#like im gonna get struck down by something

[starkspondwater]

Voyeur- Kyle Broflovksi x Reader

Summary: Kyle's new neighbor has his tongue tied in knots, but thankfully he can get his fix of her through her bedroom window. There's no way she would find out, right? **(SMUT)**

A/n: Characters are aged up! I'm of the personal opinion that out of the main 4 Kyle would be in such denial about watching a girl through a window and I had to write it dammit. I've been trying to get more into writing this sort of stuff so hopefully it doesn't sound too awkward!

___

Kyle prided himself on being the more ‘upstanding’ one in his quartet of friends. Whether it was Stan’s excessive stealing of alcohol from his parents, Kenny’s constant sexualization of anything that moved, or Cartman’s lack of a moral compass, he felt he at least had his head screwed on well. Sure, he had gotten into some trouble and mischief, but he was always the voice of reason, he was always the one they could go to for a clear choice.

Kyle was kind and respectful, holding open doors and everything. A true gentleman his own mother had boasted many times. He didn’t sit and make derogatory comments like many of the guys did, and he knew how to treat a lady (at least in theory).

When a new family moved in next door, he thought nothing of it. He also didn’t think anything about his mother sending him over to drop off some baked goods as a welcome gift. Nothing about this was a huge deal, but when your smiling face opened the door he felt his heart stop.

You had to be some sort of angel, he was sure of it. Perfect in every way in his eyes. Then you gave him such a sweet smile as you reached out and took the saran wrapped plate of cookies, your fingers lightly grazing his own and leaving static in their wake. It was as though every nerve ending in his body was working overtime from just one little touch.

Kyle had only just stumbled through an introduction and a welcome to the neighborhood when he heard your name called from the depths of the house. (Y/N). To him it sounded like honey, poured into his mind with a gooey sweetness. He tried not to look like a dope when he walked back inside his own home, telling his mom that he did what she asked.

It was only a few nights later when he realized that his window looked across into your room, giving him an ample view of the space you called your own. He had been playing some dumb online game with Stan when he glanced over. Through the opened curtains he caught sight of you sprawled stomach down on your bed, your eyes casually glossing over a magazine. He had only seen you in passing since your initial meeting, but here you looked…different. More relaxed. It was nice, he decided. 

The boy part of him couldn’t also couldn’t ignore what you wore. You had on a loose fitting shirt, the neckline wide and only just barely covering your shoulders, and a pair of shorts that honestly could’ve been considered underwear from how much leg they showed. Even from here, those legs looked soft and smooth, his fingers twitching in want to reach out and touch.

You weren’t even doing anything sexual in the slightest, but here Kyle was growing hard and hot, his pants getting tighter and tighter by the second. The hormonal part of him whispered ‘it’s not like she would ever know…’ while the logical part of his brain yelled out ‘this is wrong! Stop looking!’ Before either side could continue arguing, he snapped his curtains closed and sat back down at his game. It took an hour before his little problem finally went away.

__

The next time he saw you from his window he choked, coughing and sputtering as he attempted to get some air into his lungs. Instead of lounging you had been changing, your backside to the window. He found his eyes taking in every curve and detail, from the way your sweatpants draped your hips to your shoulder blades moving and flexing as you removed your shirt. He would’ve left the room in shame if his eyes hadn’t glued themselves to the visible curve of your breast. From this angle he could even swear he saw the outline of a nipple. 

That was the night he gave in and took care of the hormonal side of himself, easing the throbbing down below.

From then on Kyle took peeks through his curtains now and then. He wasn’t just staring at you, he told himself, he just so happened to be at his window at the right wrong time. He was still a gentleman, even if he still couldn’t actually speak to you, growing tongue tied whenever you ran into one another.

Whether it was changing clothes, walking around, or in some cases napping, he saw several glimpses into your life. It was a little intoxicating, he realized, and he was in deep, hooked completely into you. At the end of the day though, they were only small glimpses, nothing more he had reasoned. 

Then you ruined him.

__

This evening he had on a headset while he waited for Halo to boot up. Stan was taking his time, Cartman was probably off to the bathroom for the next half hour, and Kenny was god knows where. Kyle had figured while he waited it wouldn’t hurt to see what you were up to. Shifting one of his curtains to the side he was met with quite the sight.

You were laying on your comforter in nothing but a tank top and panties, items he’d seen before and ogled as he told himself he was doing otherwise. He actually rather liked how often you went braless at home, something about how your nipples looked through the thin material did something to him, much like they were doing now. What was different, what was so unlike all the other times, was that now you were touching yourself.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as your eyes shut in bliss. Kyle could see one hand between your legs while the other tightly grasped the sheets above your head.

It felt dirty enough watching you just live your life, enough that he knew he had a problem, but this…this made him snap. Without thinking his hands began to fumble with his belt, allowing his pants to drop slightly. In one motion he had his boxers down and his aching cock free.

Stroking himself as he watched you, Kyle could not stop his own imagination from running rampant. Instead of your hand rubbing small circles over your clothed clit, it was his mouth on you, desperate and hungry. He knew, just knew, once he got a taste of you he’d be gone. Hell, the thought of it now made him feral.

He wanted to be the one causing those soft hips of yours to buck, urging him on as he devoured you entirely. He wanted to hear the sounds you made as he finger fucked you into oblivion. Would he feel you clench around his fingers? Would your own find their way into his hair, pulling as you tried to ride out your own high? These were thoughts Kyle never before entertained, but now they flooded his mind.

Every part of his body felt tight as he watched you, his hand pumping faster and faster. Kyle watched as you spasmed, back arched off the bed and face twisted in ecstasy. He even noticed those thighs of your trembling. Oh, what he would give to feel them tremble around his head and lightly box his ears, even then he wouldn’t stop in his quest to taste every bit of you.

At the thought of you cumming on his mouth, Kyle felt his own release, coming forth in large spurts. He couldn’t stop your name from falling from his lips as the last drops left him.

When his high came down, he embarrassingly realized the mess he had made, milky white ribbons littering the floor. Glancing back up he saw you were now nowhere in sight. Shame burned his face as he quickly cleaned up, hoping to god you hadn’t just looked up and saw him.

 By the time he got back to his friends, they had been in the middle of bitching. He didn’t realize just how long he had been gone, making his cheeks burn even brighter. Pressing the buttons on his controller and greeting his friends, the thoughts of you persisted.

__

“Hey Kyle!” Choking on his drink, Kyle looked up to see bright (E/C) eyes looking back at him. “Can I sit with you?”

He had been mowing the lawn, a chore he despised but nonetheless did so he didn’t piss off his mother. Thankfully, she wasn’t here to see him take breaks. Scootching over, he made room for you to sit on the steps with him.

“Hey,” he croaked before coughing a bit. “What’s up?” He could act cool here. He could act like he hasn’t seen and fantasized about you for literal weeks. He could act like a normal fucking person. 

You didn’t seem to notice how hard he was trying to actively participate in conversation as you talked about the summer and how things were going. He was surprised to hear you would be at the local community college with him that fall, and that you had already met some of his school friends as well. A slight curl of jealousy rose before he trampled it down. You and him weren’t together, and this was the most you had even said to him. It’s not like you would-

“I just realized I can see into your room from mine! Did you know about that?” 

His blood ran cold and he could feel his feet wanting to leap up and run, but Kyle stayed cool. It wasn’t like you just accused him of being a peeping tom. You just made a little observation about your rooms, that’s all. And from the look on your face you didn’t look disgusted or angry, so you must not know.

“Y-yeah?” he stuttered out, growing red. At the sight of this your smile seemed to grow.

“It’s cool, right? It’s like we can see each other outside of, like, regular hours, y’know?” you laughed, causing the poor boy to melt. Did you want to see him more? The thought made him feel warm all over. Just as he went to say something your name was called, making you stand up.

“Anyway, you should take a peek later! Maybe we can figure out a way to send messages or chat! Could be fun~!” with a wiggle of your eyebrows you flounced away, leaving a blushing ginger behind.

__

That night Kyle paced his small bedroom. He had seen into your room multiple times, more times than he could bring himself to admit. This time, however, you had asked him to. You wanted to see him! Granted, he figured this would be just a silly little thing, but it was a small start to being your friend. He’d take that!

Opening up his curtains wide Kyle’s heart sank when he was met with your empty bedroom. Did you forget? It wouldn’t surprise him, but disappointment filled him regardless. Just as he went to let go of the thin fabric, closing you off from him, you came into view.

Kyle theorized that you must’ve been working out, thin shorts and a loose shirt on your body, not unlike the first time he saw you. He waited to catch your eye, but unfortunately, you seemed intent on looking the other way. 

He watched as your hands moved to the bottom of your shirt, grasping either side and bringing it up and over your head. Kyle felt himself grow hot at the sight of lace adorning your chest. Reaching back you deftly unhooked it, dropping it to the floor. He couldn’t help but imagine himself doing the undressing.

Bending down you began to slide your shorts down your legs, revealing a matching set to your discarded bra. Rising back up slowly you met Kyle’s eyes with a knowing look.

You knew. There was no way you didn’t. Kyle felt both embarrassed and…turned on. You knew but obviously wanted him to watch whatever this was. You wanted him to watch you.

Aside from that one glance you gave no other indication that you knew he was watching. Settling onto the bed, your front was now mostly bare to him. While Kyle appreciated the womanly form in all its varieties, something about yours caused him to short circuit. He wished to know every crevice and curve personally. It was like it was a craving and he was a starving man. 

His eyes followed every movement as you began to touch yourself slowly, sensually bringing your hand down towards your panties. While yes, he had seen this before, knowing that this time it was intentionally for him already had his balls tightening. 

Kyle was quick to free himself and take his cock in hand, focusing on his weeping head. It almost hurt how hard you made him, and he quickly bit his lip to keep the groans contained.

It was agonizing how slowly you worked yourself, as though you wanted to make this last as long as possible. A snapshot entered his mind of those damned panties soaked through with everything that was you and that had him biting his lip harder, a moan sounding from the back of his throat.  As though you knew what he was imagining, you opened your legs more, allowing his eyes a better view.

He desperately wanted to be the one touching you, caressing you. To be honest though, if he had his way he’d have those damn things off of you within the first few minutes.

Without thought you reached over to a bedside drawer, drawing his curiosity. Pulling out an item, his eyes bulged as he took in the phallic shape in your hands. Since when did you have that?

Taking the toy in hand, you slowly rubbed the length of it up and down your clothed cunt. He could see the sighs fall from your mouth as your eyelids fluttered shut. Imagining that he was there instead, Kyle stroked himself faster. If only that small bit of fabric wasn’t in the damn way. Wouldn’t it feel nice if it-

Those thoughts cut off as you stopped for a moment, lifting up slightly to remove that last little barrier before going back to business. Maybe you were a mindreader, he thought. If you were, he didn’t think he’d mind it at all with what you were giving him now.

Kyle watched as glistening lips seemed to pucker around the toy, coating it in its own slickness. Jesus Christ. How easily would his own cock slide through there? He was already close when you finally inserted it, lightly fucking yourself.

Kyle was trying so hard to not bust, he felt like a rubber band stretched out far and about to snap in half. Those green eyes refused to leave the sight of you, his hand pumping faster and his mind going into overload with every dirty thought he had, everything he wanted to do to you. All he had was his imagination and you already had him wrapped around your finger.

He couldn’t hold out any longer, and from the look on your face neither could you. He kept watching until you finally snapped and came, his own body releasing with yours. He came hard, white spurts coating the wall before slowly running down. He could taste blood on his lips, reminding him just how hard he was biting down to stop the noises he made. Looking at the aftermath, he huffed. He really needed a better way of doing this otherwise he’d stain his wall.

Taking a few uneven breaths he looked back to your room. You were gone.

You…were letting him watch, right? The idea that this could’ve been some joke to you flitted though his mind as he cleared up, shame rising in his throat. 

After disposing of the evidence, Kyle took one last glance, one last look to see if maybe this wasn’t a joke or him reading things wrong. What he found was the pretty girl from next door leaning against her open window, looking over and smiling at him.

“Enjoy the show?” you teased, making the redhead blush and stammer.

“I, uh, I mean yeah, but I…”

“I was hoping you would!” Kyle stopped short at those words, looking up in disbelief at you.

“What?” was all he could ask, despite the hundred of questions bouncing around in his brain.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention all summer, Kyle. Little did I know I already had it!” you giggled, a small hand coming up to cover your mouth. “I’m honestly very flattered, but next time maybe you could come over and help.” You finished the sentence with an innocent smile.

