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Doesn't like/understand degradation, and wouldn't do anything that he felt could hurt his partner.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give, and lives for pleasing his partner! He's not very skilled at first, but he's very observant and receptive, so he gets the hang of what his partner likes even if they do not say so themselves.

However, after getting head himself, he's hooked. He loves it, he loves the look on his partner's eyes and the physical feeling is overwhelming on the best possible way.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually slow and sensual, unless he just had a life or death situation with his partner, then he's desperate and anxious.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not one to really go for quickies, but if he's on the rare mood for one, he'll be sure to get and give lots of affection.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Laios would be interested in trying everything at least once. He's curious and inquisitive, and just as he is fascinated by monsters, he's fascinated by his partner and wants to learn what turns them on, and see what also works for him

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Stamina for days! He can last one very long round. If he didn't get sleepy and cuddly afterwards, he could probably do more, but hnnnggg comfy

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't own toys, but if introduced to them he's up for trying pretty much anything, both on himself and his partner.

I can see him growing particularly attached to non-human looking dildos/strap-ons and ropes.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's not much of a tease, but he low-key enjoys being teased. He doesn't seem to understand it, or be fully aware of the fact, but yeah.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not particularly loud out the impulse to self restrain, but Laios is a whiner. He can get pretty loud when he's about to cum though.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Would love to roleplay as a monster with their partner but when he did bring up the idea he got laughed off and passed it off as a joke. It was not a joke.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I like to think that it would kind of mimic his silhouette, length slightly above average and overall on the thicker side. The widest point is right after the head.

Not very high at all. I kinda imagine Laios on the gray sexual spectrum so, it only becomes a thought after he begins pining for his eventual partner. It starts with him wondering how soft their hands would be, how about their neck and lips? And it eventually escalates to wandering thoughts of intimacy.

Once he does become intimate with a partner, he longs for intimacy more than he longs for sex itself.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

VERY. He's an eepy man.

#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #laios touden #laios x reader #laios headcanons #dungeon meshi x reader #laios imagine #delicious in dungeon x reader #laois headcanon #not kid friendly!!!#minors dni with this post

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luvbabydoll · 2 months ago

Note

Stalker Bucky, where bucky Stalks reader, & pretends to bump into her, & slowly become friends until they start dating 🤭🤭

always watching

warnings: stalking, obsessive behavior, manipulation, hidden surveillance (implied), possessiveness, emotional grooming, mild violence (implied), yandere undertones, unhealthy relationship dynamics, reader is unaware of the stalking

you first see him at the bookstore.

not that you notice him, not really. but he sees you. soft sweater clinging to your shoulders, headphones snug over your ears, thumbing through the new releases like you’ve got all the time in the world. you’re humming something, just barely under your breath. he doesn’t recognize the song, but it becomes his favorite anyway.

you don’t see him, but he sees you. again. and again. you go to the bookstore every thursday. bucky knows that now. he follows you from a distance, hoodie up, hands deep in his pockets, pretending to glance at the shelves while his eyes are on you.

he learns your schedule like it’s his job. thursday: bookstore. saturday: farmer’s market, always with a canvas tote and messy hair. monday: café near your apartment, order never changes. he memorizes it all. you make it easy. you’re a creature of habit. predictable. perfect.

it takes him three weeks to "accidentally" bump into you. a soft oof, a muttered apology, his hands grabbing your arms to steady you. “shit, i’m sorry—are you okay?” he asks, his voice just rough enough to make your stomach flip. you blink up at him, wide-eyed, a little startled. he’s handsome. too handsome. you laugh nervously and nod.

and that’s all he needs.

the next week, you see him again. same bookstore. this time, he smiles like it's fate. “you again?” he says, like he didn’t follow you here. you grin. “guess we’ve got good taste.”

he makes you laugh. he makes you feel safe. bucky’s careful. calculated. he never comes on too strong. just enough charm, just enough softness. he pretends to run into you again at the café—he’s “new to the area,” he says. “what’s good here?” you tell him your order. he memorizes it.

you don’t know that he’s the reason your usual barista started calling in sick. don’t know that he’s already walked past your apartment enough times to know which window is yours. don’t know that he’s watched you sleep through the cracks in your curtains.

you think he’s sweet. a little awkward. a little shy. he lets you think that.

the friendship comes easy. he makes sure of it. always nearby, always ready to help. when you’re carrying groceries, when your phone dies, when your neighbor’s dog gets loose—he’s just there. you tell your friends about him. how he just gets you. how he seems to always be there when you need someone.

you don’t know it’s because he never leaves you alone.

it takes a few more weeks before he asks you out. he’s nervous about it. not because he’s scared of rejection—he already knows you’ll say yes—but because it’s a line. a new step. you smile when he stammers through it, cheeks pink. you say yes. of course you say yes.

he walks you home after the first date. your fingers brush. he looks at you like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. you don’t see the way his jaw ticks when you mention the guy from your building. the one who flirts with you in the elevator. you don’t see the bruise on that guy’s jaw the next morning. but bucky does. and he smiles.

you fall for him slowly. he’s sweet. attentive. always remembers what you like, what you hate, how you take your tea. he’s perfect. too perfect. but you don’t question it. not when he kisses your forehead, not when he tells you how lucky he is, not when he looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

you don’t know that he’s already picked out your future. you don’t know how deep his obsession runs. you just think you’ve finally found someone who sees you.

and you have. oh, you have. he sees you. always has. always will.

#luvbabydoll ‧₊˚ ⋅#bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel mcu #dark bucky x innocent reader #dark bucky smut #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #mcu fic #sebastian stan smut

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sukirichi · 11 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄 | 𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

In a world filled with too much cash and flashing lights, will a solemn and ironically private relationship of a celebrity chef and wealthy socialite branded as star crossed lovers remain full of adoration and sincerity?

cw. fem! reader. celebrity chef! reader. gojo is insanely rich. angst. unedited. suggestive (they make out and is implied to sleep together, but no explicit scenes are shown.) hurt with a little bit of comfort.

notes. i can’t explain it but there’s just something about this fic i’m not completely satisfied with... i feel like i could’ve written it better LOL but also i just wanted to write something casual

wc. 17k

divider from saradika-graphics <3

Contrary to what people may say, Satoru knows he’s worked hard to get where he is.

The silent yet sharp-tongued man whose mere sound of his shoes stepping in the hallway sent his employees rushing inside their cubicles with fear. Belonging to the top tier of society as a result of being born wealthy and powerful, his name was enough to have people’s knees quivering of what the young heir was capable of.

He had the world at the mercy of his hands.

His icy blue eyes were empty, cold, and relentless – a stark contrast to his angelic features that fooled people. With his face pasted on almost every magazine, and companies vying for his attention left and right, journalists begging for a five minute interview, it was no brainer the importance of Gojo Satoru. And with his looks that had every man and woman stumbling before his very feet, the line between angel and devil blurred thinner.

You see, being born a God in front of everyone’s eyes was not as easy as it seemed. Tabloids always spread fake rumors claiming the young heir did not deserve to handle his family’s group of companies due to the fact he didn’t even graduate college. Or that was too scandalous for his own good to keep up a good reputation. As someone who holds major stockholders in the mercy of his will, everyone expected better.

Satoru scoffed at it all. To him, those were nothing but measly words.

He was the Gojo Satoru. He could do whatever he wanted, however he pleased, and all the world could do about it was complain. Such rumors (albeit ringing with truth) did not affect his life whatsoever.

Still, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him how uncultured people preferred other companies to be on top of the food chain – like Zen’in Corp, or Kamo Inc. They had far better reputations (ha, Satoru thought sarcastically), and were more well-liked by Japan. Satoru knows better though. No one is truly kind when they had enough wealth to claim the world as their own. Naoya Zen’in’s smile was as natural as his blonde streaks, and Noritoshi Kamo wasn’t even the company’s real heir. The latter was a bastard, and the former an attention seeker.

At least Satoru was honest and did not put on any facades of being a good man. He knew he was not.

The other men were greedy, always ready to pounce at every opportunity to have another digit added to their bank account, their expensive colognes successfully hiding the stench of their evil nature and their perfectly chiseled features resembling those of a seductive demon’s. Satoru was not surprised that he was born in a castle that resembled hell. Though it does not bother him anymore, he used to be saddened by the fact that he had been close with them in his youth. They spent their days spent chasing each other in the garden and pulling the trigger of water guns mercilessly, but all that was forgotten when each of them were groomed into perfection, just waiting to see who would take over the throne and who would end up as subordinates.

A battle which Satoru won without breaking a sweat.

And just like that, friendships dissolved. Men who he once called his comrades became his rivals in the industry.

Being the eldest of the three, their blood boiled when the official announcement came: Gojo Satoru had officially been stated as the new president of the Gojo Group of Companies.

It was not an easy competition. The bond between friends were soon replaced with greed and hatred for each other. Both Naoya and Noritoshi were ready to rip him apart at every mistake he made, but they did not know how fortunate they were. While they spent weekends overseas in cruise ships with flutes of champagne delicately nestled between their fingers, fucking every pair of tits with walking legs, Satoru locked himself in an office at the young age of eighteen. Whilst everyone savored the flavor of youth, he was forced to make the wisest decisions when it came to business. And little by little piece, his humanity had shattered until it was destroyed completely.

Gone was the cheerful boy who always spent too much time playing with his dogs and not minding that his latest Gucci pyjamas had been stained with grass. In fact, he did not even remember that side of him existed at all.

That at one point in his life, he’d been a normal boy with a normal childhood – before the weight of the world wore him down.

Glancing sideways at his security team, the head guard, Toji, nodded and commanded something through his radio. All the guards dispersed and made way for him. In a matter of a minute, the employees who were walking aimlessly in his hallway had scrambled in their offices. Sighing tiredly, Satoru rolled his eyes. Toji opened the doors for him as he stepped out, the dull, gray exterior of the spacious room feeling like home more than anything else.

His secretary, Mei-Mei, bowed politely at him and handed him his caffė macchiato. His fingers reached for the cup before facing the glass walls. Beneath him, the entirety of Tokyo lay pulsing at his feet. With one scoop of his hands and a simple word uttered through his lips, he knew he could take everything. And he could if he wanted to, but such was the dilemma of having everything.

Satoru Gojo desired for nothing at all.

“This,” his father once said at the twelve year old him, his hand sweeping from the exact same place he stood in. “will all be yours soon, my son. You have the world in the mercy of your hands.”

The hot beverage burned his tongue. He reeled back, biting at his tongue in the process of soothing it as he listened to Mei-Mei list his agenda for today. He had just gotten home from Beijing less than an hour ago, and he couldn’t even sleep on the flight because he was swarmed with paperwork and a hundred more proposals to accept. Yet the exhaustion does not show on his face. In fact, there was a not a trace of it. His face remained blemish free and healthy thanks to the dermatologists who always gave him free treatments in exchange of endorsing them – which he never did.

Raising his chin high, he peeked past his shoulder to look at Mei-Mei, who had her tablet tucked in her armpit, silently awaiting his response. “Alert the Board of an emergency meeting within ten minutes, and I want Mr. Ijichi to bring me the real sales report regarding the Wangguo Resort for the past five months.”

Mei-Mei’s gasp is barely audible. Satoru knew his request was absurd, but it was her job to do everything he told her to. If she didn’t, well, the answer was clear as day. She could say goodbye to her lovely job.

Turning his back to her, Satoru scanned his nails lazily. He needn’t worry about anything. He knew Mei-Mei would always do what was needed at the price. But – his eyes narrowed – he was in desperate need of another manicure. Hours spent typing and calculating sales had chipped them, and he had to keep his appearance of a perfect man who had his life together. After all, he was Satoru Gojo – the flawless one. The god walking amongst humans. He could never quite tell when there were cameras ready to catch him off-guard, but he’d never risk that chance.

He had to be without fault.

“An emergency meeting?” Mei-Mei stumbled over her words, chuckling nervously as she swiped at her tablet, looking for a reason as to why he would ask her to do such a thing. Satoru nodded, fully aware that most of the members on the Board were in different provinces out to do their job, but he was the most powerful person in that building.

Nothing was impossible for him. His wishes were the law.

“What for, Sir?”

He slapped a red envelope with a golden seal down his desk, eyes forming into slits. Mei-Mei cowered under his gaze. “When I went to Beijing to check the status of our hotel, I found out that there had been issues regarding maintenance and plumbing reported for five months now, and no one told me about it? I run a five star hotel that exceeds the expectations of even royals, and I won’t forgive this treachery. According to the hotel staff, their supervisor had told them to keep the complaints confidential because they didn’t want me to know there’d been issues in the first place.”

Though he spoke smoothly and did not even stutter or waver the least bit, Mei-Mei had known him long enough to know that even the slightest twitch from his eyes meant he was furious.

This wasn’t the first time your brothers had tried to take whatever was yours in their possession, but the sales report of that hotel had been forged and the Board was aware, yet they did not inform you in fear of what your brother could have done to them.

This wasn’t the first time his staff had kept secrets from him. They all piled up until it became too big to ignore, and then Satoru had to step in. Seriously. Was he a joke to them?

“No, I take it back,” he said suddenly, plastering on a fake smile at his oblivious assistant who tried her best to conceal her relief. After all, Mei-Mei too had been tired with the amount of workload he gave her, but if she wanted remain as a woman with deep pockets, she just had to turn his wishes into reality. “Fire all members of the Board, and blacklist them. Make sure no local or foreign company will ever hire them, but because I am a man of mercy, they can still be hired as waiters or janitors.”

Mei-Mei’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, and it looked so comical Satoru would’ve laughed if he knew how to.

Instead, he smoothened out invisible creases from his three piece suit before sitting down, the harsh yet familiar blue light of his Mac desktop greeting him. His fingers skirted along the keyboard in the speed of light, and from his calm state, you would have guessed nothing happened, but this could be his downfall.

He’d always been warned to keep his temper in check, to think things through before coming to a final decision, but why would he?

If his own people would not respect him, then he wasn’t required to return the gesture. After all, he didn’t need them as much as they needed him. He could easily replace the figures making up the Board. But he was the president, the man who made those lazy, fat fucks rich. They had gotten too comfortable with their positions, and he needed to show them that he still held their lives on the line.

That ought to teach them a lesson.

“Sir, please reconsider this and don’t make decisions compulsively. The Board plays a big role in our company–”

“Tell me, Mei-Mei, is a King only considered a king when he has people to serve him?”

She falters for a bit, her eyes watching him cautiously. Satoru leant forward the slightest bit, the black glasses framing his face in a way he looked almost innocent. But the coldness of his eyes were enough of a telltale that he was not someone to be messed with. Aggravation and mirth danced in them almost mockingly. He could read her perfectly – this secretary of his. He’s not stupid; he knows she hates him. And why wouldn’t she? No one liked Gojo Satoru. He was mean, ruthless, and invalidated everyone who he deemed ‘lower’ than him. And yet, he hadn’t met a single person to prove him wrong.

The truth is that no one was as capable of doing things the way Satoru did.

He was the smartest person she’d ever met to the point it was frightening. Satoru always had a solution to whatever situation, with countless of secrets and tricks hidden under his sleeve. And he wasn’t as awful as everyone said he was. Yes, he was ruthless, that much Mei-Mei could admit, but only to everyone who deserved it.

Anyone who didn’t do their job right, or abused their power wouldn’t escape Gojo Satoru’s wrath. Call him a demon, or the devil’s son, but Mei-Mei saw him more of a judge who brought justice and punishment to those who did wrong.

Satoru leant back against his chair, satisfied with her answer before dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “A king remains powerful when his kingdom is omnipotent. I’m glad you understand that now,” he said, head snapping up as he remembered something. “Oh, and don’t forget to schedule a dinner with the others tonight at that new restaurant everyone has been crazing about.”

Mei-Mei nods, pressing ‘cancel’ to the rest of his agenda for the night. She made a mental note to call the restaurant ahead of time to tell them to reserve the place all for Mr. Gojo. Taking one last look at him, Mei-Mei realizes that if she wants to keep working with the devil, she had to stay on their good side.

“I’m not doing it.”

“Boss,” Yuuji whines, pouting as he holds your hands and shakes them in an attempt to make you reconsider. You merely scoff, freeing yourself from the younger one’s grip with a glare. “They said they’ll pay us handsomely if we reserve the whole restaurant for just the night, and I’m afraid we’ll close down if we don’t do what they tell us to. It’s not just anyone, you know. It’s the Gojo Satoru.”

You looked at him disapprovingly before resuming your task of cutting vegetables. “Our shop won’t close,” you reply confidently, “We only take reservations per table, not for the whole restaurant. They should eat somewhere else, I don’t care about the money.”

Of course you knew who Gojo Satoru was – everyone did. It was kind of hard not to know the guy when the entirety of Japan had been in love with him from the moment he was born. That wasn’t an exaggeration, either, because people actually had photos of the heir from when he was still a baby. ‘Such a beautiful boy,’ they cooed upon the sight of his stark-white hair. And when he finally opened his eyes, it was done for – the young Gojo Satoru had everyone wrapped around his finger before he even babbled his first words. So yes, you knew perfectly well who he was, and that was exactly why you didn’t like him.

