#kept thinking of that one song while drawing this

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A digital drawing of the TMAGP Fluff episode "Plenty More Fish", featuring Sam, Alice, and Colin in a pub. Sam is a South Asian man with brown skin and curly black hair and a mustache, Alice is a lanky white trans woman with shaggy brown hair and glasses, and Colin is a skinny white man with a long light brown ponytail and scruffy facial hair and glasses as well. Alice and Colin are dressed more casual in t-shirts, hoodies and sneakers, while Sam is wearing a sweater, trousers, and loafers. They are all sitting at a table drinking foaming pints of beer. Alice and Colin are laughing loudly while Sam rests his head on his hand, staring off into space in mild horror. Alice is patting Sam's back while Colin leans back, kicking one leg out while lifting his pint. The background is colored in red, brown, and orange. end ID]

~~~~

"There's plenty more fish in the sea..."

"And they're all covered in their own shite."

colin.... happy?? colin silly?? colin laugh?? hello?? is anyone out there

[candyheartedchy]

A little animatic based on the dancing scene in Chapter 6 of @tornrose24’s Scratch x Reader fic “Being Here With You”.

[ratwithhands]

Hi, Viewer Discretion:

This AU is about a nonexistent fictional mental health condition. There is imagery of straitjackets and other restraints, as well as mention of discrimination based off of health conditions. If you are uncomfortable with this content then please feel free to click off and enjoy something else. Thank you.

Dressing Sketch

Uniform Sketches

League Party sketch

Sketch dump for Battle Addict! This art has been gathering dust for a few months 😭 only just remembered to post it here.

These sketches are from Ver. 3 of Battle Addict, aka Battle Addict Twins, where both of them get the HCCM diagnosis.

The base idea for Battle Addict is that while most people enjoy Pokémon battling, there comes a certain point where one's love/obsession for battle starts bleeding into the rest of their life and becoming detrimental to their everyday life. This is usually called Combative Mania (CM), which is present in a large part of the population (40%-60%) hence why battling is so popular and so many different forms of it are made to keep people satisfied. The extreme form is Hyper-Competitive Combative Mania (HCCM), wherein a person spends so much time and energy for battles that it starts to affect their physical/mental health as well as their social life, since they neglect them in favour of their obsession.

Often what divides CM patients from HCCM patients is what they're willing to give up for battling and the extent of their knowledge regarding battles. CM patients usually only have a casual interest in battling or just enjoy the thrill of battling, but operate normally and have other interests outside of battle. They have basic to intermediate knowledge of battling, and can often partake in research or battles.

HCCM patients will often forgo food, water, sleep, school, work, and relationships in favour of researching and competing in battles. It is the only thing they find interest in and they devote most of their time towards it. Patients often memorize entire charts of statistics and different strategies and counterstrategies for battle, with different patients often having a certain subject they specialize in. Most patients with HCCM are unaware that they have it, they either assume that they have CM or that they are completely normal and just enjoy Pokémon battles. They often go into fields that work directly with researching Pokémon or battles, such as professors, scientists, gym leaders, elite four members, league workers, battle facility operators, and so on.

Ingo and Emmet do not know they have HCCM. They engage with battle and researching battle in a way that they think is typical for a hobbyist. Ingo tends to read on academic papers, textbooks, and study guides regarding the statistics and capabilities of Pokémon, whereas Emmet takes a more hands-on approach in studying Pokémon anatomy and battle strategy. Ingo often charts and studies natures, EVs, IVs, stat spreads, abilities, moves, and their properties. Emmet sketches anatomical diagrams and studies of Pokémon, including skeletal structure, musculature, organ systems, and physical appearance, highlighting pressure points in the body for executing the most damage and for keeping his own Pokémon protected. He also tends to read into psychological studies as well as conducting his own long term tests to predict a person's strategy in different situations. The two feed into each other's interests, teaching the other of their own discoveries and celebrating breakthroughs together. As a result, their total knowledge of battling is immense, which led to them becoming Subway Bosses straight out of college.

The two lived and worked fairly normally; they were very passionate about their work and it provided a way to sate their need for fighting on a regular basis, as well as giving them the space to experiment with different fighting styles and analyze others' strategies. Of course they still continue their studying outside of work, which often leads to them trying different methods or revisiting recorded battles to see how they could improve. The twins still believe their hours long discussions, piles of notes, and stacks of study materials littered around their house are perfectly fine, only stopping to reconsider after a comment from a coworker highlights how they must be crazy or incredibly disciplined to have as huge of a win : loss ratio as they do.

They end up taking the issue to a psychiatrist after dwelling on the idea for a few days, which is where they get diagnosed after a few tests and a description of their lifestyle and interests. Their case is considered moderate but could easily escalate into severe if left unchecked, though the main concern is whether this would make them a threat to other people due to their work and prominence. Obviously they don't want to lose their jobs, but this kind of thing could get them removed from the League Council if it got out, so they have to consider whether they share this information with their employers or not. Ingo thinks it'd be best to keep it under wraps, but Emmet fears that this could be used as blackmail and argues that they need to release this information themselves before someone else ruins their lives with it. Eventually they do take the diagnosis to the League Council and it gets out to the public.

Emmet takes the fall for Ingo, claiming his case is severe whereas Ingo's is mild so that the League Council will be more distracted with him to bother Ingo. That ends up with Emmet getting a new restraining uniform because the League no longer trusts him to handle himself in public based off his diagnosis. Neither of them are particularly pleased about this, but Emmet tells Ingo to look on the bright side. Emmet actually starts to find the jacket to be more of a little challenge than a hindrance, as it adds an extra level of difficulty to battles that he's been looking for, but Ingo still thinks it would be better if he hadn't had to wear it at all. This unfortunately extends to League parties where he has to be restrained to even be allowed entry, which he is much less happy about.

This post is getting ungodly long as it is but there's also a branch off of this concept where Ingo and Emmet land in Hisui together and Emmet's uniform looks like this. He deconstructed the uniform he was given to modify his jacket since by that point he had a bit of a sentimental connection to it and didn't want to just swap it out.

(Bonus fun fact: Ingo and Emmet decided to pull the biggest gag on the Pearl Clan when they first land by pretending to be one person under the alias Eki. Ingo is the polite one in the dark coat by day, and Emmet is the energetic one in the white coat by night. "Day Eki" is more popular with other Wardens and older clan members, whereas "Night Eki" is more popular with the village children and insomniacs.

The whole Warden Eki concept is technically its own AU in the background but it did originate from Battle Addict. Also I already drew Emmet in the Pearl Strait I can't take that back)

Anyways uhhh there's more let me see if I can condense it:

The twins went to a University specifically focused on battle (Champion's University), where they ended up studying subjects in their specific interests. Emmet took psychology of battle and Pokémon anatomy to learn about the weak points in trainers and Pokémon, and Ingo took general statistics and study of moves which are exactly what they sound like

The twins use the Vs Recorder all the time, both to track their own progress and to observe how passengers fight. It's often stuck to the glass windows to catch the Pokémon in the middle of the car, though they have considered buying Rotom Drones expressly for this purpose

Emmet actually has a stack of different studies on weak points in the human body but he doesn't share that with anyone, not even Ingo

Emmet's study of trainer psych has led to him often predicting tactics before they happen and dodging/countering them with his Pokémon. He often challenges himself to predict a person's team, moveset, and strategy based on appearance, gait, and body language, sharing his guesses with Ingo in case he makes any useful observations

Ingo and Emmet are possibly the first instance of causing "learned HCCM" in their Pokémon because after the training that they do together, the Pokémon have developed their own independent bloodlust and have started memorizing the move strategies that the twins have them use

Sometimes to celebrate fully completing a study on a particular set of Pokémon, the twins will eat one. This is mostly as a treat and an inside joke, but they will research what's in season/allowed and go hunt for one. Ingo is usually the one to catch it, and Emmet is the one to cook it. There's some really goofy shitposts about them going after pseudo-legendaries overseas, or Palkia's leg in Hisui

The twins can perform full medical care on any Pokémon and can often grind for hours nonstop since they can heal their teams themselves. They also save a lot on healing items this way

After releasing their diagnosis, the perception of the twins have gone in wildly different directions. Some people treat them as subhuman or as monsters, some people don't care, some people call them psycho yandere boys on twitter. Emmet tends to get more of the negative connotations, Ingo tends to get the more "positive" ones. Emmet also tends to get a lot of stares due to his restraint and status as a crazed fighter, which he pretends doesn't get to him

I think that's everything, I'm going to go collapse. Hope you guys enjoy 👍

[boobgoogler]

klavier is a project sekai addict capcom told me (truth) and I just KNOWWWW apollo picks at his lips when he's working hard on som shit... aka... afflicting klapollo with mo'isms

[ratislatis]

',:) Requests??? HEH. Well there's like ten million in my head but actually Rat since you've already blessed the world with yassified Sparrow, how about some yassified Lark? (I remember you mentioning that Lark is your jewelry model! I'm dying to see him!!!) 💜💜💜

I hope this is what you meant by yassified

pov you get dragged into playing mermaids with your best friend's 5 year old daughter who will not stop talking about fish

(requests are open <;3)

[jackfrostbufudyne]

banchō miku? is this anything??

[sysig]

Bad time of it, all things considered (Patreon)

[chibishortdeath]

R.I.P Simon Belmont, he woulda loved the 80s 😔

[marshmall0w-d3ath]

SOTD featuring an unrelated doodle I doodled at 12am (based off LPS 156 :p)

[realjem]

pre-artfight preparing always makes me feel so. nostalgic? a bit bittersweet? god it always makes me feel so rambly

[purinfelix]

hiii, i love your writing so freaking much, can i please ask for a Franco fic inspired on Gold rush by taylor swift? he just literally gave me that vibe and I NEED to read something like that, please and thank you <3

everybody wants you ‧₊˚✩ - franco colapinto

summary: when your best friend since birth finally joins you in formula one, it's safe to say that you're excited - though when it becomes apparent that he's the more favoured one, you start to doubt things, including your feelings w/c: 2.8k

a/n: oh anon i love this idea but also this was my first time listening to this song so i hope i interpreted it the way you hoped and did it service !!! <333

You hated how cliche it was. 

The two of you were childhood best friends, together for as long as you could remember. You always credited yourself for getting into karting first and Franco, always eager to stay by your side, followed suit. The track only gave the two of you another domain to be inseparable in, with every race ending with both of you on the podium - and it never mattered who was first, only that you were both there, together. 

There was an unspoken understanding in your hometown that the two of you were never to be separated, which you initially revelled in, but the older you got the more you felt yourself developing a feeling towards your friend you couldn’t quite explain. Somewhere in the realm of jealousy, just beyond admiration and reaching just short of a childhood crush.

It came in waves, flowing whenever you were reminded of just how different the two of you were, and how inadequate you felt next to him - with his charismatic personality and curly brown hair that always fell perfectly into place, always drawing more and more people towards him. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself wondering why he had chosen you of all people to stick so close by, even if he never gave you a reason to doubt it. 

And so when you decided to move away to pursue racing, it wasn’t shocking that Franco would too. The two of you set off, after many tearful goodbyes to your friends and family back home, to brace the world, hand in hand. 

You stayed racing for the same teams, always getting promoted or signed at the exact same time - almost as if the universe had heard the same unspoken understanding of your town, and knew that you worked best together. And whilst it helped to see each other during practices, debriefs, and even wearing the same uniforms, it was far from the only thing that kept your friendship strong. 

Away from almost everything else the two of you knew, you clung to each other tightly and came to know absolutely everything about each other through it. Hushed midnight conversations, early morning snack runs, and even visiting landmarks as you grew and travelled countries - all the while with Franco by your side. 

Strangely enough, it never did occur to you to see the boy beside you as more than just a friend - no matter how much the other girls you befriended seemed to think otherwise. Whenever they would sneakily whisper to you, asking whether you were sure the two of you were just friends you would always roll your eyes shooting back something along the lines of Ew? Franco? No, we’ve known each other forever - which typically made them happy to pursue him themselves, even if they strangely never succeeded. 

All this came to a screeching halt in the summer of your second year in Formula Two, however, when you were met with a contract deal from Alpine Racing. A racing seat for one. 

“You’re taking it right?” his voice is excited as the two of you sit in the stuffy hostel room you’re sharing with about eight other strangers, all too broke or cheap to pay for anything better. Franco was the first you had told, before your coach, before your family, before anyone. 

“I don’t know Franco, I mean-“ 

“What? Why wouldn’t you?” 

You chew your bottom lip as you fiddle with the bedsheet below you, not able to look him in the eye. “It means we won’t get to race together you know,” you sigh. 

“Well you don’t know that, maybe you race alone for a year but once I make it into F1 we’ll be side by side again! Plus you’re stupid if you think I won’t be visiting every one of your races anyway.” 

You watch his green eyes scan your expression, searching for a clue to how you’re feeling. 

“It’s just a big step, I don’t know if I’m ready for it.” 

“I think you’re more than ready,” he insists, though you don’t feel convinced. 

When you finally speak again your voice is tiny, “I’m scared, Franco.” 

In that moment, he gives you a sympathetic look before pulling you into a tight hug and even though neither of you spoke about it again that night, you knew exactly what it meant - I know you’re scared, but I’m here for you. 

And you aren’t ashamed of the fact that it was his reaction alone that pushed you to make the decision to take up the deal, and you couldn’t have been happier that you did. At least, that’s how you felt for the initial months of your contract which was filled with cocktail parties, race suit fittings and media interviews. And despite what you had expected, and as selfish as it might’ve been, having Franco not by your side for once felt like a breath of fresh air you hadn’t known you needed - it filled you with a lone sense of pride, having ‘made it’ without someone being right there for you to be compared to. 

It was perhaps this sense of pride that helped you manage to score points on your debut. You still remember running up to where Franco was waiting for you in the garage, the biggest smile on both of your faces as you jumped into his arms - and it felt, just for a moment, like this euphoria might’ve been what you had spent your whole life waiting for. 

But perhaps you had spoken too soon, since your progress saw a steep decline causing you to lose not only the chances to score points and impress your team, but also the confidence you had spent so long working on. 

And one night, just when it seemed like you were at your lowest, after a weekend full of DNFs and near-crashes - the most unexpected thing happened. A singular text from Franco, halfway across the world, excitedly explaining how he was going to be filling a position in Formula One, in a different team to you. 

There wasn’t a single word to describe the millions of emotions you felt rushing through you in that moment. For one, surprise at the mid-season switch as well as a certain sort of selfish disappointment that you would no longer be the only one in the highest form of the sport you both loved. But above all else, a thrumming excitement about being with your best friend once more - to see him at the paddock, catch up with him during sessions and not have to trek all the way into grandstands just to see his face. 

It didn’t take you long to realise though, that you were far from the only one who felt this way. It was almost like the moment Franco stepped foot on the paddock, donning the blue of Williams for his first race weekend, the world fell in love with him. Online, conversations about him blew up to the point where you couldn’t go moments without being bombarded by clips of his interviews or edits of him. It was strange, one part of you felt proud that the world was finally waking up to the treasure that was your best friend, but another felt the strong urge to hide him away, for him to be all yours. 

A small part of you had expected this, having known Franco and his personality since before you could put it into words - but what you hadn't expected was for him to also back it up with amazing performances. Now, it was him who was scoring points and impressing everyone - and you who was left to do little more other than celebrate with him, for your own results paled in comparison. And once news got out about you being childhood friends, through a couple of grainy leaked photos of the two of you smiling proudly in your tiny karts, the comparisons started up again. 

It was like salt in the wound, agonisingly so - seeing your best friend adored him doing well in the sport you got into first, while you were left to, weekend after weekend, fail to make it into points range. And to make matters worse, the media frenzy that cropped up around Franco did little other than make you come to a realisation you might've spent your whole life running from - that you were jealous, not of Franco, but of those who loved him. That maybe your desire to constantly stick by his side was more than just a childish habit, and that your jealousy of his achievements was just a reminder that you’d never be more than just a friend, one that was always a little behind, a little worse. 

Despite your best efforts, the two of you began to drift apart, each achievement he got driving a deeper and deeper wedge between you. It hurt a lot, race weekends beginning to bleed into each other - a plain blur of failed races, celebrations from other teams, and Franco's adoring fans.

It all seemed to come to a head one weekend, a minor crash in an earlier lap winding you up in the Alpine garage - sweaty, irritated and extremely exhausted. Yet you continued to watch the race, not so much for anyone else, but more so that you could keep a close eye on the blurry blue car, and its driver.

And before you knew it you were watching it cross the finish line in third, Franco’s first podium - right in front of your eyes. 

You weren’t sure why, but your first instinct was to hastily get up from the fold-out chair you were sitting on and rush away to your driver's room, like a child throwing an immature tantrum. You knew Franco well enough to know he’d come looking for you but knew yourself enough just as well to know you couldn’t face him right now. With everything that had been going on, with the constant stream of less-than-kind comments you were getting online and the extreme dip in your performance, the last thing you wanted was to be reminded of your inadequacy. It was extremely selfish, sure, but you convinced yourself that you were actually doing Franco a favour since you knew your acting skills were too poor to convincingly put on a show as he celebrated right in front of you. You always had been a faster runner than him, at least, that’s what years of playground tag had told you. 

But it had been a while since then and before you could make it to your room you heard an all-too-familiar voice call from behind you. 

“Hey!” 

“Not now Franco,” you huff, so close to the door of your room that you’ve got one hand on its handle already. 

“What? C’mon, I just got a podium and that’s all you have to say?” You pause at the handle, the hurt tone in his voice pulling at your heartstrings. 

“Yeah, I saw, good job but I just can’t right now.” 

“Can’t what? You’re joking, right?” His voice rises in volume a little, and he sounds in disbelief - you’re glad the garages are mostly empty so that no one can see the scene he’s making. 

“No, I’m not,” you shoot back firmly. You’re still facing away from him, arm hanging limp from the door handle - you can’t remember the last time you felt this defeated, this tired. 

“Seriously, what is going on with you lately? It’s like, you were so excited for us to race together but now we barely talk even though we see each other every day.” 

“Franco,” you say, quietly. 