“Wha- me?” Were you asking him what he thought you were asking?

“Or…” you dragged the syllable out in a teasing tone, “you could participate in the encore. Gotta say, it’s better than going solo!” Your grin grew as you observed Kyle, seeing the cogs turn in his head as he registered what you were actually saying.

“So? What do ya say, handsome?” Kyle could only nod once before he started to clamber out of his room in haste. While he never thought he’d be able to star in the secret little show he found, like hell was he going to fuck up this chance.

[tension4mari]

Hatefucking with Thanos!

Well kinda ^^

ꨄ︎Paring- Thanos x Fem!Reader

not proofread

ꨄ︎Warnings-Sex, unprotected sex, (wibyti!) cursing, stomach pressing, toxic thanos, that's it??lmk!

ꨄ︎Summary- No summary bro- fill in from the fic i just lost.💔💔

Kinda squid game au, but everything mostly takes place in the restroom..

ꨄ︎"You think you're better than me? Hm!" He says fucking his hips in you more violently. "Ngh.. no! You reply back, legs numb from how far they were getting pushed back.

ꨄ︎"Oh yea?" he's grunting loudly, he's got is face in the crook of your neck, sucking on the sweet spot you didn't know you had. "Then why the fuck did you embarrassed me out there!"

ꨄ︎Thanos told you to pick 'O', telling everyone that their side was gonna win. It ended as a tie, he was so embarrassed. 'See... You should have fucking listened to me, you know everything, right?

ꨄ︎He lets go of one of your legs pushing his way into you deeper and you whimper at the new way he's fucking into you. "Shit! Don't stop- feel's so'good." You're a moaning mess and he's laughing at the way you're so fucked out.

ꨄ︎"Look at you! Fucking slut-" He flips you on your side, grabbing your leg to pull it up. Now he's fucking you sideways "S-shit.. You like this? Oh, I bet you do" You try to find something to grab on but to no avail there's nothing to grab on.

ꨄ︎"So desperate.. I think I like you more like this, instead of you running that pretty fucking mouth of yours-" You bend your legs, looking for comfort in them but you can't feel neither one of them and start to tear up from the pain and pleasure.

ꨄ︎He throws you back onto your back, letting go of both your legs and puts his hand on your hip moving faster, "Fuck.." he's start breathing heavily before he moves his hands towards your stomach pressing down on it trying to find himself in you.

ꨄ︎"Can you feel that? Feel me?" He laughes viciously "I bet you fucking can." You move to grab onto his hands, struck my the pain on your stomach "It hurts- s-stop it!" He looks up to your face and sees the tears in the corner of your eyes. He likes you like this. He he could have sworn he got more hard than he already were. He pushes down onto your stomach a little more "Hghh! Stop!" You're full on crying now "I'm sorry- just stop that! Please!" Although he likes to see you cry he knew he had to stop before you actually got hurt, He can't afford that.

ꨄ︎"Fuck.. im gonna cum inside you-" he says lowly "And you better take all of it-" he pulls his hands from your stomach back onto your hips. "You think you can?"

ꨄ︎"Mhm!" Your eyes are screwed shut and you're nodding your head. His head makes his way back to the crook of your neck biting it before cumming inside you.

ꨄ︎"F-fuck you're amazing." He says pulling out "You never fail to amaze me with your tight cunt!' you cringe at the way he's talking and throw your arm over your face. "Ugh.. stop talking like that- and just leave already." He gets up and stares down at you "Right, I'm sure they've missed me. Get up and get cleaned." He says find some way to wipe his dick and tuck it back into his pants

ꨄ︎"Yea, ok" you reply as he leaves, he makes his way out the bathroom and back into the main room, going over where his friends were "Yo Thanos, where'cha go bro?" Nam-gyu ask "None of your fucking business so don't worry about it." he says as he throws himself on the bed laying down on his stomach and Nam-gyu eyes watches the person who just came through the same door Thanos did. "Sly bitch-" he mumbles looking up at Thanos.

no part two 😭 please don't ask -

[norikuna]

GREEDY — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → pretty, prodigal, and teasing. how far can you push your former teacher before he snaps? gojo's about this 🤏 close from releasing a hollow purple on the world.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. màstúrbation (m.) and rough sèx, creaḿpie. some angst/doubt. angsty love confession before gojo póunds reader into the mattress. incorrect use of reversed curse technique. arguments and stuff. description of injuries. def mean!gojo a bit and he's got vampire tendencies.

reader is of legal age (implied to be 19-20) and gojo is 28 so age gap!romance. obsessed!gojo and popular girl!reader trope. gojo is absolutely a mess in this, and reader is described as wearing short skirts, and wearing makeup.

rather questionable ethics and dynamics (teacher/former student) but rest assured its clear that his feelings are pretty recent. reader has him twirled and whipped around her fingers. reader is also def a baddie and ambiguously bi.

word count. 8.7k words im mad actually. this was meant to be headcanons song inspiration. greedy — tate mcrae

a/n. this is was gonna be from reader's pov but i thought it would be more fun from gojo's 🙂‍↔️

mp3. i see you eyeing me down, but you'll never know much past my name. or how i'm running this room, but i'm still half your age. yeah, you're looking at me like i'm some sweet escape 😛

gojo satoru was not a weak man, no. he knew that he was an anomaly of nature, an unstoppable power that could reduce enemies to dust and make entire clans crumble with nothing more than a flick of his wrists.

so how was it, that when it came to you, his resolve was paper-thin?

every time your open gaze met his, every time you brushed past him, every time your presence filled the space around his infinity, gojo felt something inside him unravel. his breath would be caught in his chest, leaving his pulse to quicken and suddenly, all that strength and control would slip through his fingers.

gojo cursed himself for this, you see. he had never been one to lose control, but he was not quite sure when his entire body has started to betray him.

but no, fuck that, and he did his utter best to run his focus back onto the lesson at hand. unfortunately, the lesson at hand was with you. standing in front of him, arms slightly raised, palms out, and raising your brow as boredom passed over your face.

gojo cleared his throat, "your stance is good, but your cursed energy is all over the place. focus, breathe. centre yourself is what i'm saying," he instructed, but the words felt hollow as they passed through his lips.

unfairly, you're weren't the problem. he was. and now this was getting ridiculous. you had graduated not two, three years past? it would have been a disservice to still call you his student, but even as a mentee, you were still under his tutelage. and as recent as this immature infatuation was, this felt wrong.

but now you were frowning, starting to waver and the sharp, staccato tap of your heeled boot punctuated the wooden floor, click, click!

gojo looked to the sky, briefly, if to pray for patience and a calm of some sorts. he stepped forwards towards you, placing a hand on your waist to guide you into a better stance, and trying to ignore the way your skin felt warm underneath his fingers.

focus.

"don't let your body twist like that when you utilise your own cursed energy. keep it straight, balanced," he muttered, adjusting your posture slightly, hand on your spine — the heel of his palm pressing into a dent. a deity from the sky must have struck him with a cursed arrow, for his whole body was on fire.

because there you were, standing right in front of him, so close that gojo could feel the soft heat of your breath, the faint scent of a sweet perfume wafting off your skin, vanilla?

"you're not focused," gojo grimaced, though he wasn't sure if the rebuke was at himself, or at you — whose eyes widened briefly, and gojo tried not to recognise the curiosity and challenge that flashed across your face.

look at how she's staring at me. and gojo felt utterly ridiculous, and exposed, she knows. but instead of pulling away, you shifted ever so slightly towards him, your body arching as the barest brush of your breasts against his forearm had heat pulling through his body.

would you taste as sweet as you smelt? would you lean more into him if he asked?

he cleared his throat, "okay. relax, not every stance or position works for an individual. perhaps, you'll be able to focus better like this," and with his hand still on your waist, he pulled you into a swift spin. one that left your back pressed against the hard planes of the chest, and you facing the other wall.

you hummed, this time not in the way he wanted. your lips were lightly parted, and there was that soft sheen of gloss catching the light, making your lips look impossibly soft. gojo caught himself staring, wandering what it would be like to press his own mouth to yours, and whether you would squeal or moan.

still, if there was anything that gojo was good at, it was deflecting like a champ, "i think you're distracted," he laughed, low and amused, "is something making you lose focus?"

you tilted your head, and gojo didn't miss (nor did his heart or groin) that your gaze flickered to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his eyes again, feigning innocence, "don't tell me you're underestimating me, sensei. because i'd hate to think you can't keep up?"

gojo bit back a grin at the obvious bait, "careful," brushing strands of white hair that had fallen into his face away, "if you get too cocky, you tend to miss danger. you start to ignore things that should be noticed."

your voice dropped to a droll whisper, eyes glinting, "you think i don't notice things? i'm aware of plenty."

gojo forced himself to focus, to ignore the way that your lashes flutter with unshakable composure. trying to regain control, or some semblance of mind, he started counting each individual lash painted dark with mascara, lingering on the outermost curls that framed your sharp eyes.

after a beat, he forced himself to break eye contact, "alright," he said, stepping back with a casual shrug that he hoped conveyed just how nonchalant he was, "we’ll call it a day here and continue training tomorrow."

"backing out already?" you teased, leaning in just a little, making him tense at the closeness.

gojo chuckled, feigning nonchalance. "for your sake. you may be powerful, but you have to pace yourself."

you shrugged, nodding, "i'm going out anyway this evening," you said, hopping back a step before bending down to gather your things. gojo politely averted his gaze, his heart hammering from your previous proximity, and desperately hoping to avoid a...reaction, that would be quite inconvenient, as wide and loose as his martial pants were. like a fuckin' school boy with a crush. gross.

but as you slung your pastel bag over your shoulder and straightened up, he couldn't help a quick glance, catching the small, coy glimmer in your eyes as you turned to leave.

gojo sighed, pulling up his blindfold once more, "have fun," he half-heartedly offered, but you were already out the door.

the corridors were now empty, the clang of metal and chatter now silent, replaced with a quiet hum of the air conditioning. gojo wiped his face with the towel wrapped around his neck, the damp fabric clinging to his skin and the muscles in his arms and chest still warm from the intensity of training. his arms and chest glistened, the muscles warm and taut as he stretched, rolling his shoulders back with a low groan. exhaustion settled into him like a weight, each movement of his tired, bare torso slow and deliberate.

"oh, you're still here, sensei?"

gojo's eyes snapped open, drawn to the sound of your inquisitive voice. you stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light from the hallway, and he immediately felt a rush of heat flood his chest.

well, fuck, now his mouth was dry. clearly, your previous iteration of 'going out' was a bit more glamorous than you had led on, and he was certain his wandering eyes betrayed him as it flickered over your figure. it took a titan's strength to keep his eyes from trailing down your long legs, the way your dress hugged the swell of your chest, or over your glistening neck. there was a faint shimmer, a glitter of some sort? it coated your skin, and gojo wanted to lick it off with his tongue.

what? no. who said that?

he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his composure.

you scowled at his reaction, clearly mistaking his silence for distaste. "what? i did say i was going somewhere," you retorted, your tone sharp but amused. "i’m more than allowed to leave the campus grounds.”

"of course,” he replied, voice outstandingly steady but his mind still trailing after every curve, every detail that made you look...well...dangerous in the best way, "don't let me stop you. who's the lucky guy?"

you arched a brow, folding your arms over your chest, and now, gojo really did have to look away and pretend that he was busy with retying a dark piece of cloth over his eyes, "who said it was a guy?"

gojo thickly swallowed, wondering if he'd just made a colossal blunder with no return, "that's not what i meant." the words 'my bad' stuck in his throat as you laughed and sighed.

"joking, sorry. it's a guy, this time." now you were fiddling with your long nails, with a satisfying clack as they ran across each other.

"i hope he shows you a great time then," he offered, half-hearted, blasé.

you took a step into the room, and gojo didn't even need six eyes to know that your eyes were raking over his chest, "i'm sure he will," all sweetness and sugar, "i've been training so hard, i deserve it, don't i?"

the words hit him harder than he expected, and he had to remind himself — she's not yours, satoru. but that didn't stop the gruff irritation bubbling up.

"a real man should be taking you out on a date like this,” he said, his voice a bit too rough for his liking. "not some guy who’s probably just looking for a good time."

you scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. "are you saying that there's someone else out there who can do a better job?" your tone was playful, but there was a challenge in it — an edge that made his heart skip once more, "sadly, there just aren't many who've handled me well."

he ignored your immature, faux pout, and ran a hand through damp, icy hair — ignoring how his temper flared, rearing its ugly head.

was this all on purpose? to toy with him?