For such a popular man, his reputation was anything but good.

You didn’t want him anywhere near you, or the restaurant you shed blood, sweat, and tears to build.

You were the newest celebrity chef the world crazed over. Not only were your dishes to die for, but your looks caught the crowd’s attention, too. Pair your introverted, awkward personality with your endless charm shown in your dishes, you quickly rose to fame. Tabloids and magazines alike starved to get a taste of your dishes – a glimpse of you, even. With the latest opening of your new restaurant in the city, people have been coming in endlessly, wanting to see the infamous chef for themselves behind the kitchen.

Yeah, you wouldn’t let that happen.

Unfortunately for the media, you would rather hide behind the kitchen doors than have to go through another dreadful interview. Apart from a few pictures taken by the paparazzi and endless praises from your customers in your skills in cooking, you remained a mystery – something you’d prefer to keep.

Having Gojo Satoru and his ‘peers’ over would completely ruin that.

As much as you loved your career, knowing you made money doing what you loved, you detested the attention it came with being associated with the rich. One day, you were elbow-deep in your dishes, and then you were suddenly being invited to the most pretentious social events. Wealthy people roamed around, content with making the price tags of their clothes their personalities. You didn’t mind at first. It was exhilarating, even, to be thrown into a world so different from the one you were born into. But after one gathering where three wealthy men offered to hire you as their personal chef, and promised extra pay for ‘special services’, you left that world behind.

You swore not to be involved with the socialites anymore, even if it meant more success for your future. You cared less about the money anyway – you were confident in your skills enough to know you could pave your way with your own hands. You would never accept money from their deep, dirty pockets.

“Boss, you need to see this!” Yuuji whispered harshly, tugging you by the apron. You grumbled upon being separated from your chopping board, but his words fell on deaf ears as you both watched the customers clamor in excitement, phones being pulled out of their pockets. Soon enough, your restaurant drowned with flashing lights, and an equally blinding smile from the tall man who entered, his cheeks flushed from all the attention. “Holy shit. He looks even hotter in person.”

Thankful that you had your contacts on, you could see the scene before you clearly.

The people rose from their seats, eager to have a picture taken with Japan’s most beloved. His security team immediately formed a protective circle around him when the people clamored, the Gojo heir apologizing because he didn’t allow pictures. He claimed tonight was a special night, and he merely wanted to have a private dinner with his childhood friends.

Oh, fucking great. He’s bringing others here, too?

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, two, black and sleek cars pulled up into the driveway. Naoya Zen’in stepped out of the car, shades propped on his tall nose as he smirked at the cameras already being flashed his way. From the other car appeared Noritoshi Kamo, his lips pressed into thin lines while blatantly ignoring the chaos ensued from their mere presence.

Your eye twitched. You could feel a migraine coming already.

To say you feel enraged would be an understatement. You pushed past your crew with a stormy expression, prepared to tell these stuck-up elites to go visit another restaurant. Was it really that hard to give you peace? You never accepted their reservation to begin with. However, you didn’t make it very far when you felt a strong hand grasp your arm.

“Boss, please hold yourself back, it’s just a dinner they’re asking for. If you intervene now, this could cause a public commotion,” Yuuji glances at the three men from the corner of his eye before warning you, “They’re not people you can mess with.”

Soon enough, his former customers had dispersed out peacefully with the assistance of the family’s security team, and he grits his teeth in an attempt to contain his anger for pretentious people like them, watching as they occupied an empty table. One of the waiters approached them nervously, three menus in her hands and she’s about to hand them out when the eldest looking one spoke irritatingly.

You huffed. You hated how he was right. Successful, you may be, but you could never come close to their level of power and wealth.

With an apologetic smile from Satoru – who made four women faint from the sight – your previous customers dispersed with the assistance of Satoru’s security team. You gritted your teeth in an attempt to contain your anger. They were so pretentious! Naoya, especially, flicking two of his fingers at your waiter as a signal to clean up the table he wanted. Scurrying on his heels, your staff nervously approached them while the others cleaned up in the speed of light, and handing them the menu’s with shaky hands.

Noritoshi nodded once at the waiter who approached him, while Satoru paid them no mind as he flicked through the pages. Meanwhile, Naoya clutched the wrist of the waitress who’d handed him his menu, brushing his lips against her knuckles.

You watched as your waitress froze. You were about to push his hand away from her when Satoru beat you to it, his voice icy and his words cutting like a knife. “Can never keep your hands to yourself, huh, Zen’in? With the amount of women visiting your estate, I’d have figured you would know enough to never touch a woman without her permission.”

Naoya scowled, immediately dropping your waitress’ hands before plastering another smirk. “No need to be a killjoy, Satoru. But anyways, what’s the reason for calling us out of the blue? You know well enough I had matters to take care of in Kobe.”

Satoru doesn’t lift his gaze from the menu. “Actually, I don’t know that. I could care less about your schedule. But I figured I haven’t seen my dear old friends in a while and thought a meal would be nice.”

Noritoshi spoke up, and Yuuji whispers to your ear on how he was one of the most popular models in the industry, and third to to them in the top bachelors of the decade. “Cut to the chase, we don’t have enough time.”

“Calm down, why are you in such a hurry? Let’s order first shall we?” You plaster on a disgustingly forced smile, taking the tablet Yuuji hands you as you gravitated towards Satoru. Stupid bastard – he doesn’t even look your way. “We’ll take the Spicy Uni-Lardo Sushi in Lettuce Cups and Foei Gras-Steamed Clams.”

He listed a few more – the most expensive meals on the menu, too – and you jotted them all down with steady hands. Although the restaurant was eerily silent, you could feel the crew’s eyes watching over you from the kitchen like a hawk.

“Will that be all, Sir?”

Satoru hums, waving his hand in the air. “You’re dismissed. Now leave us.”

Your jaw dropped. This little – Yuuji snatched you back into the kitchen, but you’ll be damned if you didn’t defend your honor. Handing their orders to the other chefs so they could get started, you leant against the kitchen doors and peered out from the cracks to eavesdrop.

“Because I treasure my dear friends so much, I won’t waste your time any longer and get to the matters at hand. Naoya, let’s talk about the chain resort in the Wannguo branch, and Noritoshi, here is your lawsuit for fabricating my sales report that’ll land you a free six year vacation in jail.” A white haired woman appeared out of nowhere, pulling out a black envelope with bold letters reading ‘LAWSUIT.’ Satoru swiftly picked it and slid it towards the raven haired man’s way.

Noritoshi gaped at Satoru, “What’s the meaning of this, Satoru?”

“I should be asking you that. Isn’t it not enough for you I collaborated on this project with you? Are you that intent on kicking me out of my own company you’re sabotaging your responsibilities and lounging around in London?”

Deep down, you knew you shouldn’t be eavesdropping. But this was the type of drama you saw only in dramas, and you couldn’t tear your gaze away from them even if you tried.

Upon looking behind you, you saw your crew had paused in their work, too, intent on watching the drama unfold before your eyes. The Gojo Clan were practically royals in the country, always portrayed as indomitable and powerful beyond belief. It seemed hard to believe there were things that got under Gojo Satoru’s nerve, with his friends, no less. Sure, you’d heard Naoya scamming people here and there, along with rumors of Noritoshi abandoning his work in pursuit of pleasure.

And, regrettably, you assumed Satoru wouldn’t be any different than them. Now, you were getting a front seat view of what truly transpired beyond the surface.

Gesturing for your crew to go back to work, they all grumbled but obediently followed anyway. You took your attention off them and glanced back at Satoru, taken aback at the sight of pure irritation for his company – and if you looked a little closer, hurt pooled around those captivating eyes of his.

Perhaps he was human like you after all, and while he didn’t exactly give you a good first impression, you were decent enough to respect this was not something you could keep on wathcing. Resuming your work, you began to heat up the pans, their voices distant yet clear.

“Jail? Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t belong in a place like that!” Noritoshi, the younger one, shouted with an appalled expression, his hands slamming against the table as he sent an almost pleading look at Satoru.

“Then you shouldn’t have fabricated my documents to begin with.”

“Be careful, Satoru,” Naoya warned with a harsh whisper, “We were born with the eyes of the world around us, one wrong move and I’ll have the media ruin your tarnished reputation even more. You may be the richest amongst us three, but don’t think you’re invincible.”

“You asshole,” Noritoshi retorted, thin lips forming into a sneer. “If you were going to file a lawsuit against me, you couldn’t have done it privately? Don’t belittle us, one bad review of this restaurant and this place will burn down to pieces, and I’ll make sure you go along with it.”

Satoru’s melodious laughter made you all pause. “A death threat, how funny! You both truly are so sweet, but let me warn you that I have the press eagerly waiting for my signal, so act on your best behavior and pretend we’re having a hearty meal together,” In a matter of minutes, you interrupted by showing up with their food. Satoru’s eyes lit up as he clapped his hands in faux enthusiasm. “Oh, the food’s here, eat up! My treat tonight since you’ll all be losing your money anyway.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see Noritoshi glaring at his plate. Satoru had ordered you to serve him the seafood, and judging by Noritishi paling at the sight of it, he must’ve been allergic. Jesus. If he faints, or worse, dies at your restaurant tonight, it’d be completely pinned on you. You didn’t even do anything to be involved, and yet it seemed as if Satoru was dragging you down with him. Nevertheless, Noritoshi picked up his utensils. The scratching of silver knives against the plate filled the room, accompanied by the soft, jazz music that gave off a false, comfortable atmosphere.

Oh, but it was anything but that.

The tension was so thick in the air you found it hard to breathe. Satoru was like a ticking time bomb, Noritoshi was a few mouthfuls away from turning completely red in the face, and Naoya hadn’t stopped ordering refills of his wine.

Satoru dabbed at his mouth carefully with a napkin. What a shame, he thought. You had such a lovely restaurant, and your food was to die for. He would’ve enjoyed it if it hadn’t been for his so-called friends sabotaging his career.

“Here’s the deal – no, I do not need to make deals with my subordinates – here is what’s going to happen and listen carefully because I won’t repeat it again. Naoya, as from this hour, you are relieved of your duties as supervisor of our resort, but you’re free to have my vacation home there as compensation. As for you, Noritoshi, I’ll burn this lawsuit and forget your crime if you promise not to let even your name be spoken for the whole year. In other words: get out of my sight. Am I making myself clear?”

“How dare you do this to me?!”

“Sit down, Naoya, you wouldn’t want your pretty face to be ruined with that frown. Are we done here, boys?” Satoru enjoyed it, he really did.

To see two powerful crumble before him made him feel things he couldn’t quite put into his words. Entertaining, he called it, to know he was capable of cracking their tough personas. It made him wonder how many more buttons of theirs he could push before he destroyed them completely.

“Yes.” Noritoshi nodded with an almost pained choke, and Satoru leant back triumphantly. Because he was a model and sometimes an actor if he wished, he was more exposed to the media and cared more about his image more than Naoya did, thus making the former easier to manipulate and kneel down to his whim.

Satoru smiled, pleased. “Then you may go. Noritoshi, I’m keeping your car keys under my possession for the meantime, but my chauffeur will gladly chaperone you everywhere as long as I deem it necessary. And Naoya, I already sent my apologies to your escort, she’s as good as a stranger so you don’t have to worry about the press exposing your disgusting behavior.”

The latter looks up from his empty plate with wide, questioning eyes as if to ask how he knew about that, but he had never been a good liar. Satoru knew him well enough that he never took care of business matters and instead spent his days wasting the precious money his family had worked for just to pay the most ‘prestigious’ of escorts. He had a disgusting personality to ever make a woman land willingly in his bed, which is why he resorted to throwing his money just to have someone beautiful in his arms to flaunt off in social events, or warm his bed.

Though not in his line of sight, Satoru knew his bodyguard was watching. He stood up with grace, slapping a wad of cash down the table as a signal of his business finally dealt with. You expected him to leave the restaurant when he surprised you by heading your way. Eyes wide, your hands reached out to feel the doors when Yuuji subtly pushed you towards Satoru.

Oh, dear heavens. Yuuji was right.

The magazines and pictures of him didn’t do him any justice. He was absolutely breathtaking now that he was before you, his cold eyes now holding the tiniest bit of warmth as he regarded you. Back facing the other men, Satoru lowered his head. You stood there with baited breath, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips brushed over your ear. He was close enough that his expensive perfume wafted over you, and you could touch the ripples of his muscles bunching up against his baby blue shirt if you were brave enough to reach out.

“Thank you for the wonderful meal. I haven’t had a proper one since I was a teenager, and please don’t worry about what happened today, you won’t be involved in our personal matters. In exchange for your service, I will pay you generously.”

Satoru took a step back, and you stood there, muted and dumbfounded. You hadn’t expected he’d speak so softly to you when his words were harsh towards his ‘friends.’ And as if realizing the effect he had on you, a smirk ghosted at the edges of his lips. “Mei-Mei.”

Flashing you the best smile he could muster, he extended his hand to the side as his assistant pulled out a cheque. Satoru signed it without taking his eyes off you. He slid it your way, your eyes bulging out when you saw the ridiculous amount of zeroes he’d written on it. Instead of feeling pleased, irritation sparked in your veins.

You pushed his cheque back to his chest. And yes – your theory was proven correct – his muscles were hard and firm underneath that silk shirt. “I don’t need your money.”

You liked to think you had the upper hand when Satoru’s eyes widened by a mere fraction. It must’ve felt like a slap to his face, having someone refuse his money for the first time. But just as it came, the surprise vanished from his handsome face, slowly replaced by a teasing smile. Satoru leaned forward once more, bullying his way into your personal space until you were left with no choice but to share the same breaths of air.

He smelled like leather, wine, and something intoxicating that dared you to have a taste. Just one small taste, even if it meant possibly becoming addicted.

“Uptight and feisty, just how I like it,” chuckling to himself, Satoru draped his discarded suit jacket over his shoulders and sauntered out the door. “Expect me again, Chef. This won’t be the last time we’ll see each other.”

You prided yourself for being someone in control of their emotions.

Yet, you’re overwhelmed by the sight of hundreds of customers waiting in line as they all snap pictures and chatter excitedly among themselves. You frown when Yuuji barges into your office without knocking (a habit that you’ve told him to change, but he never seems to listen) and almost shoves a tablet in your face as he struggled to keep himself on his own toes.

“Boss, you should read this, it’s insane!”

“Gojo approved restaurant of celebrity chef, now a five star restaurant in Tokyo!” You read the headline monotonously, Satoru’s handsome face from that night pasted on the article and waving at the camera. You could almost hear his light, breathy voice telling him that one way or another, he would find a way to pay you. You can’t help but scowl, because out of all things, he decides to pay you with publicity and unnecessary attention.

“‘Members of royal families and prominent leaders from all around the world have been rumored to pay a visit to either one of the five branches of the new rising celebrity chef’s restaurant. Another hit for the Chef!’”

“Isn’t it great, boss?” the overly jovial noy giggled, and you try not to wallow in embarrassment. “That’s not all, watch this video, it was released last week.”

Yuuji clicked on a video clip, and you lean forward, ears intently focused on the footage. You’re not surprised to see Satoru walking down a familiar road inside one of the most well-protected villages. Adorned in a white fur coat with black slacks that hugged his legs perfectly, he approaches the horde of reporters waiting outside the gates with a polite smile. He waves at the flashing lights, careful to show off his Patek Philippe 5004T wristwatch.

Tch. Showy bastard.

“We saw you at The Green Garden last month enjoying a dinner with Naoya Zen’in and Noritoshi Kamo. Tell us, how was the food there?” A report asked, about to shove her microphone in his face that was blocked by his ridiculously muscled bodyguard.

Jeez, you thought, did that guy take steroids for breakfast or something?

“Oh, I don’t have enough words for it,” he purred, and you hold your breath for his next words. You’re a little surprised at how his breathy voice managed to sound commanding and husky at the same time. “When I walked in, the aroma was just mouthwatering, and don’t get me started on the meal itself. It was absolutely delectable, all the flavors practically melt in my mouth, and I don’t think I’ve ever spoiled my taste buds this much.”

Your brows shoot up. Did he mean what he said? People like him rarely spoke the truth – everything was a show for them. He would say whatever appeased the public, and you weren’t sure if he even had the time to enjoy your food considering he was stuck in… quite the predicament. Still, you don’t pause the video, barely hanging at the edge of your seat as you listen.

“I did hear the food there was good, especially since the Chef is quite gaining some popularity over the last few months,” another reporter stated, and soon they were all nodding their heads approvingly. “Still, you’re someone who has probably tasted something better. Would you recommend the Chef’s dishes?”

Satoru smiles, letting his bangs frame his handsome face as he stares right at the camera. You feel your breath get caught in your throat, solely because it felt like he was looking at you. Once again, you’re more captivated by the shine in his eyes, rather than the blinding light of his mischievous smile.

“Of course,” he smirked, “It would be a sin not to have a taste of her.”