“We’ve known each other forever but this feels like the first time where I truly have no clue what is going on in your head, why don’t you ever talk to me anymore? You don’t think I don’t notice you avoiding me?” 

“Franco, please.” You feel tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes, and it doesn’t help how accusatory he sounds. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, just go celebrate.” 

“No! If you think I’m just going to leave now without you, you’re seriously ridiculous. I mean, this is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it?” 

At that, you turn around to face him - looking him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like months. You watch his brows unfurrow immediately as his expression softens at the sight of you, tears welling up in your eyes which are surrounded by dark circles, marks left from your many sleepless nights. It’s clear that he notices how small you look as well as you hunch into yourself, barely having the energy to stand up straight. 

“Woah, hey,” he says, his tone gentle now. 

“Don’t do this Franco, don’t talk to me like we’re still children,” you say, instinctively defensive. 

“Aren’t we?” 

You let out a laugh, soft yet cruel as you struggle to hold in your tears, “Everything’s different now, isn’t it? When was the last time we were on a podium together or even spoke face to face like this.” 

“What are you even saying?” You feel a pang of pain in your heart at the look in his eyes, a little anger mixed with disbelief. 

“I’m saying, that maybe being friends isn’t going to work if we’re racing against each other anymore. Have you seen the way I get compared to you relentlessly? Everyone loves you, everyone wants you, and I’m just, there! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have no one backing you?”  

“You’re my best friend, I’m right here, backing you!” 

“Franco,” you say, just above a whisper. 

There’s a moment of silence, and you can see Franco working up the courage to say something, his hands fiddling with the fireproof mask he’s been holding this whole time. You feel a couple of tears finally make their way down your cheeks and you do your best to wipe them away, eager to not embarrass yourself in front of him anymore. 

“I love you.” He finally says. 

“Don’t say that, please, don’t say that.” You’re about to turn away, ready to just shut yourself in your room. 

“No, like, I love you.” You hear him take a couple steps closer to you, to the point where he’s right behind you. 

“You don’t mean that,” you sigh. 

“I do,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I have, for years.” 

You pause, silently turning around to face him, and it feels like the breath has been knocked out of you. He looks at you, nervously waiting for a response though trying to put on a face that tells you how serious he is about what he’s just said. 

“And I know that you probably don’t feel the same but I need you to know this because I can’t keep going on like this, barely seeing or talking to you and-” he begins to ramble, and all you do is let out a relieved sigh as you lean forward to rest your head on his chest in silence. However, it’s clear this confuses him as he stops talking immediately. 

“I love you too, Franco.” 

“Wh- really?” 

“Yes,” you say, the smile audible in your voice. 

“Like, seriously?” 

“As serious as a heart attack.” You lean back against the door with a smile of relief, or as much a smile as you can muster up figuring that you feel like you’re about to collapse right there and then. 

“I’d kiss you but,” he gestures to his face and hair which is drenched in sweat. 

“Oh shut up and come here,” you say quietly, looping your arms around his neck as you pull him close to you. When your lips meet his arms wrap around your waist as he pushes you up against the door of your room, and even though you couldn’t care less, you’re once again glad there’s no one here to see the two of you. No cameras, no fans, no other drivers - just the two of you, and the years of history between you. 

When you part, his face is flushed as he offers you a shy smile, his arms still around your waist. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” 

“I could say the same for you.” 

“So, what now?” he asks. 

“You go celebrate your first podium,” you reply excitedly. 

“We,” he corrects, finally unlooping his arms to take you by the hand and lead you out of the garage - and whilst your beaming smiles might’ve seemed to many the results of his podium, the two of you knew they were part of something much, much bigger. 

taglist: @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[mandy-asimp]

Curiosity

sugar mommy lilia calderu x reader

warnings: cursing, some gay shit, smut, kissing mwah mwah mwah, age-gap (kinda unspecified, reader is like 26) uhhh that's it??

summary: your an inspiring actress who tends to have late rehearsals. and having no car, you had resorted to a the train. but then one night you meet a mysterious woman who captures your curiosity instantly.

Special thanks to @yourbasicqueerie for the car details and ideas🙏🙏

Your headphones rested on your head as you waited. You watched the snow fall against the tracks, it was supposed to get worse as the night went on. A white Thanksgiving was expected for New York. It honestly made you a little giddy as you hadn't experience good snow since you were seven.

Even as the thought of being alone for the holidays passed, you consider everything you could still do for yourself. Thanksgiving you could still cook, maybe have a Friendsgiving or open door thing in your complex building. Your neighbors always enjoyed when you had an open door dinner. But for Christmas, you knew everyone would be with family and their friends, leaving you to the comfort of your own home.

The sound of wheels screeching against metal drew you back to reality, your train was here. You had finished another show and could finally rest for a while before having to find something else to pay your bills. You had been searching through company after company, your manager helping the best she could to get you something solid and beneficial for both of you. All you've been coming across are small off-broadway shows and musicals, it wasn't much but it kept you content and cozy.

You flipped your phone over, seeing the screen light up and the time read 3:33 in the morning and you could only sigh as you boarded the train. You took in the few other people who had gotten on with you.

Two teenage boys sat giggling with each other and were finishing up some street food they had found. You assumed they were brothers with how well they got along. The sight warmed your heart. Then there was the woman with red hair. She had her hood up and nodding along to whatever song she must've been listening to. You caught a glimpse of her green eyes. She seemed young and alone. Then there was a tall man sitting way on the other side. His glasses rested neatly on top of his brief case.

The train had began and for at least fifteen minutes you had a smooth ride till the first stop. Not bothering to look up at whoever walked on. All you had known was they sat across from you, which you didn't think was entirely weird but there was an entire car open so why there?

You minded your business as the train began again. You occupied yourself for the ride by sketching and humming just slightly to yourself. And maybe you hadn't really been paying attention to what you were sketching, but as the train came to another stop you had an entire drawing of what you had taken in earlier. Your head tilted as you stared at it.

"It's a good sketch." The voice across from you had spoke, calling for your eyes to leave the paper. And by golly, did your heart leap off an airplane and go skydiving. The older woman was absolutely stunning. Her salt and pepper curls were pulled up yet the perfect amount framed her face. Drawing your attention to the big brown eyes that stared at you with interest and curiosity. Her outfit, you couldn't tell much of it as it was covered up by a black winter coat, but her bag screamed expensive and so did the few pieces of jewelry. "I never even saw you look up once to relook at anyone."

"I have a really good memory...I guess.." You were feeling shy under her gaze. It wasn't unlike you though, you naturally were a soft spoken, well-mannered young woman. You didn't like to be loud, which was surprising to many people you worked with when they had made a joke about you needing subtitles. But then again, that's what everyone else knew you as. There's always two sides.

The woman's silence made you think at first she didn't hear you, and you were ready to just smile and look back down to your papers and start on something new. "But to transfer that so easily onto a page isn't as easy. It's a talent..what you posses."

You couldn't help the smile and confused look you gave her, "posses? Like it's a superpower?" You lightly giggled. The woman had followed along, liking your humor.

"No..more like magic." Something in her eyes changed as they finally took you in. Your vintage racer jacket that covered a sweatshirt with a casual pair of jeans. Your feet covered in boots that looked to be worn to the bone as she just barely caught a glimpse of the gray baggy socks that covered the top. You must be wearing some big socks. "What are you doing this late on a train anyways?"

You hummed before answering, "I'm an actress. I just finished a show and now I'm heading home for the night. I'm hoping for something big next, really make my name."

She saw the twinkle as you spoke about your career. She so easily knew that you were following a dream. She admired that. "And what is your name, baby?" She leaned on her elegantly crossed legs, getting closer to your space.

You blushed and smiled with your eyes closed as you tucked into yourself a bit, having a physical reaction to her pet name. And you had muttered out your name, knowing she didn't hear it as she laughed. Was she laughing at you or with you? "You're a cute one, but I didn't catch that. What'd you say?" She asked again, leaving out the pet name since she truly did want to know your name.

You took a deep breath and giggled once more, finally getting her your name and she repeated it back to you. Softly like it was going to break if she said it any louder. It was said again in a way you've only experienced few times, low and dragged out. Almost moaned under her breath. It made your smile fall to a subtle grin and your blush deepen. You wanted to hear it again, and again, louder, shouted, begged, you had to shake your head of the thoughts and the woman seemed to know what had just occurred.

She stood from her spot as the train came to a halt, "get home safe, baby. You got star potential and it would be ashame if the world never got to see it." She winked before walking away. She had left you so stunned you never even got her name.

All you knew was she was going to plague your dreams for the next week and torture your mind during your searching you had to do. You had named her the train mommy in your diary, which she began to appear more and more as the days drew on. You hadn't stopped thinking of her. You couldn't. But alas, you chalked your dreams up to just that, dreams. You'd probably never see such a woman again anyways.

Right?

obviously wrong.

You had hit December now. The worst one in years, and you were cutting it close with this one. A musical that was supposed to show the weekend right before the big holiday. A rehearsal had gone late, you had really been working on harmonies for a song. You just couldn't help to feed the directors need to run it till it was perfect. The breaks in-between being subtle talking sessions on how to get there tonight before adding in the choreograph.

Back at the train station, you held yourself tight as the snow came down faster tonight. You were praying to make it before they shut down the train due to weather and leave you stranded. Your foot tapped as you stood behind the yellow line waiting for the thing to just finally arrive.

You glanced around the platform. Almost nobody was there, the only other people was a couple. One was with long brown waves that were kept down by purple ear muffs and a matching scarf wrapped around her. Her black coat zipped up as her hands were stuffed in her pockets. she swayed with the other as they laughed with each other. The sound just barely reached your ears. The other was wearing a green beanie and had the hood of her coat pulled over. Her eyes fixed to the other and laughing along with her. Her breath showing in the air as she, you assumed, had sighed at the others shenanigans but leaned in for a kiss anyways.

You pried your eyes away from the romantic moment and began a pointless search on every app of your phone. Only looking back up when the train had stopped infant of you. And you knew then, once settled in your seat, you weren't making it home. It was just you in the car.

You took a deep breath and leaned back as the doors closed. Playing music from your phone as you bobbed your head along with it. Just you in your own train car with your own thoughts. You had shut your eyes as you relaxed.

The next time they had opened was to the car attendant looking at you with an apologetic look. "Our train has been ordered to stop service as the snow picks up, it's getting bad out there."

You gave a soft nod and sat up and blinking away the last of the sleep. You didn't mean to fall asleep, but you knew you weren't even making it home, it was just a matter of how close you could get. You reached for your bag and began to get yourself situated.

"Enjoy your nap, sleeping beauty?" That voice. You couldn't contain the smile as you snapped your head up. Pink dusting your cheeks as you gave her a nod and kept silent. "Do you have anywhere to stay for the night? That storm has canceled every flight, train, and bus out of here." You frowned and shook your head, realizing the situation you were in now. "You're a quiet one tonight, baby. Are you okay?" She stood in front of you now, invading your space and holding your face from being able to tuck itself away. But as you stared up at her with all this adoration, her stare back was of pure concern.

"I'm resting my voice. We overworked them today in rehearsal and our show is the weekend right before Christmas." You quietly explained, sending her a reassuring smile up. To that she gave a knowing nod and smiled again.

"Well then I guess you won't have the voice to argue me, you'll come with me. I'll make sure you're all nice and warm tonight." She reached for your hand, grabbing it and pulling you along with her.

From the train station, all the way back to a parking garage. Her hand never left yours, you had figured it was so she didn't loose you in the snow. She brought you to an older looking car. It was a Porsche, you figured that out by the logo, but that and that it was old was all you knew. It must've been expensive. You thought it fit her well, maybe you could ask her about it more in the morning. You slowed as you watched her walk closer and come into view with it for you. Yet, she didn't make it to the car as you tugged her back.

You realized then you were taller than her and even as she looked up at you, it felt demanding. You had her close to your own body, whispering "your name?"

When she said it, your ears warmed even just at how beautiful it was. You mouthed it back with a delicate smile and gave her a slight nod, telling her to continue on.

You didn't understand how this woman had made you trust her so easily. If anyone else tried to drag you to their vintage car, you would've fought back and found the closest hotel to stay in. But instead, you were accepting her offer without even thinking twice. I mean...if it came to it, you would stand a chance...or at least you want to assume you would be able to.

She drove so carefully through the snow, seeing as it was almost impossible to see five feet ahead of you. It seemed like her driving was memory though as she turned through the roads and managed out the city and to a neighborhood on the outskirts. The house she pulled into was large, something you'd never be able to afford obviously. She let the cold in as she rolled down the window to put in the code for her gate.

The outside however wasn't as exciting as the inside. It was decorated so precisely, but what you really noticed was the different crystals scattered around the areas you could see. Another thing was a tarot deck in almost every room. You grew curious and tapped her hand with your laced fingers. When she looked, you pointed at the deck that sat perfectly in the middle of the coffee table.

"Everyone's got their own thing. I have a collection of decks, all hand painted over time. They hold more power and connection...I like to believe." Lilia shortly explained. She enjoyed the curiosity in your silent words, even nonverbal you could translate such emotions. She'd love to get to know all your emotions and how well you could tell them, but as you yawned, she remembered the time and situation. "Let's get you settled in, huh?" You sleepily agreed with her, following her once again upstairs.

~

Waking up you were surrounded by comfort. Your body could actually stretch out even more than in your own. There was no one else in the room with you in the grand bedroom as you sat up and rubbed away the remaining sleep in your eyes. Finally being able to glance at the clock and seeing it was almost twelve, and you were thankful for having a rest day from the director.

You sighed and went back to observing the room. A door to a closet sat in the furthest corner, you wondered how big it was inside. A dresser in front of the bed with a reasonably sized tv that was still off and only showing you your own distorted reflection. A few more pieces of furniture were scattered about, but the room was clean and tidied. Giving you only so much about the woman who brought you here.

Where was she anyways?

Finally tossing the cover over, you slipped out the bed. Being in nothing but a baggy t-shirt and your socks still. Maybe you had changed and were just too tired to even remember the detail...but you would've been able to recall just the tiny action of it.

Your feet carried you down the wooden steps as you kept pondering how you had changed. Too lost in thought to even notice the few prying eyes from the front room as you went the other way to find the kitchen. "Lilia?" You softly called out, knowing that it probably did nothing with how quiet it came out. You were growing desperate for some tea.

A hand fell to your lower back as the woman had appeared. "Well look who isn't dead in my bed," she was to quick to tease you and watch you blush. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink, hun?"

You spelt tea on her arm and followed her like a lost puppy into the kitchen. Smiling as the room's personality shouted at you as you sat at the round dining table. Your eyes were so eager to take in anything that you could to learn about the woman. The kitchen was cozy and cluttered a bit, but you could tell some good ass meals got cooked in here on several occasions. There were even still crystals littering about the place, which you deemed a house trait.

"How did you sleep?" She had turned from the kettle, bringing you over a steaming cup of water and a few flowers on top. "Chamomile for your throat, wouldn't want to ruin that pretty voice. I have to go finish up a meeting, but you just stay here and then we can talk more ok?" She cupped your cheek, brushing her thumb over the warm apple of your cheeks. You smiled and nodded, letting her get back to it as you sat and drank the tea and kept taking in the decorations.

Unfortunately though, the distant voices shouted for your attention and you couldn't stop the growing curiosity as you snuck to hide behind a little corner. You had just caught the end of Lilia's sigh, "who knows how the New Years party is to go. With how this weather is, I don't know if it's honest such a good idea. I can't let everyone sleepover." She joked, and it brought a smile to your lips at the idea of the woman's house being filled with people sleeping everywhere.

"But you've never let the weather stop you before? Either people will show or they'll deem the weather too bad. A little snow hasn't hurt anyone!" The woman's voice was beyond cheerful. "I think, you should send out the invites anyways and just play by ear."

There were murmurs of agreement, only then did you pick out the two other voices. There were three woman sitting with Lilia. One's laugh stood out to you a bit more, "you could bring your little play thing even. Dress her up as a little server for the night."

Lilia scoffed, "the trains stopped running and she needed somewhere to stay. It was three in the morning and I just happened to have been there. Once the trains are back up, I bet she'll be off to her own life." Her tone was dismissive as her words. "Poor thing would've been freezing outside if it wasn't for me."

"Alright, whatever you claim Calderu. We're on our way out then. Send out the invites for the fun of it. You never know what the weather will do." Another began to make their exit.

You muted the conversation as you sat and thought over the woman's words. Her play thing? You obviously knew what they really were implying and it made you blush profusely at the idea of it. It was absurd, for sure....you had to shake away the opposing and very distracting thoughts.

The sound of her laugh bringing you to quickly come through, staring up at the woman with wide eyes. Even when caught eavesdropping, you still gawked with curiosity. "Listening to my conversations, baby?" She offered you a hand up, which you accept and rose to your knees first.

As your eyes turned to make sure you set the mug down on a stable surface, you missed Lilia's shift as she smirked at the position she had you in. It went right back to her caring smile though when you looked back to her, standing the rest of the way. You had concluded with being two inches taller than her, not much, but there was a clear difference.

"I was curious," you didn't try to lie about it as you grabbed your mug again. You enjoyed how the warm ceramic felt against your palms. "You're hosting a party?"

She squinted her eyes at you before leading the way into the living room. She sat on one side and you sat facing her. Your legs pulled up to your chest, waiting for the story. "Usually I do, it's a big company party. I rent out some big space and everyone gets all dressed up and celebrates the new year."

"But?" You pried for more information. This woman sounded like she lived a life of luxury and you wanted to know as much as you could.

"But with the weather I don't know how well it'll work out. They're saying it's supposed to be calm for a few more days and then right before new years it'll all come down at once." She repeated the forecast for you.

You bit at the inside of your cheek, clearly thinking of what to say to convince her. "Well, if I was invited to some big company gala..I'd find a hotel nearby as standby. Assuming I have the funds for that. What are they like?"