"you want to be handled, sweetheart?" gojo's voice dropped a little lower, indulging your teasing, "i've seen you lose focus easily, you could easily break."

your lips creased up, painted a tempting shade of dried-blood red (what the fuck was wrong with him? was he now just a horny vampire?) as you purred, "i'd need some help testing out that theory." your expression was open just enough for him to see the tiniest flicker of something in your eyes — something that told him you were enjoying this far more than you should.

an invitation of sorts, he wondered. did you want him to move? to make a move? it wasn’t a secret that you had always been a popular student practically a legend, rumours swirling around you like wildfire — whispers of broken hearts and sweetened smiles that could captivate anyone in your path. he had never paid attention of course, gossip always ran wild among students and he discouraged such whispers of who-did-what, for a grade 1 curse would never indulge such behaviour before they would get torn to shreds.

and even now, long after graduation as you worked around your old alma mater, men and women — everyone swooned at the chance to speak with you, and yet, here you were, playing this dangerous game with him.

gojo scowled, trying to push past the desire building inside him, the urge to have you underneath him, right on this mat in the training room. "well, don’t hang around too long," he said, his tone sharp as a blade. "i’m sure your date is waiting. go have a good time."

invitation declined. the morally right thing to do. right?

he didn’t need to look to see the small sneer that curled at the corner of your lips, or the way it turned into a fleeting expression of annoyance. he could hear the click of your heels echo down the hallway as you sashayed out.

what the everlasting fuck was wrong with him?

lo and behold, the great gojo satoru often found himself alone in his own private rooms. for 'the strongest' rarely had time to accommodate some other forms of company.

and frankly, he had no desire to do so now regardless. not when the echoes of your clicking heels still reverberated in his mind. the silence that echoed around him was heavy, suffocating and he was sure he looked erratic.

gojo ran a hand over his face, trying to shake the thought of you. but it was useless. his body was still on fire, the heat of jealousy smouldering in his chest, coiling in his gut like something alive, something dangerous. he had walked to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, his legs splayed wide apart as his shoulders slumped under the soft, amber glow of the setting sun that streamed through the windows. the sorcerer let his head fall back against the chair, eyes closed.

how absolutely ridiculous, he thought, running his fingers through his tousled hair. no, he just couldn't stop it. couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted you. wanted you to want him too. and now, with the way you’d left, with that knowing smile on your lips, all he could imagine was the man you were with now, the man who’d be holding the door open for you, who’d be pulling out your chair, whoever the hell he was.

maybe even a casual, non-sorcerer. some random guy that you had indulged because he was no threat. but he wouldn't be able to touch you, not in the way that you demanded. the man would laugh at your jokes, brush his hand against yours, but wouldn't be able to let a real smile bubble from your lips like satoru could.

and what would that man do next?

would he try to take you back to his place? some small poorly-lit apartment where he'd try to kiss you, to claim your lips without even pulling away for air. would you kiss him back, curling into his frame?

before gojo's even registered what he's doing, his own hand has found his hard cock. despite the tattle of assistance, and dreamy-eyed mongers, pleasure is rare for him. relief, even less so. his schedule just doesn't allow it, and so he oft find himself chasing some distant contentment like this, alone in his rooms.

but he squeezes at the wide hilt, at his base, pulling his hands up, upwards as his brows furrow under blindfold, and he tugs the offending fabric off, away from him, as laden balls smack against his wrist.

maybe the man would then trail his lips down your neck, maybe he'd try to slowly sink his teeth into delicate flesh, leaving blooming purple marks that wouldn't fade, not when gojo saw you tomorrow.

he's running his curled hand up towards the fat mushroom tip, almost glowing pink with heat and pre-cum that's leaving his hand slicked with faint moisture, "shit, that's it."

then what? he can imagine your teasing smile as you decide to take your pleasure as you see fit. how you'd suddenly push this faceless man off, and move so you're straddling him, letting his hands wander around the curve of your hips, digging into plush flesh.

now he's starting to pant, open-mouthed, "ah - fuck! wish i had you here, right here." gojo must be a madman, breathing out to the empty, open air.

but in his mind's eye, you're reaching behind your back to undo the zipper on your outstandingly tight dress, giving the faceless man a coy smile as you push the fabric of your dress down, letting your plentiful tits spill out and against the man's chest.

his wrist is moving faster now, and there's a cramp starting to build up as he pistons his hand over his stretched shaft, and one arm is thrown over his face — the soft hairs on his thick forearm tickling his face as he tries not to gasp or whine too loudly, but he's bucking his ups now, pretending that it's not his hand that he's spilling into, but your tight cunt. and later, he shudders and tenses up, with apologies whispered into the air, "look, look - shit, i'm sorry - i'm sorry. couldn't help it, fuck." and gojo's bitten his lips so hard that he's certain he's drawn blood, vibrant red blooming on pale, creamy skin.

and a lamp had exploded as he came. damn, he'd have to replace that.

you don't deserve someone like him, no. not when he's sitting here, absolutely filthy with thick, white seed entirely over his tense abdominal muscles and stiff hand. not when he's trying to catch his breath after imagining how snug your pussy would feel around him, and how you'd beg for him to give it to you harder.

you didn't deserve someone so messed up with guilt, with mistakes, with the kind of weight that made him too much for anyone, let alone someone like you. didn't you deserve better than a tortured man who couldn't control himself, better than an overzealous mentor who was supposed to keep his distance, to do what was right.

but that didn’t stop his thoughts from swirling, as he separated damp, thick thighs from the smooth surface of the chair, reaching for a tissue. he couldn’t help it. and it made him feel like a damn fool.

the meeting room buzzed with tension, voices rising in sharp, clipped exchanges — some angry, some demanding and others clueless and questioning. gojo had woken up in a foul mood that morning, with some ill-gotten storm brewing beneath his chest. perhaps it was the thoughts of you that lingered from the night before, a gnawing jealously that left him feeling too tight in the stiffness of the uniform dress pants.

but he had forced himself to be dragged through this meeting, plastering a snarky light-hearted grin over his face as he leaned against the wall, letting the higher-ups argue themselves into oblivion.

amidst the storm of words, gojo's focus was nowhere near the mission being discussed. no, his attention was fixated entirely on you. you stood at the far end of the table, eyes flashing with ire as you tore into some pompous old fool who’d dared question your power. the others in the room shifted uncomfortably, deferring to you, as they often did, despite your youth. you had that rare combination of presence and bite that made people recoil back when you sunk your teeth into them, and this was not a knot gojo was interested in unraveling.

kojiro, one of the bumbling administrators, had turned his babbling attention to gojo, "you're still planning to face that curse head-on, gojo-san?" the poor man is wringing his hands at gojo's flat look (made all the more unreadable through a blindfold, satoru would wager), "don't you think it would be well - unwise? instead of expending your time and energy on one cursed spirit, you could handle five lesser ones. efficiency, you see."

gojo's gaze briefly flickers back to you, standing with your arms crossed as one hand fiddles with the end of your braid as your petal-pink lips scowl at some other official with words that don't fit his stature. your other hands keeps reaching around your neck, adjusting a plaid scarf over and over, like you're desparate to hide something under the fabric . well, fuck that.

"i'm aware of the risks," gojo turns his attention back to the matter, "but no one here has time for hesitation. if the curse is special grade, don't you at least think that delaying with lead to more destruction?"

"is it really the cursed spirit you’re worried about, takumi-san?" you asked, your voice low, the kind of voice that could make someone forget their own name.

gojo's gaze snapped to you from under the blindfold, but you weren’t looking at him, not even speaking at him. instead, you were locking eyes with one of the other sorcerers — takumi, a grade two with a shaggy mop of golden hair, one who had been a student alongside you and hardly subtle in his admiration for you.

gojo tries to hide a scoff at how takumi's eyes are wandering over you, ignoring the newpapers that have been flattened on the meeting table, with bold inked letters reading doom-portents such as 'unexplained explosion, 4 dead and 12 injured."

time and place, man.

"you don't think i can handle this mission. if you're worried about me, just say so," takumi's now leaning into you, even as gojo tries to train his ear on kojiro's economic-obsessed babble instead.

gojo can see your eyes flicker to the dastardly newspapers as well, clearly curling your lips at the dour news and takami's disastrous attempt at getting his hands under your skirt. but he also knows that sharp glint in your eyes, the one when you toy with those around you, to pull them in without ever committing to anything. clearly, you've decided to indulge this game.

"takumi," and you draw out the younger man's name, "shouldn't you bring more strength to the table? of course, i'm worried about a friend getting hurt. but even if you were stronger, or the strongest, a special grade curse could do some real damage."

and your eyes have flicked right towards gojo, raking over his frame leaning against the pale cream walls. he's glad for the blindfold, so you can't see how he scowls and furrows his thin brows at you, at your blatant hopes for a reaction from him. were you so unobservant that you did not know how much you bothered him?

the pointed sharpness in your words made takumi pause, and for just a moment, gojo could see the man’s grin falter. it was clear that you weren’t impressed by his attention, you had no need for his slimy attempts.

there was no mistake about it — this wasn’t just a flirtation. this was a game you played, and gojo was not only aware of it; he was caught in it. he tries not to feel irrationally angry, fuck, so much of his life revolves around his work, his job and now he can't even do that properly without feeling like you're using your long nails to dangle something in front of him, wanting to snap his teeth out and snatch it.

so you wanted him to see this. you wanted to claim that you could unravel the strongest sorcerer from the heavens to the earth below, to make him lose his composure. gojo feels as if there is crackling ozone in the air, and wonders dimly if the weather forecast predicted a rain storm for later today.

takumi, sensing the shift, finally backed off with a huff, but not before giving all around him a lingering look, as if it was their fault that you weren't interested.

"enough distractions," kojiro's interjected, raking a finger through a beard streaked with gray, and he's shooting a pointed look at you, snapping rose-pink gum, and takumi, shuffling with his hands in his pockets. "we're here to discuss the mission, not flirt." and then, he's off mumbling something about how this was why he hated having younger sorcerers join the meeting rooms.

his ire only grew. gojo stood with his back against the wall, outside the meeting room, once everyone had left with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. you stood in front of him, your eyes flashing with anger, your chest rising and falling with each sharp breath.

"absolutely not," gojo stood his ground firmly, "no-one will let you go on this mission."

you stomped on the floor, once as your heels snapped an echo, "they will if you say so."

gojo stuffs his hands in his pockets, "who said that i would also allow you?"

you scoffed, folding your arms across your chest, mimicking his previous stance but with a clear defiance in your posture. "and why the hell not? i'm more than capable of handling it. it's my fucking choice, and how can extra help hurt?"

"enough!" gojo snapped, feeling a tense pain in between his eyes, "it's too dangerous. and you're too young -"

"too young!" you've interrupted him, "i'm not some helpless child, sensei. i'm a grade 1 sorcerer! one of the best, i don't need to be treated like i can't handle a mission."

"grade 1. not special-grade."

his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. gojo could see the fury in your eyes, but there was something else there, something deeper, a vulnerability that he had seen before in students, some desire to prove themselves and be heaped with praise. he knew you were good, better than most — hell, better than many of the adults he’d seen. but this cursed spirit was unlike anything you’d faced before. and yet, here you were, challenging him, pushing him, daring him to stop you.

"you don’t get it," he muttered, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. "you think you’re invincible, but you’re not. you're too reckless."

"reckless!" now you had taken a step towards him, narrowing the space between you both. your eyes were fierce now, but there was something else in them — a spark of hurt that made his chest tighten, and gojo began to wander where this would start spiral. "i’m not reckless. i know exactly what i’m doing. the only reckless thing here is you thinking you have the right to control my every move."

"i'm the one in charge here," he said, his voice hoarse, the words coming out sharper than he intended. "and i'm telling you now, you’re not going. you’re not ready for this. don't involve the higher-ups in this."

you were so close now, just inches apart. his eyes flicked to your lips, with the arch of a blooming flower kissed by the sun, for a brief moment, and then back up to your face, where anger and frustration mixed with something else — a challenge.