Yuuji chokes on his own laughter beside you. He starts shaking you by the shoulders, completely unaware that you’re a goner by now. Everything the younger man says falls on deaf ears. You find yourself too immersed in the video clip, that teasing smirk on his face disappearing as th crowd pushed further and further. His guard steps forward just as Satoru flicks his hair to the side – an action that would’ve been condescending on most, but somehow looked elegant on him – and retreats back to his Audi. Not just any Audi either, but an e-Tron 2010 Spyder Concept.

Meanwhile, you can’t pick what could be hotter – that a man like him had the ability to make your usual indifferent self flustered, or that he drove a classic car instead of a brand-new one.

You shoot up from your seat, eyes narrowed and chest puffed with determination. “I need to go grocery shopping!”

It’s not rare that you went shopping by yourself. Yuuji usually accompanies you to complete the task faster, but you preferred to be alone today to take your time picking only the best ingredients. Not because you wanted to impress a certain millionaire, of course. Or was he a billionaire? You forgot, but he was definitely Japan’s darling, and one word of praise from him now had several bookings sent your way. He’d placed a standard, one you had to live up to.

You had three branches in the entirety of Tokyo, one more in Paris, and another in the Netherlands – the last branch you opened after you fell in love there during your last visit. The country enthralled you with its mesmerizing simplicity and beauty. It felt like a dreamland there, with everything from farm to table, and everyone adored the dishes you came up with. Once you’ve saved up enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life, you planned to live there – to spend the rest of your life in serendipity and contentment – hopefully next to your future husband.

Ever since you received the news (albeit without, the amount of people lining up at your restaurant was a clear tell-tale your sales had been skyrocketing), you admitted you felt pressured. You needed a variety of ingredients to experiment with, and hopefully add to your menu – something that both common folk and socialites could enjoy. After all, your main goal was to provide a wondrous magic in the form of a plate that was both simple yet luxurious enough to enjoyed as a treat to oneself.

Crossing off the carrot from your grocery list, you keeps pushing your cart through the spacious area. Your attention is divided between reading your to-buy list to surfing through each aisle. There was always a hidden gem if you looked hard enough, and that’s what you needed. A wild card of sorts, a completely never-seen before ingredient used in a new dish.

You’re so immersed with the task at hand you fail to hear the sound of footsteps nearing. Reaching for a bottle of wine (you cringed at the price), another arm shoots forward to reach for it at the same time. You pull back, the skin contact almost scalding to you. You open your mouth to apologize, only to have the words die in your throat when you come face-to-face with him.

Satoru was no less than tall and mighty, his cerulean eyes hidden behind black-tinted glasses. You can’t help but run your gaze over his figure – he’s now dressed in a white button-up shirt tucked in his dark blue jeans. Simple enough, yet you knew the price tags of his clothes would be enough to have you faint.

“Hello.”

“Hello to you too,” he grinned, firmly clasping the wine in his hands. He twists it around, analyzing its content before he hums to himself, pleased. “Great choice of liquor. I highly recommend this.”

The words stumble out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“I had no idea you went grocery shopping– I mean, why would you? You probably have others doing it for you and this is just another pointless, boring task–”

Satoru’s laughter is enough to make you shut up. Yep, okay, you totally screwed it up now. You scold yourself for a split second for being so awkward and not greeting him properly. But then irritation creeps in because you know Satoru isn’t different from the others. You should feel thankful for the publicity, yes, because Satoru’s singlehandedly made you skyrocket into popularity, but your pride told you that you don’t owe him anything. However, all rational thoughts fly out the window when you find yourself joining in his laughter – actually smiling – that you have to physically stop yourself from doing so again.

What the fuck?

You don’t smile. You don’t laugh. Everyone’s called you unpleasant and you take that with your chin held high. Yet somehow… you can’t help it when you’re in his presence.

Satoru tips his head to the side, and you forcibly look away with a clear of your throat. “I’m not shopping,” he says, “I was going to ask you what you’re doing here, but then again, no one goes to the grocery but to shop, right? And you’re a chef, so it’d be a rhetorical question.”

You nod slowly, unsure of what he’s getting at. He still keeps a firm grip on the bottle before he hands it over, making sure to brush his skin over yours in the process. You fight back the urge to shiver. “1949 Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru, a vintage wine whose price was boosted for a post-world war appeal. Only a few hundred bottles are produced annually, and while not exactly scarce, it’s a rare piece.”

You scans the bottle in astonishment, your mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as you debate whether to buy it or not. A second glance at the price tag and you place it back without hesitation, not caring even if you could afford it, because there was no way on earth you were buying a five thousand dollar drink no matter how good it tasted.

“I take it that it’s not to your liking?”

“I don’t. I’m not much of a drinker anyway,” you reply honestly, mustering all your courage to face him. “If not to shop, then may I ask what you’re doing here?” You look behind him to see if his secretary or guard was around, but he seemed to be alone. As observant as ever, Satoru answers your unspoken questions without missing a beat.

“I’m here for business. This place is mine, and I came here to assess its monthly status.”

You look down at your cart, suddenly feeling small and shy as you mutter, “Of course you own this place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks innocently, and you stumble over your words, your thumb circling your pointer finger nervously.

“I mean,” you start, pointing to the entirety of the brightly lit store that was almost the size of a concert arena. “This is a private membership grocery shop, and only people who are willing to pay a lot can go here. You’ve got many products here that aren’t available anywhere else, and it only makes sense it would be owned by the Gojo Family.”

“Owned by me, actually. This place was built when I took over, the idea entirely mine,” he corrects you and moves past, looking back with a confused expression when you don’t follow. “Well, aren’t you going shopping? Let me help you with it.”

You don’t know why you agree at his offer to help, but you don’t regret a single moment of talking to him. Satoru is stiff and rigid to his core, unlike his ‘friends’, but he was surprisingly a great conversationalist, and silences with him weren’t painfully awkward. He was also a lot smarter than he made himself out to be, but then again, you supposed one had to be intelligent to take over a group of companies at such a young age. And when he tells you deeply regrets not being able to fully appreciate your meals because he had ‘matters to deal with’, you can’t help the light fluttering of your chest that comes with it.

It starts out as slow burn, with a warmth barely felt if you didn’t focus enough. You can’t pinpoint exactly when you started to see him in a different light. In that moment, Satoru suddenly seemed small and almost vulnerable in your sight. Almost human. You can’t help but notice that he has his eyes glued to his feet – not because he’s uncomfortable with eye contact – making sure to not step over the dark lines from the white tiles. He was like a child going through an obstacle race, skipping at one point to another as he talks, and you stood there, wondering – just how much did this young man lose when he had to gain the world?

Through the eyes of the world, he was someone who had it all.

Born in a wealthy family with ancestors who never knew what the word ‘rent’ meant, and simultaneously blessed with good looks, you even remember a few articles written about him. How everyone was in awe and praising him for being a genius, but you believed everything came with a price – even the grandest of blessings.

You could only imagine what he must’ve been through. To be deprived of a normal childhood in exchange of a life of luxury, instead of being able to play under the rain. You could see him locked inside his father’s office, going through financial statements and attending board meetings at the age of sixteen. Meanwhile, you played at the cornfields with kids your age during that time, enjoying your youth and chasing after your passion.

But Satoru? He was constantly judged by the public for a single mistake, thus turning him into a make believe version of perfection.

Due to his lack of knowledge with cooking, he wasn’t of much help when it came to shopping. He was splendid company, however, and you felt soothed by his presence and his expensive perfume. It’s a scent you welcomed wholeheartedly, and so you find yourself asking him if he’d like to have dinner with you – at your restaurant – on a Friday night. When he doesn’t respond right away, you make up a lame excuse that you’re only giving him opportunities to look at the place much better than last time.

It makes Satoru stop in his tracks. You start to take back your invitation at his lack of a response when Satoru suddenly takes your hand in his, his eyes widening at how perfectly they seemed to fit (no matter how cliché that sounded.) He takes in the way your hands were rough and calloused from your labor, how it was a sign of all your hard work. Growing shy, you begin to pull back, but he keeps you in place – unconsciously squeezing your hand tighter.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes,” he smiles – and this time, it isn’t meant for the cameras. He’s not flamboyantly flashing his pearly whites, or trying to look perfect. It’s just him, with a small, shy smile meant only for your eyes to see. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling shyly before finally – finally – squeezing his hand back.

You tug at your champagne dress uncomfortably. It might’ve been a little too tight for your liking, but Yuuji insisted it was the dress, and no dress would be better for tonight’s dinner. The strapless dress hugged your figure elegantly, the material flowing smoothly as it extends past your knees. Pairing it with some kitten hells, you were confident you cleaned up well – aside from the problem at hand that you couldn’t breathe. You weren’t sure if the dress was too tight, or you were simply too nervous.

You’d closed up the restaurant early in hopes of having some privacy, even going as far to close the velvety black curtains to hide yourselves from prying eyes. But with every minute that passed by, the special dish you’d prepared with your mother’s secret recipe grew cold. Not a single notification beeped from your phone. Not a text, or a call – not even from his secretary. Nothing but pure silence on his side.

Standing up with a grim expression, you pinch the candle to kill the flame.

What were you even thinking? Did you really think someone as untouchable like Gojo Satoru actually wanted to go on a date with you?

You looked around the restaurant that held a special spot in your heart. It might not be up to his standards, but it meant the world you. It was a product of your hard work and passion. This career enabled you to design it yourself, to build it from the ground up. You’ve decorated it solely to impress Satoru for tonight – with golden chandeliers hanging in a waterfall and teardrop patterns, the tables equipped with satin napkins and silverware polished to perfection. All that effort just went down the drain.

Your eyes fall to your wristwatch. Your father leant it to you before you moved to the city to follow his dreams, saying “Keep this, my sweet daughter. Time passes by so fast in the city and I don’t want you to lose a single second of your life. People will always pass by in a hurried blur, or not come at all.”

Isn’t that what you were doing right now, waiting for someone that might never come at all? He was right. You didn’t need to wait around. Satoru had his own life, he belonged to the city and its fast-paced rambunctiousness. You weren’t like him, you reminded yourself. You and him lived in completely opposite worlds.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you sigh and start to pick up the untouched dishes.

Gojo Satoru was a man who lived and breathed along with the city, the erratic pulse of the city lights resembling the skip in his steps whenever the paparazzi caught up to him. Even if you were somehow on par with him with your own successful career, tonight was still a harsh reminder of the fact that there would always be a massive difference between the both of you.

Your purpose was to serve people and give them memories of a hearty meal. Satoru bent people with his own hands, and obviously wouldn’t even give you the time of day. Perhaps you’d read the signs wrong – if there were even signs at all. One praise from him didn’t mean he liked you, after all, and why would he? He’d admitted out loud he couldn’t even remember what your food tasted like. Hours and years perfecting your craft, and he’d forgotten it all because ‘he had matters to deal with.’ God. Did he see you like that, too? Just another issue to be dealt with, another box in his list to be ticked off?

You’re about to throw away the wasted food when the glass doors of your restaurant opened. You stood back, Satoru all but running and heaving so heavily with beads of sweat running down his face.

“Wait,” he gasped out, raising a finger to give him a moment. “Don’t – don’t close yet. Just let me breathe.”

Did he run here?

Frowning, you scan his outfit. He’s dressed up more than usual today, yet his coat jacket is wrinkled and his hair is all messed up, possibly from running all the way here. His baby blue shirt is also damp with sweat. You immediately reach for some towels and make your way to him – reaching up to pat his face dry when the two of you freeze. Your eyes are blown wide, and so are his. His chest staggers with each breath he takes, and delicately, he holds your hand. His brows furrow and he exhales, his breath minty and his scent intoxicating. You’re captivated with every inch of him – from his white lashes, to the slope of his nose, the fullness of his glossy lips.

You never realized how much you’d missed him until you thought he would never come.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice willowy soft. Closing his eyes, he reaches for your hands, burying his cheek into it and pressing a kiss to the insides of your wrist. The action is unbelievably tender, surprisingly intimate, but could anything feel more right? “My latest shipbuilding company just launched, and we had the opening ceremony at my newest cruise. I would have gotten here on time, but the formalities took longer than expected when a Duke came to send his congratulations.”

You open your mouth to say it’s okay, but you know it’s not. He knows it’s not. It’s already midnight and he made you wait for six hours – no calls, no texts, nothing to inform you he’d run a bit late. It makes you feel stupid for taking the time and effort to dress up, enduring the pain of having Yuuji force you to try on different dresses that would suit you best. It’s embarrassing enough that you don’t have friends to share this moment with. The poor boy had been so excited, too, texting you every hour to ask how it’s going. You just didn’t have the heart to tell him Satoru wasn’t coming.

A pregnant pause settles between you. You see Satoru swallow and fidget with his hands, almost as if he knows you’re disappointed in him. You’re really not, though. At least it wouldn’t be disappointment that you’re feeling. You’re just… hurt.

You look at him one last time. You’re about to call it a night, because you’re a person of punctuality, and you don’t take rejection very well – all of which Satoru has made you feel sensitive over. Right now, you feel humiliated and belittled. Like your time wasn’t worth as much as is. But then you see Satoru, the way he folds in on himself, looking down at his feet and gnawing at his feet that you can’t help that maybe he, too, mustn’t have wanted to miss this.

Sometimes it is so easy to forget Satoru was human too. That he struggled as well, that with his power came with the undeniable fact that this friendship – or whatever this budding relationship is – would not be easy.

You sigh, flicking his nose to call his attention in hopes of lightening the mood.

“I understand your work is more important than a dinner with a friend,” you declare slowly, gauging for his reaction. “But out of courtesy, I would have appreciated an early notice if you couldn’t make it on time.”

Satoru’s face lights up. Pleased with your answer, and undeniably taken aback – he was a master in his craft of sales; he knew the right things to say to get whatever he wanted, but social interactions were not his forte. He realizes though, right in that moment, that it’s something he’d like to work on more. He doesn’t want to see that look on your face again when he ran inside – your crestfallen face, a momentary lapse of relief and worry, and now with hurtful eyes.

“I’ll take note of that,” he promises, already moving to pull out your chair for you. “Shall we have dinner, then?”

“Actually,” you start, with a glint forming in your eye. “I think I’d want to have dinner on this cruise of yours, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

Smirking at your answer, Satoru tilts his head sideways. “It’s not an everyday occurrence that I have to ask for someone’s forgiveness, so I don’t see why not.”

You liked to think you’re a simple person.

You love nature, and hold the firm belief that whatever is done upon you would always return back to the person. You remember crying in your mother’s arms when you were a little girl, frustrated that humans had tortured their own planet and how you wanted to reverse climate change. Growing up in the countryside surrounded by endless fields of crops and an abundance of greenery, the city and its chaos shook you to your core.

The flashing lights felt blinding and overwhelming. You hated the smell of smoke and pollution, feeling suffocated by the change in atmosphere. You found yourself often glaring at the tall buildings that always stood dominatingly over everyone, as if to say that its towering height could only be reached by those select few.

Its owners stood over you like gods watching from the sky, and they had the power to create their own temples that soared all the way to the sky – a galaxy and universe entirely of their own.

Now, you’re not so sure you still hold that same predicament as you take in the blueness of the sea, the salty breeze nipping at your skin. You welcome it with a shrug of Satoru’s coat around your shoulders, so enamored with the sound of waves lapping against each other. You don’t notice the man standing next to you, or the way he studies your reactions with an amused smile. He realizes you look so innocent like this – your mouth curling into small smiles as you point to the dolphins. The realization comes to him like a sudden splash to his face – that he’s never felt this light before, and it’s always only with you.

After taking you to his cruise, you practically pushed him out of the kitchen as you prepared another meal of two. The meal was nothing short of ravishing, making Satoru momentarily forget about table manners as he inhaled it. The expensive champagne and hors d’oeuvres sloshes around his stomach with each sway of the cruise. Dinner had been pleasant; you were a great listener who gave him his undivided attention – the type that made him squeamish because he felt exposed from the core within. He’d grown up used to people eager to please him, but this was the first time someone had listened to him intently with the intention of knowing him. And when you asked what made him sincerely happy, Satoru realizes that he does not have the answer to everything.

“I’m not sure,” he admits, twirling the fork aimlessly as he tries to avoid your prying gaze. “Happiness is fleeting in my world and… I’ve just never found it. My whole life, all I’ve ever done is work and make my business grow, and I guess I’m happy enough with that.”

You hum in response. He looks up to see you gazing at him, deep in thought. You almost looked sad in that moment – sad for him. It isn’t any later that he realizes you sympathize with him, an emotion he’d been alien to. It goes without saying that you felt the emptiness, the hollowness carved out from Satoru’s heart, and how lonely he’d been all this time. And you found it funny, how someone could have so much, and so very little at the same time.

“Come with me.”

He stares at your outstretched hand. It’s difficult to silence all the voices in his head before he places his hands in yours, trying not to melt when you smile up at him. Gently, you lead him to the balcony – the freshness of the air waking him up from his sense. Due to the fact that Satoru was a perfectionist and had zero tolerance, he designed the cruise himself to its glorious beauty. Yet he remained oblivious to the wonders of it all, the beauty of the moment from where he stood. The sea is calm and soothing, the whole expanse of Tokyo – his empire – visible from he stood. He tells himself the night isn’t beautiful because of the romantic lights, or the jazz music playing from the speakers, but rather it’s the celebrity chef who was starting to grow on him.