Lilia let the many gala's fill her head. "Each one the same, you mingle with people you've seen around, and then the ones you've worked with. A few other partner companies show up. It's dancing and drinking all night, but they all end the same. Getting in a taxi and going home to the quietness of your own home." She described it, knowing you could paint the picture yourself. "Last year we had it at the museum, met many new people. But by midnight I was ready for bed and reading a chapter from a book."

You sighed dreamily, "I don't think I would ever get tired of that then....What is it-"

"That's not important, but you say that now till you've been doing them for years. And you look no older than eighteen." She jabbed at you, watching as you pouted. "Oh, I'm sorry, nineteen."

You made an offended face, "I'll have you know I'm almost twenty-six." You corrected, taking a big sip of your tea. "I am far from the teens." You sassed slightly. "Maybe not as far as you," you teased quietly.

She caught it however, and honestly you should've known she would've. Her mouth agape, "how dare you!" It was dramatic and adorable to you. The amount of control she had of her features to play into her emotion amazed you. No...it captured you and held your curiosity hostage, refusing to let you go for just one moment in her presence. Even as she pulled her head backwards and the expanse of her neck was on full display for you. You wondered what it would look like covered in your kisses.

Your heart began to beat faster at the images.

Lilia was staring at you and she was speaking. She was speaking and you watched her lips move with each word and yet you couldn't hear any of it. You frowned as her brows furrowed and her eyes filled with a faux concern. "Oh baby...that look in your eyes....you can't help your curiosity can you?" Her words finally got through to you.

"It's a curse..." You sounded dazed out just as much as you looked it. But once the moment fell to silence you began to see through to reality. It was brief, but you realized you hardly knew this woman and by the second time you're already in her house and longing to hear her call you baby again.

Get a grip and get going.

It was a mantra that played in your head as you began to do just that. You gasped and began looking all over. "I...my phone. I should probably see if someone can come get me." You blinked a few times as well before unfolding your legs and getting up.

Not even giving it a second thought as your sock clad feet pattered up the stairs and rushed into the room you left from this morning. Your clothes were folded on the chair in the corner. Your bag next to the chair and boots tucked under. Your rushed and crouched next to it, rummaging through everything and finding it in your coats pocket.

A few notifications from the other night, friends questioning if you made it ok. Then there were the missed calls from them, a collection of worried text. Your eyes jumped from them all up to the time. It was past ten and your fingers moved as you sat on the floor responding to people.

You didn't notice how much time passed as you became engrossed in your phone and catching up. The device began to ring as Jen began to call. You answered and raised it to your ear, lying back onto the soft carpet and spreading out on it.

"My god we all thought you died!" She exclaimed right away. "Did you make it home? What happened?!"

Your giggle answered first, "do you remember that woman from the train I mentioned to you?" You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

"You were practically drooling just by the thought of her."

"Well, she just so happened to be there and she took me back to her home and I stayed there. But I need you to tell me this is crazy. Earlier, she was with friends and they and I quote go 'you can even bring your new plaything'."

"Oh my- girl did you accidentally stumble upon a sugar mommy or something? You literally manifested that shit!"

"No, Jen...I hardly know the woman."

"But you could! Think of all the things this could do. You could be smart with your money too. Move closer to Broadway with us."

"I like my apartment! Yeah it's a little far, but it's self manageable. Plus, I highly doubt she would actually be into that. And we have a show to focus on."

"Oh my god! Seriously if you skip another chance I'm going to beat the shit out of you! Why are you so unfocused on your love life?"

"Because you're my best friend and will only feed into my delusions so I have to be the sane one that listens to you go on and on about Alice." You rolled onto your stomach and began kicking your feet. "But she is hot. God and she keeps calling me 'baby'."

"She so wants you."

"I think I should get going though...call Dottie or something."

"Oh no hun, she said she had something with her kids and my best bet is she is still not available. Sooo in retrospective you are stranded with a really hot lady who could possibly or possibly not be a sugar mommy waiting for someone to come along."

"Jen...I just don't think it's the right time. I want to make a name before I settle down."

"You know, if you do that then how will you be able to tell they're not with you for just the money and fame? Also you're not settling down, just exploring."

"Saying I'm not likable?"

"No you are every ounce of likable, it's what almost makes you unlikable. But I just think that this is the perfect setup and you should take the advantages that are clearly laid in front of you. You yourself said you needed some extra help financially so here's your help."

" I don't know...I don't think she deserves to be taken advantage of."

A beat of silence from her. "I love you and all, but you might just be the dumbest person I've talked to all day and I've been surrounded by idiots."

"Ouch."

"She literally, if you openly asked her flat out, would you be my sugar mommy, I put money she'd say yes! You so have to!"

"No! Even though she's the most striking woman I have ever met and she has such a look. You should've heard her earlier, I mean I wish I had instead of becoming curious about her skin. She makes me beyond curious."

"You're a freak when curious."

"Earlier...we were sitting on the couch and she rolled her head back and I just couldn't stop thinking of kissing her neck."

"Did you know, you actually have been mentioning slightly how badly you want to fuck that woman ever since you told me about her? You don't remember the night right after show ended you came over, we got drunk, you told me in great detail?"

"I could've given you more."

"You are such a lie to what people know."

"What because I'm a human and have natural attraction?"

"Because you're an absolute menace!"

"I tell you I want a mysterious woman I met on a train that has bewitched me with her alluringness to tie me down and then some once or twice and now suddenly I'm a menace?"

"You want me to tie you down?" Lilia's voice carried into the bedroom. Your eyes finding her leaning against the door frame with a surprised smile.

"I will take grave details when we see each other again. This has to be an in person debrief. Love you. Have fun." The line went dead as you lowered the phone down from your ear.

Your cheeks were on fire as you stared with wide eyes. Your throat was tight and your breathing was ragged. There was no way she actually heard you. You blinked rapidly and shook your head. "No! That- I- how long were you there?"

She began to walk in the room, and you don't know what possessed you but you were crawling to meet her in the middle. And it did something to her. It made something shift and click into place when she looked at you again. Her hand coming to your cheek. "Oh baby, long enough and I must say I only caught half that conversation but it sounds like we should talk. Don't you think?"

You dumbly nodded and scrambled to follow her onto the bed. You sat at a reasonable distance, not too far to ruin any chance, but not close enough to seem easy and desperate (even if you were). You stared at her as she slowly crouched onto the comforter. She moved so elegantly compared to your loose movements.

"What did you and your little friend talk about?" She began so quickly. Not even trying to explain first, wanting to know what you knew now and you had told her. You told her everything with no hesitation. Mentioning Jen's theory that Lilia was a sugar mommy.

"People will talk." You flat out said. Your decision was already made since the first train encounter. But you wanted some fight for it to not go through, needing a bigger sign to reassure yourself.

"Talk is cheap." Lilia responded. Her eyes were searching all over you. Drinking you in like she was the most dehydrated plant in the dessert. "What is it that you want?"

You wanted to get to know her more. You wanted to know what adventures she could take you on. You wanted to know how she tasted, how she kissed, how she used those hands. You wanted to know if it would be forever or just temporarily. You wanted to know her deepest secrets and her to know yours. You wanted to know if you could love her.

"I don't know...maybe this is something to be thought over?" You had countered your drumming heart. Its rhythm went from love struck sixteenth notes on a snare to a cello's symphony of sorrow.

What were you doing?

"Well why don't you get ready and I'll drive you home then?" She spoke only after a hesitating breath.

The rest of the time was quiet. You didn't know what to say anymore and honestly couldn't believe yourself. You knew you were tempted by this woman, you just couldn't risk anything yet. Not with everything you had going on with the show (is what you told yourself).

Even as more days went on and on, Lilia grew from a single thought into a plague of them. Anytime you weren't rehearsing or focusing in on something, it was her you thought of. People began noting your ever growing curiosity and distant looks as your focus would wander off so easily. Yet you never missed a beat so no one ever brought it up.

Except as opening night came, Jen could hear your curiosity and she knew you were no where near focused. "Ok, hey!" She snapped in front of your face, turning your chair to face her. "What the actual what is going on with you? Everyone has come to me asking about this dazed look you're always in. So what is it? I mean I actually already know what it is, so what happened?"

You blinked and sighed as your brows furrowed, you were back to reality and heard her question. "I think I'm ready to play by your advice."

Her eyes widened and a shocked smile slapped its way on her face. "Oh!... Oh! Actually?" She seemed in pure disbelief at the idea. "What did you do?"

"She asked me what I wanted. And yeah we all know the obvious answer, I'm a doomed hopeless romantic, but I told her I wanted to think it over." You were hearing yourself for the first time out loud since. "I can't help but to think I played the wrong move?"

"No! No! Now take this chance to make her practically need you. She's had you in and out of reality for the last few days and weeks. You should call her after the show, or text her." She advised.

"I don't have her number..." you sighed. Trying to conjure up any way to find her again. "The train. I'll take the train home and hope to find her."

~

"Are you sure you really want to take the train for this? The snow is rolling in quick and if you get stranded.." Jen jingled her keys slightly by her side.

You shook your head, "no really I don't mind the train rides at night. Usually there's like no one with me so I'm mostly safe." You rounded the corner to cross the stage out.

Both you and Jen had stopped at the sight of an Alice and someone else. "Oh! Matter of fact this is her!" Alice waved you over. You turned to Jen, mumbling a goodnight before joining the two. Feeling shy under the attention of the woman. "This is Lilia Calderu. She's an old friend and wanted to meet you. I have to go though, Jen's probably waiting out in the car already. Have a goodnight you two and you," she turned to you, "get home safe."

You tried not to cringe physically as the woman left you alone so quickly. It was silent until the sound of the backstage doors locking back. It was truly just the two of you now. "You're taking the train home? Even in this weather?"

"It's the only transportation I have at the moment. It's easier anyways." You spun your head to pass her briefly before looking into the empty crowd. "So you know Alice?"

"I worked with her mother a few times. Let me drive you home tonight." She didn't sound like she was asking you and you wanted to know how commanding she could be.

Your head turned and you finally looked at her. "Are you following me?" You don't know why that was the question that got out, but you didn't back down from it. Even when she laughed in your face.

"No, but I do think it's no coincidence this is the third time we've met. So let me drive you home tonight." She insisted again. Her big brown eyes silently pleaded for you to go with her and not the train again.

"I'm out of your way, that's too much inconvenience." You denied with a shake of your head.

She sighed and grabbed your hand. Ignoring your questions and dragging you with her out. You could see the car finally in the dim back lights. Your eyes examined the exterior. "You have a nice car," you stood behind her as she opened the passenger door.

The interior was contrasting to the dark black that coated the outside. It was light and crème with a darker brown accenting it. You began to really process how old the car was when you noted the lack of center console. This wasn't a car you ate in while gossiping. The seats were close, almost one long bench, and you wondered how close you would actually be.

"It's a 1973 Porsche. It was in a car show and I thought it would be a nice one to own." She stepped aside for you to get in. Humming in content as you had finished fighting her. You watched as she went around the front and slide in on her side.

Your answer was you were dangerously close. You could smell her perfume radiating from her and she smelt like luxury flowers. Subtle and strong. "How much did you pay for it?" Your eyes kept taking in every detail.

"The real question is what everyone else couldn't pay for it. Those childish men didn't know when to stop." She shook her head at the memory of the day she got the car.

The way she brushed it off to be nothing made your heart beat find its way between your legs. She spoke like it was hardly a dent in her bank. That it was a rigged game almost. That nobody else was going to be beat her for this car from the very start.

"Are you a witch?" The question was out before you noticed and her eyes snapped to you. They were boring through you and it made you feel drunk. Her attention alone made you feel drunk. And as the feeling grew, you found yourself in a fit of giggles.

Lilia took advantage in the moment and really watched the smile reach your eyes. To see you in a natural state with no knowledge of it. "Now why would you ask me that?" She laughed back her answer.

You raised a finger to your lips, "it's a secret now." Your cheeks were the cutest shade of pink she'd ever seen and she couldn't contain herself anymore.

In the back alley of a small theater, Lilia Calderu let the intrusive thoughts win.

While still in your fit of giggles, you missed how she began to shift around and then suddenly was above you while your back dug against the car door. A predatory smirk graced her lips right before they fell to your neck. You gasped at the first soft kiss, giggles instantly subsiding. Nothing was funny as her lips danced around your neck, searching for the most sensitive point.

When's he found it, she added a little more force. Earning a throaty moan that never made it past your lips. Then she bared her teeth and, grazing the spot before latching on and sucking. "Lilia!" You gasped and a hand naturally flew to her pulled up curls.

"Is it because I've bewitched you? Is that why you ask?" Her tongue ran over the bite marks and pressed a kiss over it. "That's what you said to your friend is it not?"

You hummed under her, "so you are a witch?" You tried to sound somewhat grounded, but with her having you like this, biting all over your neck, you only ended up gasping.

"Do you wanna see what magic these hands can do?" She whispered against your ear before grazing the shell of your ear. "Would you like that baby?"

You giggled deeply, "fuck yes. What are you gonna do to me?" Your eyes began to darken with curiosity as your body kept rising to meet her warm body.

She agonizingly slow found her way back into her seat. Eyeing for you to sit up yourself and get comfortable. "You have a curious imagination, what wondering can you do to find your answer?" She began to pull out. The snow flakes began to grace the earth with their frosty presences.

You felt hot in the car though. Lilia's right hand rested on your thigh and lightly was scratching it. The action made you groan quietly and realize how long this car ride was actually about to be. "That'd be telling you all my fantasies." You had finally answered her question. "Have you thought of things...you'd want to do?"

You felt young and dumb at her wise chuckle. "Oh you have no idea the things I've imagined. And I'll make you an offer you can't resist." She began to shift her focus between the road and you. Pleased with how big your eyes were. You really couldn't help yourself and she was already loving how expressive you were. She knew you were silently asking her what.

That was the night your arrangement had fallen into place. By the end of that weekend you had an agreement signed. She would keep you financially stable, you'd never have to worry about any expense ever again. She didn't care for your protest against not being able to pay for anything, which then led to you swindling it down to any living expense. Any luxury would be your own money. Even though she would give you an allowance every three weeks of three thousand. You got financial stability and free money. Although, you weren't too sure what Lilia got out of it. You were expecting it to be sex in return, that's how most of these things happened. But she didn't right away, she would work you up with just those hands and a few questions that implied many things, but were so simple you never knew. She was keeping you curious and you didn't even realize it.

It was the evening of New Year's Eve and you had been spending a lot of your free time glued to Lilia. She didn't even ask you to, you just found yourself craving to be next to her when she's not working (which you quickly found out you just wanted to always be by her). She had joked that you should just begin to move in. She was sitting in her study with a notebook on the table and she was writing something, you sat under the desk, your legs folded neatly next to you.

You had been in the arrangement for a basically two weeks and still lacked to know what it was she did. Even as you sat on the floor with your head in her lap as her non-dominant hand twisted your hair around her fingers, she didn't tell you. "We should start getting ready soon for the party..."

Sleepily, your head lifted from its spot and bumped against her hand that blocked the sharp wooden edge. Last time you hit it (two days ago) you had sat still on the ground and cried briefly in her lap as she ran a soothing thumb over the spot. "Are we getting ready together?" You got out within a yawn. Crawling away from under and into the open space to fully stand and stretch. You looked back over your shoulder.

"I'm afraid not baby, otherwise we'd never get ready on time." She rose from her seat and gave you almost an apologetic look to your subtle frown.

You gave an understanding nod before slipping off to your room. Lilia had gone through with the party and wanted you as her plus one. But as you had stood in nothing but a black bra and matching panties, you had remembered no theme.

You shook your head and without much thought wrapped the short silk robe around you loosely and ran across the hall. Giving her big door a knock before prying open the piece of wood and poking your head around first. The room was silent as you moved further in, "Lilia?" You called into the master bedroom.

She came around from the bathroom, "yes baby?" She answered before her eyes found you.

You both had done a sweep over the other. Her eyes focusing on the amount of leg you were showing while yours focused on her chest being held up nicely by her bra. Your cheeks burned when you noticed how long you had been silent and staring.

"I...the theme.." you raised the issue you faced. You began to assume it was something more classy as she wore black flowy formal pants. You wondered what they would look like with your cum smeared on them. Your legs crossed as you couldn't stop looking at the piece of clothing.

"It's all black classy half indoors and half outside. But if you're going to wear a skirt or dress, I want you to put tights underneath. Understood?" She gave you that look and you stiffly agreed before rushing back out.

You had no idea what she was wearing but the pants alone did things to you. You were eager to match her. Although, all you owned was clubbing material from college. Which meant everything is shorter than what'd you buy now. You started simple with the tights, thankful for fleece lining. Along with the heels Lilia had gifted you as a welcome gift. They were Red Bottoms, you promised her to take the best care of them since you knew they costed a pretty penny (even if she reassured you it was nothing).

Shimming into the tights, you kept searching over your outfits. A strapless mini black dress grabbed your attention. Its neck line was a trusting heart that held your girls up even without your bra, which was indeed removed as you hated how the material could be seen. You were content with it but you instantly had to address the lack of accessories.

You had a small jewelry box with you, it was one of those things you always carried with you when you knew you were spending a few nights away from home. There were a few silver pieces, you grabbed out three and slid them onto your left wrist. As your fingers searched through the fake silver rings, you began to smile. You loved decorating your hands with rings.

The last things were your makeup and hair, which took longer than you expected but you looked good. And once you had fluffed your hair and did it how you do, you were feeling good. You had been staring at yourself in the mirror when she knocked. "Come in," you softly granted. Watching through the mirror as Lilia came in.

Your breath caught when she had fully came in. Lilia leaned against the wall in the same black pants and a black buttoned up shirt that was left a few buttons undone. The tarot card necklace she always wears drawing your eyes and lazily pulling them down to her cleavage. "That's what you're wearing? Won't you be cold?" She pushed off the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands brought the shoes closer and then snapped for your obedience.

"I don't think so, I plan to wear a coat over." You stood in front of her and raised a foot up to her while stabilizing yourself with her shoulder.

"Which coat?" She had slipped the shoe on and began fastening it, "too tight?"

Your hair shook, "uh-uh and I have this really dramatic furry black one. I'm pretty sure it's fake fur but I thrifted it a while ago. It's great for pretending I have money." You switched feet on the tap at your ankle.