"maybe that’s the problem," you said, your voice quieter now, but still holding an edge. "you think i'm still some child who needs you to tell me what to do. maybe you just don’t want me to outshine you."

the words are ridiculous, and he can see by the mild quiver as your throat bobs that you don't mean what you say. it takes a rare type of courage to tell the first person in four hundred years to be born with limitless and six eyes, that he could be outshined. but satoru doesn't say a word to rebuke your obvious and false bait.

your body is so close now that gojo could feel the heat of your skin, your breath brushing against his. he could smell the faint sweetness of vanilla again in the air mingled with fresh, crisp apples, could see the subtle shine of your lip gloss catching the light. it was a testament to his spirit, he thinks, that he did not lean in straight away and touch his mouth to yours in this scenario that certainly did not warrant it.

"you want me to stop you that badly?" he hissed, his voice a mix of frustration and something darker, that had not yet snapped. "is that what this is? a game? a way for you to get my attention? to see how far you can push me before i do snap?"

now he's got your tongue, and your expression has flickered for a brief moment before schooling into an impassive mask, and gojo briefly wanders if he's crossed an awful line and misinterpreted everything. if they're gonna stick a white dunce hat on his head and parade him through the streets of outer tokyo for being an assuming fool.

but then you've stepped even closer, your breath coming faster, the weight of your chest almost pressed against his, and gojo doesn't move and he's briefly aware that he's let his infinity down.

"partly, you know it's not just about you though. i do want to go on this mission, but -" you tilt your head and look right up at him, and the older man's head starts to reel from the fact that he was right all along, "i do want to see how far you can go before you snap."

his heart pounded, and for a moment, everything went still. all the tension, all the heat, the anger, and the desire — everything seemed to converge in the space between you. gojo's hand twitched, aching to touch you, but he held himself back, his muscles straining with the effort.

"stop,” he rasped, barely able to get the word out. "you don’t know what you’re doing, or what you're asking for."

he's never felt quite like this before, breathless as if the air has been punched out of his lungs. all gojo could think was how much he wanted to pull you closer, to kiss you until there was nothing left between you.

but he couldn’t.

he puts his hands on your shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of your top, and gently pushes you away.

"my decision is final. don't make this harder than this, you're forbidden from the mission."

how sick and twisted, that you've fled with embarrassed tears pricking at your eyes, and he's stuck with a raging erection.

well, he had seen worse. but it didn't make this curse any less vicious. it was ancient, he could presume, and maddening. its cursed energy was warping the night air like a violent storm. but again, not the worst thing that he had encountered in his twenty-eight years, and with the right timing, he'd been able to calculate every strike and counter.

but then he saw you.

at first, he thought it was a blur — a trick of the light. but then, there you were, standing at the edge of the pavement, your figure framed by the chaotic crackle of cursed energy. fuck your stubborn nature.

this is not what is meant to happen. gojo's heart has skipped a beat, and he's not sure what he's more furious with. you, for defying his concern for your safety. or himself, for getting so distracted in. a battle.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?"

yes, he knows you're good. good enough to move with precision against a special-grade curse, your stance instantly and suspiciously better than the other day in the training rooms. it's only through his six eyes that gojo has been able to keep a track of your movements as your jujutsu is able to dodge the creature's brutal force.

impressive. but reckless.

and that never lasts.

you had moved to cast your own cursed technique, but the curse was intelligent enough to anticipate it. with a sudden lash of its tail, the creature swung its power straight at you, knocking you off balance. you stumbled, your footing lost, and before you could react, a flash of dark energy slicing across your shoulder.

a scream had torn from your lips as you fell to the ground, blood spurting from the deep cut.

and briefly, just for a flicker of time, gojo sees a dark-haired man in violet robes leaning against a brick wall, with his shoulder torn off, 'at least curse me one last time.'

blood rushing in his ears, before he even realised it, he was on top of you, his body hovering over yours, his jujutsu flaring as he shoved the cursed spirit back with a brutal force that made the earth tremble, an exorcism that will not take long. he kneeled beside you, his breath ragged, eyes locked on the wound on your shoulder. the blood was already soaking your clothes, darkening the fabric as you winced, your breath shallow and unsteady.

"you —” gojo isn't sure if his hand isn't shaking from how irate he is, "what the hell were you thinking? fuck, don't move."

your eyes were unfocused for a moment, but when they snapped to him, there was defiance there — even in this moment (get a grip!), as you gritted your teeth against the pain.

"save it, it's fine," you spat, your voice weak but vexed, "that bitch is still there."

"what did i tell you! what did i say would happen?" he cursed under his breath, focusing his reversed cursed technique as he tried to heal you, but the moment felt like an eternity as bright red blood moved too fast for him to seize it.

an assassin's blade in his throat, his arteries giving way and bubbling out and up.

now you don't answer, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. gojo's gaze darted to the cursed spirit, which was now advancing again, enraged by the interruption.

it won’t touch you again.

he stood, pulling you away from him, your body slumping slightly out of his arms. he could feel the heat of your blood soaking through his sleeve, but he had no time to dwell on it. the curse roared in fury, and gojo's infinity flared up around him again, a shield of pure energy blocking its path.

"stay down,” he growled, and all he received was a weak, "fuck, you think that's funny?"

it's only later when he's pulling you back up, that he realises that his reversed cursed energy has done enough to stem the bleeding, but not enough to leave you unharmed as your breath is shallow, your face taking on a more sickly pallor.

"don’t you ever — ever —do that again," he snarled, his voice raw and he wonders when something (or someone) has ever undone him so much. but the anger in his voice doesn't carry to his touch as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, tracing the lines of your jaw.

the sterile walls of your room did nothing to soften the tension in gojo's chest as he stood by your bed, his eyes tracing the curve of your sullen form beneath the sheets. your shoulder was bandaged, with red seeping slowly through the white strips.

"you really are unbelievable," he snapped, his voice sharp as he paced around the room, every step heavy with frustration. "i told you it was too dangerous. i told you not to fucking go."

you lay there, your eyes half-closed, as though you weren’t even listening, but the twitching frown on your lips is sign enough that you're not as sorry. his fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do something — anything — to release the tension building in him.

"are you even listening to me?" he know he sounds bitter, over-reactionary, angry as he moved towards the edge of your bed.

you blinked slowly, your gaze still infuriatingly calm, "i'm fine, now. save the lecture."

he doesn't want to start sputtering so he settles for crossing his arms over his chest, but your voice breaks the silence again.

"you know i want to be a special grade sorcerer, right?"

gojo only looks down, not wanting to indulge an excuse and he studies the tight grip of his knuckles on his slender fingers, "well, i don't know why. the pay isn't that good." it's a weak attempt at a joke, but you're smiling.

"i was told i could only become one if i was the one to exorcise that special grade."

"by who? the higher-ups?" and you nod, wincing as you do.

what a fucking surprise. the way that the jujutsu world works is no surprise to gojo by now, having been surrounded by it his entire life. but the harshness of their reality still shocks him, old and doddering officials who cling to their silk robes are prone to sending out younger sorcerers (those who are still green, barely out of school) to do their dirty work for them, and the cemetery outside of jujutsu tech is ever growing.

he ground his teeth together, his chest tightening as he stared down at you. the bandages, the damp skin, the stillness of your body — it made him want to tear something apart. "fine! if they were giving you a hard time, why didn't you just come to me then?" he repeated harshly.

"would you go ask someone to help you, for something like this? if you were asked to prove yourself?"

gojo runs his tongue behind his teeth, "i'm the strongest, princess. i don't need to ask for help."

you groan, turning your head away from him, but a faint smile dances upon your lips.

he inhales sharply, his fingers digging into the edge of the bed. "you think this is a joke?"

"all four limbs are attached and i'm living and breathing. okay, so fine. my bad. i won't do it again. will you stop snapping at me now, at everything -" and gojo wonders if there's really some hurt colouring your voice, "what's going on?"

the words slip out, rough and unrestrained. "what’s going on is that you’re driving me insane. you act like this doesn’t matter, like i can just stand by and let you throw yourself into danger like it’s nothing — like you don’t matter — but you do. you do matter."

his chest was heaving now, his hands shaking as he reached out and grabbed your wrist. his thumb brushed over your pulse, the tiny fluttering beneath your skin driving him wild. "i can’t — i can’t just stand there and watch you get hurt," he continued, his voice hoarse. "you don’t get to do whatever you want without consequences, damn it. you don’t get to make me feel this way, and then pretend like it doesn’t matter."

for a moment, there was silence. gojo's pulse was hammering in his ears, his body coiled with the intensity of everything he was trying to say. everything he was trying not to say. everything he wanted to act upon.

and then, with a slow, almost lazy smile, you turned towards him, "i didn't know the great gojo satoru was like this. who would have thought?"

his breath hitched in his throat. gojo wanted to say something, to snap at you again, to maintain that distance — but the truth was that the distance between the two of you had disappeared these past few weeks. his chest tightened, his hands trembling as they slid to your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, and he relished how your facade almost cracked and you lightly shivered.

at least, he hoped you were shivering because of his touch. and not, like, a fever building up from your injuries.

fuck it.

and then, before he could stop himself, gojo was leaning down, his lips crashing into yours with all the force he could muster, desparate and hungry and that frustration and fear that he had been holding onto. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you towards him with a force that made your breath catch, as you responded with a soft gasp.

had he misstepped? no, for you kissed him back, tentatively at first, as if you were testing the waters, but then building up to a sudden urgency that mirrored his own. your hands slid to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pushed yourself closer to him, before crying out.

"ah! fuck, my shoulder."

small beads of blood surfaced where your collarbone met your shoulder, each one glistening like tiny rubies against your warm skin. they gathered slowly, delicate droplets that clung to you before tracing faint, uneven lines downward. the red stood out, vivid and fresh, dotting your skin in a stark, almost mesmorising gojo as they welled up and began to trick in thin, crimson trails.

"stay still," gojo rasped, his voice low and rough as he leaned in, pressing closer. his mouth met the fresh blood pooling on your skin, tongue tracing over the small rivulets that had seeped from beneath the bandage.

he lingered, almost savouring the taste, his eyes darkening as the sharp tang of iron lingered on his tongue, smacking his lips slightly as he drew back, gaze fixed intently on you, on your heavy breathing as he stole away another kiss from you.

gojo's lips left yours briefly, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his eyes wild underneath the blindfold, gasping as your nails reached up to hook the fabric down so his hair loosened, falling around his face.

you were staring back at him, breathless and wide-eyed, and in that moment, gojo knew — he couldn’t stay away from you. no matter how much he tried.

your lips were soft, so soft, but there was fire behind the way you kissed him back, your hands landing on his chest, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. he groaned, deep in his throat, and his fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer.

his mouth moved urgently over yours as he shifted to stand beside the bed, his body hovering over you, every muscle tense, straining with the desire that he had tried so hard to ignore. gojo just couldn't think about anything else.

and your lips broke apart only briefly, and you let out a soft laugh, that damn, dangerous laugh of yours. "you're greedy, you know that."

his chest heaved, and his heart pounded in his ears, and blood was now pounding to his nether regions. he wasn’t sure if it was the previous anger or the ache between his ribs, but he couldn’t stop himself as he threaded his fingers through your soft hair, "i am greedy. greedy for you. only you - mmph! shit!"

you had run your long, painted nails (with the little painted charms on the end) down his neck before pressing them, hard enough to cause a sharp sting.

"you wanted to put me through hell," he whispered harshly, and his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, "until i realised i liked it. until i realised i wanted you, all of you."

his hands moved down to your waist, squeezing gently as his lips found the tender spot beneath your ear, trailing kisses there, letting his teeth sink in, to see small bruises appear. gojo's breath was ragged as he fought to keep control, and something deeper inside of him roared with the need to claim you completely.

"you’re mine," he growled against your skin, the words hot and possessive. "i don't care what happens. you’re mine now."

you tilted your head, still smiling, but this time there was something different in your eyes — something that burned with the same intensity. "if i'm yours, what are you going to do about it? hmm, satoru?"

and that final thread, that last remnant of honour that he had been nurturing and holding onto, snapped.