From the corner of his eye, he watches your smile grow bigger, your cheeks puffing out from the cold. It’s undeniably adorable. Ever since that night he met you, he’d read a few articles about you, and even had Mei-Mei call publishing companies to give him new copies of whoever featured you. You only had a few pictures taken – his shy, sweet chef – always wearing an apron and never a smile.

To see you with your guard down, looking so happy and free, he might’ve gotten his answer that night.

You were his happiness.

“Doesn’t it look beautiful?” you ask him, smile still so wide, and it is evident you adore nature. He makes a mental note to open an orchidarium soon, or perhaps a tea shop with only the rarest of leaves for brewing, silently hoping he’d get to see more of that smile.

“Yes, it does.”

Indeed, you looked beautiful like this. The bright lights of the city painted your skin in a warm glow. You looked like an ethereal combination between sunset and sunrise, and he swore in that moment you embodied the sea itself. You were calm, quiet, reserved – much like him – but you held this aura from your presence alone that made him feel safe; there was something about you that assured him he could just be… him.

You were like a breath of fresh air, and it would be a waste not to breathe you in.

Satoru calls out your name. When you look up at him, the breeze whips your hair to the side, exposing a set of hesitant eyes that makes him take a tentative step forward. It isn’t the wine, or the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He thinks it’s just you that makes him feel this way – undoubtedly whole and alive. He is not a man fond of making mistakes, and he is not about to make one now and not kiss you.

“Can I kiss you?”

He waits for it – waits for you to tease him, that he doesn’t have to ask. But there’s none of that. There is only the sharp intake of your breath, the minute way you grasp your pearl necklace to yourself. “I-I don’t know how to.”

Satoru steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away. You turn rigid despite yourself, feeling his hand cup the back of your neck. You tilt your head sideways to let him have more access, his warm breath that smelled faintly of wine fanning over your skin.

“May I teach you then?”

You whimper in response, and he holds back a groan at the sound, silently wishing to hear more of it from the future. When his pillowy lips press against yours in the first contact, your eyes remain blown wide as you stare back at his closed ones. Fear settles in you that this is your first kiss, and you have absolutely no idea how to do it. But then he pushes back with a little more force this time, and you close your eyes and moan, your lips moving in rhythm with his. Your hand reaches up to fist the silky fabric of his suit that hugged his muscular figure sinfully. He’s firm and solid under your touch, like an anchor holding you down. And his taste – he tastes like everything you’ve ever wished for, everything you’ve ever wanted. He is the wine you get drunk on, the sugar you lick off your lips, and the taste of heaven on this earth.

Satoru swallows the moans you make, his large hands engulfing your face. With each sound you make, his tongue playfully pokes at your lips, begging for entrance. And you let him, melting at his touch and held up only by his firm grip sliding down to your waist.

The first contact of his tongue coaxing out yours to play has you almost quivering under him. Those large hands come up to the bare skin of your back, his cold skin sending a harsh bite to your warm, flustered one as he holds you steadily. Your other hand reaches out to tug at his hair and he groans, a sound so masculine yet so wanton that a flame burns within you. You find yourself battling your tongue with his – a sensual dance where there are no winners. A minute passes before you two break apart, foreheads pressed against each other as you both try to catch your breath.

“Can I keep going?” He asks, his deep voice faltering due to the lack of breath. You feel triumphant knowing you did that to him. Nodding, he places his hands under your ass and squeezes it in a silent command to jump, and you do so with your hands interlocked at the back of his head. Satoru dips down to kiss you again and turns you into a moaning mess. He rocks his body against you, grinds his muscles to the softness of your body, groaning when his erection presses up to your heat. How he managed to pull away in between kisses is beyond you. “Are you sure about this?” He mumbles against your lips.

“Yes,” you plead, crashing your lips back down to his. And somehow, Satoru stumbles to a room where he finally gets a taste of you.

Satoru is woken up by the harsh lights glaring at him.

Groaning, he places an arm above his eyes before deciding to sit up and start his day. The freshly washed linen of the blanket pools at his waist, and he squints his eyes to take in his surroundings. For a moment, the bedroom is unrecognizable, and when last night’s events become clear to him, he chuckles drily to himself.

Had he gone so far that he no longer recognized his own bedroom? But then again, he rarely went home. His properties all looked differently that he wasn’t surprised anymore.

Your neatly folded dress sits at the bedside table. His shirt – nowhere to be seen. He finds his pants at the pile of clothes left on the floor, though, and he quickly puts them on before the amazing aroma of waffles welcomes his senses. Walking out the room, Satoru is pleased by the sight before him – you in his shirt, bottomless, humming to yourself as you expertly maneuver around his kitchen.

Smiling, Satoru walks to the marbled countertops and wraps an arm around your waist. You stiffen under his hold before you realize it’s him.

“Good morning,” he greets, deep voice still a little croaky and you greet him back, resting your chin on his shoulder as he watches you crack some eggs. “Did you get a good sleep?”

You shrug teasingly and brush your lip against his ear, “Kind of hard not to, after last night’s events.” As you expected, his cheeks soon become dusted in light pink and you chuckle, leaning back to his solid chest with warmth blanketing you.

“Sit down, let’s have breakfast.”

Satoru is more than happy to obey. Munching gratefully, the comfortable silence is almost too good to be true.

It’s been months since you and Satoru started going out. You’ve both done a good job at keeping it from the media so far – a mutual decision because you liked your privacy, and Satoru didn’t want anyone tainting what he held close. He’s grown so accustomed to your presence that half of his closet is filled with your things. You basically lived at his house in Tokyo now, and your body just naturally angles itself in a way that allows him to always have him touching you.

Although you still scrunch your nose in distaste at the thousand dollar monotonous paintings that decorate his walls, you like being with him. You soon learn of his weird habit of not closing doors simply because he’s always surrounded by automatic ones, successfully eradicating his attempts at being a gentleman and having him open doors for you, but you don’t mind. Not really.

The past few months have been nothing but eye-opening for him, as he learns to love for the first time, and he could only hope this feeling in his chest isn’t something fleeting.

You were affectionate, never lacking or selfish when it comes to showing him how much like him, and he’ll admit he likes your kisses more than he’d like to accept, and that’s how he knows this relationship isn’t one sided. Still, the small fear that settles at the back of his head remains, that maybe you don’t love him, or at least, you’re not there yet. Watching you prepare his breakfast every morning, however, Satoru’s worries are silenced. He’ll worry about that another time.

He finishes first and moves to do the dishes, the loud running of water muting your hurried footsteps behind his. He can’t help but smile when you eagerly take the sponge from his gloved hands and look at him determinedly.

“What are you doing?” He asks teasingly, and you stick your tongue at him.

“Move, Gojo. We both know you don’t know how to wash dishes.”

Even after months of being with you, he’s still not used to the fact that he – a man everyone admired and – could experience a love like this someday.

You scrunch your nose up cutely that it takes all of his willpower not to bend down and kiss it. “I said move! Scoot your cute butt out of here.”

“Baby, it’s okay, I know you don’t know how to do it and I don’t mind. Besides, I have to learn to do this. What if we get married and have children, I obviously can’t let you do everything by yourself.”

You freeze at his words, your thick-rimmed glasses sliding off your nose awkwardly. Your whole life, you’ve dreamt of love, and imagined settling down and having your own family. Despite your rising fame and success, turning you into one of the wealthiest women in your country, you never planned to live as a celebrity chef for the rest of your life. You wanted to live simply, much like your parents, and to spend the rest of your days in a farm.

You’ve thought it about before, of course, the possibly of marrying Satoru.

But the thought had been too ridiculous at the moment. Satoru was always somewhere far away, rising from his seat with practiced elegance as he received yet another presitigious award for his endless accomplishments. The cameras would be pointed his way, and he basked under the spotlight. He thrived in it.

Your silence doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He watches as you revert back to your expressionless face, eyes looking directly forward at the white tiled backsplash of his sink that you know cost thousands. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

And it is true, you aren’t bothered by the least bit. Surprised, definitely, but you’re beyond elation at this point. You realize it doesn’t matter that you probably won’t get to live the life you want if you marry him – because he’s all you want. If giving it all up meant being with him, you would do so in a heartbeat.

Which is why you grit your teeth silently as you attend your first ball overseas, latched onto Satoru’s arm. You don’t miss the way everyone scrutinizes the seemingly average looking woman next to Japan’s darling.

Satoru doesn’t notice that you’re a bundle of nerves. He smiles brightly at the multitude of cameras pointed your way, making sure to show off the Gojo heirloom he decorated you with. It’s a gold ring with a hundred mini diamonds encrusted in it, the characters ‘Gojo’ engraved underneath. A horde of reports soon come into view, and instinctively, you duck your head when the lights become overwhelming. They all spew out questions asking since when the two of you have been dating – and this is the part you hated the most.

The part where your life becomes a piece for the people to feast on, instead of something you made for yourself.

You opt to stay silent and let Satoru answer everything. He isn’t fazed by the least bit, answering them confidently, although not giving away too much personal information. He tells them you’ve been dating for a year now, and it’s evident in his eyes that he feels strongly for you. Not a moment later, the cameras pan your way, the people eager to hear your side of the story.

“Chef, how have you managed to steal his heart?”

“As the old saying goes, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” you tell them, your heart beating a mile a minute from the discomfort of too much attention. You turn to your fiancé in hopes of consolation. He smiles at you encouragingly, the warmth and adoration pooling behind it immediately dissipates your nervousness. “As long as it’s for him, I don’t mind going to the moon and back.”

They seem satisfied with that answer, and you find yourselves in the front cover of both local and foreign magazines, the world crazed about the latest couple.

Satoru is lying on his tiger fur rug with crossed legs, leafing through every page of your photo album. His free hand absentmindedly rubs circles where it’s settled at your hip, the sound of his breathing steady and almost lulling. Yet, you’re bothered by everything lately – how you’re being reminded of everything you don’t like about this world – his world.

They don’t even know the real you. How could the world go from praising you for your skills in cooking, to being both shamed and admired for being engaged to Satoru? Your heart clenched at the multiple headlines that called you a gold-digger.

As if you didn’t have your own money.

“Hey,” Satoru mumbles, twisting a little from his position. You’re looking at everywhere but him, your heart heavy and mind a mess. It’s too late when Satoru notices the dark circles rimmed under your eyes, and he cups your face worriedly, tilting your chin to make you look into his eyes. Your own face has fallen, your eyes sad. He immediately feels guilt, unaware of what he made you endure at his expense.

Perhaps he wasn’t as observant as he claimed to be. Ever since he’s announced your relationship, you’ve received countless criticism from the public. Satoru never said a word about it, thinking these strangers’ words wouldn’t affect you, or that it didn’t matter because who were they, anyway? And you never spoke about it either, not wanting to put a heavier weight on his already burdened shoulders.

“I’ll take care of it, alright? I promise.”

You know what he means.

It means he’ll end up spending a lot of money – although to him it’s probably just a penny – as he has Mei-Mei get rid of those negative articles. You know he has enough power to shut down even an entire publishing company who attempted to say anything bad about you. You don’t want him doing any of that, abusing his power and throwing around his money just because he can.

Shaking your head, you reach forward and press your face against his chest. “You don’t have to do that. I just have to prove to everyone I am worthy of you.”

It is way past four in the morning, and you wake up with a stir, only to find the light of Satoru’s laptop illuminating his worn-out face. In front of him are a plethora of reports, glasses perched on top of his face. You sit up with a stretch, and he jumps a little at the movement.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No,” you answer, rubbing your eyes tiredly and looking at his work. You don’t understand half of it, but you knows it’s something about a new hotel he’s planning on developing somewhere in the country. “It’s late. Why are you still working?”

“Business is business,” he shrugs, focusing his attention back to his work. The development plan has just finished, and the cost of construction is nothing but another penny less to his account.

The silence in the room stills. You strain your ears to listen to the sound of a faint clock ticking, Satoru’s steady breathing calming your nerves. His eyes are droopy and tired, and he lets out an exhausted sigh. Reaching over to pull the laptop away from him, you gently place your head above his beating heart. His shirt smells faintly of floral detergent, and you fist the fabric underneath your fingers.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to.

He places a soft kiss at the crown of your head, once, then twice, and a small smile fights through your face. The rhythmic thumping of his heart is just underneath your open palm, and you realize that Satoru is like the man-made river outside your house. He is calm, steady, always lulling you into a state of relaxation, and the music that is his love hums softly through your nerves until he places himself inside your heart.

The darkness of your room is a huge contrast to the flashing lights always directed his way, but it fits perfectly. Satoru is silent, even if he always brought attention to himself, and his muscles are firm underneath your touch.

His bicep curls around you to wrap you in a one arm embrace while his other hand rubs your back soothingly, and your bare thigh brushes against his groin. An innocent and accidental gesture, but it has your nerves firing up, and it just occurred to you how small you seem inside his arms. You found it funny, since Satoru could threaten to take away everything from you, yet you don’t feel like that around him. Here, you feel safe, warm, accepted.

You nuzzle closer to him with a frown.

“Take me somewhere.”

His chest vibrates with a hum, “Where do you want to go?”

“Take me to where your heart desires. Show me where you want to spend the rest of your life.”

Satoru can’t contain the smile that graces his face, and he holds your hand as you stare at Leiden in awe. He’s decided to take a one week break, and soon the two of you were nestled against each other in his private jet, and he’s not sure if he’s ever felt this happy before.

He learns that you love art and fancy medieval paintings the most, and you bounce happily when he takes you to one of the art museums.

Leiden is rich in history and culture, that much is evident with how the people still keep their traditions alive, and while it is still quite a popular city, the toned down bustling of people will always be a much preferred scene for him than Tokyo. The two of you have rented a bike to Noordwijk Beach, and you make him promise to swim with you there the next day. Wordlessly, he nods, basking in the way the warm light emitted from lampposts turns you into an ethereal being.

After returning the bikes into the rental shop, you swing your intertwined hands back and forth, pointing excitedly and exclaiming your delight at the lakes that surrounded the city.

A windmill sits in the middle of the city, and Satoru falls in love with the place even more. A smile is permanently etched into your face, and his heart manages to stutter even after being with you for so long, but he can’t help it. Lifting your interlocked hands to his lips, he kisses your palm, a fine pink dusting his cheeks as you stare at him incredulously. A moment passes before you giggle, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek.

Satoru didn’t know it was possible to blush even harder.

His stomach growls in hunger and you chuckle, leading him to one of your restaurants. Your waiters and chefs greet you excitedly, surprised that the owner dropped by unannounced. You lift a hand to tell them not to worry – you’re not here to evaluate anything. You’re simply on vacation, and you had full trust in your people. The pleased look decorating the customer’s face said enough that you didn’t have much to worry about.

Shrugging off your coat and placing it on the back of your chair, Satoru watches as you place your head in your palms, eyes directed outside the window. Outside lay the lake and a bunch of canoes housing the body of water, old couples walking around with wines hidden in paper bags, and the soft chatter and melodious laughter ringing from every corner of the place has him believing that perhaps this is paradise.

“Have you ever been before?”

“Once,” he replies with a small smile. “I came here for business. That hotel is mine.”

He points to a building that resembles a medieval castle, and you adjust the glasses perched on your nose to see it better. “Why am I not surprised?”

Letting out an amused laugh at your question, the both of you soon dig into the dish, bellies rumbling in satisfaction. You are half drunk on the way back to the small villa you rented, and he doesn’t question why you didn’t choose to stay at his hotel instead. There’s a little tumble to your steps as you stagger forward, mumbling incoherent words. Satoru presses you closer to his warm body to prevent you from falling forwards, his eyes crinkling when you tell him how much you love him. His heart whines at your words, because you’ve never told him that, and even though you’re drunk, he thinks he will be as equally euphoric if you tell him sober. He actually feels a little ashamed you said it before him because he’s planning to tell you sooner than later, and he clears his throat before pulling away from you.

You frown at his action.

Licking his lips nervously, Satoru pulled out a velvet box and went down on one knee.

“I know you’re drunk and this ring is a little too expensive than you’d like, but I don’t think there’s a better time for this, and we’ve been dating for so long that I just wanted to let you know–”

Grumbling in annoyance under your breath as an attempt to conceal your shaking knees, you lean down and pull him harshly by his collar to press your lips against his.

Satoru stiffens underneath your touch. He stops breathing, eyes wide from surprise. You only pull away when he doesn’t respond, your glasses sliding off your nose and bumping into yours. He lifts a hand to his wet lips, looking at you like you’ve just assaulted him, and judging by how plump lips looked red and swollen, you probably did. Not that he’d complain, of course.

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

Satoru lets out a nervous laugh that is laced with elation, his breath coming out in cold fogs due to the cold weather. His hands are shaking as he struggles to wear the ring around your hand, to which you roll your eyes and wear it yourself. He looks sheepish for a moment, scratching the back of his head, but you can’t find yourself to care.