"Mm, people will know it's fake." She was more smooth with the second shoe, now having a note of how tight you liked your heels. "Let me see if I have anything lying about." She tapped your ankle again before standing up, still having to look up even in her own heels. Leaning forward and planting her red painted lips to your collar bone, leaving her signature as she moved out.

That night you had never once wiped away the mark as you drank and mingled about the high class. Yet as the night kept dragging closer to midnight, everyone seemed to get more and more drunk.

You were everyone.

You had found Lilia and snuck up on her from behind. Arms draping over her shoulder and then hugging around her as your head buried into her neck. Placing kisses all across it as she kept speaking with the group. Her own thumb rubbed back and forth on your forearm.

"The next one was pitched during august and is to be ready by summer. We're aiming to have it be the summer hit." Lilia was still composed and hardly tipsy. You were growing curious if she ever drank at all. "It's an absolute wonderful storyline and the music is so in tune with the characters."

"Well we can't wait to see it," a woman had hummed. Pleased to hear that there was something grand to look forward to. Her voice sounded familiar.

You pulled your head from hiding and stared at the woman. She wore a black floor length dress that fell off her shoulders, a broach right in the middle of the neck line. She was accompanied by another woman, she wore a suit with a dark green tie. Had she been further away you wouldn't have been able to tell it was green. Both had their eyes on you the moment you revealed yourself.

"And who's this, Calderu?" The one in the tie had raised her brow at you. She was attractive, but not like Lilia. She was a scary attractive, that she'd probably be into some freaky shit if you let her have her way. You didn't want that though, just Lilia.

You stood tall at the sound of your name coming from her mouth. A hand naturally sticking itself out to be shaken. "This is Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal. One of Broadways biggest power couple."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both!" You hiccuped and felt them shake your hand. "I'm sorry it's not under sober circumstances, I truly am a huge fan and wish I met you before I did the shots with the guy from the circus musical over there. He's got a great voice honestly. Now, Lilia..it's almost midnight." You spoke the truth even if it was slurred.

"Ahh yes, ladies if you'll excuse me it's almost midnight." She bowed her head before letting you pull her through the crowd. It was beyond her how you could manage to slip perfectly through and find a secluded balcony. It had a small loveseat that you wondered how it would feel to bask in the summer sun here.

You wasted no time sitting down and sighing. Your eyes closed as the blackness spun quickly. "Lilia...I drank too much fancy things." You frowned.

Your anchor back to reality was Lilia in your lap attacking your neck with her teasing lips. "That'll happen when you do shots of dark after only drinking champagne with me." You heard the vibrations in her voice and groaned as you pictured her smirk. "You got something to say, baby?"

Your head nodded sluggishly but stilled to look her in the eyes geneuinly. You enjoyed seeing her from your angle. "You look very mommy tonight." You so simply said. "Very classy."

She made a silent 'oh' with her mouth turning right into that cunning smirk. "You really think? I figured you were wearing a dress and the heels-"

"I love my heels!" You so suddenly were on a new topic, your hands squeezing her hips subconsciously and missing the muffled moan. "Oh Lilia they were an amazing gift, and honestly you deserve to get ate out for them." You were such a drunken mess.

Lilia's eyes darkened and she stooped to be by your ear. Her warm breath heating your body from the cold that started to nip at you. "Is that a promise baby?" She left a ghostly kiss behind your ear. Her burning stare only fueled your own fire.

Your mind, in poor attempt, pieced what her moans could sound like. What your name would sound like with you buried between her legs. You wanted to know how she tasted.

"Focus baby." She demanded and it silenced all your thoughts immediately. "Good." She purred. "Sometimes I truly do wonder how long you could think for."

"Forever... if you'd like." You didn't even double think it and it was the most sober thing you had said.

Lilia was appreciative of the dim lighting and your intoxicated state so you wouldn't be able to see how deep of a blush painted her cheeks. Something about how you pulled yourself from not even being coherent in compliments to not missing a single beat for her made her body buzz.

Nothing more was said as the surrounding world began to count from ten. But by one, your lips were pressing desperately into Lilia's and trying to savor how her lips felt. Your hands held her hips tightly as hers held your cheeks. You were stretching up into her, etching the feeling your body was going through into every corner of your mind. You weren't oblivious to how she never kissed you on the lips.

Yes, your arrangement had only been going for a week or so, but you couldn't help to think about what she's getting from the whole thing. Fireworks exploded around you and muted the heavy pants that were leaving you. It was just you, your ever growing curiosity, and her. But every question you had wanted to drunkenly asked, the ones you recited so you wouldn't forget, seemed to be lost and you asked her nothing. You were too busy kissing her after all. Too busy feeling her body rumble with a need you've never encountered before.

You pulled back slowly from her and hummed constantly, your eyes were dark and wide as you stared straight up to her. A smile so soft Lilia swore you could wrap a baby in it and they'd fall asleep in an instant. "Happy new years Lilia." You leaned back to peck her cheek.

She repeated it back to you and stood, offering you a helping hand. You took it and she tugged you a bit closer. "You're not to drink anymore, understood?" She kept it low, just between the two of you.

Unfortunately for you though, you were definelty planning on drinking after that kiss. Too many emotions had risen and you didn't feel like thinking them tonight. But you weren't going to lie to her and make the promise you weren't. "I can't promise that I'll stop but I can promise I won't be a hassle even drunker." You raised a pinky between you, ignoring her intense gaze and staring at the lone finger.

Although you wish you took her advice and stopped. These people knew how to party long, the last time you heard murmurs of was one something. You had done a few more shots and now you just felt icky and drunk with no sign of Lilia anywhere.

"You lost, bunny?" A deep voice wrapped around you. The owner dragged a hand around your waist and came to stand in front of you. It was Agatha with Rio coming from the crowd to stand next to her. They stared at you hungrily. "Bet you drank too much didn't you?"

You frowned and nodded. A pathetic whine escaping your lips when they stepped closer to you. You were feeling trapped. "Have you see. Lilia?" You managed, eyes only catching blobs of people.

"She left a while ago, said something about needing to finish up work?" Rio looked around the room herself, signaling to her wife that the woman in question was no where to be seen. "Was she your ride?" Her hand caught your chin to make you look at her. A sinister grin pulling her lips.

You huffed and broke from the grasp, continuing to search the blobs. "She was supposed to be...she wouldn't have left me." You began to walk away, only being pulled back into their web.

"Why don't we take you home, hmm?" Agatha had raised the offer. The couple had talked, and you were their main topic. "I bet we could give you something better than-"

"Lilia!" You cheered as the shorter woman had appeared from the mess of people. You were too busy rushing to her and hiding yourself behind her and in her neck to acknowledge her deathly glare. Breathing her in deeply and giggling. "They said you left and it made me wonder!"

"You can tell me all about it in the car, m'kay?" She brushed your arms before focusing to the other women. "Ladies, I don't know if I have to remind you again, but she's off limits for your games."

Agatha scoffed her laughter, "why? Cause she's too busy playing yours?" She raised a challenging brow. That's where you knew her voice from, she was the one who called you Lilia's play thing.

It's was an intense stare off that was bound to go on if it weren't for you. You had wanted to know more of this possessive side but sober. What would she say to you if she found a hickey from someone else? How would she react? Should she remind you of the agreement? Your hands moved from her shoulders and lazily fell to her waist. You were hugging her more now and humming against her skin.

She let your lips find her ear and then you whispered, "mm I wanna go home Lil'." You sighed out. Your body slightly slumping against her and that's when you remembered you were in heels. Your foot began to lift its self to be freed from the beautiful torture.

"If you'll excuse us. Have a good night." She gave them one last glare right before turning her attention all to you.

Lilia led you for most of the night. Even as you had started stumbling through your night routine. Her hands held you stable and she laughed along with most of your drunk rambling.

You were on about something you did within the night as you stepped into the room. Catching glimpse of you in the mirror, still in the dress and tights that you were dying to get out of. "Mm, can you get the zipper?" You asked while already stripping out your tights. She had appeared behind you with a caring, tired grin of her own. You could hear the tension grow with the sound of the zipper falling.

The dress folded over and pooled at your hips first. Revealing your bare chest as you focused on getting out the fabric. Once you were you stood in nothing but your underwear.

"Baby?" Her voice was deep and raspy. You hummed out your acknowledgement. "Have you been flaunting around all night like this?"

"The dress wasn't going to look good with a bra and I was really wanting to match with you. Especially after I saw the pants you were wearing." Your eyes fluttered lightly as you thought of those pants and blew out.

Now would be the perfect moment. You were practically naked and standing waiting for her next words. Even as her hands slid to your waist, you stayed still and waited for her. "And what about my pants?"

You bit your lip as thoughts filled your eyes. They didn't stop short with details, taunting you yourself and making your body heat up. Lilia was enjoying watching the full body reaction to your own ideas. How she felt you warm up and how your breathing became irregular. Your eyes had fluttered shut as her hands moved further across your body. "Look at me, baby." Your eyes snapped open. She chuckled at how blown your pupils were. "I adore that look in your eyes."

"Lilia..."

Maybe it was the way you whined for her. The way you looked for her in a crowd even when drunk. She hardly had you, and yet she had almost all of you without even realizing. All she knew was you were hers and hers alone, and it drove something in her.

She left from behind you and began to rearrange briefly. Pulling the chair from the corner to be in front of the full body mirror. Lilia took her seat and spread her legs wide, staring through the mirror at you. "What about my pants, baby?" She asked the question again.

Your legs pressed together as you spun to face her. Shivering as her eyes raked over you and darkened even more. She beckoned you forward with a single finger then pointed at the ground. She was demanding you to your knees and you seemed to have no objections as you fell infront of her. One of her wised hands grabbed a fistful of your hair, first pushing you against her own thigh and seeing how you started to fall dazed. Then she lifted your head back and leaned closer.

"I bet...if I pulled these off," her fingers were in the waistband of your black panties. "That you'd be sticking to them without a doubt. Would I be right?" But you didn't have to answer as she went to get her own answer.

Lilia was right. Your faced flushed once you saw how ruined the garment around your thighs. You didn't realize how curious you had been throughout the entire night. You had managed them off the rest of the way yourself, placing them into the expecting hand.

"So, does this curiosity of yours-"

"Mmm," you hummed your protest against the question. Quickly hiding your face into her hip as you really didn't want to crack into that all tonight. Not even drunk you could get through all that embarrassment so soon.

Lilia understood anyways, running her nails dance along your scalp. "Maybe we can discuss it sometime over dinner, hmm? How would that sound?" You gave her another hum, this one being open to many interpretations. There was silence and it was peaceful enough for you to begin to drift in and out. "Why don't...we save this for when you're ready?"

Your head bobbed against her and that's when you swayed backwards. The first thing you did was gaze up to her, "sleep with me tonight..." you used her thighs to help yourself up, giving them a soft squeeze.

There was no space for argument as you began to get yourself ready for bed. Slipping into a big shirt you had managed from a drawer, you grabbed another and handed it aimlessly out. Honestly you weren't too sure if Lilia had grabbed it or you dropped it, but all you saw was a grand bed calling your name. You wanted to know all about the bed.

~

The arrangement was coming up to its first month and there were still many things you were yet to touch on. The main one still being what Lilia was getting from this whole deal.

You had pushed through her front door and sighed at the emptiness of the inside. Lilia was gone on some business trip, for what business, you seemed to keep yourself in the dark by never even looking her up. You wanted her to tell you instead.

She was supposed to be back tonight, having texted you earlier to be at her house when she got home. There wasn't much else given, you couldn't figure out her tone, her emotion, nothing. The text was so stale you were in the dark on what to do. But what you did do was pickup some take out to bring over on your way. It resided in the fridge for now.

You sat on the couch, you had made yourself cozy as you just waited. What 'cozy' came with though were a few shots of whatever was in her stash. Curious to know what this was about, but also nervous because you didn't know what this was about.

And eventually the locks began to undo and the front door revealed the woman of your desires. A tall man behind her dropping all her baggage by the door and sharing a mumbled conversation with her before leaving. The door was locked again and the house began to warm with the owner back in it.

You slid off the couch and right to her, standing proud in her gaze. The furrow in between her brow had ceased to exist as she took you in being. You stood in a white long sleeve that was just teasing being see through with little navy blue underwear, a white little bow at the waist band. Your hair was free and you had a never ending amount of adoration radiating from your stare.

"Hello, baby." She began. Her simple name for you had you practically melting already to be in her space. She came closer and smiled softly up to you. Her hands already knowing their place around your waist as she brought herself into you and began to slowly kiss up your neck.

Her teeth grazed the side muscle and you sighed. "Hi Lilia..was your trip good?" She groaned into you and tightened her grip on you. Her teeth lightly clamped to you. "Not good I assume? What..." you attempted, but stopped at the harsher bite delivered to your skin.

"You know you could always look it up." She answered the unasked question. You shivered at her tongue soothing over her bite marks. "Or is it the curiosity that you get off on?"

A hand flew to the pulled up curls, burying itself near her roots. "Lilia..." you whined in attempt to get off the situation.

"I wonder if you think of all the different jobs I could have, do you?" Lilia's voice was daring as her hands were adventurous on your body. She had you in her web and you were caught and never wanted to leave. Your head nodded vigorously as her thumbs brushed under your boobs. "Or is it deeper than that? You get too curious and begin to think of the things that could happen? Maybe you think of me bending you against an office desk and making only my name the only thing you know?"

You sighed as your imagination and curiosity teamed up and fed you with the very idea. You thought of how she would hold that promise if you knew what she did. That if she had a desk you were determined to be fucked over it. You whined again for her.

Lilia detached herself from you, "how'd you find out about it anyways? Your curiosity. Got too curious one day and started feeling a tingle?" She was staring, expecting an answer to her questions but you just started short circuiting. You began stuttering instead, making her chuckle and shake her head.

She walked past you and into the kitchen. Grabbing the wine glass before freezing and noting the moved bottles and empty wine glass. You stood still, watching her point slightly at the bottle. Immediately you were caught. "You've been drinking baby?"

"I got nervous," your voice was meek and barely audible. You were quick to pull out your doe eyes and come closer to her at the beckoning of her single finger.

"Do you know how hard you make this?" Lilia raised after a second of taking you in. She was talking about the stares you give her as you stood there in a fitted gray long sleeve that just covered over the hem of the matching shorts. But she knew if you raised your arms up just enough, she'd see your midsection.

"I'm not doing anything though?" You were quiet in her presence tonight.

Lilia smiled at that, "oblivious to your own beauty, baby. Truly do you have a bad quality?" She leaned closer to you. A careful hand stroking your cheek. "Let me into your thoughts, what's going on up there?"

You quickly tried to gather a reasonable answer, "what am I making hard?" Was the first thing you managed, shifting closer to her.

The older woman inhaled," this arrangement."

"I wanted to asked you about that." Was quick out your mouth as you climbed over to the couch. She came over as well, wine glass in hand and you found yourself next to her almost in her lap. "I'm confused about what you get from it. I get money...but you haven't asked me for anything really. You give a few kisses to my neck here and there but that's it. You'll talk a little deeper and tease me, but that's it. So what is it that you are getting from our arrangement?"

She threw back the rest of her glass, getting up to pour herself another. You realized she was avoiding your question and stalling. It was in her distant look that clarified it. There was something she wanted but she wasn't asking you for it.

So you waited till she came back and straddled her lap, giving her no choice but to meet your gaze. "Lilia...what can I give you?" You were dying to find out how to return anything.

Her hands caressed your hips, causing them to roll forwards on their own. "I want to know why your curiosity is always so strong." She charted the waters that you've tried to steer away from. You bit the inside of your cheek, debating if the answer was really worth pleasing her. It was an embarrassing story.

"When I was a kid, ten and below, it was genuine curiosity. I just wanted to know what everything in the world was. Then in middle school kids started to figure out what somethings are, and curiosity is a signature trait when growing. It started simple, very vanilla, but then....there's a lot of kinky shit people are into. And being curious it never stopped. But that's not how it really started, it started sometime in high school." You started to relive the days in your mind as you gave her a story. You told it as you saw it and you could tell you were giving her details you would've never told anyone else. Even if it made you flustered and you had to will your body not to move under her hold.

By the end of it, you had a few beads of sweat decorating your forehead and your cheeks were burning red. You didn't even want to think of how wet you must be standing here. You were taking shallow breathes and your throat felt dry. Your vision finally came from your memories to the present. Meeting those brown eyes you found yourself drowning in recently. "And that's why my curiosity is a curse."

Lilia stared for a second. She must've been trying to gather her thoughts of the history of your curse. You, however, weren't expecting her first response to be a bruising hold to your hips as her eyes closed and she took in a big breath. It made you worry if it was too much and she was now uncomfortable or if it wasn't the answer she wanted.

"Is that it? Does that make this over?" You quietly yet quickly asked. Tears beginning to threaten your eyes. You weren't ready to loose her so soon.

She saw the switch in your emotions. To reassure you she gently grabbed your face and brought your forehead to hers. "No baby, it's not over." She whispered so softly to you. "When we made this agreement...I had set a goal to find out how far your curiosity could go, where it stemmed from. Especially when you look at me with those big eyes and furrowed brows."

Your glassy eyes blinked once or twice while leaning back. You were deciding on what you wanted to do from here. You kind of got an answer, even if it didn't explain her avoidance of really fucking you. You for a fact (maybe the most truest one of all) you wanted her to fuck you. Your body practically begged for her hands on the daily. Especially after telling her all about how you touched yourself in high school, your body was worked up and ready. "There's very few things that make me uncomfortable in bed...." your pupils were almost covering all the color in your eyes. "God, Lilia just fuck me. I can't- you have to now. Otherwise I'll have to finish-"

A harsh kiss was silencing you as you moaned into her lips. You were quick with getting rid of her glass before burying your hands all in the hair. You twisted and brought her down with you. The kiss grew messy, oh was it messy. When Lilia pulled away, a trail of saliva kept you both connected. "New years..." she began. Coming back in for another messy kiss, before breaking away to behind your ear. "I had you right there. On your knees..." her lips dropped to your pulse and sucked hard. "And do you know the sight I had the graces of seeing?"