"is this what you want, princess?" he draws out the nickname, letting it roll off his tongue, as you suddenly inhale sharply. his hands are all over you now, large hands exploring and kneading at your torso, and before he can even let you blink, they're under your top.

he's pressing his hot mouth to your sternum, wet and open-mouthed, and he wonders what sort of effect you have on him. what force in the world leave him panting like this, desparate as his hands find their way behind your back, to unclip whatever's holding your tits in place — just so he can reach back and run his palms over your hard nipples, flicking them and rolling them in between his fingers.

and faintly, in the back of his mind, he's aware that his reversed cursed technique must be working overtime, because suddenly you're rolling forward into him with no care in the world for your previously injured shoulder, as your own hands trail down the front of body, right over his bulge.

but he slaps your hand away, pressing you flat against the mattress, "fuck, not yet. you think i'm just going to let you get away with all this," and as you mewl a soft yes, followed by a please, he rolls his eyes, "wait. behave and i'll give you what you want."

and then, softer, "need to make sure you're ready first."

his arms are caging both sides of your head, and he's got one hand on the headboard (although, you will marvel at the burnt imprint that he's left, later) and the other is tearing your top off, just so he can lean down and let his canines press into the soft fat of your chest, so he can slip a pointed nipple into his mouth and tug it, ever so gently.

but gojo needs to continue lower, and his hand squeezes at the waistband of your short skirt, snapping the elastic twice as you heave your bare chest, "please, please, satoru!"

it's heaven down here for him, and gojo's dizzy at how outstandingly wet you are, with just a single swipe of his fingers in the soft, damp fabric of your underwear.

your clear, sticky arousal clung to his fingers, stretching in thin, glistening threads as he spread your thighs apart, knocking your knees to either side so he could slot himself in between them. your slick shimmered slightly under the light, translucent and tacky and he just couldn't help himself, bringing them up to his mouth to slowly taste.

"shit, princess. you taste so good, can't believe this is what i've been missing out on."

he's playing an instrument, he thinks. gliding his fingers along sodden folds, twirling his index finger past a thick wad of skin and pressing right over your clit in hot, tight circles that have you bucking your hips, "hnngh, right - ah, right there 'toru!"

'toru.

as a reward, he plunges his middle finger straight into your gaping heat, your tight wall of ringed muscles that had been fluttering in light pulses for his attention. fuck, he almost reaches his own climax by feeling how you squirm and writhe, moan and mewl as he starts pushing his finger in, and then out.

in, and then out. in, once more. and out, again. and then, another finger.

his fingers sank into your soft, damp pussy — which yielded easily enough with a soft pssh! as the digits pressed in. gojo pulled his hand back out from your thighs, enjoying the tight resistance and suction as your cunt has resisted being empty once more, leaving a cool moistness on his skin.

but now your hands gently cup his face, and he isn't sure how to not crumble with how you look at him, eyes wide and glossy, "wan' more, want your cock, 'toru."

now, gojo feels as though he's truly ascended, gone onto some higher plane of existence. because how can he resist when your hands are weakly pawing at his belt, at his waistband and he's letting you pull his thick shaft out.

it's hot, and already weeping angry tears of pre-cum, and he just loves how your eyes widen at the sheer size and girth.

"yeah, princess was sooo brave earlier, wasn't she? wanted my cock, ah! shit - did she?" and he's letting the wide tip lay heavy against your clit, knocking it once, and then twice, through your heavenly folds.

you've reached a leg up, and around his waist, pulling him closer and gojo has to pierce his lip with his teeth to not let out a gutteral groan from his cock sliding through the your folds, "i don't - don't care, i really don't fucking care if it's too big. just put it in now, m' so wet, i'm wet enough."

your babble is endearing, and he marvels at how easily he has you cock-drunk without even being in you right now. he jostles further, until the tip is right at your flittering entrance, pressing forward and slipping through the heated, slick gummy texture in a way that has the strongest's head spinning.

"easy, princess. oh fuck, you're too tight. way too tight, i'm gonna -" and gojo inhales, steadying himself, as the wet heat enveloped him as he moved, each slide through the soft walls of your pussy leaving him acutely aware of every inch, the warmth coating him further until your slick was dampening the white, stray hairs of his groin.

he pulls your lips close again, one hand coming up to gently cradle your head, and his fingers weaving slowly through your hair.

"you're so deep in me, 'toru! so - hnngh," and your words are cut off by a staccato thrust of his hips, and your teeth clack around a moan that gojo gladly swallows.

"hey, i'm right here. i've got you, yeah? got you so good, just hold onto me."

and he keeps a steady pace, plunging into molten silk, with a sensation so intense and so enveloping that it left him breathless, with a rush of heat that made his head spin.

he's toying with your tits, pressing his face into the shadow that lies between your mounds, and gojo's certain that he could die a happy man like this, exactly like this.

he realises that the faint laugh is coming from him, so distant is he in his pussy-drunk reverie, that he realises he must look and sound like a madman, "pretty pussy is so tight, so fucking tight. haah, i think i'm gonna have to fill you up, gorgeous?" and he must be blathering, "want me to fill you up? shit- want me to stuff... ah! stuff you so full of cum that we just hafta stay in this bed all day then?"

he had his fingers now moving in circles over your throbbing clit, exerting a gentle pressure that had you so beautifully keening and bucking your hips up, jolting right into his pelvis. and gojo bit back as a groan as his heavy balls started to smack, and smack! over and over again, right onto your dampened skin.

"she must be close right, pretty little pussy must be almost tired now," and gojo's now slapping your clit, lifting three fingers up and bringing them down with enough force to not harm you, but make you jolt, "she. must. be. so. close." and each word is punctuated by the slippery spank of his fingers bouncing right off your mound.

"makes me want to have you - you and her," and gojo's revelling in the slick of your pussy, now throwing his head back without shame.

and when your walls start to flutter, when you start writhing in his grasp, pressed right against his chest with your legs knocked back as far as they reach on other side of his broad frame, he feels himself unravel. feels the rhythmic quake of your tight cunt literally milk him dry, letting pools of thick, white seed plug within you, and he almost shakes and tears up himself, at the idea of claiming you like this.

later, he has you resting against his chest and the knot in his chest, that nasty plague that sent him afoul has disappeared, and gojo feels as though he's about to start purring, from the feeling of your nails trailing little shapes over his skin (little hearts, perhaps?) and how soft your hair feels under his own hands. he can't resist himself from pressing his lips softly to your forehead, "happy?"

you laugh, a genuine, soft sound that erupts from your chest as you press your bare body into him, "you have no idea."

[bimrwolf]

The Christmas Arrangement (Part 2)

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 10,009 warnings: SMUT SMUT ALERT!!!!!!! 18+ minors dni :P summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: sor maybe this will be more than 2 parts.... not betad and a little rusty on my writing still lmaooo i know...no real slow burn but steve and reader got a little impatient im sorry!!! Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

You woke slowly, the soft light of morning streaming through the curtains. The warmth of the bed was almost lulling you back to sleep when you noticed it—the weight around your waist.

Your eyes opened fully, and your breath hitched. Steve’s arm was draped over you, his hand resting lightly against your hip. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the soft puff of his breath against the nape of your neck.

For a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do. The room was quiet save for the faint creak of the house settling, and it struck you how peaceful Steve looked—his usual tension smoothed away in sleep.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. People shifted in their sleep all the time. But as you carefully slid out from under his arm, you couldn’t help the way your heart raced.

When Steve stirred, mumbling something unintelligible, you quickly turned your back, pretending to rummage through your bag. 

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. You hated how… adorable his voice sounded in the morning. 

“Morning,” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the clock on the nightstand. If he noticed the earlier proximity, he didn’t mention it, and you weren’t about to bring it up.

“You sleep okay?” Steve asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Uh, yeah. Like a baby,” you said, pulling out a sweater from your bag.

He watched you carefully and you hated how he made you feel. You didn’t exactly hate that he was watching you. You peeked over your shoulder, and he pretended to yawn. “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

He grunted in reply, standing up, stretching his arms up. You hadn’t really paid attention that he had put on sweatpants and a cotton shirt. It hiked up just a bit, and you felt your cheeks burn from seeing a sliver of his happy trail. Jesus. You hoped the water in the shower was scalding to cleanse you from the thoughts swarming through your mind. 

This was all because of being close to him. It didn’t mean anything. It was like stupid biology that your lady parts were screaming for attention. 

After your shower, you came out and guessed Steve was downstairs because he wasn’t in his room. You were grateful. You had remembered how uncomfortable the bra you were wearing was, and since there was no sign of him, you made the executive decision to change. 

You stripped from your sweater and took off your bra, stuffing it back in the suitcase so you wouldn’t get it out again. You grabbed the one you wore yesterday. As soon as you went to put it on, the door to Steve’s bedroom opened. 

Steve walked in, shirtless, dripping in sweat. “Is the shower free—” Steve stopped dead in his tracks, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He quickly turned around. “Jesus Christ…” His tone was indecipherable. 

You squealed, quickly putting on your bra and sweater. You didn’t even protest that he hadn't knocked. It was his room. He probably didn’t think that you would be half naked in the middle of it. You stood there a moment to collect yourself. 

Your head tilted. Since when has Steve been so… toned? His back muscles glistened. It took everything in you not to step forward and drag your finger down the crease of his back. “Uh… it’s safe. Sorry about that.” 

Steve hesitantly turned around, not looking you in the eye as he scrambled to get into his bathroom. You almost laughed when you heard the click of the lock. 

You were downstairs for forty-five minutes until Steve joined you, still not meeting your gaze. You smirked. You had unintentionally gotten under his skin. The best Christmas gift you have ever gotten. 

“My mom is in town. Tomorrow is this big Christmas auction gala she organizes for the community.” He grabbed a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator. 

“Oh, so we have the entire house to ourselves?” You made sure your tone was suggestive. 

He looked up, already flustered. “Shut up.” 

You smirked. “Oh come on. I didn’t think you’d be so worked up about seeing boobs.” 

“You’re my employee. Of course I’m worked up about seeing your…” he trailed off, taking a sip of his orange juice. “Can we just drop it. I didn’t see much anyway.” 

Your face fell. “Geez. Way to make a girl feel insecure,” you mumbled. 

Steve ran a hand over his face. There was that small unintelligible word that sounded too close to your name which came out of his mouth. “Have you always been this obnoxious? Was I drunk when I hired you?” 

You reached over and patted him gently on the cheek. “I think I was wearing that skirt.” 

He didn’t like that because he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving you alone. 

The Harrington house was quiet after Steve stormed out, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. You lingered in the kitchen for a moment, replaying the earlier exchange in your mind. 

Something about this morning had felt… different. Maybe it was the intimacy of waking up so close to him, or the way his voice had softened when he said your name under his breath. Either way, the air between you had shifted, and it left you feeling restless.

With no clear destination in mind, you wandered through the house, letting your curiosity guide you. The walls were lined with family photos, some faded and slightly crooked, others newer and perfectly framed. There were a lot of Diane—her vibrant smile unmistakable in every shot. But it was the few photos of Steve that caught your attention.

You looked at the one you saw yesterday. He looked about eighteen, wearing a Hawkins High basketball jersey and holding a trophy with an exaggerated grin. His hair was bigger than you thought humanly possible, curling in wild waves that practically defied gravity. You snorted, biting back a laugh.

The hallway opened up to a dimly lit room, the door slightly ajar. You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. It was an office—clearly one that hadn’t been used in a while. Dust clung to the edges of the wooden desk, and the faint smell of leather lingered in the air. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and old knickknacks that spoke of someone who had once cared deeply about appearances.

As you walked further in, your eyes landed on the desk. A single picture frame sat on top, the glass slightly smudged. You picked it up, the image of a younger Steve catching your attention immediately. He was maybe eight or nine, sitting on a couch with a man who had to be his father. The resemblance was uncanny—the same sharp jawline, the same hazel eyes. But where Steve’s gaze held an openness, his father’s was piercing, almost cold.

“Figured you’d end up in here.”

You jumped, nearly dropping the photo. Steve stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He wasn’t angry—if anything, he looked resigned, like he’d been expecting this.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, setting the photo back down. “I was just… exploring.”

Steve shrugged, stepping inside. “It’s fine. No one really comes in here anymore.”

You watched him carefully as he moved to the desk, his hand brushing against the edge like he was grounding himself. His eyes flicked to the photo, softening in a way you didn’t expect.

“Your hair used to have its own zip code.” You smiled. 

Steve huffed out a quiet laugh, his lips twitching. “Yeah. Mom called it my ‘fluff phase.’”

You grinned, leaning against the desk. “It’s impressive. I’m surprised you didn’t get recruited for shampoo commercials.”

“Missed my calling,” he muttered. Then he did something strange. He smiled at you. 

You glanced around the room, your curiosity piqued. “Was this your dad’s office?”

Steve nodded, his expression growing more serious. “Yeah. He spent most of his time in here when he was home.”

“When he was home,” you echoed softly.