This is where you belong, with him, in Leiden, and little did you know that you were fulfilling his dreams one by one.

The both of you walk back home with bashful grins coated in glee.

Satoru feels stupid that he suddenly feels shy. It would be a lie to say he’s dreamt of this ever since he was a child because he grew up knowing very little of it. He’s never dated nor felt any attraction for someone, always focusing on his work and further expanding the business to the best of his abilities. He never dreamt marrying for love could be a possibility. That this was now his reality. And when you steal a peck to his cheek that makes his face heat up further, he realizes nothing has ever felt more right.

You’re the only one he would ever need.

To say that you’re ecstatic to plan the wedding would be an understatement. Ever since you came back to Tokyo with hearts overflowing with joy, you could no longer contain the love you had for your fiance. You’d been looking at endless articles of what makes a wedding perfect, and you already had your wedding dress in mind.

The food tasting appointment you had this weekend was on hold since Satoru still had a tight schedule, something about the launch of a new resort in Bali, but he comes back to you with tired eyes and a satisfied smile.

“Hey,” you greet, rising from the couch to help him with his bags. Not that you needed to, Mei-Mei and Toji were already taking care of them, but you still wanted to be of help. Shrugging off his coat, Satoru plops down the couch with a groan. “Long day?”

He pops one eye open to offer a languid smile, “Long week, babe. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you mumble, going behind him and massaging his stiff shoulders. Satoru lets out a moan at the sensation. And you? You can’t help but smile when you see that your engagement ring is still wound around his finger, and you wonder if the press had already noticed and started making a fuss about what you knew would be the wedding of the century.

Truth be told, you preferred the wedding to be small – with just your family and close friends. Satoru didn’t have any, but you respected his decision of hiring a wedding planner whose service cost a million. You protested at first, thinking it was unnecessary, but Satoru had already given you the check. The wedding planner seemed genuinely pleased to be working with you as well, leaving you with no other choice but to press your mouth into a thin line.

Ah, now that you think about it… “Are you free this Thursday? I wanted to introduce you to my parents.”

He stands up from the couch and walks to your shared bedroom, gently dragging you along with him. “Introduce me? Shouldn’t your parents already know me?”

You force a small smile as you bury yourself underneath the covers. “I meant formally, they’re going to be your parents soon, too.”

“Okay… talk to Mei-Mei to schedule that.”

You fight the urge to raise a brow. You couldn’t see the need to talk to his secretary to have time with your fiancé, but like you have been doing for the past few months, you only nod. Satoru wraps his arms around your waist after that, and it doesn’t take long before sleep blankets you both.

Somehow, you’d always known.

A relationship with Satoru wouldn’t be easy. There was too much unwanted attention and too little time to be with him. But he was worth the wait.

The food tasting went well. He ended up being more than pleased at your food choices, and you even bump your hips against his. Satoru wanted a cake that was two feet tall, with golden drapes hanging from the rods, silently demanding for caviar to be included. You shrugged it off, not minding his preferences as you continued speaking to the chef. The poor man had been trembling ever since Satoru walked in the kitchen, his phone pulled out and constantly interrupting the tasting as he speaks to his clients.

You felt bad for the old man, you really did. He was far more skilled than you, and you shook his hand politely before walking back to Satoru’s limousine.

It was finally time to meet your parents.

Reaching out for your fiancé, Satoru flicks your hand away. He shoots you an irritated look as he gestures to his phone, as if to say not to interrupt him during an important phone call. Reluctantly you retract your hand, biting the inside of your cheek as you let him go back to his business. Hurt and undeniably upset, you distract yourself with the small iPad on the seat in front of you, watching a lame show about fashion runways and whatnot.

“Yes, I know,” Satoru says through the phone, exasperated as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean he can’t make it on time? He needs to be there to check the labels – you know what? Whatever, fire him, I’ll go there myself.”

Sensing his distress, you turn to him. He’s huffing and crossing his arms against his chest, a livid expression on his face. You don’t ask what happened because you know you won’t understand. You’re only happy Satoru finally lets you hold his hand. Pressing his head against the seat, Satoru squeezes your palm, watching as the familiar buildings of the city soon blur into a scenery of corn fields and flowery land.

To be truthful, you think he’s a little too overdressed for this occasion. He’s wearing the latest Burberry collection, the shades he’d pulled to shield his sensitive eyes from the sunset a little too… flashy. But, you thought to yourself, Satoru could do whatever he wanted.

Finally, after a long and grueling car ride that seemed to last forever, you reached your destination.

You immediately run to the farmhouse, leaving behind Satoru in your excitement. You’d been away from your parents too long that you missed them dearly. Behind you, Satoru tries to keep up his face – gladly welcoming the fresh air. From afar, the door to your house opens as you tackle a small, older woman into your arms.

Satoru’s gait is slow, precise, and elegant. He walked with purpose, standing behind you silently as he witnessed the sweet exchange between you and your mother. It’s then he notices, when your mother looks up from your shoulders, that her eyes twinkled the same you did whenever you saw him. She’s sweet, and a little too bubbly, as she welcomes him to your humble home.

And as if you’ve sensed his uneasiness, you look back to Satoru and offer an encouraging smile.

The entirety of your house is as large as his bathroom. And your couch squeaks uncomfortably when he sits on it. The leather is tattered and foam springs out from the little cracks and you almost look embarrassed, but he kisses your cheek to reassure you he doesn’t mind. Your father soon emerges from the kitchen holding a fresh pot of tea that he offers, and Satoru takes a hesitant sip – your family anxiously gauging his reaction.

The tea… It was actually sweet and better than anything he’s ever had, and when his cheeks start to warm from the attention, you all start laughing for no reason.

Satoru joins in the laughter. He doesn’t know why he did when he found nothing funny, but felt that it was the most appropriate reaction.

It was no wonder then that you were such an amazing chef. You must’ve inherited it from your father’s impeccable cooking skills. The stew he prepared was amazing, and Satoru had to control himself from slurping the beef stew – it tasted that good. Dinner was absolutely amazing, and you kept laughing and smiling from your seat as you conversed with your parents. Satoru doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this happy.

The baby pink turtleneck sweater you wore highlighted the softness of your heart, and even a blind man could see you really missed your parents. He felt like a stranger then; someone who watched from the outside as your mother reaches over the table to wipe a rice grain from the corner of your mouth. You whine at her gesture, obviously not wanting to be treated like a little kid.

“Mum, that’s embarrassing. I’m with the love of my life, you know,”

He almost chokes at his spoon when you say that, and your mother grins at him. “I wouldn’t worry about that, my dear, it looks like he really loves you no matter what.”

“Yes, Mother,” he agrees, squeezing your thighs from under the table, “I really do.”

There was a warmth in your home that he’d never known, and laughter was always present. Much like you, your father was a man of few words and passed out on the couch after three bottles of soju, leaving you and your mom to clean up after dinner.

Satoru offered to help, only to receive amused glances as if you knew he couldn’t do it. Embarrassed, he excused himself as you cleaned up, and sat on the curb outside your house.

From his peripheral vision, he could see Toji beside the car, standing tall and straight. The cold breeze from the countryside made his dark hair blow across the wind. As if feeling there were eyes on him, Toji peered at Satoru, nodding politely before looking straight ahead. His suit was Giorgo Armani, the one he’d gifted him on his birthday last year. He’s well-aware that Toji ended up making more money driving for him than you ever could with your restaurant.

And this was his reality. This was his world.

Someone like Satoru shouldn’t be sitting on the molded curb of a farmhouse with nothing but mountain and hills surrounding him. The moon and the stars were the only things that gave light to the field, and it was too humble for his liking. He didn’t belong here – that much was clear – and even the scarecrow standing a few feet away from him seemed to agree with its mocking glare.

Much too soon for his liking, Satoru feels a wool sweater being wrapped around his shoulders. He turns to you, a smile already on your face as you plopped down beside him. Playing with your fingers, you keep your gaze down at your feet, hesitant and nervous.

“Satoru… I know you won’t like it, but I’d like to wear my Mom’s wedding dress. It’s fine if you say no, I know you had Vera Wang make an entire collection for me already, but I thought I had to let you know…”

Satoru starts to play with the straw in front of him. He sighs, fiddling his smooth fingers around it before he clutches your hand in his lap. He’d held you a thousand times before, and yet he couldn’t remember if your skin was rough or smooth – only that it felt warm and he liked holding it. And as if he couldn’t help himself, his gaze studied you – how your boots are a little too big on your feet, and you smelled faintly of hay unlike the Maison Francis Kurkdjian perfume he’d gotten you. It was limited edition, too, and he’d had to pull strings just to get you one.

And you couldn’t even wear it for tonight.

An almost choked sob leaves his throat, his heart clenching uncomfortably. He did want you to wear your mother’s wedding dress. Being here, away from the press and businessmen who always tried to mess up his deals when he worked honestly, made him feel like for once – he was a normal human being. That he wasn’t some god whose footsteps were worshipped.

Your mother had welcomed him warmly, and she didn’t even gush about the expensive fabrics of his clothes. She saw him as if he was her own son, and he supposed soon enough he would be, but would he be good enough? She’d raised her daughter as a warm, loving, and humble person. You were down to earth and loved to stay solid and grounded – Satoru was a man who always reached for the stars.

What did that make you then? His fall from the heavens?

Satoru wonders how much of his thoughts were written on his face. You watched him, brows dipped downwards with a clenched jaw. He knows you’re fighting back something to say. He was too familiar with that look – since Mei-Mei always looked like that. The type of expression etched into his employees’ faces when he shouted at them for their incompetence, and they felt the need to defend themselves. They never did, out of fear Satoru would fire them.

Although you never said it, your face said it all.

He remembers the longing gazes you had to the farmhouses in Leiden with its windmill barns, or how your smile got bigger when a cute kid walked by and waved at you both. You don’t need to say anything because he knows what you’re thinking – that you’re blinded by your love for him.

He still remembers that damned event when your grip on his cat got a little tighter, how your hairline beaded with sweat as you kept fidgeting. You’d been uncomfortable that night, as you always did when you were in his world. You weren’t like this – placid, unreserved, happy.

And now he’s in your world. The words bubble up in your throat, wanting to wipe that disappointed look in his handsome face. You knew even if you say it now, Satoru wouldn’t listen or understand. And it’s funny – how he asked you to marry him, and how willing you were to give up on your dreams if it meant being with him. Even if it meant throwing yourself into unwanted attention, only to be criticized mercilessly – because that’s what it took to be with him.

He was a man with an empire, but with it came the price of being someone who destroyed others.

Somehow, it never crossed your mind it might include you, too.

“You’re right,” he says after a moment, “I would rather you wear Vera Wang’s gown. I hope you don’t find any offense in it, but our wedding will be the wedding of the century. I can’t have you wearing a nameless gown when the whole world will be looking.”

Your grip on his hand tightens for a second before it loosens. Satoru watches, with a heavy heart and an aching soul, as you nod slowly. Forcing a smile on your face, you stood up and walked away from him. You bid your farewells soon after that, with Satoru cringing the moment your parents began to refer to him as their ‘son.’

The whole ride back home is silent.

You’re passed out on his side, your soft snores filling the silence. Satoru reaches over to caress your cheek before leaning back in his seat, clenching his teeth hard to stop the tears from falling. He couldn’t put it into words – the air of finality settling over you once you reach his penthouse.

You’re exhausted from the day, stripping your clothes off before burying yourself under the covers. Your arm seeks out the familiar feeling of having him close next to you, and he indulges you, burying his face against the crook of your neck one more time – one last time. When you mumble his name in your sleep, Satoru swallows the lump forming on his throat, biting down on his lip before gazing at you – knowing you’d been his, knowing he’d miss this. Miss you.

And perhaps that’s what hurts the most – that he’s already missing you when you’re pressed up next to him, that he’s already mourning the presence of someone who he hasn’t lost yet.

But he knew, the end was inevitably near.

So he kisses you, long and hard enough that it hopes it leaves an imprint. You’re unaware of it all, still deep in your slumber even when his eyes betray him and a tear falls. The teardrop lands on your cheek before it slides down your jaw.

Above you, Satoru’s shoulders are shaking and he wants to laugh – because he’s never cried before. He’s never cried when his own friends tried to sabotage him. He’s never cried when the whole world called him a heartless demon walking in the body a wannabe man. He never cried when the world misunderstood him, yet here he was, perfectly content being in your arms, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

For once in his life, Satoru wanted to do what was right. If he couldn’t stop himself from ruining things and hurting those around him, then perhaps this time around he could prevent the only good thing to ever happen to him from shattering.

No amount of money would be able to give you what you truly wanted, and that’s all he had. Satoru had nothing but money, had nothing but it to offer aside from giving you back your freedom. He may be the one that you loved, and for that he would always be grateful, but he was also old enough to know that sometimes, love simply wasn’t enough. You had your own world, and Satoru had the entire universe.

The only world where the two of you could live happily was the one you spent apart from each other.

Unwrapping his arm around yours, Satoru silently trudges to the bedside table to wear his coat and shoes. Giving you one last glance, he takes off his engagement ring, and places it beside the framed photo of you and him in Leiden – this time with no flashing lights.

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veephoenix · 4 months ago

Text

years of sleep — n.s. one shot

"She has always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend."

Noah and Reader have been drawn to each other for years, but have never dared to act on it—until a wedding and a one-night stand, in which their buried feelings are brought to the surface, along with some misunderstandings.

one shot ✨ noah sebastian x fem. reader words: 11.6k (it's a mini fic, let's be honest) reading time: about an hour it's divided in 2 parts so you can "bookmark it" at part 2 if you don't have time to read the whole thing in one go.

tags & trigger warnings: pure self-indulgence. two attractive idiots in love that don't know how to break the ice—until they do. misunderstandings. Noah has almost shoulder-length hair in this one. manbun!noah. angsty fluff, dirty talk, sexual content (implied masturbation, oral sex with both receiving, p in v protected). mentions of reader having a scar but no further explanation (implied past abuse but no more references to it). fluff, beach setting, noah applying sunscreen on reader, reader having a kink for noah's hair. let me know if sth else needs to be added. - Work inspired by this post by @defuckingthrone-dot-com - Honorable mention to @somebodyels3 for letting me use her butterflyclip-thoughts on this one 🦋

years of sleep — part 1 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other, but it’s the first time they’ve looked at one another from opposite ends of the room as if nothing else exists.

They have known each other for two, maybe three years. Her friends are Noah’s friends, and by extension, they have become part of the same circle. Yet, despite the shared acquaintances, despite the countless gatherings and parties and concerts, they have never really spoken—never dared to exchange more than a handful of pleasantries, a few polite questions, and the passing comment about how great the show’d been before drifting away.

But there’s obviously something there. Something that’s always been.

And tonight, they can’t escape what it’s meant to be.

The wedding takes place at a seaside resort, where lush gardens stretch toward the shore, with palm trees everywhere swaying in the breeze, and a stone path that leads to an extensive beach.

She first sees Noah in the hotel lobby. The space is crowded, buzzing with conversation and laughter. The moment their eyes meet, the world shrinks. A pull—subtle but magnetic—draws them in. And then, as if fate conspires to close the distance, Nicholas the groom, appears beside her and steers her toward Noah.

Their greeting is brief, restrained. A formal hug. Fleeting contact. Her hello stays in his mind. Her voice is soft and sweet. Confident, too. And that smile? That pretty smile has him struggling for words.

He wants to tell her she looks beautiful. He doubts he’ll have eyes for anyone else that night, not even for the two getting married.

She wears a slate-gray dress, short and form-fitting, adorned with delicate rhinestones that catch the light. The thin straps expose her shoulders, her collarbone. There’s a necklace around her neck that could easily pass for a choker. The thought makes something in Noah twitch. Her earrings match the glimmer of it beneath the cascading waves of her hair. Her perfume, her scent… It unsettles him in a way he doesn’t fully understand. But, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to.

He could say all of this to her, or he could keep it simple: You look beautiful. But he says nothing. Instead, he pretends to be interested in whatever Nicholas is saying to Matt, though he’s acutely aware of her gaze on him.

She’s just as aware of him—because, for all his efforts, he’s terrible at being subtle.

Noah looks devastatingly handsome today. A black double-breasted suit accentuates his lean frame, and for the first time, his brunette hair is pulled back into a low bun. It’s the first time she’s seen him with his hair up and there’s something about it that’s very attractive. So attractive that she has to turn around to avoid Noah seeing her nibble on her lower lip.

As she looks away, so does he, letting Matt claim his attention. Alana claims hers, arriving in a stunning purple gown, effervescent with excitement. Her joy is infectious, so much so that, for a moment, she can pretend she hasn’t just spent the last few seconds lost in thoughts of Noah.

The venue is bathed in soft, ivory hues. Rows of elegantly arranged chairs line the aisle, their white cushions pristine beneath the glow of the sun. Sheer white drapery frames the altar, where tall glass vases filled with delicate baby’s breath and white orchids stand on either side.