You head shook back and forth, "uh-uh"

Her fingers were in your waistband and pulling your panties down once again. The strands of wetness went with before snapping coldly back against your bare pussy. "You're soaking baby."

"Only for you, Lil" you gasped as your hips rolled against nothing. Your heart was hammering against your ribs as her fingers ran up and collected your slick.

"I'm gonna have so much fun with you sweet thing." Her lips curled when she brought them to view. "The question is where to start."

Her head dipped back between your neck. You giggled out your moan, "your job...why won't you tell me?" You fiddled with the ponytail holder in her hair. You wanted her hair free and wild.

Her smirk against your skin made you heat even more. "Maybe I want to keep you guessing."

"Does it have something to do with mine and that's why?" Your hips jolted up at the featherlight touch that was given to your clit. Lilia's hot breath fanned over the saliva that covered the bruises.

"You gonna piece it together while I eat you out? Is that your plan?" She started moving lower on your body, flattering her tongue in your hardening nipple through the fabric of your shirt. Your body arched up to her. "But yes, my job does play with yours." Her mouth sucked through the fabric.

You struggled to piece together your next question. Her mouth felt heavenly but the shirt was killing you. You needed out of it and out fast. You sat up, Lilia following and knowingly pulled your top up and off.

"Baby do you ever wear a bra?" Her eyes didn't even have to look away from yours to know. "You wanted to tease me?"

Her questions only fuels your inquiry. Did you do it to tease her? To hope it would get her enough that she'd pounce on you? Did you dress for her? Have you been? "How much influence do you have with theater?"

Her head was on your other nipple, giving it the same attention. "Enough to make or break a career." Her voice was low as she released your boob with a crisp pop, pushing you back down with a single finger. "I've made many stars and destroyed many already."

Her touch ghosted over your sides. "Should I be worried about my future then?" Your breath hitched in your chest as her lips pressed right above your bundle of nerves. You were trying to piece together what she could be but with her on you it was harder than normal.

"No, I know how to keep work and personal separate. You have nothing to worry about." She was nestled between your legs now. You managed to pick your head up to see, the sight alone was almost enough to send you over. Lilia noticed it in your eyes as she bored hers up to you. "I want you to keep asking your questions, baby."

"What's your job tit- mmmh." Her tongue swiped through your slit and it was when you knew you were truly in for a challenge. Between a few pants and hums you managed to ask for her job title. She was casting spells on you with her tongue.

"You can't freak," She spoke against you and the vibrations made you let a noise from your chest up. You babbled your agreement, slowly lapsing yourself to the pleasure. "I'm CEO of the theater wing."

Your heart either skipped a beat from dropping into your stomach, or from dropping to your core. The power she really did have. She could easily bring you up to the top, or she could easily blackball you and take everything. "fuck me..." You exhaled and earned a laugh from below. The knot in your tummy tightened. "Would...would you ever ruin me?" Your hand flew to her curls as she picked up the pace and began to really dive in. The question was unanswered as your body began to convulse against the couch. Her name tumbling from your mouth in a careful cry.

Lilia leaned back onto her legs that were folded under her as she used her thumb to wipe off your juices from her chin and suck the finger clean. Never once taking her eyes off your disheveled body. Her eyes really raking over your bareness and twinkling at the marks she left behind. "I guess it depends what you mean." She had a cocky smirk on her face.

"In both ways. Would you?"

The brown eyes snapped up to you and you enjoyed how she let you see the mischief in her eyes. You knew she had a few thoughts run through her mind, "I would never ruin your career, but you...you sure you're okay with this?"

You laughed and sat up, crawling over her now and kissing her hungrily. "I wouldn't have let you eat me out if I wasn't. Are you okay with this still?"

"Yeah...I'm still good with this." Her hands squeezed over her bruises lightly and gave you a slower, more sensual kiss. Hers was brief, although you protested and chased her back. "Let's go upstairs baby, we're gonna need more space."

You beamed and agreed, helping her up and leading her to the bedroom you'd only slept in a few times. Your eagerness was shinning the moment that door closed for the night. "What things don't you like?" Her right hand pointed to the small bench at the foot of the bed, commanding you to sit there.

"Anal, piss kinks, anything that involves food. Oh and toe sucking, leave my feet alone all together actually!" You stalked her steps as she moved about the room and looked like she was reminding herself where everything was.

"And the things you like?" She asked and you heard the smile in her voice. Her answers however was you blushing and giggling sweetly to yourself. Lilia joined in when coming closer to you and standing right in front of you. Her hand holding your jaw just so you could look at her. "I don't give you permission to giggle."

It was like a switch had flipped in you. The noise had subsided almost instantly under her intense gaze. "I like a lot of things. I like hickies, one for the world to see but then the rest just for me. I like being bound, overstimulated, tickled, fucked dumb, anything really. If it makes me curious it's a bonus." You kept your list simple, it went on longer cause that's just the curious freak in you.

"Is there anything you want to try now?" She was giving you the chance to choose where this night was going. A chance to not embarrass yourself, but that's not what you wanted.

"You know what I really want? Like more than anything right now?" Your eyes enlarged right before her. Lilia gracefully shook her head. "I want you to let go. Stop holding back from me entirely. I want you, Lilia...I'm yours however you please."

You were playing a dangerous game with her now. Her lips latched to your pulse, more aggressive than usual as she bared her canine teeth and let them sink in just a little more. Listening to the mewl you let out as the pain made your body fill with pleasure. Her tongue soothed over it, then trailed away as she moved agonizingly slow down your body. She slipped from the bed after placing a kiss right below your belly button. Her eyes were dark and swarming with ideas while she stared your naked body down. You could tell when she landed on her first move.

Lilia had grabbed turned and sat on the bench at the foot of the bed, her back now towards you. "Crawl to me baby." Her voice was low and making your ears ring. You did just that, you went from the side of the bed around. Her fingertips hovered the curve of your back before you sat in front of her. "You're so willing to be treated this way?" She was checking in with you, the slight highlight of worry in her eyes.

"I told you I was very open...are you ok treating me this way? Is this what turns you on? Being in control?" And there was that curiosity again, it never left you and Lilia was realizing she should stop questing if it ever did.

She took a moment to consider, "I do enjoy seeing you on your knees for me." Her hand ran into your hair, and suddenly she was recreating new years. Pulling your head against her thigh. "And this..did you know you make it hard to work when you lay in my lap? I can feel your feather touch tracing patters just barely."

You licked your lips at the idea. Did it really work her up the way she worked you up? Your hand daringly began to trace patterns on the side of her thigh, eyes searching for the reaction in her face. Yet she challenged you and gave you nothing. "What else? What else?" Left your lips eagerly. You were bubbling with the need to know.

Lilia's lips curved into a nasty smirk as she conjured the rest of the night up, your promise stood out. "I've had a long business trip, baby. Im sure you could be of some assistance." She leaned back and was right there. The only thing in your way were her trousers. "Go on, put that pretty mouth to use."

Your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth as you were instantly at work to get rid of her pants. Giggling to yourself as her hips lifted up for you, your lips pressed to the soft skin that was already revealed. You heard her gasp at the feeling and it only spurred you on. Once they were off you threw them off into some corner, eyeing the wet patch on her underwear. You kissed your way up both thighs, leaving one right above the wet spot.

Your hands ran against the back of her legs, fingers pressing into her calves and massaging them. You wondered who was in this position before you. What they might've looked like and how they got here, and it surprisingly made your fingers twitch with jealousy. "Was there someone before me?" You whispered to the inside of her knee. This time, it was Lilia who hummed to get off topic. Except you didn't accept it and grazed your teeth against her. "Did you find them the way you did me?" You climbed closer, fingers tugging at the remaining barrier.

"Why does it matter?" She exhaled, she couldn't get anything else out once the cold air breezed over her. Lilia had groaned your name at the littering of kisses. Gasping when your tongue flattened against her.

"I want to know who I'll be putting to shame when I'm done with you." You didn't waste anytime and started lapping her up. Her moans echoed through the room. The lovely sound of her pleasure wrapped you up in pride. "Tell me." You growled, slowing your pace.

Lilia's chest raised in gasping breathes. Your name falling from her mouth in warning, but you didn't let up. "Fine...there was one other..whiles back...you're the first female baby."

You sped up again, the thought of putting men to shame always ignited something else in you. Knowing that you were doing better already just by sex. It wasn't long before Lilia was coming on your tongue, pushed into another orgasm as you couldn't get enough. She had to grab a strong fistful of your hair to get you to ease up.

When you looked up, you had to crash into her lips. Placing yourself in her lap, a hungry drive for more leading you to abuse all over her neck. "You do that to everyone you eat out?"

"uh-uh, you're a special someone." You were ready for another go. Your hot breath fanned over her entire neck. "Do you still need a second?"

"You want to go again? Twice wasn't enough for you?" She chuckled at your still wandering lips. They were near the shell of her ear, parting just a bit more to graze your teeth. Her breathing hitched at your own laughter.

"Until you have to tap out..." you purred as her hands slid over your hips. You loved how her touch felt and you would die in it if you could.

Her grip tightened, "why don't we focus on you for a bit, baby? It's my turn to be curious. Up, on the bed." She pushed you back and off. Motioning to the bed as she spun to her knees on the bench. Staring at you intently while you got situated in the feather pillows.

Lilia's skilled hands undid the buttons to her top without breaking the eye contact. She was left in just a bra, one you were hoping to get the honor of taking off. She proceeded to find home between your legs, pulling your body closer to her with a dark chuckle. It was like she had used magic to make the vibrator appear.

The buzzing sound had made you erupt into a fit off a mixture of gasping, begs, and giggles. The older woman was curious as to where this reaction came from. Your knuckles turned white from how tight you were gripping the sheets. "Lil'..." you giggled when she kissed your clit. "I should warn you."

You managed to perch yourself up enough to see her between your legs and you knew she saw you clench at nothing. "Warn me about what baby?"

Right as you opened your mouth she pressed the vibrator against you and watched you collapse against the bed. Already writhing under the sensation, getting worse when she added her tongue to you. "Mmm, fuck. Lilia...is this what you pictured?" You managed instead. You were right there, on the edge of the most earth shattering orgasm.

She hummed against your body, it mixing with the electric vibrations. "It's one of the many ways..." she's pictured you in other ways. What ways? How many ways? God was she really going to ruin you? Fuck you'd let her! You'd let her do anything! She looked so perfect between your legs already, how else would she look this way with you?

Your body convulsed as you screamed her name so loud you swore the neighbors heard. Even after she removed every sensation, your body kept twitching as you tried to catch your breath. You stared straight into the ceiling, swearing it was turning into the bright light.

"Well I'll be...you're a messy one baby." Lilia laughed as she stood up from the bench. Her chest was dripping with you and it was no secret you had squirted everywhere. "Is that what you were trying to warn me about? A vibrator too much for you?"

"They just wear me out quicker," you had finally steadied yourself. "You'll need to know that, trust me."

She laughed once more. "Noted, now why don't we take a nice bath and go enjoy that takeout you had in the fridge?"

"You never looked in the fridge tho?"

"Maybe I am a witch," she playfully winked at you, but the second look in her eye was begging you to accept it almost like she was.

You squinted for a second, shrugged, "I'm into it. A witch sugar mommy." Her peppered curls shook as she dragged you from the bed to the grand bathroom.

The rest of your night was history.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours. 

contains: f!reader, pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), symptoms similar to synesthesia, reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby, loml), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (lots of callbacks and references + better context!), lots of songs as inspo (would gladly share if you’re curious!), will add descriptions for the food in the a/n at the bottom!, from conceptualisation to actual writing this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out. 

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity. 

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish. 

He paces around the room. 

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday. 

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming. 

To him, this could change everything with you. 

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you. 

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours. 

.

.

.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he'd woken up earlier completely fine. 

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice. 

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.  

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them. 

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength. 

So when a cluster of clouds passes by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with. 

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down. 

You only ever get like this sparring against him. 

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you. 

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to. 

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you. 

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out. 

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute? 

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred. 

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Sneaky,” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?” 

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?” 

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling. 

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding. 

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway. 

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you. 

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs. 

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right. 

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…” 

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies. 

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him. 

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze. 

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it. 

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric. 

You reach for him. 

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly. 

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear. 

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do. 

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds. 

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally. 

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too. 

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief. 

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely. 

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it. 

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room. 

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all. 

“Just like old times,” he nudges you. 

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out. 

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it. 

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it. 

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking. 

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on. 

It was never supposed to be important to him. 

Until you. 

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach. 

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random. 

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference. 

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him. 

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you. 

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it. 

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were. 

.

.

.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight. 

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon. 

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty. 

He misses you. 

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.” 

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub. 

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe. 

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels. 

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left. 

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you. 

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even. 

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes. 

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates. 

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to. 

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you.)

1:20 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute. 

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling. 

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear. 

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot. 

“‘Nside,” you slur. 

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already. 

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen. 

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.” 

Another ache. 

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit. 

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is. 

“Just miss you.” 

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable. 

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.” 

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one. 

“I can go there now, if you want,” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment. 

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility. 

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space. 

But right now, it feels so empty. 

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches. 

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint. 

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?” 

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover. 

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over. 

You giggle again. 

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’” 

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him). 

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite? 

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight. 

“Sweet-talker.” 

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids. 

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing. 

“I do,” you whisper, admission ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.” 

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips. 

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious. 

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening). 

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru,” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool. 

“Listening.” 

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully. 

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way. 

How can you even think that? 

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him. 

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear. 

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.” 

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating. 

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?” 

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids. 

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool. 

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s 'my dog ate my homework's. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday trip to Disneyland on a weekday. 

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try). 

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home. 

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now. 

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now,” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants. 

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence. 

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you. 

“Satoru,” you call him softly. 

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is. 

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling. 

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you. 

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable. 

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too. 

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows. 

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time). 

“I love you,” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone. 

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to. 

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version. 

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.  

.

.

.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?” 

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology. 

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night. 

“You’ll get a stomach ache,” you whisper, with emphasis. 

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out. 

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.” 

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you. 

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this. 

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you. 

. 

Or not. 

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened. 

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else. 

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything). 

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed. 

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it. 

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes. 

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain). 

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks. 

You take a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“That’s kind of the point, baby,” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.” 

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines. 

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being. 

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable. 

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out of your bedroom, checking in.  

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him. 

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him. 

The bed dips as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him. 

Who is he to say no?  

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down. 

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside. 

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist. 

“Have you eaten?” 

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.” 

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,” 

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.” 

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising. 

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed. 

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer. 

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin. 

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.” 

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases, tickle your eyes. 

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight. 

“You’re too good to me.” 

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it. 

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.” 

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami. 

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you. 

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach. 

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you. 

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.” 

You shoot him a look, then pout. 

“Satoru.” 

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already). 

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—” 

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.” 

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek. 

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. 

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely. 

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you. 

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do. 

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?” 

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little. 

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go. 

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.” 

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter. 

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—” 

He gets kicked in the thigh. 

.

.

.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way. 

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way). 

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking. 

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all. 

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps. 

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin. 

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one. 

He has to get this right. 

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other. 

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes. 

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to. 

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt. 

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies. 

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later. 

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter. 

“Megumi!” 

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?” 

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.” 

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove. 

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!” 

Megumi stares. 

“Anniversaries are emergencies,” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.” 

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be. 

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.” 

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears. 

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you. 

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair. 

.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup. 

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent. 

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that). 

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all. 

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove. 

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers. 

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs. 

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?” 

It’s a simple question. Innocent. 

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).   

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind. 

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.” 

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it. 

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him. 

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating. 

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds. 

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?” 

“Or bland,” Megumi adds, smacking his lips. 

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan. 

“No, it’s okay.” 

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.” 

“I don’t,” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up. 

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest of the cook continues: he heats up the skillet for the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it. 

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway. 

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after. 

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay. 

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside. 

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction. 

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking. 

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it. 

“They don’t go together,” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks. 

All his hard work? Shattered. 

Gojo is dumbfounded. 

It’s too late to change everything now. 

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout? 

“But they’re not bad,” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed in lieu of an apron.

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.  

. 

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready. 

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely. 

All he told you was to wear something nice. 

And, by god you did. 

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now. 

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing. 

He reaches for you. 

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight. 

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?” 

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.” 

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest. 

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss. 

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then,” he chuckles, hands sliding to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk. 

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating. 

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating. 

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?” 

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly? 

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him? 

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing. 

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying. 

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently. 

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously. 

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.” 

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine,” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him. 

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes. 

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t. 

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru,” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates. 

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you. 

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space. 

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly. 

He holds your gaze.  

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.” 

You say it again—how you call him that so casually. 

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life? 

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress. 

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves. 

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier. 

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say. 

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingles with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks. 

You nip on his upper lip, playful but light, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck. 

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat. 

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie. 

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—blood rushing, ears ringing. 

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt. 

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.” 

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

.

.

.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription. 

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately. 

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day. 

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep. 

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing. 

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom. 

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away). 

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink. 

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you. 

As long as it’s with you. 