Steve hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything more. But then he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Christmas was… one of the few times he actually made an effort,” Steve said, his voice low. “I remember this one year—I think I was, like, ten. I’d gotten sick right before Christmas Eve. Just a cold or something, but I was miserable.”

You stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

“My mom wanted to cancel all our plans,” Steve continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “But my dad wouldn’t hear it. Said the Harringtons didn’t ‘sit out’ Christmas, even for the flu.”

You frowned, your chest tightening at the thought.

“But then,” Steve said, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips, “on Christmas morning, he came into my room. Had this stupid Santa hat on and everything. He brought me hot chocolate, sat on the floor, and just… stayed there with me. We watched movies all day. Mom kept checking in, but he told her not to worry.”

Steve’s smile faded slightly, his gaze distant. “I think that’s the last time I remember him actually being… present. Like he wasn’t thinking about work or his image. Just… me.”

The weight in his voice was palpable, and you found yourself wishing you could say something to take it away. But you knew better than to offer empty platitudes.

“That sounds like a good memory,” you said softly.

Steve nodded, his hand brushing over the edge of the desk again. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, the only sound the faint creak of the house settling. Then Steve straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone shifting back to something lighter. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You arched an eyebrow, folding your arms. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not,” he said quickly, though his tone betrayed him. “It’s just… usually today, I go to this Christmas party. My friends host it every year.” 

“And since Robin’s probably already told them about us… it’d be easier if I came.” You said matter of fact. 

He shrugged. “S’okay if you don’t wanna. I know that’s a lot more than you signed up for. And it’s more people we’d have to lie to. But my mom will wonder why you didn’t go and—”

“Okay.” You replied. A small smile fixed on your lips. You weren’t going to tell him that you were going to say yes once he brought it up. Nor were you going to tell him that him stumbling, avoiding your gaze, was cute. You stared at him for a moment. “What time?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Seven.”

You looked at the clock. You had plenty of time but you didn’t want to end up going empty handed. 

The kitchen hummed with the soft sound of the oven preheating, the scent of cocoa powder and sugar already wafting in the air as you pulled out the ingredients for brownies. Steve leaned against the counter, watching you with an amused expression, arms crossed. His guardedness had melted somewhat, replaced by a warmth that was… nice. Too nice, if you let yourself think about it for too long.

“So, what’s the plan here?” he asked, nodding to the growing pile of ingredients. “You’re just going to wing it?”

You shot him a look. “Winging it is an art form. You wouldn’t understand.”

Steve snorted, pushing off the counter. “Right. Because following a recipe is such a niche skill.”

You grinned, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl with exaggerated precision. “You’re welcome to help, Mr. Harrington. Or are you going to just stand there and look pretty?”

“Pretty?” he shot back, stepping closer. His eyes sparkled as he grabbed the whisk from your hand.

“I said annoying.” You tried to correct yourself. 

“No, I’m sure you said pretty.” He said in a sing-song tone. 

You looked up at him, gawking at how different the Steve Harrington was standing right next to you to the Steve Harrington you knew twenty-four hours ago. “You misheard.”

“Did I? Then why are you blushing?” He teased. 

“I am not.”

Steve chuckled, nudging you. “Move over. Let a professional show you how it’s done.”

“Professional? When’s the last time you baked anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve smirked, starting to whisk the eggs and sugar together. “Does it count if I helped Robin make cookies once? By ‘help,’ I mean I ate the dough.”

“That’s what I thought,” you said, nudging him aside with your hip. “Here. Hold the bowl steady.”

Steve did as you asked, holding the mixing bowl while you dumped in the cocoa powder. A small cloud of chocolate puffed up, and you both coughed, laughing.

“Great job, chef,” he teased, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, try aiming for the bowl?”

“Oh, shut up,” you replied, brushing a streak of cocoa off your wrist. “Mix it.” 

You tried not to stare at how his forearms flexed as he mixed the batter. ”You’re not mixing,” you said, stepping closer and pointing at the bowl. “You’re obliterating. Look at it—there’s no love in that batter. You’re supposed to fold it.”

Steve scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Fold it? How do you fold a liquid? That makes no sense.”

“It’s not a liquid,” you countered, sliding next to him. “And if you don’t fold it, the brownies won’t be fluffy. Here, give me the whisk.”

He pulled the bowl closer to his chest like a petulant child. “I’ve got this.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “No, you don’t. Let me—”

But before he could protest, you grabbed his hands where they gripped the whisk. He froze, the heat of his palms bleeding into yours as you guided him.

“Okay,” you said, ignoring the way your heart did a tiny flip at the closeness. “Watch. Around the edges, and then through the middle. See? Gentle. Like this.”

Steve tilted his head, watching your hands guide his through the motion. “You’re not even doing anything. This is the same thing I was doing.”

“Uh, no,” you said, glaring up at him. “What you were doing was creating batter soup. This is how you fold. It’s all in the wrist. Look—soft, smooth motions.”

He mimicked your movements hesitantly, his frown softening into something closer to concentration. “So… like this?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “Just don’t overdo it. You want to mix just enough to combine everything without killing the air.”

Steve glanced down at you, his lips quirking into a reluctant smile. “Killing the air? You’re making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”

“Well, if you want good brownies…” you teased, not letting go of his hands.

“I didn’t realize baking came with a lecture,” he shot back, though his voice was quieter now, softer.

You looked up at him, realizing just how close you were. His face was mere inches from yours, and for a moment, you forgot what you were supposed to be doing.

“Got it?” you asked after a beat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve cleared his throat, pulling his hands back carefully but keeping his eyes on you. “Yeah. I think I’ve got it.”

You stepped back, letting Steve take over the folding, but your gaze lingered longer than it should have. His hands moved with surprising care now, each motion deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

The soft light from the kitchen window caught on his hair, a mess of chestnut waves that managed to look both effortless and infuriatingly perfect. His jawline, sharp and dusted with just a hint of stubble, tensed with focus, and his lips—why were you noticing his lips?—were slightly parted, as if he was lost in the rhythm of the task.

He wasn’t just the boss who annoyed you at work or the guy with the quick comebacks and perpetual smug grin. He was… striking, in a way that made it hard to look away. 

The warmth in his hazel eyes when he glanced at you, the easy laugh he’d let out earlier—it all felt disarmingly genuine, and it left you feeling unsteady, like you’d lost your footing on solid ground.

What the hell was wrong with you? This was Steve. The guy who once called you “relentlessly stubborn” after a client meeting and smirked when you’d glared at him. You weren’t supposed to notice how his t-shirt clung to his shoulders or how the veins in his forearms stood out when he gripped the whisk. 

You weren’t supposed to think about how close his hands had felt under yours or how the faint smell of his cologne—something warm, woodsy, and distinctly him—seemed to linger in the air between you.

“Earth to you,” Steve said suddenly, breaking through your spiraling thoughts. He tilted his head, catching your eye with a teasing smirk. “You’re staring. Should I be worried?”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “No. I was just—” You gestured vaguely at the batter, your voice coming out higher than you intended. “You’re doing it wrong again.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. He just grinned, the kind that made your stomach do an annoying little flip. “Whatever you say, Chef.” He handed you the bowl back. 

As you poured it into the pan, Steve leaned against the counter again, watching you with a small smile. “You’re not bad at this,” he admitted.

“High praise,” you said, smirking. “From a guy whose contribution has been… holding a bowl.”

Steve stepped closer, picking up a spoon to taste the batter. He dipped it in, taking a bite, and hummed thoughtfully. “Not bad. A little more sugar, though.”

You swatted at his hand as he reached for the sugar jar. “It’s fine the way it is!”

He shrugged, stepping back to give you space, though his grin lingered. As you continued to pour the batter into the pan, Steve stepped forward, brushing past you to grab a towel. “You’ve got something,” he said, gesturing to your face.

“Where?” you asked, trying to wipe at your cheek.

“Here,” Steve said, his voice softer now. He reached out, his thumb brushing just below your lip, and you froze.

Before you could process the moment, he brought his thumb to his mouth, licking off the batter absentmindedly.

Your brain short-circuited.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, turning back to the counter like nothing had happened. He made a distinguished sound that embarrassingly made a spot in your stomach heat up. His eyes rolled back. “This is heavenly,” he said casually, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

You blinked, your pulse racing. “Uh… thanks?”

The moment hung in the air for a beat too long, but neither of you addressed it. Instead, you slid the pan into the oven, your movements more deliberate as you tried to regain your composure.

By the time you arrived at the party, the brownies tucked safely in your arms, the house was already buzzing with life. Warm light spilled from the windows, and you could hear laughter and holiday music drifting through the crisp night air.

Steve opened the door, ushering you inside. You barely had time to take in the garlands, twinkling lights, and festive decorations before a familiar voice called out.

“Harrington!”

Robin appeared, beaming as she made her way over. She grabbed Steve by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. “I knew you’d bring her!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his tone. His hand casually fell on the small of your back. You smiled to yourself, leaning into his touch. 

Robin turned to you, her grin widening. “Glad you came.” 

”Thanks for having me.” You lifted the pan. “We brought brownies”

Robin smiled. “You’re a baker?” 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Steve interjected. “They are probably the best damn brownies I’ve ever had.” 

You rolled your eyes. “He hasn’t even had one yet. All he did was lick the spatula.” 

“Not true. I folded it like you asked.” 

“Barely, it looked like you were auditioning for The Great Destroyer of Brownies.” 

“But they came out perfectly fine. So I must have done something right.” 

It was like you two had even forgotten Robin was there. You were looking at each other. Your faces only inches apart, playing a silent game of whoever smiles first, lost. 

“Geez, get a room you two. I’ll take the brownies before you get freaky.” Robin’s face was twisted like she had eaten something sour. She took the pan from you, walking away into the house.

You thought Steve would take his hand off you, but instead he guided you further inside until you both were at the entrance of the living room. He must have seen how nervous you were at the sight of not only a couple of friends, but more than a handful. His hand moved across your back and rested on your waist. 

“Steve!” Everyone cheered in unison. Their eyes immediately drew to you. 

“I thought Rob was lying,” a petite girl with long brown hair said. “I guess she did. She said you were pretty but that’s an understatement.” She walked closer to you and you recognized her from a picture hanging at Steve’s house. “I’m Nancy.” 

You smiled shyly, introducing yourself to her. She then hugged Steve, and you couldn’t help but feel some sort of jealousy as he held onto her a little longer. She turned back to you. “Do you drink?” 

“Uh… occasionally.” You replied. 

Nancy linked her arm with yours, looking up at Steve with a toothy grin. “‘Scuse me, but I’m going to steal your girlfriend. Make yourself at home.” 

You gave Steve a look you had never given him before. A sad puppy dog face, eyes round, eyelashes fanning as you blinked. Steve’s smirk made your stomach flip as Nancy dragged you into the kitchen. Robin followed. 

They were talking about some person named Jane… and that she was eleven? You weren’t sure. All you picked up was she was in Indianapolis with a boy named Mike and the family was leaving after the auction to spend Christmas there. 

You hugged yourself, feeling overwhelmed. You listened, nodding along to the conversation. Nancy looked over at you, handing you a cold beer with a warm smile, tilting her head slightly as if to include you in their conversation. “Here.” 

You took it with a quiet “Thanks,” gripping the bottle just to have something to do with your hands. The kitchen was alive with conversation, Robin perched on the counter while Nancy leaned against the island. They volleyed stories back and forth, mentioning names you barely recognized—Jonathan, Jane, Hopper. Their shared history was palpable, a comfortable rhythm you weren’t sure how to fit into.

Nancy must’ve noticed, because she turned to you, her smile softening. “So, how long have you and Steve been together?”

You froze, fumbling with the bottle in your hand. The words felt too big in your throat, but before you could even attempt to answer, Robin cut in with a mischievous grin. “Fairly recent.” 

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. “And he brought you home for Christmas? That wasn’t meant to sound rude. He just hasn’t brought anyone around since…” she trailed off, taking a sip of her drink. 

You bit the inside of your cheek nervously, unsure what to say. 

“Oh, you know Steve,” Robin said, kicking her feet playfully against the cabinets. “When he falls, he falls hard. I give it six months before they’re picking out curtains.”

Nancy laughed lightly, but her gaze stayed on you, curious. “You must be pretty special,” she said.

Special? That wasn’t exactly the word you would’ve used. You managed a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “He’s, uh, full of surprises,” you said, which was at least half true.