Noah stands on one side of the venue, positioned between Matt and Jolly. She is on the opposite side of the main path, nestled among the bride’s family and friends. She’s never thought much about marriage, but for the first time, the idea doesn’t seem so distant. She wouldn’t mind standing where the bride is now, as long as the man beside her is N—

She doesn’t have time to shake herself from the absurdity of that thought because, at that moment, the bride and groom seal their promises with a kiss. The room erupts in applause and cheers.

She dares to glance to her right. And as if drawn by an invisible thread, Noah looks her way, catching her eyes.

He’s clapping, like everyone else, but he stands out. He’s taller than most, impossible to miss. And then, he winks at her—a wink accompanied by a smile so effortlessly confident, so devastatingly attractive, that her knees nearly give way beneath her.

She’s in deep trouble.

God, she just hopes the makeup conceals the flush creeping up her cheeks.

The celebration continues. The air is filled with laughter and clinking glasses. Music swells through the venue. The food is exquisite, the drinks abundant, and the guests are entertained.

Despite the social nature of his job, Noah isn’t someone particularly outgoing and social. Rather, he prefers to keep to himself.

But tonight is different. Tonight, he’s at ease, caught in the warmth of celebration, happy for his best friend. The air hums with good vibes, and for once, he isn’t the center of attention. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not just because his friend is getting married, but because this day has given him something he’d never had before—an entire day and night in her presence.

The hours slip by, and frustration coils inside him. She’s right there, close enough to touch, yet he can’t seem to break the fucking ice. It’s maddening. He’s trapped in a dance of restraint. He knows it must be obvious, the way he looks at her, the way his body betrays every thought he tries to suppress. She’s the girl he’s barely spoken to, the one he’s only seen in fleeting occasions—yet he’s consumed by her. He’s been thinking of her for weeks, months. Even years, for fuck’s sake. She’s in his dreams.

He’s dying to know her, to be near her, to hear the cadence of her voice as she talks about the things she loves and the ones she hates. He wants to learn her—her flaws, her habits, the little things.

But more than anything, he wants to know the taste of her lips, the sounds she makes when she’s touched in the right places, the way she will moan when his hands and lips press on her skin and when his cock is buried deep inside her.

He has to do something about it, and even though it’s been almost the whole day already, he’s willing to do it tonight.

As the others drink and the minutes slip away, Noah watches her. Discreetly. Intently.

The way she moves, so gracefully and entirely unselfconscious. The way she leans into her friends when she speaks. The dimple that appears in her left cheek each time she laughs, the way her shoulders shake, the way her hair ripples with her movements. She keeps tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but it refuses to be tamed.

And he watches the way she blushes every time she catches him looking.

When the clock strikes midnight, the dance floor overflows with guests, lost in the music. Neckties have been loosened, hairpins discarded. Jolly has long since abandoned his suit jacket. Matt sits at the table with a girl on his lap, whispering something in her ear that’s making her laugh so hard that even Noah is tempted to walk over and find out what the hell he’s saying. Nicholas and his bride have disappeared, and Noah smiles at the realization, exhaling a quiet laugh as he finishes the last sip of his champagne. Then, he’s back to looking for her.

And he finds her.

This time near the exit that leads to the garden, which is so dark and only dimmed by beautifully decorated lampposts with vine and white flowers wrapping around them.

She stands at the threshold of the stone path, the soft glow from the lanterns casting a golden halo around her. The distance between them is vast—he’s at the other end of the room. But it doesn’t matter. They don’t need words to communicate.

She blinks. A glance over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone.

Noah sets down his glass without a thought as he rises from his seat. His jacket is left behind—he likely won’t see it again, much like Jolly’s.

He weaves through the throng of dancing bodies, mutters apologies, sidesteps laughter and swaying limbs, people kissing. The pulse of the music fades as he steps outside, swallowed by the stillness of the night and the back noise of waves crashing.

She’s out of sight.

But he can smell her.

Burberry. Vanilla, rich and warm, laced with something darker, something almost sinful.

He follows the scent.

The stone path leads to a fork—one trail winds toward the beach, the other into the garden.

He hesitates, pulse thrumming. Instinct takes over. He veers into the garden.

Minutes later, he moves parallel to a stretch of resort rooms, their arched balconies overlooking the grounds. Streetlamps line the pathway. A sea breeze stirs the palm fronds, the leaves whispering secrets into the night.

And somewhere ahead, she waits.

It has been almost five minutes since she slipped out of the wedding hall. She leans against the wall of one of the buildings closest to the beach, the stoney surface pressing against her bare shoulders. Noah still hasn’t appeared.

Maybe she misread everything—his looks, his winks, the tenderness of his smiles. Maybe she wasn’t obvious enough. Maybe the pull between them was only in her head, a trick of longing and circumstance. Or maybe it’s just the wedding, the romance in the air making her see things that aren’t really there.

Exhaling, she pushes off the wall and steps into the garden, rounding the corner of the small building.

And collides with a solid chest.

The impact is sudden, stealing her breath. Instinctively, her hands fly to the masculine chest for balance, fingers splaying over the firm muscle beneath the black shirt. His hands find her waist, steadying her, holding her in place.

For a moment, neither of them moves.

She looks up, and Noah’s almond-shaped eyes pierce trough her, dark but soft. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, expensive—wraps around her, muddling her thoughts.

Under her palms, she feels the taut ridges of his abdomen.

Under his hands, he feels the softness of her curves, the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress.

It takes everything in him not to let his hands drift lower—to her ass.

Then, as if the absurdity of the moment catches up with them, they grin—two idiots completely and utterly lost in each other.

A second later, Noah lifts a hand to her cheek, fingers featherlight as he tilts her face up to his.

And he kisses her.

His lips capture hers, slow at first, testing, savoring. She melts instantly, arms winding around his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair. Even in heels, she must rise onto her toes to reach him properly. And this mouth—warm and insistent— tastes of champagne, a sweetness that only makes her hungrier for more.

She barely notices when he presses her against the wall, steading himself with a palm on the wall next to her head.

By the time she comes to, she’s breathless, her lips are swollen, and Noah’s body is caging hers, his hands cradling her face now, his thumb stroking her skin. He watches her for a moment before his mouth trails from her jawline to the sensitive column of her neck, and when his lips graze that one spot—that spot—heat coils deep in her belly.

She would have collapsed if not for the hand he slides to her waist, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

“Let me take you to my room,” he murmurs against her skin. His voice is husky and his breath hot.

He pauses just long enough, searching her eyes, making sure she knows that this is entirely up to her. Whatever she wants. Whatever she desires.

It’s the quiet patience in his expression, the almost tender way he waits, that has her putty in his hands. She knows she’ll always be safe with him. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t spent more than five minutes alone together. She feels it in her bones, in the space between them, in the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.

Her answer is effortless.

“Lead the way,” she says with a smile.

Noah’s grin widens. He steals another kiss—because he can’t help himself—before lacing his long, tattooed fingers through hers.

Without another word, he leads her away. Away from the music, away from the voices, from prying eyes.

The walk to the room is hurried. Adrenaline and hunger run through their veins. Noah grips her hand, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, his smile impossibly wide, as if he already knows that there’s nothing that’ll change how the night will end.

He barely makes it to the door without stopping midway to press her against the nearest wall, to claim her lips again, to let his hands roam freely over the curves he has only imagined.

By the time they reach the secluded corridor where their rooms are, they are almost running.

A strap of her dress has fallen, slipping down the smooth expanse of her shoulder, and just as Noah swipes his keycard against the door reader, he notices.

“Wait.”

Two fingers graze skin as he lifts the strap, restoring it to its place.

The mere brush of his fingers on her skin gives him such a sensation that goosebumps rise on his skin. Noah holds her gaze for a moment. As he gets ready to open the door, her hands curl into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Her mouth meets his in a kiss so deep, so hungry, that Noah nearly forgets himself, nearly forgets where they are, forgets that anyone could walk by and see him stripping her bare against the cool marble hallway floor and making love to her.

Somehow, through sheer willpower, he manages to open the door and push her inside, barely breaking contact with her lips.

Inside, he fumbles for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a light cozy glow.

She’s already pulling the hairband from his hair, letting the strands fall loose around his face. She threads her fingers through them. She doesn’t know what shampoo he uses but his hair smells like paradise.

Everything is messy. Desperate. A little awkward.

And yet, within seconds, they are standing at the center of the room, facing the untouched bed.

She pauses, chest rising and falling, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other resting lightly on his chest.

She looks around. His belongings are neatly arranged, each item in its proper place. The small details confirm everything she already suspected about him—Noah is meticulous. Even in chaos, he is composed. He’s perfect, and the hand on his hip, delicate and supportive, adoring but never crossing the line, confirms it too.

He’s waiting for her to say something, so his heart almost skips a beat when she slides to her knees on the floor. Heels still on. Her hands on his belt.

Noah lets her unbuckle it. Fingers move with precision, making quick work of the button and zipper of his slacks. His shirt is next—he unbuttons it, but leaves it open, exposing tattooed skin, muscle, inked lines she clearly wasn’t prepared for.

She inhales sharply.

A near-moan escapes her lips at the sight of him, and Noah smirks.

He would have teased her for it—would have taken his time letting her explore—but then she tugs down his pants.

Her breath catches.

The outline straining against his black Calvin Klein boxers is… larger than she expected.

He watches the moment she processes it, sees the way her pupils dilate, the way her tongue peeks out to wet her lips.

She flicks her gaze up at him, seeking confirmation, blinking once—twice—before curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxers.

And when she pulls them down, Noah is the one exhaling sharply.

She doesn’t break eye contact.

And when she finally moves forward, Noah knows—he’s done for.

She licks him from the base to the tip. She takes her time, savoring him and entertaining herself just enough to make him shudder. She revels in his reaction before enveloping him in the warm, wet heat of her mouth and taking him on the ride of his life.

For the first few moments, Noah doesn’t know what to do with himself. He throws his head back and lets out a guttural sound as she takes him deeper, the suction sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. His muscles tense, his hands flex at his sides, his breath starts coming in in ragged gasps.

His fingers twitch before finding their way into her hair, threading through the silky strands as he cradles her head and looks down at her. Such a good girl.

She looks so focused. He strokes her scalp gently, then guides her back and forth, his control unraveling with every flick of her tongue, every hollow of her cheeks. That’s it. Keep going. A vein bulges at his neck as he struggles to keep himself in check.

“That’s... Yes. God, sweetheart.”

The sight of her, those lips stretched around him, eyes flickering up to watch his reaction…

With a sharp breath, he forces himself to pull away, already mourning the loss of her warmth. He runs a thumb over her lower lip, and she catches it between her teeth, nibbling at it. The action makes him laugh—a deep, throaty sound.

He offers his hand, and she takes it, rising to her feet. Without hesitation, she slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders, letting the fabric slip past her curves and pool at her feet.

She’s not wearing a bra, and the thong she wears is nothing more than a whisper of lace, a mere suggestion of modesty.

Noah eats her up with his eyes.

Before he can reach for her, she turns, climbing onto the bed, moving like a kitten. She pauses on all fours to look at him over her shoulder with a coy smile that makes his stomach clench.

Noah swallows hard. He’s about to lose it.

When she shifts to sit back, reaching for her heels, he stops her with a touch.

“Let me.”

He pulls his underwear and pants back up before kneeling at the edge of the bed. His grip tender as he slides her shoes off, pressing a kiss to the skin of her ankle. The care in his touch makes her pulse race. It’s so gentlemanly. She’s never felt so cherished. So lucky.

Her underwear comes off next. The weight of Noah’s eyes on her feels heavy, but it makes her feel safe anyway. She wants him.

She reclines against the pillows, stretching out languidly. She parts her legs. Noah stands there for a breath, taking her in. Her confidence only deepens his hunger.

He sheds his clothing and shoes and joins her, covering her body with his without yet touching. His fingers trail up her cheeks, his eyes searching hers.

“Where do you want me?” he murmurs.

“Anywhere you wish to be.”

He laughs and she trembles under him, loving the sound.

That’s easy, he thinks. I’m already in bed, with you.

Still, he takes his time, kissing his way down her body, savoring every inch. Loving how the necklace wraps around her neck. He spends needed time on her breasts, playing with her nipples, his tongue circling, lapping. He looks up to see her lips parted and her eyes intently on him. She still not making any sound. Not yet.

When his hand slides down her ribcage, he notices an old, ugly scar, just beneath her left breast. He also notices the way she stills. He takes one look at her, then kisses the scar without saying anything else and moves on.

He worships her belly, dips his tongue into her navel, nibbles at her hip bones.

He leaves the bed only to sit back on his heels on the carpeted floor. He searches for his hairband discarded earlier. When he finds it, he ties his hair up again, the sight alone enough to make wetness pool between her legs.

Without warning, he pulls her toward him by the ankles.

A gasp escapes her as he buries himself between her thighs.

There it is.

His tongue parts her, teasing. He tastes her like a man starved, and it’s the truth—he’s been starving for her for years. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as she starts to writhe beneath him.

She makes another sound. A soft, breathy moan. Then another. And another.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic music he’s ever heard, and it only makes him more relentless. He keeps on sucking. He doesn’t stop, not until she’s trembling under him, clutching the sheets, her thighs quivering around his head.

“Beautiful,” he says.

She’s still catching her breath when she peeks up at him from beneath heavy lids, her cheeks flushed and lips dry and slightly parted. The sight makes him chuckle, the sound so laced with affection that it envelops her as if the sound of it alone was a comforting blanket.

“Condom?” she asks when she regains some stability in her breathing.

Noah blinks, nodding as he starts looking around and rummaging through his things.

“I’ve got one… just give me a—” He curses under his breath, shoving aside his clothes. She watches him move around the room naked, cock hard. “Fuck. I know I have one… somewhere.”

She laughs, watching his frantic search with amusement. She has no idea that, at this very moment, Noah is contemplating death if he doesn’t find it. But then he spots it. He tears open the packet and rolls it onto him. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his still tied hair but pushing a lose strand back. “Sorted,” he mutters, positioning himself over her on the bed.

She slides a hand behind his neck, drawing him closer.

“Come here,” she demands softly.

And God help him, he does.

She unties his hair, again, freeing the brunette strands to cascade over his forehead. Her fingers slide through the locks, and at the same moment, he pushes into her, slow and deep.

A gasp catches in her throat as she stretches around him, heat and wetness engulfing every inch of him.

He feels fuzzy. It’s unbearable, exquisite. His eyes are locked onto hers, and for a breathless second, they simply exist. A moan spills from his lips at the exact moment one escapes her, their voices melding in perfect synchrony.

It’s better than he ever imagined.

It’s better than she ever imagined.

He waits, letting her adjust. When she shifts, just the smallest tilt of her hips, it’s all the encouragement he needs. He moves, achingly slow, each stroke a deliberate act of worship, so careful it almost makes her go mad. A tight, desperate sensation builds in her chest, and for a moment, she thinks she might cry.

She has imagined herself under his body many times. Too many to admit. She has touched herself in the quiet of night, fingers slipping between her thighs, wondering what it would feel like to take him this way, to feel his hardness inside her, the delicious weight of him pressing her into the mattress. To experience the solid heat of his body, his pubic bone against hers, the muscles of his stomach flexing against her own, his breath coming in broken gasps against her lips as he steals kisses whenever he can.

Reality is nothing like she imagined.

It’s a thousand times better.

Noah is heavy and much bigger than she is, but instead of feeling smothered by his weight, she feels enveloped in a delicious embrace that promises to take her all the way to paradise, if she’s not already in it.

His pace is controlled. The way he moves over her, the way he looks at her, with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows that says he’s being a victim of this delicious torture too, the way his hands touch her body, cling to her...

His thrusts grow harder, faster. Her thighs cling to his hips. Her feet hoover just above the mattress. Her nails sink into the inked skin of his back as the pressure builds, and he hisses through his teeth. His reaction is instant. He catches her wrists, gathers them in one of his large hands, and pins them to the pillow above her head.

Her breath stutters.

Then, without warning, he thrusts deep.

Take me.

A strangled cry tears from her throat.

Noah’s rhythm shifts, urgency overtaking restraint. His movements become frantic, driven by something raw and insatiable, and she matches him, meeting every thrust, begging for more. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. She can feel the heat of him everywhere—his sweaty skin against hers, his breath hot and labored against her lips, his body relentless in its pursuit of ecstasy.

If she thought he was handsome before, it’s clear she hadn’t seen him fucking her, covered in sweat and lost in the decadent dance his body is dancing with hers.

“I’m going to come,” he warns when he knows his release is imminent, voice rough and desperate.

She feels a rush of satisfaction so intense it nearly tips her over the edge. She wants to prolong this, stretch it into eternity, but she also wants to see him break. She wants to watch him fall apart. See his expression when it happens.

Noah is holding on by a thread. He thinks about how once he comes, he’s going to get her to follow him, and then he wants to hold her and have her fall asleep in his arms. In the morning, he wants to see her wake up, blink up at him through sleepy eyes, wants to see her make up-free, in the first light of dawn.

Fuck, he’s in so deep. And not just physically.