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel. 

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.” 

.

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are. 

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else. 

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts his chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now. 

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.” 

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling. 

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom. 

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like keeping you with him, everywhere he goes). 

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry in time for the next use.

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and saw a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his. 

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes. You noticed when you caught him washing his face in the dark, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm. 

And the thing is, he never asked you to do any of this. 

You just… did. 

Because that’s you. 

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances. 

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully. 

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed. 

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time. 

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry—lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm. 

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory. 

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile against squished cheeks, the hands that always reach for him, first thing. 

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it. 

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying. 

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities. 

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you. 

.

.

.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you. 

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick. 

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes. 

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it. 

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale. 

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves. 

If you were here—

—the door opens, and you step into the room. 

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say. 

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17. 

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?” 

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat. 

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter. 

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.” 

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch. 

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say. 

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you. 

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too. 

He practiced this, damn it. 

Why can’t he remember a single thing? 

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you. 

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying.

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’ 

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.” 

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?” 

His heart is pounding. 

“I stay over at yours too much.” 

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add. 

“I think we need more space.” 

Your hand slides off his knee as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now. 

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—” 

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?” 

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach. 

It’s not like that at all. 

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now. 

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands. 

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.” 

He blinks. 

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you. 

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it. 

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.” 

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper. 

“You ran yourself dry because of me.” 

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty. 

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility. 

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.” 

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more. 

Do you still think he wants to do this without you? 

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” he tells you firmly, surely. 

You blink. 

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him.

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?” 

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…” 

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning. 

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts. 

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means. 

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—” 

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely. 

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[little-diable]

Marry Me - Dean Winchester (smut)

This can be read as a part 2 to this fic - but you don’t need to read it to understand the story line. The lyrics are from the song “Joy of my Life” by Chris Stapleton. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Dean finally finds his confidence to ask (y/n) to marry him.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, car smut, super fluffy, slight jealousy and possessiveness

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2k words)

She's sweet to me, must be the luckiest man alive. Did I tell you, baby, you are the joy of my life?

“Isn't it funny that this car has seen all our good but also our ugly days?” (Y/n)’s voice filled the Impala as she held onto her food, taking another bite while letting her eyes wander. Dean and her were parked in the middle of nowhere, another getaway from Sam and the bunker the couple had been desperate for. 

It had been a while since Dean had taken her stargazing, letting their eyes take in the most beautiful spectacle, while Dean’s hand had found the small pocket of his jacket, touching the box of the ring he had been carrying around with himself for a while. 

“She really has, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Dean studied his girlfriend with an unreadable expression (y/n) tried to pay no mind to as she got lost in her memories, remembering the first time she had sat in the Impala. 

“So, that’s Baby, huh?” She whispered the words while she let her fingertips trace the leather of the dark seat she sank into. A proud smirk was resting on Dean’s lips as he nodded his head, mimicking her wandering gaze. 

“My most prized possession.” The words had left Dean’s parted lips before he could stop himself, cursing himself for saying this to his new girlfriend. But all (y/n) did was laugh and shake her head at her grinning boyfriend who stared at her with excitement laced in his gaze.

“What is it, Dean?” Her voice grew lower as the words rumbled through her, letting them vibrate on her lips. He moved closer to press a kiss to her lips while his right hand found the back of her headrest, keeping himself close to her. 

“The backseats are quite comfortable, if you feel like testing them out.” Dean’s words drew a gritty laugh from (y/n) as she only nodded her head before finding her way to the backseat. Within seconds she found herself straddling Dean’s lap while their lips got lost in a rough kiss. 

“I still remember the first time you introduced me to Baby, I was sure you’d eventually end up marrying your car.” Her laughter had an addicting effect on Dean, drawing a few from him as well while he kept studying (y/n). His heart began to beat faster in his chest as his thoughts began to race. 

Perhaps this was the moment he had always been waiting for. This was the perfect spot, hidden in the dark, while Baby offered them enough comfort and distraction, away from their busy life and home. Dean took one last bite of his burger before he wiped his fingers and slowly reached for his pocket, closing his fist around the velvety black box. 

(Y/n) had her all too oblivious gaze focused on the window, once again remembered of another night they had spent in this car. 

Silence filled Baby. A thick silence that left (y/n)’s heart painfully clenching in her chest. No word had been shared between her and Dean since their fight, an escalation of jealous words and angry sensations they couldn’t shake. 

“Do you really think I’d cheat on you?” Her voice was small as she spoke the words, letting them rumble through Baby while she shuffled around on the seat to look at Dean, who was laying behind her. 

It took him a few moments to speak up as he closed eyes as if he was trying to shake the memories of what had drawn these ugly words from his parted lips. It had been foolish, a stupid mistake he had instantly regretted as tears had welled up in her eyes. 

“No, I don’t.” She was a friendly soul, always had been, but it was something Dean clearly struggled to accept, especially when she shared one of the smiles he wanted to be the only one receiving, with strangers. She was a beautiful woman, it was no surprise that men chatted her up whenever she stood alone, without Dean near, and yet it still left him spiralling, urged on by his fear of losing her. 

“You know,” (y/n) cleared her throat as she also finished her food. Slowly she turned her head back towards her boyfriend, while pondering over the words she so desperately had wanted to speak for months now. “We haven’t really talked about marriage and all these things before, but I can’t help but wonder, if that is even something you’d want.” 

Dean could tell that she was nervous about speaking these words, struggling to let them roll off her tongue while fumbling with her fingers. A shaky exhale left him before he reached for her hand with his free one, letting their fingers interlace. 

“Do you remember when we went stargazing a few weeks ago?” (Y/n) could only nod her head with a slight confusion tugging on her features. 

“I had promised myself that I’d ask you to marry me that night, but even though I was never so sure of something as I am of the love I have for you, I still fear that one day you’ll pack your bags to run from this mess we are stuck in. Sam told me that I don’t need to be scared, because you’d never do that. And I know that, deep down I really do, but perhaps it wasn’t the right moment, the right day. But now, here, with Baby,” the rest of his sentence was left hanging in the air. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she watched Dean pull his left hand from the pocket of his jacket, exposing a small box to her eyes.

“Will you marry me, (y/n)?” The words were whispered, filling the small space before a sob broke out of her. All (y/n) could do was whisper a small "Of course" as Dean opened the box to expose the most beautiful ring she has ever seen. 

Both their hands were shaking. Dean had his eyes set on her finger as he slowly slid the ring onto it – all while being unable to bite down his grin at the sight. Her hands found his cheeks to pull him in for a teeth clashing kiss, drawing desperate moans from them in unison. 

First time that I saw you, you took my breath away. I might not get to Heaven, but I walked with the angels that day

“I love you, Dean Winchester.” She mumbled the words against his lips as he held her close, letting another shaky though relieved sigh pass his lips. 

“I love you too, future Misses Winchester.” Her teary laughter rumbled through her as Dean kissed her again, deepening the kiss with his wandering tongue and his impatient hands. Her mind was racing, still trying to understand what had just happened, something she had been thinking of since meeting Dean, and yet she had never dared to have the talk with him.

God, how lucky she was, getting married to the man she never wanted to part from again, forever glued to his side as if their fate had been interlinked since their births. 

“Backseat?” His question vibrated against her lips while (y/n) choked on her moan, desperate for him to fuck her on the seats that had experienced their best and their worst moments. For a second, they parted, to find their way to the backseats, before (y/n) straddled his lap and let her hands undo his trousers, while they kissed again, and again. 

“I can’t believe I get to marry you. I must have done something right after all.” Dean’s words left her heart clenching in her chest. (Y/n) wanted to tell him that there was so much he had done right in his life, that there were so many things he should be proud of, but the words died on her tongue as his fingers disappeared beneath her dress to wander over the damp fabric of her panties. The groan leaving Dean made her buzz in excitement, unable to bite down a groan of her own. 

“Fuck, you’re already so wet for me, sweetheart.” He began to rub her pulsing bundle through the thin fabric, while she finally managed to free his hardening cock. Their eyes held contact as (y/n) spat into her hand before she began to pump him, giving them both enough courage to let go of their sounds to fill the dark Impala. 

“Dean, don’t waste any time, I want to feel you inside of me.” Her moaned words left Dean chuckling in glee, a gritty sound that made her walls clench around nothing, begging him to finally sink into her. Their eyes held contact as his tongue kissed his teeth, sinking further into the seat while his fingers pushed her panties aside. She held her dress up to offer him a view that made his cock twitch, watching her position herself while he could only stare up at her and thank his lucky stars for pushing them together. 

Both let go of a heavy moan as (y/n) sank down on his cock. She allowed herself to rest for a moment, to push her forehead against his, while both took a deep breath. Slowly she began to move, supported by Dean’s hands, who couldn’t stop his fingertips from digging into her skin. 

The sound of their bodies moving filled Baby, followed by sinful sounds they couldn’t stop from breaking through them. Both were grateful for the darkness that had wrapped them in a comforting embrace, clinging to them to hide their frames from anybody who could walk past the Impala. Stuck in their own bubble, forever interlinked.

“I always knew you were perfect for me, fuck, I can’t believe I get to marry you.” Dean’s head rolled back against the headrest to stare at his now fiancée, the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever been fortunate enough to look at. She was perfect in any and every way, crafted for him only, made to cling to his body. God, sex had never felt like that before he had met (y/n), it had never been this intense, this raw, this loving. He wouldn’t trade this for the world, forever glued to her side. 

“Dean,” (y/n) whined his name as she reached for his hand to push it closer to her pulsing bundle, needing the extra friction to push that familiar heat through her aching body. Their foreheads met, pressed together as they trembled, knowing that their highs were oh so very close. 

He couldn’t stop his hips from meeting her thrusts, trying to bury himself even deeper inside of her as she trembled in his lap. He’d fight every creature, every being for this sight. Dean would do anything to hold her like this for the rest of their lives. 

“Look at me, (y/n).” His choked words forced her eyes to meet his green ones, holding contact as she came for him. Dean’s hips began to move again, jerking upwards to fuck them through her high, only to follow her a few seconds later to imprint himself on her walls. 

“I can’t wait for the night of our wedding.” Dean panted the words that drew a laugh from (y/n). She rested her forehead on his shoulder, holding herself to him as he was still buried deep inside of her. 

“Of course this is the only thing you think of. I can’t believe I’m marrying such a horny bastard.” His hands began to tickle her, forcing a loud laugh out of (y/n) as she threw her head back, letting the sounds fill the car.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.” 

Some may have their riches, some may have their worldly things, as long as I have you, I′ll treasure each and every day

Just take me by the hand, I am the luckiest man alive, did I tell you, baby, you are the joy of my life?

[naffeclipse]

Gifts

Reader x Mermaid!Eclipse

Commission Info

Thank you so much to @counterbalance for requesting a darling fic about Y/N and Mer Eclipse learning about gift-giving and then properly celebrating Christmas together! This was a delight to write and I'm always happy to return to Soul Bound to the Astral Sea AU <3

Content Warning: Light angst.

———

Tonight, for once, you find it difficult to drift off into dreams. It’s hardly been an issue before. In the night, while you rest, you visit your dear friend—a figment of him. A memory replaying the last tattered pieces of your home like a wind-torn sail. 

The familiar ache in your heart does not rest. It is a machine, a relentless, chugging engine that does not know what time of day or energy you have to give, it goes on hurting, wondering about the little mer you held in your arms within the shelter of the cove. Where has he gone? Is he safe? Is he growing as big as you dream of?

You calm your breaths. Sliding your eyes close despite the lack of heaviness, excitement clings to your fingertips and toes. 

You’re not a child. Not anymore, but you’re not grown enough to be seen as an adult. Vanessa looks and acts like an adult. The adults talk to her like she is one. She kind of is. You think she’s serious enough to be one, anyway.

A teenager. That’s what you are. Neither baby nor adult. It’s frustrating at times when you’re so furiously captured within a body that has begun puberty but you’re still inclined to have a joy in things the little kids enjoy as well.

Fighting your jumping anticipation, you shift once under the scratchy covers. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.

The mantra works over you, and draws you down, down, down into a dark depth with no sun, only stars. 

The black space is as peaceful as a day with no wind. The stars glittering around you are distant and far, watching you with a cool awareness. You float with no power to propel yourself through the inky sea you float within, and you wait.

He does not leave you alone for long.

Brilliant orange light pierces the darkness. The glow engulfs you until you find his head rearing through the pitch-black like a solar flare across the surface of the sun. 

A warmth spills into your chest. Caressing your heart gently, the echo of a song a child of the sea once sang to you returns. 

Eclipse.

A leviathan—barely grown. His body easily dwarfs you with a long, scaled tail shimmering like pearls under moonlight, burning hot orange. Frills and fins wave through the black sea. His four limbs cut through the emptiness, propelling himself towards you until his two lower hands take you gently in his palms—like a person picking up a cat, you think.

He’s so much bigger now. A sort of growth spurt has taken him this last year,  lifting him out of the tiny minnow you found trapped on the beach and into this vision of a great sea beast that tears down ships and conjures storms. The frills around his face have thickened and are beginning to spread wider upon the crown of his face. His arms are thin but quickly gaining with limber, corded muscle. His colors of brilliant orange, red, and black are beginning to deepen into sharper, mature hues.

There is still so much growing left for him to do if he is to become a true monster of the ocean, as all the stories go. But he is large and he is gentle with you in his hands. 

His maw immediately splits into a great grin. He chirps a gentle sound in greeting. You stare at him, and the familiar ache returns at the impression of his claws handling you so gently.

What a beautiful, cruel dream.

“Hey, big guy,” you say softly. You softly tap the back of his hand cradling your torso. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

Eclipse grumbles low in displeasure. His wide eyes flare with a familiar concern before his expression picks up once more. His frills flick.

A pulse rings through your core. A question.  The reason for your excitement—not anxiety—that almost kept you from another blissful vision in the night.

He draws you close to his chest. Reclining onto his back, Eclipse lays you upon his heart. You want to laugh. How long ago was it when you cradled the little mer in your arms like a baby? Now he’s holding you effortlessly upon his chest, and you have never been smaller despite your growth spurt. Unfortunately, this is where it ends for you. 

The thought doesn’t scare you: being held in the palm of a giant mer. You knew then when you beheld his little face and his wide, scared eyes, that mers weren’t as bad as the people of the island thought. 

A great, powerful heat rolls through your body in confirmation. Then, a little nudge.

“Right,” you murmur, “Tomorrow is Christmas.”

You concentrate on images of a tree decorated in tinsel and ornament, and little gifts wrapped up underneath. That’s what it looks like for other children when their parents are providing. 

“It’s about gift-giving,” you study the pattern of his shining scales, “and being together with people you love.”

Immediately, your thoughts wander to the feast the island holds for everyone, including orphans like yourself. You’ll get a gift or two provided by the lady who works at the office in the center of town, paid for on behalf of the community, often generic and simple, like a good-smelling lotion or a tiny toy (though you’ve outgrown such desires). Other kids stare at you when you dare to linger far too long, and often loudly wonder if you’re the same one their parents say is strange and possibly dangerous. They know it’s due to a mer.

None of it matters to you. What you care for is the food, the rich smell of mashed potatoes, and the savory scent of a Christmas ham with honey glaze. Oh, you would give your left hand to devour an entire coconut cream pie.

Eclipse trills a curious sound.

“Vanessa will help me steal a pie,” you say, then laugh quietly while you outline a scale on Eclipse’s chest. Sometimes, when he has damaged or worn scales, you try to pick at them but your phantom hands seem to have no effect. “It’s not much, but it’s nice.”

Once, a few years ago, when you had woken up on Christmas day, Vanessa noticed the tears on your cheeks. Another dream of Eclipse left you with a deeper ache than usual. She didn’t even open any of her gifts; she simply slipped a coconut cream pie off of the dessert table they were setting up, and she took you down to the beach. It was cool, but not cold enough for snow. Vanessa told you to dig in. The two of you ate like toddlers, eating with your hands and smearing whipped cream on your chins. 

You looked out to the ocean, a dark gray-blue, and wondered if Eclipse would have eaten pie with you.

A flash of bittersweetness burns through you. Eclipse rests his hand gently on your back and strokes his thumb down your hair.

Eclipse rumbles as you lie on his chest, causing you to still. A terrible coolness floods your middle. You press your palm over his heart. It is not a content sound he often makes or a curious grumble. No, it is a moan of sorrow, something deep swirling within the pit of his stomach.

Again, you feel a sting of salt upon an old wound. Your heart ripples with his anguish.

“Eclipse?” You can’t lift your head from underneath his soothing motions. “What’s wrong?”

He continues to hold you with desperation as if trying to catch the moon by scooping up the reflection of lunar light upon a still, watery surface. 

The strength of this dream of your little mer bears down upon you, and you long to close your eyes. Instead, you turn your head and kiss the firm bone of his sternum.

“Don’t be sad,” you whisper, “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

You’re not very good at easing him. His presence is still downtrodden, but a tinge of frustration burns around it, like fire eaten away at the edges of old newspapers.

Another pulse rises through you, stronger than the rest. Then images begin to emerge in your mind. Ghostly memories of beautiful large seashells, pieces of lost treasure, and even a brass clock spring into the front of your awareness.

It perplexes you all the same, the levels of your dreams. Sometimes they’re sweet and simple, and Eclipse only holds you while the two of you drift away. Others are like this. It makes the ache deeper, widening like a chasm until it’s nothing more than a trench where no light reaches. 

“That’s a lot of gifts,” you chuckle, then add, “If you were here, I’d give you fish. So much fish that you couldn’t even eat it all. Would you like that?”

A soft rumble quakes underneath you. The impression of hunger storms through you as he provides a comically violent rendition of how he would tear apart and indulge in such a feast. 

But he falls quiet, and you have little more to say. 