Robin snorted into her drink. “Yeah, surprises. Like when he thought putting a bike together meant duct-taping it until it stopped rattling. Romantic and handy.”

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing a fraction. Nancy smiled too, and for the first time, the air felt a little less heavy. You took a sip of your beer, the coldness grounding you.

“So,” Nancy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “how did Steve get you to put up with him? He’s charming, sure, but that only gets him so far.”

Before you could think of a response, Robin piped up again. “I’ll tell you how—she’s a saint. That’s the only explanation. And a really good liar.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between you and Robin. “Liar?”

You opened up your mouth, but Robin interrupted. “That she isn’t totally in love with him.” 

You froze. In love? You barely knew him. “I—“ you couldn’t even disagree. I mean it would sound weird to say you didn’t like him while dating him. The entire lie would be for nothing. Your mouth went dry. 

Your heart stuttered at Robin’s words. The idea seemed absurd at first. You barely knew Steve outside the confines of work—and even then, most of your interactions had been steeped in teasing, bickering, and stolen glances. But the longer you sat with it, the less certain you felt about brushing it off. Because if you were honest with yourself, there had always been something about him—something you didn’t dare acknowledge until now.

You thought back to those late nights in the office, when the hum of the city faded and it was just the two of you, working side by side. How he always remembered the way you took your coffee, even when you changed it up without warning. 

The way he never let you leave without walking you to your car, muttering some excuse about safety as if he wasn’t the one watching over you. Even the way he poked at your stubbornness during meetings wasn’t cruel—it was almost… playful, like he liked seeing you riled up. 

And you remembered how, after every disagreement, he always found a way to smooth things over, slipping a comment or a smirk that left you reluctantly smiling despite yourself.

Maybe you’d been fooling yourself all along. Because in between the quips and banter, in the quiet moments where his guard slipped and you saw the person beneath the bravado, your feelings had crept in, unnoticed but deeply rooted. You’d just been too scared—or too stubborn—to admit it. Maybe you were in love. 

The three of you walked into the living room. Nancy walked over to an empty space between a lanky, short haired boy, and another man who looked strikingly similar to the boy. He smiled at Nancy, putting his arm around her. 

You noticed the ring on his finger and realized hers. You hated to admit the relief you felt that they were married and her and Steve were just good friends. Steve. He sat on a cushioned chair, smiling at you. 

You moved closer to him, handing him a beer you had grabbed before you left the kitchen. He thanked you and when you went to sit on the ground, he grabbed your arm and pulled you gently into his lap. “This okay?” He asked, low enough in your ear so no one else could hear. He was making sure, remembering the deal. You had final say in all PDA unless absolutely necessary. 

Why did you feel so shy? You nodded bashfully, looking away so he couldn’t see your face heat up. His arm snaked carefully around you, his palm resting on your stomach. It felt normal. But then again, this was exactly how it felt this morning.  

Except now, you felt heat grow in between your legs as he gently pushed you so your back was flushed against his chest. He took a swig of his beer, drunk on smugness. What an asshole. 

You wanted to kiss his smirk off his face. 

And you did. You gently kissed the corner of his mouth, like a whisper. He didn’t push you off. His eyes glimmered and sparked with a sudden firework exploding in his irises. His grip became tighter.

“Oh my god, Steve. You’re down bad.” A chubby, curly haired boy that looked the same age as the one on the couch with Nancy and her husband. 

“Alright man, tell us how you guys met.” A man with a buzzcut said. He was sitting on the ground criss-crossed. “I’m Eddie by the way.” 

You began, “Oh we met at work—”

Steve cut you off mid-sentence, his voice warm and teasing but laced with something that made your chest tighten. “Oh, come on,” he said, his arm shifting slightly around your waist. “That’s way too boring. Let me tell it.”

You glanced up at him, your brows knitting in surprise. His smirk was firmly in place, but there was a softness in his eyes that caught you off guard.

“Alright,” Eddie said, his grin wide as he leaned forward. “Let’s hear it, Harrington. Lay it on thick.”

Steve rolled his eyes but chuckled. “So,” he began, glancing down at you like he was gauging your reaction. “She came storming into the office on her first day, looking like she was ready to fight someone. Hair all windblown, heels clicking loud enough to wake the dead—”

“I was not storming,” you interjected, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You absolutely were,” Steve shot back, grinning. “And then she marched right up to me, handed me a coffee—black, no sugar, just how I like it—and said, ‘If you’re the guy who hired me, then this better be worth it.’”

Robin snorted from across the room, nearly choking on her drink. “She did not.”

“Oh, she did,” Steve said, nodding solemnly. “No ‘hi,’ no ‘nice to meet you,’ just straight to business. And, honestly? I was impressed.”

You felt your cheeks heat as everyone chuckled, their attention fully on Steve. “It wasn’t that dramatic,” you muttered.

Steve’s grin widened, his hazel eyes sparkling as he leaned closer. “It was. And she’s late, by the way. Not just a couple minutes late—fifteen minutes late.”

Nancy snorted from her spot on the couch, and Robin outright cackled from her perch in the corner. Eddie’s eyes were wild like he was watching the most entertaining movie. The other two boys were trying not to laugh. 

Steve ignored them. “Anyway we go to the conference room to begin her new hire orientation. She sits down, doesn’t even bother with the whole ‘sorry I’m late’ excuse. Just looks right at me, raises an eyebrow, and says—” he turned to you now, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “‘Am I in your seat, boss?’”

Laughter rippled through the group, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I did not say it like that.”

“Oh, but you did,” Steve shot back, his grin widening. “Like you were challenging me. And you weren’t wrong—you were in my seat. But I let it slide because, well…” He glanced down at you, his tone dropping an octave. “I couldn’t stop staring.”

The air seemed to shift with his words, the playful banter dipping into something deeper, quieter. The teasing smile faded from his lips, and for a moment, the room around you seemed to fade too. It was just Steve, looking at you like he was still that guy in the conference room, seeing you for the first time all over again.

“I didn’t stand a chance,” he admitted softly, his fingers tracing small, absentminded circles on your stomach. “From that first day, I was done for. And then, for the next few weeks, she basically ran circles around me—fixing my mistakes, arguing with me over every little thing, making me feel like an idiot in the best possible way.”

“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were insufferably arrogant.”

Steve grinned, the warmth in his gaze only intensifying. “Insufferably arrogant, huh? And now?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words as the room seemed to blur around you. All you could focus on was the way Steve’s thumb had started tracing slow, idle circles against your stomach, his hold on you steady and unshakable.

Eddie groaned dramatically, breaking the spell. “Alright, lovebirds, we get it. You’re disgustingly into each other. Someone pass me a beer before I die from secondhand swooning.”

The room burst into laughter, and you shook your head, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned. Steve just chuckled, pressing his lips to your temple in a way that felt too natural, too easy.

But as his hold on you tightened and his breath brushed your skin, you realized you weren’t sure you wanted him to let go.

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, though the warmth in his eyes didn’t waver. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the beer in his hand, as if weighing whether to continue. You tilted your head, sensing the shift, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, his thumb traced idle patterns along the glass bottle, his voice quieter when he spoke again.

“There’s… another reason I remember that day so clearly,” Steve said, his tone carrying an unexpected weight. The group quieted, their teasing falling away as they noticed his change in demeanor.

“It was…” He cleared his throat, finally meeting your gaze, his expression softer now. “It was the anniversary of when my dad passed.”

Your breath caught, the words settling heavily between you. Steve rarely talked about his dad—you’d picked up that much in the short time you’d spent with his family. And now, hearing it like this, you understood why.

Nancy’s face softened, her eyes flickering with something like recognition. Robin leaned forward slightly, her usual smirk replaced by concern.

“It was one of those days where everything felt… heavy,” Steve continued, his grip on the bottle tightening. “I didn’t even want to come into the office. But I knew if I stayed home, I’d just sit there, thinking about everything I couldn’t change. So I showed up. And then…” He smiled faintly, glancing down at you. “Then she walked in.”

You felt your heart twist, a strange mix of guilt and gratitude welling up inside you. Guilt for not knowing, for not realizing what that day had meant to him. And gratitude, because somehow, you’d been there—not knowing, but there all the same.

“She had this energy,” Steve said, his voice a little steadier now. “Like she didn’t care about anything or anyone, but not in a bad way. It was more like… she had her own gravity, and she didn’t need anyone else to pull her along. And for some reason, that made everything feel… lighter.”

Your cheeks flushed, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard. You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, hoping he could feel the silent support in your presence.

“And yeah,” Steve added, his smile turning crooked again, “she spent most of that first week telling me I was wrong about everything.”

The tension in the room eased, laughter bubbling up around you. His gaze flickered back to you briefly. 

There was something unspoken in his eyes, something that made your stomach flip and your heart ache at the same time. 

And for the first time, you wondered if Steve’s words weren’t just about the past. If, maybe, he was talking about now—about how much you’d started to mean to him in ways neither of you were ready to say aloud.

***

Steve had to practically drag you out of Nancy and her husband’s (you learned his name was Jonathan after having to embarrassingly ask for his name. Along with his brother, Will, and their friend Dustin) house. You all talked and they all gave you embarrassing stories of Steve. 

You also learned he had dated Nancy at one point, but when the group told you, he held you a little softer. You tried to ask how they all became friends, but there was something in their tone of voices that let you know it wasn’t time for you to know. Maybe it had to do with the scar on Eddie’s cheek. 

Steve was silent, hands in his pocket as he walked with you to his car. He opened the door for you and you looked over your shoulder. You wanted to play the gesture off that he didn’t want it to be suspicious if they were looking out the window, but they weren’t. The only sound on the way back to his house was the hum of the radio. Steve’s arm rested at his side as his other hand was on the steering wheel. 

You kept looking at his free hand. Dangerous thoughts slipping into your mind as you wonder what it would be like to hold it. Or what it would feel like if he placed it on your thigh. Or if he touched you… good grief, get a hold of yourself. It was all pretend. Everything that you said and did was all fake. 

He pulled up to his house. His mother’s car was still gone. 

You barely had time to blink as he scrambled out of the car, shutting the door, coming to your side. He opened the door slowly, his body leaning against the car as you got out. Your breathing became slow as you felt the heat of his body when he reached to close the door. His eyes burned into you, only on you when he did so. 

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming in your ears as Steve stepped back just enough to let you move past him. The heat of his gaze didn’t waver, and for a fleeting second, you thought he might say something—something that would shatter the fragile boundary you’d been clinging to all night.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned toward the house, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you toward the door. The touch was light—barely there—but it lingered, sparking warmth that crawled up your spine and settled somewhere deep in your chest.

“You okay?” Steve asked, his voice low, almost tentative.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your throat tightened. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Steve didn’t press further. He unlocked the door, holding it open for you as you stepped inside. The house was dark and quiet, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering from the holiday decorations.

“You want something to drink?” Steve asked, flipping on the light in the kitchen as you wandered toward the living room.

You shook your head, dropping onto the couch and slipping off your shoes. “I’m good, thanks.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his hand braced against the frame as he looked at you. The soft glow from the kitchen light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

“You were great tonight,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “With my friends.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I… thanks. They’re great. And they clearly care about you a lot.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. They’re like family. Dysfunctional as hell, but family.”

There was something unspoken in his words. You opened your mouth to ask, but he pushed off the doorway before you could, walking over to the couch and sinking down beside you.

“They like you,” Steve said, his hand resting on his knee as he leaned back slightly. “I could tell.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Even Dustin? He seemed pretty skeptical.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Dustin’s skeptical of everyone at first. He’ll come around. Trust me.” 

The way you both were talking… it put an ache in your chest. Why did it matter if they liked you? “I wish I could be real friends with them.”

He tilted his head. “I mean I don’t see why not.” He said it so innocently. 

“Because friends don’t lie,” you answered. 

He snorted, leaning his head back, whispering something about ‘If only you knew.’ His jaw ticked. If he wanted to say something else, he didn’t show it. Instead, he changed the subject. “Nancy said she invited you to get a dress for the auction.”

“Yes. Since someone forgot to mention it.” You elbowed him. 

His mouth twitched but didn’t fully give in to a smile. Silence settled between you, comfortable but charged, the unspoken things hanging in the air like static. Your gaze lingered on the slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped absently against his knee.

“Steve,” you started, your voice hesitant, “about tonight…”

His eyes flicked to yours, something cautious but hopeful sparking in their depths.

“Thanks for bringing me,” you said, your words softer than you intended. 