As he teeters at the edge, he refuses to go alone. He slides a hand between them, finding the swollen bundle of nerves that will send her spiraling with him. His fingers work, and within seconds, she is there, climbing, soaring, shattering. The orgasm is scorching. Noah practically roars against her shoulder, biting her without intending to, but she seems to like it, because the moment his teeth sink into her shoulder, she tenses around him. He is still spasming, releasing himself into the condom, when she trembles, arches, and suddenly moans loudly and prolonged.

She is coming and squeezing him, every last drop.

His arms hold her against him, crushing her to him as they both tremble through the aftershocks. She can feel the erratic thump of his heart against her chest. He can feel the sweat of her skin clinging to his.

They feel...at home.

Noah tilts his head to look at her, catching on the red marks he’s left on her skin. On her shoulder. Clavicle. Breasts. Suddenly, there’s uncertainty flickering behind his eyes.

He’s never done this—whatever this is. He knows it’s not just sex. It’s something more. Something that’s been brewing, growing beneath the surface for some time.

She opens her eyes, lips parted, still catching her breath. The sight of her like this, so flushed and disheveled, so swollen from his kisses, hair tangled in wild waves around her face… She could easily fall for a nymph, ethereal and untamed, as if she belongs to the wild.

“Are you okay?”

Noah is surprised, for it is not him asking the question, but her. He almost laughs.

“I’m fine,” he assures her.

Without thinking twice, he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek, soft and reverent in his touch. This moment—the after—, this touch, it feels like a greater intimacy than anything they have just done.

Her lips touch the line of his jaw, nuzzling against the faint stubble that has already begun to shadow his skin. He shaved that morning, but the roughness is there, and she loves it.

His kisses are different now—ghostly, soft and quiet. They make her heart grow wings and flutter.

Noah pulls away with obvious reluctance, murmuring something about taking care of them. She watches as he slips from the bed, and the moment he is gone, she feels the loss of him like a physical ache. Still, she gathers herself enough to ask him to open the sliding doors to the ground-floor balcony. Noah obliges, and when he does, the distant murmur of laughter and music drifts from the garden, a reminder that the rest of the world still exists beyond this room.

When he returns, he is utterly, shamelessly naked. He moves with the confidence of someone at home, still just as devastating and delicious as he was that morning, when he was wrapped in a tux and his hair was pulled into a perfect man bun.

She wants to keep Noah for herself. Forever.

He holds a damp hand towel, hesitating only a moment as he approaches the mattress and murmurs, “May I?”

She nods.

The first touch of warm cloth against her oversensitive skin makes her shudder. He is careful, tender in a way nobody has ever been with her. She holds her breath. She’s never been cared for like this.

Minutes later, he stands beside the bed, still naked, hesitating.

She watches him, her knees drawn up, an arm draped loosely over her chest. A cool breeze filters through the open door, rustling the curtains. Salt and water.

“Stay,” Noah says, his voice almost tentative. “Please? I promise I don’t snore.”

She has to laugh. He’s so adorable. She nods.

Relief floods his face as he climbs in beside her, tugging the sheets over them. She curls against him instinctively, pressing her face into the warm space between his shoulder and neck.

Noah smells of sex and that masculine stench that is every man’s own. If only she knew that he is inhaling her too... And that, deep inside, he wants to wake up with his nose in her hair and her naked body clinging to him all the mornings he has left.

They talk for a while in hushed voices, the adrenaline still pulsing through them. He asks about her favorite food and her favorite flowers. She asks about his hobbies. About his job—what’s the best and worst of it. He mentions martial arts, and she hums, intrigued, and not-so-subtly lets her hands explore his biceps, his thighs, all tattooed, confirming what she already knew. He is strong, but beneath all that muscle, there is softness too.

She falls asleep half on top of him.

Noah falls asleep with a hand resting on the small of her back, fingers curled over the curve of her ass, the other cradling the back of her neck, keeping her close as if afraid to let go, and his nose buried in her hair, just like he’s dreamed so many times.

When she wakes up, her cheek is pressed against something firm yet solid and comfortable. It takes a few seconds for reality to settle around her, her mind still tangled in the haze of sleep. The first thing she registers is the faint soreness between her legs. For a moment, her heart leaps in her chest in surprise, but then she becomes aware of the calm that envelops her, of the warmth and security she feels. Of the arm around her, pressing her tenderly against the male body lying on the bed.

She lifts her head, and there he is. Noah fast asleep. His breathing slow and steady, lips slightly parted revealing just a hint of his teeth. A stray lock of hair has fallen over his cheek, and before she can think better of it, she reaches out and brushes it aside.

Noah is a handsome man, but like this, with his guard down, his face relaxed, his body molded against her—he’s breathtakingly beautiful.

Surrendering to temptation again, she’s about to kiss him and wake him up, steal the first drowsy moments of his morning, when a vibration hums from the nightstand on his side.

The screen of his phone lights up, and her eyes are instinctively drawn to it. Half draped over his chest, she reaches out just to check the time, but the moment she picks it up, a notification banner flashes across the screen.

LILIPUTH 👶🏼 "Hey! Mom wants to know if you can pick me up Friday instead of Saturday. She’s busy Saturday morning, so she’d rather drop me at the airport Friday. She says to hurry up because we’re already late, and flights are super expensive! Also, she kinda thinks you should pay for them... but don’t tell her I said that! See you soon!

She frowns. She processes the message. What it means, or what it could mean.

“Mom says”?

Liliputh and a baby emoticon?

“Pick me up”?

He should’ve paid for flight tickets?

Her stomach twists.

The phone nearly slips from her grasp as the words sink in.

Fuck.

Is Noah married?

Divorced?

Does he have...a child? Because that sure as hell sounds like a whole lot of parental responsibilities.

She’s holding her breath. Her mind scrambles to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t expecting, one she wasn’t even aware existed.

And it’s not that he’s done anything wrong. It’s not that he’s lied.

But she hadn’t thought about Noah having a life before her. A life this big.

Panic swells in her throat. She realizes she’s laying on top of him sideways, her breasts pressing against his tatted chest. She’s panicking. She no longer feels comfortable or safe in his arms. The sheets feel more like a trap rather than a cocoon of safety. She needs air. She needs space. She needs to get out.

It takes her less than two minutes to slip out from his arms, gather her clothes, and make it to the door in last night’s dress, barefoot, heels in hand. She doesn’t look back. Her bare feet move silently against the floor. Once she reaches the hallway, she presses her back against the door, heart slamming wildly against her ribs.

She doesn’t want to leave.

She wants to stay.

To crawl back into bed, to wake up tangled in his limbs, to feel the weight of his body over hers, his scent. She wants to hear his voice in the morning—sleep-rough and drowsy, whispering the same sinful things he murmured to her in the dead of night when she had been sleeping with her head on his bicep and he’d made love to her again, slow and deep, from behind her. He had first teased her with the tip, kissing her shoulders and neck. A minute later, they were slowly making love, his hand entwining her fingers over her breasts, his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself thinking of you—of this.”

He’d been so attentive and hot the entire night, guiding her as he told her to fuck him, to rock herself against him, to use him… so tuned in with her as he talked her through her orgasm, encouraging her to make a mess on his cock…

She feels... confused and disoriented. In her head, she’s spent years with this perfect idea of Noah, of who he is, of how wonderful it would be to be with him... and suddenly, a simple message destroys all of that.

It’s not a message.

It’s reality.

The rest was her fantasy. Her fault.

The things he had said to her during the night echo in her head. The perfect Noah and the perfect life she had created around him was nothing but an illusion, and now it had shattered, and with it her heart.

years of sleep — part 2 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Three hours later, late summer morning, the resort is buzzing with life. Most of the guests, primarily wedding attendees, have slept in, recovering from a celebration that lasted into the early hours. Others have been up since dawn, making the most of their vacation.

She sits at one of the poolside lounge tables, fingers idly tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of orange juice. Sunglasses shield her eyes, and though she’s showered and changed into a simple pastel blue sundress, she still feels the weight of the night lingering in her bones.

Nicholas and his new wife must already be enroute to their honeymoon destination. Meanwhile, she’s stranded at this oceanside resort, three hours from Los Angeles, until tomorrow.

And she has no idea how she’s going to spend the next twenty-four hours.

In her mind, last night should have led to something different—a different chain of events, a different morning, a different future. She had pictured waking up in Noah’s arms, spending the day tangled up in him, stealing kisses between lazy moments and sunlit swims, and ending the night with slow walks along the beach under the stars…

But now, it’s painfully clear that none of that is going to happen.

“And that long face on such a sunny morning?”

Davis’s voice cuts through her thoughts, drawing her attention to the walkway leading toward the parasol-covered tables.

She forces a smile, slouching slightly in her chair in an attempt to appear more relaxed. She doesn’t want to bring anyone else down. This is supposed to be a happy day. Everyone else is happy. She refuses to ruin that.

“Hungover?” Davis tilts his head, eyeing her.

The way he asks makes her laugh, though the sound feels hollow. He’s swapped last night’s suit for white Bermuda shorts and a floral short-sleeve button-up. He’s really embracing the beach resort vibes.

“Something like that,” she replies. Though the truth is that, despite sleeping late and being woken up at 4am for another round of sex, she slept soundly.

“That makes two of us,” another voice chimes in.

Folio drops into the chair beside her, a beer already in hand. She refrains from commenting on it. He’s dressed similarly to Davis, a backward cap covering his messy hair.

“Well, you don’t look like it,” Davis notes.

“That’s because I never hit the bed in the first place,” Folio grins.

“You didn’t sleep?” Davis guesses.

“Nope. Figured I’d just keep the party going. Took a swim at sunrise. Man, that’s an experience.”

The two launch into a conversation about his early-morning adventures and order some fruit and pancakes to be brought to the table. Eventually, they notice how quiet she is.

“What’s with you?” Davis asks through a mouthful of blueberries. “Haven’t slept either?”

Folio smirks. “Or did someone keep you up all night?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his gaze dropping pointedly to the red blotches on her skin. Noah’s lovebites.

She barely reacts. She simply lowers her sunglasses and shoots Folio a pointed look. His grin falters immediately.

“Oh, it’s definitely that. Who—?”

Before Folio can finish the question, Davis has already put the pieces together.

“You slept with Noah.”

Hearing someone say it aloud makes it even more real. Her mind floods with images—Noah’s touch, the sweet and filthy things he said to her, the way he held her, the way he felt. Honeyed and intense.

She wraps both hands around the glass, lips pressing together.

“Really?” Folio leans forward, elbows resting on the chair armrests. “And why do you look like that? Don’t tell me Noah isn’t well-equipped down there.”

She clicks her tongue, annoyed. “It’s not that.”

“So, he is. Is his performance not up to—”

“Nick,” Davis sighs.

“Okay, okay…” he puts his hands up. “Do we need to kick his ass?”

She hesitates, her fingers twitching, before finally voicing the question that has been gnawing at her insides since dawn.

“Noah has a daughter?”

Folio’s grin vanishes. His brows furrow in confusion, then lift in something close to horror.

“What?”

She looks between them. “Is he married? Divorced?”

Davis just stares at her, as if trying to understand where this is coming from.

“You know Noah is single.”

“No. Actually, I don’t. I don’t know anything about Noah. Not really,” she snaps. “I only know what everyone else knows—what you guys tell me. He’s always the quiet one. I don’t know more than what I’ve put together from—from the way he behaves around me and with you guys. And none of you ever mentioned a wife. Or a daughter. Or—”

“Because he’s not married. And he doesn’t have a daughter,” Folios interrupts with a laugh. “At least not that I know of. Can you even imagine Noah married and with a baby?” He looks over at Davis, but Davis just shoots him a warning glance.

Davis turns back to her with a soft expression. “Come on. You know exactly who Noah is. I know everyone acts like he’s this mysterious, unreadable guy just because he’s private, but the truth is, he’s exactly what you see. He’s quiet, yeah, but he doesn’t need to say much to show you who he is. He writes, he makes music, he lets go on stage… He’s the deep, poetic guy who likes to meditate in the morning and never really raises his voice. He’s thoughtful, maybe too much, and he appreciates life in that annoyingly profound way.” Davis huffs a small laugh. “Even if you haven’t spent much time with him, you know he’s single. The real question is how you two went so long without saying a word to each other when it’s obvious you’ve been pining for one another for years.”

Her heart stutters. “Years? What are you talking about?”

Folio rolls his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows you and Noah have been into each other for ages, but because you’re both equally clueless or shy or whatever, you waited until Ruffilo’s wedding to finally do something about it. And now you’re coming in here all ‘Noah is a dad?!’ What the hell did you drink last night? Or more like, what did Noah do to you in bed?”

She groans. Before they can derail the conversation any further, she drops her eyes and mutters, “I saw a message on his phone.”

“A message?”

“From someone named Lily. Liliputh,” she specifies.

Folio and Davis exchange a glance, and she immediately realizes that yes, there are things about Noah she doesn’t know, and they do.

Folio cuts into his pancakes, spears a piece with his fork, and pops it into his mouth.

“Lily is Noah’s niece,” Davis explains. “His sister’s daughter. She’s twelve.”

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“Noah has a sister?”

Since when?

“Yeah. Older. She lives in New York. They only see each other a couple of times a year, that’s why he’s probably never mentioned her. He barely does to us, anyway. But they’re close, and I’m guessing Lily asked to come spend a few days in L.A. before school starts again, and Noah’s offered to take care of her.”

A wave of heat rushes to her cheeks. “Oh my God.”

Folio bursts out laughing, struggling to keep the food in his mouth. “You really thought Noah had a whole-ass daughter? And you thought he was divorced, too?”

She sinks in her seat. “It’s not funny.”

“No, but your reaction is. How many Hallmark movies have you watched?”

Davis, however, looks more thoughtful. “So… you freaked out.”

She sighs. “Yeah…”

“And Noah wasn’t awake when you saw the message, was he?”

“No.”

“So, you got up and left. Without saying a word.”

Her silence and the guilt written all over her face are answer enough.

After a beat, Folio deadpans, “You banged Noah,” he states. “And then you disappeared.”

She shoots him another glare, tempted to kick his shin under the table. “I didn’t disappear. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but not in his bed,” Davis points out. “How would you feel if the roles were reversed? If you woke up after sleeping with him, and he was gone?

A knot tightens in her chest.

Terrible. Used. Heartbroken.

Guilt crashes over her, so heavy it makes her stomach churn. Good thing she hasn’t eaten anything… She bites her lip so hard she nearly draws blood. She needs to fix this.

“Will he… be mad?”

David considers the question at the same time he savors a piece of mango. “Knowing Noah and how much he’s into you… he’ll understand. You just need to talk to him. Tell him why you freaked out. He’ll have a good laugh and later he’ll probably get you back into his bed. Problem sorted.”

How much he’s into me? The way Davis talks about Noah’s feelings is unsettling, like he knows something she doesn’t. Has it always been there, in front of her, and she hasn’t been able to see it until last night?

For years, she has lived off stolen glances and fleeting moments—content with fantasies rather than the courage to actually approach Noah like a normal person would. She always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend.

Had she known earlier that Noah was pining for her, butterflies would have erupted in her stomach sooner. She might have finally gathered the nerve to walk up to him, to flirt back in a way that was more obvious to him about her feelings. But now, after abandoning him in that hotel room, she just feels awful. If she can’t fix this, she might as well walk straight into the ocean and let the waves take her.

“Hey,” Folio squeezed her shoulder, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. His voice is suddenly surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay. This is not some huge, unforgivable thing. Nothing a blowjob can’t fix. Knowing Noah…”

Davis makes a disgusted noise, pushing his plate away. “Jesus Christ, man. How well do you know Noah?”

Folio throws his hands up again. “It’s a figure of speech, for fuck’s sake. What I mean is, Noah’s not the type to hold a grudge. And if there’s someone who can sweeten him up, that’s you. Talk to him. And if talking doesn’t do the trick… well, give him the look, get down on your knees, and boom—problem solved.”

She debates whether to smack him, but the absurdity of it all makes her laugh instead. Did she really think Noah had a teenage daughter? That he was divorced? She laughs at herself and internally thanks Folio, who always has a way of dragging her out of her head, whether she wants him or not.

And much to her own frustration… she can’t stop thinking about what he said.

If talking doesn’t get Noah to forgive her, she’ll do it on her knees and blinking up at him with her big puppy eyes.

An hour later, after wandering alone by the sea for a while and going over the things she’ll say to Noah when she sees him again, she makes her way back to the hotel. Her sandals dangle from her fingers, her bare feet still damp from where the waves had lapped at her skin. She’s hungry, her body demanding a late breakfast or an early lunch.

But more than anything, it’s her heart which is demanding. Demanding Noah, to find him, talk to him and—

She sees him before he sees her.

He’s at the reception desk, leaning on the counter, dressed in black jeans—in this heat, seriously?— and a white t-shirt. His hair is pulled into the same bun as last night, and he’s wearing black sunglasses. He’s chatting with the receptionist, a woman who smiles at him as she listens intently to whatever he’s saying. Before jealousy can settle in, the receptionist nods and disappears into the back room.

That’s when Noah turns, reaching into his pocket for his phone, only to freeze the moment his eyes land on her.