You smile as his hand gently surrounds you in the form of a squeezing hug. You lay your head heavy on his chest and watch the starlight drift by. The constant heat in your chest is gentle and comforting, but underneath it is a salty sorrow.

He won’t be here to give fish to, and you will go to town with Vanessa tomorrow, and steal a pie.

When you wake, you feel the warmth of the dream fades. It’s Christmas. 

*

The sea is calm on a Christmas day. Last year, it was tormented with storms and raging seas after the harsh season of the sea leviathan attacks. You try to not remember the sickly yellow scales of the monster from the depths, nor its teeth, nor its stomach you were trapped inside. 

Now, you guide the Rustbucket II slowly, aware of the heavy catch dragging along its side. The silver fish struggle within the net. Your old fishing ship might have buckled such a load. Eagerly, you sail deeper into the sea while everyone on the island enjoys a feast, even Vanessa. 

You promised you would see her later. She threatened you with eating all of the coconut cream pies if you didn’t keep your word.

You turn your sights to the horizon. A bright sun shines down despite the cool temperatures. Your thick sweater combats the chill in the air, and you watch the fog of your breath heat up before your red-touched nose. Fixing a strap of your overalls, you search outwards with your heart.

Eclipse?

A resounding ripple in your heart answers back. Slowing down the length of the boat, you step out of the cabin to reach the railing on the deck. The beautiful water settles around you and your small vessel. You search the deep blue. Warmth climbs into your bone marrow. The presence of a great leviathan swirls the surface before gently, he breaks through with a gentle rise of his massive form.

Dripping above you, Eclipse grins, his maw open wide and revealing sharp layers of teeth. None of the jagged fangs frightened you. Instead, leaning your arms over the railing, you gaze back with a smile on your face.

“Hey, big guy.” You incline with your head towards the netting straining with the wriggling weight of your catch. “Merry Christmas.”

His eyes sweep slowly away from you and to the fish. His eyes widen, the pupils dilating in a predator’s hunger. His tongue, shadowy and sinuous, swipes his mouth.

For me?

He lifts a claw to his chest and taps once. The bright glow within his gaze becomes candle-soft.

You nod. “For you.”

His massive form sends ripples against your boat, rocking it in the slightest, but you flow with the bobbing effortlessly. Lowering himself to you, he presents his face close to the edge of your boat. You lean over, as far as you can without losing your footing, and press your face against his cheek. 

A gentle, musical sound leaves him, a sigh and a purr, rumbling into one pleased sound. His eyes close. With the gentle touch of sea foam, he nuzzles you softly before you pull back. You rub your gloved hands together.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Dig in!” You gesture at the net. Eclipse trills. Rising again, his massive claws work the riggings of the net just as you have shown him before, and with delicacy, freeing the netting from your boat. 

The catch of fish is akin to a bag of marbles in his hand. The little creatures struggle and flop about. Eclipse licks his chops once more. Opening the netting, he upends your gift and dumps it entirely into his maw. You make a slight face as he chews and a few slip away from his maws, falling into the sea and escaping.

You wait. A growing anticipation buzzes through your chest, not of your desire, but from Eclipse. He’s already eating his gift. What more could he be excited about?

A twinge of apprehension moves through you. He doesn’t think you have more fish waiting for him, does he?

Thoroughly rushing through his meal, he chews and takes a heaping swallow.

You watch his expression closely. “How was it? Did you like your snack?”

He trills in answer, humming a song that sends musical notes washing against you. A cheer like a great splash from his massive, lower hands follows. His tail whips excitedly down below. The ocean begins to stir before he calms himself and again, lowers himself down to you.

You laugh. His excitement is infectious, and you soon shake away any concern. He likes his gift. This year you had something you were excited to give. Your dear friend gets to participate in a holiday humans celebrate, and you’re not only looking forward to pie this year.

Eclipse finishes with a thick swallow. With a satisfied swipe of his tongue, he grins at you. You arch an eyebrow back. 

A pulse of energy, eager and excited, touches your heart.

“What? What is it, big guy?” You narrow your eyes in exaggerated suspicion when the leviathan tilts his head. A mischief glints in his eyes like a shimmer of stars.

Slowly, he lowers himself to you and gingerly lifts a claw to the top of your head to stroke your hair once.

Wait. Stay.

You dip your chin before Eclipse snaps his tail, and with thick ripples, bordering on crashing waves, he disappears down below. You watch his massive figure before the deep blue swallows up his bright red and orange colors.

What is he planning? Giving you another seashell? You adore the one in your home, sitting close to your bed on top of your dresser. He finds the most lovely things to bring you.

Get ready.

An image flows into your thoughts as the words enter your mind. A knife, like the one you keep in the cabin for cutting through nets. Slowly, you straighten from leaning idly against the railing. What is he going to give you that requires you to have a knife on hand?

Still, you do as he asks. You step away from the waters at last settling from his submergence and locate the little knife. It’s a touch blunt, you need to get it sharpened. Hopefully, it will do the trick.

Venturing back to the railing, you gaze down. A bubbling begins in your chest, clashing now with nervousness amid the anticipation. 

You furrow your brow. There are very few times in your life you have ever felt Eclipse nervous. 

An urge to call out to him almost overtakes you, but in synchrony with your thoughts, the colossal mer arises back from the depths. He stops at his shoulder, floating in the ocean and keeping his gaze level with you before he draws out his hand.

A small bag, netted and knotted, sits on the water-dripping center of his palm. You peer closer as he offers it up. His frills flick around his head, sitting back slightly while his wide eyes watch you. 

For you.

You glance at him before gingerly reaching out and taking the netted bag. You stare down at it, finding a few dozen oysters tied up within. 

You lift your head. Eclipse drops his hand back into the water and presses closer to your boat. He looms in the slightest. You get the impression that if he were anywhere close to your size, he would be watching over your shoulder and checking your expression every other second.

“Okay,” you say softly. You use the knife to cut the netting and carefully set the bag down on the deck before you pluck one oyster.

It’s dark. The meat might taste good, though you’ll admit, you’ve never dined on oysters before. Clams, yes, but not this. 

Open them.

The urge returns. A swirling vortex of enthusiasm follows, and you glance up at Eclipse for a split second of confusion before you remember what oysters are also known for.

You turn the oyster over. Examining in your hand, you carefully angle the blade and break open the shell. A gray flesh collects within, and several lumps sit underneath the flesh.

Lowering the knife, you stare in silent awe. Your lips part soundlessly. Carefully, using your fingertips, you begin to push on the bumps, coaxing the little treasures out of the oyster and into your palm.

Several pale and shimmering pearls, some round, some less so, fall into your palm.

Saltwater pearls.

“Oh, Eclipse.” You lift your head. “These are beautiful. How did you…?”

A hot breath leaves his mouth—as if he were holding it all the while. He dips his head. Impressions fly through your thoughts. He spoke with Vanessa (as best as he could when she cannot hear him the way you can) and she suggested a pearl necklace for a Christmas gift. Eclipse has found no such treasure in his years of collecting, but he knew what made pearls.

Another thought enters your mind. Eclipse longed to crack open the oysters himself but his claws were far too big for such little pearls.

But a gentle warmth fills your body.

Then you feel his thoughts center on you.

Except you.

You make a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a sob. You shake your head slightly, blinking back the slight wetness threatening to plunge your face. Clutching the pearls, you look up at him.

“Thank you. No one has ever given me something so precious.” You beam and gingerly roll the priceless pearls between your fingers.

He bobs his head, and settles against the side of your boat, carefully to not put any pressure onto its frame, and settles in as you crack open the neck oyster. A warmth radiates from him, filled to the brim with relief and content.

Once you’ve gathered a priceless hoard of pearls, you get to your feet and kiss Eclipse on his sea-slick cheek. A gesture done in gratitude and as a gift.

[cc--2224]

I'll Show You Heaven

Pairing: Crosshair x F!Reader

Summary: Crosshair was always someone of interest to you, much to the other clones’ dismay. When he hears a Reg disrespecting you, he doesn’t hesitate to step in. You were told that there was no point trying to fix him, but you knew you could handle dangerous; although it turned out that to you, he wasn’t dangerous at all.

Warnings: This is very much 18+ Minors do not interact! Alcohol and smoking mentions; drunk clones being assholes including one putting the reader in a dangerous/uncomfortable situation but nothing happens! Smut - masturbation, Crosshair having dirty thoughts, oral (m and f receiving), biting/marking, unprotected p in v - wrap it before you tap it!!, praise kink, one instance of Cross being too rough but he corrects it, porn with feelings, language, tons of compliments/pet names, jealous maybe slightly protective Crosshair

Notes: Very slightly based on the song I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Word Count: ~6.4k

Taglist: None, let me know if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

It was just another day. The haze of smoke lingering in the bar, the loud laughter and chatter amongst the patrons, and him. 

You had gotten to know most of the regulars at 79s, including Clone Force 99, but you never made it a point to become their friend. The clones, usually drunk, would flirt with you endlessly, but never the 99s. They kept to themselves, and you had learned over the months that they weren't very popular with the others.

You hadn't considered there were social hierarchies among the clones, but you supposed they were no different than any other group of people.

You traced the smoke back to the tall, silver-haired man. He sat at one of the tall tables, not quite facing the bar, but enough that you could see his sharp features silhouetted by the pulsing lights. 

He never looked pleased to be there, he seemed to have a permanent scowl, and you couldn't even recall a time where he said more than three words at a time, and none of them kind. 

And while these might be negative traits to most, but to you, these traits mixed with his deep brown eyes that you had caught on you once or twice, and the smirk that came along with it, the expression of an all-too-confident man, only helped to draw you in to him. 

You had a feeling that he was one to put up a front, wall himself in so that he didn't appear vulnerable. it made sense for a soldier, but there was a part of you that wanted to see what he was like when the walls came down.

"Hey! Cyar'ika!" You heard from behind you, you turned to face the clone holding his glass up to you. "You gonna give me a top up or stare at the reject squad all night?"

You rolled your eyes and turned to him too quickly to see the sharp glare of the man you were just staring at point at the rowdy clone. After refilling his glass, you set it down in front of him and gave him a warning, "Everyone is welcome in my bar, and everyone gets attended to while they're here. Understood, trooper?" 

Before he could answer, you walked toward the centre of the bar, making a point to keep an eye on all your patrons so they wouldn't also get the wrong idea about who was getting more attention. Your eyes naturally wandered back to where the 99s were sitting, briefly meeting with the same brown eyes you had been silently admiring just moments ago, the tattooed crosshairs outlining one of them perfectly. 

He turned his head back toward the rest of his squad but you could almost see him glance at you through the corner of his eyes at least once before you were called away again. 

"Y'know what?" The loud clone called out again, "I think you should just come home with me. I could make you forget all about them." He jerked his head toward the 99s. 

"And I think you've had too much to drink." You chided, ignoring his request for another top up.

"C'mon," He groaned. "If you're gonna cut me off, you should at least make it up to me. Wanna come home with a real man? I bet those 99s could never measure up to us if you get my meaning. Whattaya say, copikla?

Several clones laughed at his words, your Mando'a wasn't perfect, but based on their laughs, you assumed it wasn't nice. 

Before you could get security to kick him out, you heard a chair scrape against the floor and then the crack of knuckles on flesh. You didn't even see the tall clone cross the bar before he was laying into the loud one.

You ran out from behind the bar and tried to pull him back, as much as you didn't want to, you also didn't want him to be permanently banned either. 

Once he noticed you pulling his arm back, he stopped. 

"What's going on?" One of the security guards had come over, hearing the commotion.

"Nothing," you said before gesturing to the floor, "He had too much to drink. Best if he goes home."

The security looked at you carefully, making sure you were okay before helping the clone to his feet and walking him out of the bar.

You sighed and returned back to where you were standing before, watching the other clones glare but cautiously move out of the way of the 99.

He started walking back to his table before pausing and turning to look at you, his features almost seeming softer now. 

"You didn't have to cover for me." He said, a toothpick lodged between his lips.

You shrugged, "He was getting on my nerves, deserved the punch if you ask me. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay." You smiled up at him. 

You could handle yourself, you've been working at 79s for a while, you knew how unruly people could get when alcohol was involved, and as much as you could handle people yelling at you, you didn't like when your regulars hurled insults at groups who were just minding their own business. Especially when, to your understanding, they got enough of that back on their homeworld.

He hummed in response.

"Can I get you guys anything?" You asked after a brief silence had fallen.

"No, we're heading out. See you around." Almost on cue, the rest of his crew stood up and began to leave.

— — —

“You shouldn't have done that.” Hunter warned him quietly when they had returned to the Marauder.

Crosshair shoved past him to get into the ship.

“Regs will always take each other's side, if you get reported for starting a fight…”

“Again,” Tech chimed in.

“I'll deal with it if it happens. Regs are probably too drunk to remember anyway.” 

“Why'd you attack him, anyway?” Wrecker asked. 

His eyebrows furrowed, “Didn't you hear him? He was treating her like his little pet.”

The others looked at each other, seemingly sharing the same thought between them.

Hunter's voice didn't betray his thoughts, “Even still, you should go back and apologize. Probably scared the poor girl.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes at Hunter's order. 

“No promises.”

He went to his bunk and discarded his armour, laying on his bunk in his blacks. He couldn't seem to get your face out of his head. The way your eyes met, how you took his side even though his squad was right, he did start the fight. Your smile when you made sure that he was okay.

This wasn't the first time he had seen you, but it was the first time the two of you had ever spoken; he didn't do small talk, Hunter and Wrecker did.

But he wanted to talk to you again, he wanted to see you again, see you smiling up at him. 

The more you crept into his thoughts, the more he couldn't get you to leave. 

Eventually with the solitude of his bunk, his thoughts got the better of him. He imagined how you would look, naked and squirming under him. How you'd taste, how you'd feel around him. 

He couldn't shoo these thoughts away, he found himself palming his cock over his blacks at the thought of you taking it into your mouth. 

He had been with others before, but it was rare for him to feel like this. Usually when he’s with someone it’s just to get his own release, but thinking of you was different. He wanted to make you come, to hear you cry for him, to feel you come on his cock, on his fingers, whatever you’d allow. 

He wanted you, all of you. And he couldn’t stand the thought of some Reg pretending to flatter you just to get you into his bunk. You deserved better than that, you deserved someone who would treat you right, make you feel good, someone who could be good for you. Someone like him.

He reached his hand into his blacks, pulling himself out and stroking it. He let his mind continue to wander, imagining everything all over again as a loop. He thought of your voice, telling him how good he was, telling him how he was made for you, how no one else could satisfy you like him. He thought of marking your neck, your tits, your thighs. 

As he began to reach his climax, he stroked himself faster, he thought about filling you up with his release, he didn’t know where, whether it was your throat or your cunt, he just knew he wanted to come inside you. 

This thought sent him over the edge as he spilled out over his hand with a groan.

He knew it wasn't right to think this way, he didn't even know you, but he also knew there was no way for you to know what was going through his mind.

But would it be so bad if you did? 

— — —

Something about his expression when he finally came back to the bar was different than it had been a few days ago. Not bad by any means, just not how he normally looked. 

Part of it was likely due to the fact that he was in civilian clothes instead of his armour, nut most of all, his ever-present scowl seemed softer, and he didn't wear a smirk when he noticed you looking at him, instead he almost seemed nervous. 

He walked toward the bar and sat on one of the stools, scanning to make sure none of the gathering clones were the one from a few rotations ago. 

"Can I get you something?" You asked him with a smile.

He blinked like he still somehow wasn't expecting you to talk to him after what happened, but then shook his head. "No, nothing."

He sighed, looking down at the counter in front of him. "I wanted to..."

You looked at him, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"My actions the other day, that wasn't okay."

Your face softened into a small smile. "Don't worry about it, nothing to apologize for."

"Did the Reg apologize to you?"

"Oh, no I haven't seen him, but like I said, nothing to apologize for. I'm used to it." You told him nonchalantly. His gaze snapped up to meet yours and his eyes narrowed.

"Used to it? Being drunk doesn't give them an excuse to be assholes to you." His voice raised slightly.

"Really, it's fine. I'm just sorry you had to hear him talk about your squad like that for so long."

He laughed quietly and used your words back at you, "We're used to it."

Neither of you said anything for a bit. You worked on pouring another glass for one of the other patrons at the bar and then turned back to face him.

"I see you guys around here often, but until the other day, you and I have never spoken, I'd like to change that.” your kind smile at him caused his heart to pound in his chest, but when he didn't answer, you continued. “You have a name, trooper?" 

"Crosshair." 

You smirked then told him yours. 

"Where's the rest of your squad today?"

"They stayed back, wanted me to make sure you were okay. But since you are, I should be going."

He was out of the stool and heading toward the door before you could convince him to stay. He needed to clear his head, it wasn't like him to feel so reserved and shy, but he felt your presence hammering on the walls he had built for himself and he didn't know if he was ready for them to come down.

You watched him as he left and smiled to yourself. Was he really concerned about your opinion of him so much that he came all the way here just to apologize? Or maybe he just wanted to make sure the other trooper kept his distance. Either way, seeing him was always a treat, and now you had a name to go with his face.

"I'd be careful of him." One of the clones said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"What do you mean?"

"Clone Force 99 isn't known for following rules. They have the highest success rate out of any squad, but the way they complete their missions goes against most protocols we have. That one, Crosshair, he's their sniper, a dangerous one at that, and definitely not a friendly sort of person, someone you don't want to get on the bad side of. Not someone you can just fix with that pretty smile of yours." 

You listened to him as he warned you, but even still, Crosshair and his squad intrigued you. You wanted to get to know them better.

Crosshair had caught your eye from the moment you had first seen him, and now the gap between you was finally starting to close.

You wanted to be his friend, but you were also curious about being more than that. You wanted to see what he was like when the two of you were alone. Was he sweet? Was he demanding? Was he some mix of both? 

You wanted to know what his lips would feel like, what he would taste like, how he'd feel. Thoughts that sparked a flame in your core. You didn't know if you'd ever get an answer to any of them, but the world worked in mysterious ways.