She doesn’t know what to expect. A flicker of irritation? Confusion? Anger?

But not this.

Not the way his entire face lights up. Not the way his lips stretch into a slow, easy grin, like seeing her is the best thing that’s happened to him all day. All week.

“Hey,” he says.

Her stomach does that thing.

Hey?

She approaches cautiously, hyper-aware of his almond-shaped eyes sweeping over her behind those black sunglasses.

“Hi,” she greets.

Silence stretches between them. For her, it’s suffocating. But Noah? He seems completely at ease, looking at her like she’s the goddamn sun.

“Noah,” her voice betrays her a little. She fidgets with her fingers, taking a small step closer. “About this morning, I—”

The receptionist returns, holding a black tuxedo jacket.

“Here it is, sir.”

Noah turns to her.

“Oh, thank God.” He exhales, taking the jacket and shaking it out. “Thought I’d lost it for good. Or that someone walked off with it.”

“Not at all,” the female behind the counter replies with a polite smile. “Anything else I can help with?”

Her eyes flick between Noah and her before Noah tells her “no, thank you” and she heads back to her desk. Noah drapes the expensive jacket over his arm.

“Guess I shouldn’t be so careless next time,” he muses.

She frowns slightly.

“Got a little… distracted last night,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Saw this girl, and, well… just had to follow her. I suppose I got carried away inevitably.” His eyes darken slightly, teasing. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Can’t get her out of my head.”

She’s blushing, of course.

And that’s exactly what he wanted—to make her blush.

“Prettiest?”

“Prettiest,” he repeats. He takes his hand to his sunglasses and moves them up to his head. When his brown eyes fall on her, she feels that tingling sensation coursing through her again. “Sweetest. Couldn’t keep my hands off her,” he continues, knowing very well what he’s doing. “Guess everything else just… slipped my mind.”

Heat flares up her neck. Why isn’t he upset? Why isn’t he at least a little annoyed that she slipped out of his bed after hours of making love? Why does he have to be so charming to her when she deserves none of that?

“Do you… regret it?” she blurts.

His brows lift slightly. “Regret it?” he echoes. He glances down at the jacket draped over his arm. Then he smirks. “I’d lose ten of these if it meant spending another night like that with her.”

She bites her lip, grinning like an idiot. Like the idiot she is for assuming he was a divorced dad.Jesus Christ. She pinches the bridge of her nose, ducking her head to hide her flushed cheeks.

After a beat, he adds, “but preferably if she’s there in the morning.”

Oh.

“What about you?” he asks. “Anything you regret?”

She draws in a slow breath.

“One thing, yeah,” she admits.

“Yeah?”

By the way his face changes, she can tell he’s suddenly feeling uncertain. Does he think she regrets being with him? That she regrets letting him touch her, letting him fuck her?

“I… want to make up for it,” she says. “So that I don’t carry this regret with me any longer.”

He watches her carefully. “Sounds like one you’ve carried for quite some time.”

She scoffs. If only he knew…

“Long enough to make a fool of myself,” she says. “But I’d like to fix it.”

His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “You would?”

She nods, pulse quickening. She gives him the sweetest, most disarming smile. “I think I could. If you let that pretty girl spend another night in your hotel bed…”

Noah exhales. With his free hand, he reaches for her, his fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, pulling her toward him. Close enough that when he lowers his head, his nose brushes against hers.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough, sweetheart,” he murmurs. She presses a hand against his chest—not to push him away, but to steady herself, to feel the solid of him beneath her palm. And, if she’s being honest, just to touch him again. “She needs to stay till morning. Otherwise, no deal.”

She decides she’s going to seal the deal with a kiss. But just as she tilts her head and parts her lips—

“Hey, Sebastian! Say hi to your daughter!” Folio’s voice rings through the lobby.

They both freeze.

Noah blinks.

“What?”

She turns her head just in time to see Folio crossing the marble-floored lobby, a mojito in hand, looking far too pleased with himself before disappearing around the corner. Her face burns. Noah’s expression is one of utter confusion.

“Is he drunk?” he asks.

A small laugh escapes her as she drops her forehead against his chest. He still hasn’t let go of her dress. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his white t-shirt as her embarrassment melts into quiet amusement.

“I thought you were a divorced dad.”

Noah stills. Then he’s lifting her chin with the bend of his fingers. “A divorced—What are you talking about?”

“I accidentally saw a message on your phone this morning—Lily’s message,” she explains. “I was just checking the time, I swear. And when I saw the message, I immediately assumed... that you were divorced. And that you had a child.”

He stays still for another beat, just looking at her. Then, to her complete and utter relief, he throws his head back and laughs. The sound is so warm and rich that it dissolves the last of her tension.

“Thank God,” he says.

“Thank God?”

“That you left because of that and not because I snore.”

“You don’t snore,” she assures him.

He exhales through his grin, his thumb brushing her chin. “And you’re adorable.”

“Pretty sure I’m just stupid.”

“Stupidly adorable.”

“Thanks,” she rolls her eyes, only confirming what he just said.

Adorable.

Her stomach betrays her then, letting out a low rumble.

She groans. Seriously, can I catch a break?

Noah glances down at her middle with a grin, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Perfect timing.”

“Huh?”

“Now that I’ve got my jacket back, and I found the pretty girl I was looking for…” he pauses and tilts his head, “I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me?”

Like he even needs to ask.

“I’d love to.”

“It’s a date, then.”

He offers his hand. She takes it, just like last night.

They share a light lunch at the seaside restaurant of the hotel, which is located beneath a shade of swaying palm trees and cottage-like roof. The ocean stretches before them, glistening under the midday sun, waves rolling lazily onto the shore. The air is charged with salt and the aroma of grilled seafood, mingling with the faint sweetness of tropical flowers.

Their table is a feast of colors—salad with citrusy vinaigrette, golden spring rolls, focaccia glistening with olive oil, and a selection of small plates. Conversation is effortless between them as the breeze rustles through the palm fronds and plays with her hair.

They talk about everything. Food. Music. Work. He asks about her studies, and she asks about the book he’s reading. He makes her smile. She makes him laugh. She even offers him a bite of her plate and feeds him with a fork. They never mention the fact that last night she had his cock in her mouth or that he mapped out every inch of her with his tongue until she was shaking under him.

After the plates are emptied and cleared, they stay, reclining in their chairs as the slow afternoon unfolds. The occasional lull in conversation is easy. It’s a silence that doesn’t demand to be filled.

They sip iced tea later, enjoying each other’s company as the engulf in the refreshing drink.

She watches the horizon, the endless stretch of blue where the sea meets the sky, and the way the light dances on the water. Noah watches her. Her profile is beautiful, so soft. A picture of tranquility as she takes in the view, lost in the beauty of the landscape. There’s something about the way she looks right now that makes everything else fade into the background.

Noah is in love, and he knows it. He’s been for a long time. He’s not letting her leave his bed the next morning, or any other for that matter.

“Want to go for a swim?”

His question shakes her out of her momentary haze where she was imagining herself in the water, wrapped around Noah’s torso, being kissed under the sun.

“What, in jeans and Adidas?” She jokes, giving his outfit a pointed once-over.

Noah glances down at himself. “Yeah, good point… I’ll go get changed.”

She hums, pushing back her chair at the same time. “I’ll grab the sunscreen.”

They leave together, strolling through the resort’s sun-drenched pathways, holding hands. In the hallway outside their rooms, Noah keeps their arms extended and hands together before reluctantly releasing her.

He should have kissed her. The though gnaws at him as she disappears three rooms down.

It’s fine. He’ll kiss her when he has her in his arms again in a matter of minutes.

They meet ten minutes after in the lobby. Noah has swapped his jeans for black swim trunks, his sneakers for flip-flops. His white T-shirt remains. a towel is slung over his shoulder. His eyes rack down the white bikini peeking through the airy fabric of her sundress. She catches the way his jaw ticks, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

She shakes the sunscreen bottle in front of him. “Got it.”

Noah takes the tote bag from her with a quiet smile, ever the gentleman.

When they step onto the beach, they walk a little farther from the resort’s main area, the sand cool beneath their feet as they seek out a quiet spot all to themselves. The beach is tranquil, mostly deserted, with only a few scattered sunbathers, the low season keeping it peaceful. They lay out their towels side by side.

Of course, Noah suggests applying sunscreen on her. To her surprise, he’s again very gentlemanlike about it, asking for permission before he spreads the lotion across the curve of her ass. When she turns around and offers her chest to him, her nipples are visible through the fabric of her bikini top. He notices, obviously. But doesn’t say a word. When his fingers lightly access under the fabric and caress the curve of her breasts, she holds her breath. Then Noah pokes her nose, leaving a streak of cream on the tip and laughs, a boyish sound.

“Charming,” she says.

“I know,” he replies.

But even when he says that, it seems that his usual cocky grin is subdued. He seems more serious now, his gaze more intense and darker than it was the night before, like something in him has shifted. There’s a depth to his look, a quiet mindfulness that wasn’t exactly there before, the previous night when they were finally all brave and playful.

She tries to see what’s there, in his eyes, but before she can, he hands her the sunscreen bottle. “Your turn,” he says.

An hour under the sun and Noah’s freckles begin to appear more prominently across the bridge of his nose, like a constellation made of stars. He seems unaware of how they dot his face, of the beauty he carries with himself, as natural and unassuming as the rest of him.

Eventually, she pulls herself away from staring at him and buries her attention in a book, propped on her forearms, body stretched out on the towel. Noah takes a nap before shifting to lie on his side and starts kissing her shoulder. He inquiries about the book she’s reading. The Remains of the Day. Noah mentions he’s read something from Ishiguro before—Never Let Me Go, perhaps? He pretends to read the chapter she’s focused on, but his lips and fingers have other plans, distracting her with light touches, making her laugh and squirm when he starts tickling her.

The book eventually ends in Noah’s hands. He starts reading the novel, for real, and lets her explore the tattoos on his chest, stomach and arms, answering distractedly every question she has about them.

She rests for a while on the towel, gazing at the sky with her hands flat on her stomach. After a while, she gets up and walks toward the water.

The sun is beginning its slow descent, melting into the horizon, bleeding orange and pink across the sky. The beach is nearly empty except for the two of them and some tourists in the distance.

The waves lap gently at the shore as she steps into the cool, damp sand. The wind carries the scent of salt and something floral. The beauty of the moments feels surreal, and she wonders if she’s dreaming again.

Time slips away as she stands in the sand, waves crashing around her, her hair tousled by the wind. She’s unaware of the male gaze observing her from the towel. But an instant or two later, male arms are wrapped around her middle, and Noah’s cheek presses against hers.

She nuzzles into him, placing her hands over his and letting his movements guide her, swaying. She’s never felt so… at ease.

“It’s hard to believe in anything that’s not this moment, right now,” he murmurs into her hair.

She cradles his cheek and turns to face him. Their eyes meet, and there’s no pretense, no walls.

“Is this what I’ve been missing?” She asks, searching the depths of his brown eyes.

Yes, it is, but instead of answering her question, he says, “I should have said something earlier.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replies, a tender hand cupping his sun-kissed cheek face. “I should’ve understood earlier. The way you used to look at me… It was too dreamy to be real.”

He presses a kiss to the palm of her hand, his voice low. “I wish I could tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“Everything. What this means to me. How I feel. How I’ve felt for years and how awful I feel for not having had the guts to—”

She places a finger on his lips.

“We’re here,” she presses her body against his for emphasis. “Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. What this means to you… it means the same to me, Noah. I dreamt of you. You were my every fantasy. For years.”

“Tell me your dreams,” he demands. “I’ll make them come true. Each and every single one.”

“You’re already doing that.”

Noah’s fingers brush against the damp skin of her back. The world around them hums with distant laughter and soft music, but here, in their little pocket of space, time feels suspended. His touch wanders. He shifts closer because he needs her.

Unintentionally, right before he’s about to kiss her, his fingers catch on one of the strings of her bikini top. A simple tug. The tension in the knot gives way too easily. He is barely aware of what he’s done before the fabric slackens.

A breath. A pause.

She stiffens, just slightly. Her shoulders tense, her body alert in the way someone instinctively braces for exposure. Noah realizes what he’s done in the same instant she glances around, eyes darting to the people farther up the shore. They’re too far to see, too lost in their own moments to notice. But still, she hesitates.

However, she doesn’t reach to fix it.

She doesn’t step away.

Instead, she turns her gaze back to him, eyes gleaming.

He understands.

His breath catches as he lifts his hands again, this time deliberate. His fingers find the second tie at the nape of her neck. The knot comes undone easily beneath his touch, the damp fabric slipping free. The bikini top flutters down, catching the breeze before landing softly at their feet in the sand.

Before she can move, Noah closes the space between them. His arms come around her, hands on her waist, pulling her against him, their bodies flush. His warmth envelops her, shielding her. Protecting her.

His thumb traces over the faint scar just beneath her breast. He lingers there, reverent, as if trying to read her past through it.

“That’s a story for another day,” she whispers.

His fingers flex against her skin. “I’ll take care of you.”

A soft exhale leaves her lips before she rises onto her toes, hands threading around his neck. Their mouths meet—slow at first, tasting the promise. Then deeper. Needier.

He doesn’t think before his arms tighten around her waist. He lifts her and he carries her forward, her legs around his hips, his feet greeted by water. Waves curl around them, rising to their waists as he holds her close.

She frees his hair from the bun.

“I’m not sure you love the bun or hate it,” Noah muses.

She grins against his wet lips. “I love how ridiculously hot it makes you look,” she admits, “but the urge to run my fingers through your hair is impossible to resist.”

He hums in satisfaction and kisses her with an open mouth, hungrier and greedier.

There’s only the press of their bodies, the rhythm of the tide, the quiet gasp of her breath against his mouth.

And the night, vast and endless, coming to swallow them whole.

Steam curls into the air as water cascades down their bodies. The salt is long gone from their skin, for they’ve been in the shower longer than they can track.

They move around each other in the small space, washing and rinsing, touching slowly, learning.

He washes her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, nails scratching lightly in a way that makes her eyes flutter shut. She does the same for him, but when she stands in front of him, on her tiptoes to reach, he nibbles at her wrist, making her giggle—so much that he has to catch her before she slips.

She’s happy, thinking about how her hair will smell like his now.

They stand under the stream of water for a while, hugging, saying nothing.

When she shivers, Noah shuts off the water and hands her a towel before grabbing one for himself.

Later, after they’ve brushed their hair and dried off, still wrapped in towels, she catches sight of him at the sink, securing a pink butterfly clip into his damp hair, pinning a few strands back from his forehead.

From where she’s perched on the bed, with a foot propped up to apply moisturizes, she bites her lip to keep from grinning.

“That’s adorable.”

Noah glances at her in the mirror, then snorts when he realizes what she’s talking about. “Lily gave it to me when she was eight. Said it made me look cooler.” His mouth quirks. “She lied, obviously.”

“No,” she says, setting her foot back down on the carpet and flipping her hair over one shoulder. “It’s very fashionable. You should wear it all the time.”

“Instead of the bun? I don’t believe you,” he teases back.

She sticks her tongue out and walks toward her suitcase, which she’d brought over from her room after they got back from the beach. He watches her, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest. Water still beads along her collarbones.

She grabs her underwear, then pauses, letting it dangle from her fingers. When she turns back, the fact that Noah was watching her makes her heart jump.

The way he stands there, with only a towel slung around his waist and damp hair messy except for that ridiculous pink clip doesn’t help the heat curling low in her stomach.

She considers the fabric between her fingers, then tilts her head.

“Do you want to get dirty again?”

His eyes darken, a slow, lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Do I want to get dirty again?” he repeats. “I think you know the answer to that, love.”

Her smile could stop wars.

She drops the underwear back into the suitcase and walks up to him, fingers grasping the hem of his towel, brushing against the skin just below his navel.

“The clip stays on,” she says.

Noah exhales a quiet laugh, raising an eyebrow as he lets her guide him toward the bed.

“On one condition,” he says, catching her wrist just before she can tug the towel away and reveal his growing erection.

She lifts a brow.

“The clip stays on,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, “as long as you do.”

They hold each other’s gaze. The space between them disappears, years of hesitation dissolving into certainty.

Her smile widens, so big it makes her cheeks ache.

He just sealed a deal that will have him wearing that hair clip forever.

He knows.

She tugs the towel from his waist and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

And then, there is no space left between them and no more years of sleep.

💕 Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, my loves:

@rumoured-whispers | @iconic-taurus | @bloody-spades | @bluestdai | @theanarchymuse95

@somebodyels3 | @blade-dressed-in-red | @todressabladeupinred | @turn-your-life-into-folklore | @thecoyotescry

@iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning | @tosoundlessdarkistare | @missduffsblog | @flowery-mess | @chey-h

@tf-is-aesthetic | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare | @fadingangelwisp | @respectfulrebel | @amelia-acero

@theasowle | @xxkatsatwatwafflexx | @lunabuna991 | @ferduttini | @lacy1986

@bad-idea2021 | @death-ofpeace-ofmind | @n0ahsebastian | @kjsebastian | @omens-seeker

I'm sorry if I forgot someone!

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