— — —

Once everyone had cleared out and you got some cleaning done, it was finally time to go home. 

It was late, too late to be wandering around the understreets of Coruscant alone, but you knew the most direct way back to your apartment, and had a blaster set to stun, just in case.

You turned down the alleyway, and you saw a figure push itself off the wall and walk toward you. 

"Awful late, isn't it?" You could hear the faint accent of a clone, and the audible slurring of one that had too much to drink.

"Come on, copikla, let me walk you home."

He stumbled toward you. When he came into the light, you could see the black eye that Crosshair had given him, still purple and blue despite the days that had passed.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Don't be like that, I wanted to apologize and do something nice for you. C'mon." He got closer to you and you felt your hand shake as you reached for your blaster.

"There's no need for that," He told you when you had the blaster fixed on him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then go back to your barracks, trooper."

He smirked, "Y'see the other day, your friend from the reject squad, he gave me this-" He said as he pointed to his eye. "All because I gave you a compliment, so really, you o-" 

Before he could finish his sentence you saw a blue bolt whiz past you, hitting the clone and stunning him.

You turned to see where it came from and at the other side of the alleyway, Crosshair stood with a pistol drawn.

He walked toward you, "He hasn't had a very good week." He pointed out, looking at the clone on the ground before bending down to look at his armour, looking for his identifier.

"What are you doing?" 

"Getting his ID. He'll probably be sent back to Kamino for a while for breaking protocol."

He brought his comm up to his face. "Tech, I’m sending you coordinates and a trooper ID, arrange a pickup."

"Copy." You heard the distorted voice through the comm link before Crosshair began typing in numbers.

"You seem confused." He said, looking at you now.

"I thought your squad didn't care about rules and protocol."

He smirked, "Regs have been talking about us, huh? That's true, we do our own thing and don't take orders very well but.. we wouldn't put a civ in danger in a dark alleyway, he should have known better."

"Well, thank you for helping me, but.. how did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't. After I left the bar earlier, I went back to our ship, but there aren't many places there to think quietly so I went for a walk."

"I see. I guess it's a good thing you were here. I have a blaster for my own safety, but I froze." You looked at the gun in your hand and sighed.

"Don't worry about it, the Coruscant guard will be here before long to deal with him.”

He turned on his heels and began walking away and you watched him before looking down.

“Crosshair?” You called out before he could get too far.

He turned to look at you again but didn't say anything.

“I'm not too far but.. could you walk with me? I just…” You trailed off looking at the stunned clone at your feet.

He walked back over to you, “Of course.”

He was silent for the remainder of the walk, but he walked with you to your door.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked as you punched in the key code.

"You sure?" 

You nodded and the door hissed open, you walked in, followed by Crosshair.

He looked around your place, it was small but it was inviting.

He knew he should have just gone back to the Marauder, but part of him wanted to make sure you felt safe, and another, much more hidden part of him thought that if you had invited him in, maybe his thoughts of you hadn't been as one-sided as he thought.

"Make yourself at home." You told him.

He sat on the small sofa in the living room, his arm draped over the back, and you stared at him, remembering what the clone had said at the bar. If Crosshair really was someone to look out for, you didn't see it. You would even go as far as to say that he was being kind to you. 

"Like what you see?" He asked when he caught you staring at him, his tone slightly huskier now that he was indoors. 

You rolled your eyes, and walked over toward the couch, sitting at the opposite end from him, but turned to look at him.

"What does copikla mean? I know cyar'ika and mesh'la because I get those a lot from the regulars, but that guy was the only one to call me that."

He looked at you and frowned slightly. "It means cute, but in a way you'd say to a child or a tooka kit, not a woman. That Reg wasn't paying you a compliment when he called you that."  

"I see. And that's why you jumped him?"

"I had enough of him long before that point, but yes."

You didn't notice that as you spoke, the more distance had been closed between you and Crosshair until your knees brushed lightly.

"What if it were a compliment?" You asked.

"I guess it depends on how you reacted, if you weren't comfortable." His eyes bore into yours now. "But you seem to like the compliments from the Regs." 

You shrugged, "As I said earlier, I'm used to it." 

His hand moved toward you, gently caressing your face. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips brush against your skin and you leaned into his touch.

"Would you react the same if I complimented you?" He asked, his voice a little more than a whisper.

"You could try." You answered. “See what happens.”

His hand traveled down to rest on the side of your neck, with his thumb stroking your jawline. 

He shifted slightly closer to you, eyes half-lidded. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you were certain he could hear it with how quiet it was in the room.

Crosshair leaned over to you and looked into your eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation, and when he didn't find any, he pulled you into a kiss. It wasn't demanding, but it wasn't gentle either. You could tell that this is what he had been thinking about when he said he had to clear his mind. 

Neither of you had been sure if the other wanted this, but when your lips connected, you both figured it out.

His tongue pushed into your mouth and he swallowed the moan you gave when you tasted him.

His other hand had made its way over to you, resting on your waist. Your hands rested on his chest at first, but slowly wrapped around the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

He sat back to look at you, leaned against the arm of the couch, lips starting to swell, pupils dilated, and he smirked.

"You're beautiful." He told you. You knew he was trying to get a reaction from you, but his voice was sincere. 

You could feel yourself getting warmer, and your stomach beginning to coil with the dull ache you felt between your legs. 

You slid off the couch and gently took his hand, pulling him up with you.

He seemed confused for a moment, so you clarified.

"Figured you'd want somewhere a bit more comfortable."

His smirk returned, "Presumptuous of you."

"If I'm wrong, we can continue to sit here."

"Oh no, you’re not wrong. Lead the way, mesh'la." 

You had heard the Mando'a compliments so many times they didn't even feel like real words to you, but Crosshair saying it brought new life. 

When you didn't move, he leaned in to kiss you, but you ducked out of the way and began walking to your room.

He watched you walk away, slightly offended when you dodged his kiss, but that disappeared when he looked at your hips swaying, beckoning him to follow you. 

When you walked into your bedroom, you turned on the lamp beside your bed before sitting with your back to the pillows, watching the door for him.

He entered slowly and you finally took a good look at him. He seemed much taller in your apartment than he did at the bar. You eyed him from head to toe, feeling your core clench slightly when you noticed the raised outline of his crotch straining against his jeans.

"Come here," you said, your voice low.

He walked around to the end of your bed, crawling over you with one leg on either side of your ankles.

"Closer." You breathed. 

He moved upward, hovering parallel to your hips, eyes fixed on your core.

"Good boy,." You praised him. You didn't expect him to groan at that, but as if something ignited in him, he dipped down, kissing your stomach, then your hips, and moving down to kiss your thighs before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, looking up at you to ask permission.

"Yes, please, Crosshair." 

He worked your jeans and panties off in one fell swoop, throwing them to a corner somewhere once they were off. You gasped when you felt his lips on your upper thigh, slowly trailing higher.

You arched your back slightly, desperate to feel him, but he smirked against your leg, biting into the soft flesh, before kissing the mark he had left. 

He moaned when he felt your fingernails scratch against his scalp, trying to guide his head when you needed him.

He left another mark on your other thigh before licking a stripe from that mark all the way to your centre.

Your back arched again, pulling his face closer to you.

"You like that, mesh'la?" His voice vibrating against you.

"Y-yes!" You threw your head back in pleasure when you felt his tongue circle your entrance before swiping up between your folds, tasting all you had to give him.

"G-good boy, keep... keep going." 

His hands found their way to your hips, holding them in place, you were certain that he was going to leave bruises on each one but you didn't care.

His lips clasped around your clit and he sucked so hard you saw stars, and then he went back to using his tongue, circling the bud slowly, trying to pull every moan from you that he could.

"Say it again." He said against your centre.

"Say what again?" You teased, knowing exactly what he wanted.

"Call me a-" He licked you up and down again, not finishing his question.

"Oh, you want me to call you a good boy?" You asked sweetly.

He rutted his hips against the bed as his tongue dove into you.

You cried out his name. The intensity of him drinking you up had begun to build and with it, you could feel yourself beginning to come undone. You were so close, you could feel your walls clench around his tongue, and he pulled it out.

You looked down at him in time to see his hand slide down from your hip, and he planted two fingers inside you, curling them against your walls.

"Go-good, you're so good, Crosshair, know just what I want." 

He groaned, grinding against the bed again before adding another finger, drawing a cry from your lips.

His thumb took over for his tongue against your clit as his long fingers worked on opening you up. He placed gentle, yet desperate kisses wherever he could, nipping at your soft flesh.

"Cro-Crosshair I- I'm so close."

He sucked another mark onto your thigh and groaned when he felt your hand tighten around his hair.

Your hips bucked as you felt yourself get closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, come all over my fingers." His voice coaxed you further, "Let me feel you."

His tongue went back to your center, working circles around you again as your walls continued to clench around him.

It didn't take much else to pull the orgasm out of you, you cried out his name as you came undone, legs twitching and hips bucking as he continued to work you through it.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and kissed your center once again before leaving a trail of kisses up toward your neck, slowly lifting your shirt as he went before it, too, was thrown into the corner of your room. He nipped and kissed the sensitive skin, leaving you another mark before kissing your jawline and lips once more.

He was perched above you, leaning on one of his elbows while he straddled your hips, his jeans doing little to hide the feeling of his stiffness pressing into you.

“How was that, beautiful?” He asked you, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Perfect,” you replied. “I think you deserve some attention now too, for being so good to me.” He bucked his hips involuntarily into you.

He brought his hand up to cup your face. His fingers still wet from your slick. He rested them against your lips before pushing them past. You moaned against his digits as he pressed them against your tongue, making you taste yourself. You circled each of his fingers with your tongue before sucking on them gently. He pressed his head into where your shoulder and neck meet as he reluctantly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, thinking of nothing else but how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock.

“Do you want me to fuck you, cyar'ika?” 

“Gods, yes, but first I want to taste you.”

His cock twitched against his jeans.

“I didn't know you could read minds.” He said, his voice low.

“I can't, I just know how I want to reward my good boy.” 

Before he could say anything else, he got up from you and sat back on his heels, undoing the button on his jeans, and unzipping them just enough to relieve some of the strain. 

You sat up and crawled toward him, resting your hands on his thighs, looking up at him for any sign of discomfort before you pulled on the waistband.

“You know, it's not very fair that you're so covered and I'm not.” You told him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“No? Well, we can fix that.” He quickly pulled his shirt off before throwing it aside, revealing his toned chest. Your hands brushed against his abdomen and he sighed. You began idly tracing the outlines of his muscles and scars, and he took your chin between his fingers and tilted your face up to his, kissing you gently at first then with more passion. You felt him bite your bottom lip and you moaned into his mouth. Your hands glided across his skin before finding the waistband of his jeans again.

Without breaking the kiss, he helped you to disrobe him, and when you pulled down on his briefs, he sucked in a breath, feeling his cock spring free.

You looked down at it and instinctively parted your lips slightly, feeling your pussy clench around nothing in anticipation.

“You just going to stare at it all night?” He asked you.

You shook your head, “Can't wait to taste you, to feel you fuck my mouth.” 

You saw his cock twitch at your words and you looked up at him with a smirk. “Is that what you want?”

Instead of answering, he laced his fingers through your hair, guiding you down toward him. You were bent over, using your elbows for support with your ass in the air. 

“I could get used to this view,” Crosshair said. You didn't have to look up to know he was staring at your ass, but you pulled his gaze back to the back of your head when you kissed the side of his length. His breath hitched at each gentle kiss you gave him, and you heard him try to subdue a moan when you licked a stripe along the vein at the bottom all the way to the head, cleaning up any pre-cum that had already begun to spill out. 

“F-Fuck,” He sputtered.

You peered up at him through your lashes and his grip tightened around your hair, trying his hardest to not buck his hips and force himself into your mouth.

Your tongue swirled around his head before you took it into your mouth.

He whispered your name as he guided you further down onto him, and you took him inch by inch. 

You couldn't fit him all, you felt yourself gag slightly when he got to the back of your throat, which earned another moan from him, and you wrapped one hand around whatever had been left out. 

“Gods, you're taking me so well, wanna feel you gag on me again.” 

You moaned around him as he began using your mouth. He bucked his hips into you as he brought your head further down onto him. Your throat closed around him once again and you felt tears prick in the corner of your eyes. 

You ran your tongue across the bottom of him again, bobbing your head up and down on him, swallowing around him, sucking on him, all while he was bucking his hips into you.

His thrusts started to quicken, becoming slightly more erratic, and you gave a warning tap on his leg, you couldn't take him that quickly. He understood and slowed down.

“S-Sorry, beautiful, didn't mean to hurt you, I'm just getting close..” 

You removed your hand from the base of his length and gently caressed his balls as you continued bobbing on his cock.

“Gonna make me- I'm gonna come down your throat if you- if you keep that up.” He said between pants. 

You hummed around him and kept going. You felt him begin to tighten up and you could hear quiet curses fall from his lips. 

He moaned your name as your cheeks hollowed out around him. He stilled inside your mouth, and you felt hot spurts of him hit the back of your throat. You swallowed everything he gave you before pulling off of him, a trail of saliva keeping you connected to him for a moment longer before you sat up on your knees.

He was breathing heavily and when he looked at you, you could still see his eyes full of lust. 

“Cyar'ika,” He breathed out. “You are so incredible.” 

You leaned forward to kiss him before you felt yourself fall back onto the pillows with him caging you in with his arms.

His kisses were hungry, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and you on your tongue. 

“Want to fuck you. Want to be so good for you.” He said almost into your mouth. “Want to hear you scream my name as I come inside you.” 

His words elicited another moan from you, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue between your lips again.

His cock began pressing into your leg as you felt him getting hard again.

“Crosshair,” you said quietly. He stopped and looked at you, afraid he might have crossed a line. “Lie down.” 

He got up from on top of you and rolled onto his back as you moved to straddle his torso.

You kiss him gingerly on the lips, and then his neck. You felt his hands come up and rest on your hips.

“You gonna be good for me?” 

He nodded quickly. You kissed the tip of his nose before positioning yourself above his cock. He bucked his hips once trying to close the distance.

“Patience.” You told him before sinking down on him.

Heaven. 

That was the only word that could describe how he felt inside of you. His eyes screwed shut, your tight walls felt like they were suffocating his cock as they fluttered around him and he needed to feel more of it. You threw your head back and he tightened his grip on your hips. You sunk yourself down slowly until he had fully disappeared into you. 

Once you had adjusted to how he felt, you moved your hips against him as you leaned over him, seeking out his lips. He kissed you back with fervour as his hands slid around to your back and he bucked his hips to meet your movements.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back up with you. His face was buried in your chest when you straighted your back, and you could feel his lips press against your breasts, and then his teeth. 

You moaned at the feeling, rolling your hips into him faster. His hands glided along your skin back to your hips. He held them tightly as he lifted you off of him slightly before shoving you back down. 

“Fuck, Crosshair!” You cried, feeling him even deeper inside you. 

He groaned as your walls constricted around him again, this time when he lifted you off of him, he had nearly pulled out completely before slamming himself back in. 

You panted out quiet curses as you tightened your arms around him.

“This okay?” He asked you as he did it again.

“Yes, gods, you feel so good. Want you to fuck me harder, feels so good.” 

You didn't need to ask him twice. His hands slid up to your back as he eased you down on the bed before putting his hands on either side of your head.. He used his knee to push your leg up, opening you up more for him. 

His slammed himself all the way in again, each thrust seeming to reach further and further. Your hands fell above your head and he used the opportunity to grab both of your wrists with his hand, pinning them above you as he drove himself into you again at a brutal pace, relishing in the way your tits bounced with each of his thrusts. 

“Gods Crosshair, being such a good boy for me,” you panted.

His lips landed on your neck, kissing you then biting you, leaving another mark on the soft skin.

“You're marking me up so well.” You said as he gave you another love bite just above the last one.

“Gotta make sure everyone knows that you're mine, make sure that trooper knows who you belong to.”

You arched your back with a moan, just as he thrusted into you. With his relentless pace, you knew you wouldn't last much longer, his words were only sending you further over the edge.

“Getting so close, Crosshair,” you said between thrusts. 

He answered by bringing his free hand down to rub circles around your clit.

“Come on my cock, wanna feel you come, wanna hear you scream for me.”

The coil tightened again, he felt your walls squeezing him and his breath hitched.

“I'm gonna come with you, angel,” He told you. “Tell me where you want me.”

“Inside, I want to feel you fill me up.” 

His grip on your wrists tightened as his pace with his other hand quickened, pulling moans from you with each thrust.

“Pl-please, I'm so cl- so close,” you whined, getting more desperate for your release.

He knew that he couldn't keep going for much longer as his thrusts became more erratic, but he was determined to wait for you.

Your moans grew louder and you clamped around his cock more with each thrust. The build up was getting to be too much, until eventually the knot in your stomach came undone, you screamed his name as your orgasm finally crashed over you. 

“That's it, just like that,” He said, his hand moved from your wrists to intertwine his fingers with yours as he thrusted as far into you as he could, spilling into you, painting your walls with his his release. 

You both stayed as you were, panting, looking into each other's eyes and then his lips came crashing down onto yours as he pulled himself out of you.

“You're incredible,” you told him, completely blissed out.

“So are you.” He buried his face in your neck, not moving from on top of you.

“Shower?” You asked, and he sighed and nodded into you.

“Please.” 

He got up off you and took your hand, waiting for you to lead him.

“I take it you liked the compliments.” He said, more of a statement than a question.

“Hm?”

“Unless that’s how you always act when a clone compliments you.”

You shook your head, “No, that was reserved only for you.” 

He had a smug smile as you began to walk to the fresher with him in tow.

“Can't wait to see what the others say when you walk into the bar, with my marks all over you.” He said, grabbing your hips from behind, pulling you back toward him.

“Well, not all over me, but there's still time, if you're good.”

You escaped from his grip and he all but dragged you into the refresher.