The air between you felt heavy again, but not in a bad way. It was the kind of heaviness that came with possibilities—with things unsaid but understood.

For a moment, you thought about leaning closer, about closing the small space between you and finding out if his lips felt as warm as they looked.

However, it was like after spending so much time chiseling at the walls he had built, you watched his eyes harden in real time. “Don’t worry, it won’t be unpaid,” he said. 

You furrowed your brows. “That’s not…that’s not why I said it,” you finished, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

Steve didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to the floor, his jaw tight, and you could see the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee, like he was trying to keep something in.

“I know,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “But it’s better if we keep things clear, right? No confusion.”

The words landed heavier than you expected, and the ache in your chest twisted into something sharper. “Clear,” you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning back against the couch and letting out a breath like he’d settled something. 

The sudden shift in his tone felt like a slap, and you couldn’t stop the sting that settled in your chest. “Steve—”

“It’s late,” he interrupted, his voice clipped. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. The vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier—the warmth, the openness—was gone, replaced by a wall so impenetrable it was suffocating.

But you didn’t want to fight. Not when you were both exhausted and treading on thin ice. So you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stood up. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some point across the room. “Night.”

The word was distant, almost hollow, and it lingered in the air as you made your way upstairs.

When you reached his room—the room—you closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it for a moment. Your mind swirled with everything that had been said—and unsaid—and the ache in your chest only deepened.

Why did it bother you so much? You’d known from the beginning this was a transaction, a temporary arrangement to get through the holidays. But the way he’d shut down tonight, as if the moments you’d shared earlier didn’t matter, made you question everything.

Steve followed in shortly. You noticed the way he looked at the bed and even glanced at you briefly, sighing. 

You didn’t want to fight. You really didn’t. “This is bullshit.” 

He was grabbing his sleep clothes. He turned around to look at you. His face was stony and emotionless. 

“You cannot just shut me out like that, Steve Harrington. You said you liked it when I put you in your place, and unless that was all a lie, I’m going to do just that.” You crossed your arms across your chest. 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up at your outburst, the sharp edge of his posture shifting into something more defensive. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, his voice low but steady, like he was trying to keep himself from snapping.

You stepped forward, refusing to let the heat in your chest falter. “I’m talking about you shutting me out every time I try to get close to you. Every time I try to show you that this—this thing—isn’t just about pretending for your mom or your friends or whatever. You’re the one who’s making this harder than it needs to be.”

Steve scoffed, tossing his clothes onto the bed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, I don’t?” you shot back, stepping even closer, your arms still crossed tightly. “Then enlighten me, Steve. Explain why you go from being… whatever we were earlier tonight to acting like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Because it’s not real!” Steve snapped, finally meeting your eyes. The frustration in his voice was palpable, and the tension in the room thickened. “This whole thing—it’s fake, remember? You said it yourself, it’s all built on a lie. And it’s better if we keep it that way. If we don’t confuse what’s real and what isn’t.”

His words stung, but you didn’t back down. “So what?” you asked, your voice rising. “Everything we did tonight, everything you said—none of it meant anything to you?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, Steve?” you demanded, your voice breaking just slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re running away from whatever this is before it even has a chance to mean something.”

Steve let out a sharp breath, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “I’m not running,” he said, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. “I’m just trying to protect us from making a mistake, okay? From thinking this is something it’s not.”

“And what if it is something?” you countered, your voice softer now but no less firm. “What if this isn’t a mistake, Steve? What if you just stop shutting me out long enough to see that?”

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a plea. Steve stared at you, his hazel eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite read—anger, confusion, longing.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you’re a coward,” you replied, your tone sharp despite the ache in your chest.

Something in him snapped. He closed the distance between you in two quick steps, his hands gripping your face as he kissed you, hard and desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

Your breath hitched, and for a split second, your body froze in shock. But then your hands found his chest, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

It wasn’t soft or gentle—it was a collision of all the things left unsaid, all the tension and frustration and longing that had been building between you. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers slowly intertwined in his hair, tugging lightly, moaning when you heard a soft groan from the back of his throat. You hated to admit the amount of times you’ve wanted to play with his hair. 

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making them part so he could slip his tongue into your mouth. His hands started to roam, squeezing your ass. 

You broke first, as if you were gasping for oxygen. But Steve didn’t stop. His mouth fell to your jaw, trailing kisses to your neck. It was like he already knew where the spot was on your throat that would make your knees weak. You grasped his hair tighter. 

“If you do that again, I might not make it to the bed.” He growled against your ear. 

“The bed? That’s presumptuous, Mr. Harrington.” 

If he wasn’t hard already, he was now. You whined as you felt his pants bulge against your stomach. You nearly choked out a laugh. “No shit. This whole time—”

He kissed you. “Shut up.”

You pushed him slightly away, his lips tried to chase after yours. You began to gently push him backward, leading him to his bed. “No wonder why you hate me calling you that. You’ve been getting turned on.” 

He sat at the edge of the bed, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs. “That’s presumptuous,” he mimicked you. His hands playing with the hem of your shirt, his eyes asking for permission. You lifted your arms, allowing him to take your sweater off. His mouth immediately fell on your chest. 

“I’ve been thinking about these two all day,” Steve admitted. His fingers threatened to unclasp your bra, but didn’t. Instead, he brought you down for another kiss. “Christ, I think about them all the time. But this morning, I couldn’t stop picturing you standing in the middle of my room with no shirt on. I felt like a fuckin’ teenager again.” 

You giggled against his mouth. “You did take an awfully long time showering.” 

He blushed. That was enough to tell you that your assumptions were correct. You crawled into his lap, bucking a little to feel him against your core. “Besides this morning, when was the last time you’ve thought about me?” 

You helped him strip off his shirt. 

He didn’t answer. His hands all over you again, soaking you up. “The other day when I kicked you out of my office.”

You put your hands on his shoulders, looking at him. You had imagined he had been on the other side of the door actually debating about firing you. You had even skimmed the “Help Wanted” section in the newspaper. You smiled at him, kissing him all over. On his mouth, cheek, and neck. Your hands splayed over his chest. 

“So, you do stare at me when I wear the skirt.” It wasn’t a question and he knew it. 

He rolled his eyes. “I told you. I do not stare.” His fingers finally unclasped the bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders. “I look for an appropriate amount of time.” 

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the boss to be looking at all.” You batted your eyes at him innocently. 

His hands ran down your arms, sending a chill down your spine. “Oh, so now you’re concerned about professionalism? Convenient timing.” You would think that would make him upset but instead he continued to slip your bra all the way off.

He palmed your breasts gently before sliding a hand up to your throat, moving it to the back of your neck so he could gently tug your hair. You bit your lip as his mouth found that spot again, massaging your breast at the same time. 

Your nails dug into his shoulders. “There’s no telling how long you’ve been mentally undressing me. Your sweet and innocent intern.” 

“You’re kidding, right? Sweet and innocent my ass—“

“You talk too much,” you smirked mischievously. 

You yelped, giggling as he picked you up and tossed you on the bed. He parted your legs with his knee. And you nearly cried as it barely touched you. His fingers started to unbutton your pants. You never knew eyes could get so dark as he hovered above you. “You’ve been driving me crazy since I’ve met you,” he mumbled. “If you have any concerns, I can stop.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin you living out your fantasy.” You arched so he could slip your pants off. 

He kissed your stomach, planting small kisses to the hem of your underwear. “I only said, I think about you. You’re making me sound like a freak.” 

You smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. "Oh, I don’t know, Steve. Spending all that time in your office, staring at me, imagining this moment? Sounds a little freaky to me."

He rolled his eyes, trailing another kiss along your hip bone. “Again, I never said anything about imagining. All I said was I think about you. That’s different.” 

“Different how? Enlighten me, Mr. Harrington.” You teased, brushing his hair back. 

“Well, for one, I’m very respectful in my thinking.” Steve chuckled, low and rough, his hands skimming down your thighs as he tugged at your underwear. "If I’m the freak, what does that make you? You’re the one letting your ‘boss’ take you apart like this."

You laughed, taking a deep breath once he pulled the cotton off of you. You tried to squeeze your legs together, but Steve pushed your knees apart, leaning back, taking you all in. His eyes scanned you, like he was trying to memorize every square inch of you. He seemed to love touching you because his palm started at your shoulder, slowly caressing it down, rubbing circles on your stomach with a finger. “None of this seems respectful, Mr. Harrington.”

A breath was caught in the back of your throat. His thumb found your sensitive area between your legs. Your back arched as he slowly rubbed it. You were embarrassingly already coming unglued. “You sure are complaining a lot about how I think about you.” 

You closed your eyes, moaning as one of his fingers entered inside you. “I’m not… complaining… Jesus…” You grabbed a fistful of his hair as his tongue made contact with your sensitive spot, curling his finger at the same time. “M’only… stating facts.” 

He lifted his head, and oh my god, you could burst right then and there. His lips were wet and swollen. His eyes were hazy, like he was drunk off of you. “Facts? I have one for you. I think about the way you argue with me during meetings. The way you glare at me like you’re seconds away from strangling me.”

“Sounds sexy,” you replied sarcastically, frowning. You had no idea where he was going. 

He nodded. “It is. Especially when you get that little wrinkle between your brows. Drives me crazy.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dork.” 

“Maybe. But you’re the one under me, letting me do whatever I want,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing as his finger curled, making you gasp. “So what does that say about you?” 

You smirked, gripping hair again when his lips brushed your inner thigh. “It says I make terrible decisions.” 

“Terrible?” His head shot up, eyes narrowed. “I’ll remember that the next time you attempt to proposition me.” 

“Next time?” 

He snuck another finger in. You bit your lip out of protest. “Confident, are we,” you asked, voice tight. 

“Call it intuition,” he hummed. 

“I call it arrogance,” you quipped. He went back down, his mouth back on your swollen heat, fingers pumping in and out of you. His other hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as you arched your back, thighs pressing on the side of his face. You cried out short whimpers. 

Then he completely stopped. 

His fingers and mouth were gone. It was so sudden you believed you had imagined it all. You propped yourself with your elbows, your breath still erratic. He looked at you with his stupid smug smirk. “Still have energy to complain?” 

Steve Harrington had finally cracked how to make you speechless. You didn’t have any remark. Your mind spun, trying to grasp for a shred of your usual wit, but it was as if he’d stolen the words straight from your mouth. Steve Harrington had done what you thought was impossible—rendered you completely and utterly speechless.

The air between you felt electric, charged with the weight of what just happened, of what he had made you feel. Your heart raced, your body still buzzing from his touch, and all you could do was stare at him, at that insufferable, cocky grin plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

You hated how much you loved it.

He looked so infuriatingly pleased with himself, like he had won some unspoken game between you two—and maybe he had. For the first time, you weren’t the one in control, and the realization was both maddening and exhilarating.

What made it worse was that he knew it. He knew exactly what he’d done to you, and the way his hazel eyes gleamed with satisfaction only made your stomach twist in the most frustratingly delicious way.

“Now who is mentally undressing the other?” He began to unzip his jeans. Slowly and tauntingly. There was no hurry as he climbed out of them, tossing them to the side. You sat up, reaching out. Your fingers hooked the waistband of his boxer briefs, dragging it down. 

He sprung out, making you let out a large breath. He was going to kill you, you thought. Once his underwear was to the side, he pushed you back on the bed, climbing on top of you. “Do you not need me to…” you trailed off. 

He shook his head. “I think we’ve had a year long worth of foreplay. I need you. And I need you now.” Honestly, he was right. He could speak to you and you think you’d break. His expression softened, and his hand cradled your face. “This okay?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” you whispered. 

He kissed you softly. 

After adjusting, Steve slid into you. His face melted into a pool, his groan intertwining with your shaky exhale.

His hips rolled slowly, getting used to you and how you felt around him. He had to keep pushing your legs as they instinctively wanted to close around him. 

It was warm and electric as the thrusts became more intense. Your nails dug into his shoulders, chests flush against one another. His hot wavering grunts stuck to your neck. He nipped and kissed your collarbone. 

It was like you were a different person the moment he entered you. “You feel so good,” you purred, dragging your teeth against his earlobe. 

It became more erratic. It was sexy as the sounds of flesh coming together blended with the dirty breaths of air escaping each other’s lips. “Everything about you is perfect,” Steve whispered. 

He pressed his palm just right at the bottom of your stomach. You felt a tear roll down your face as the electricity inside you pulsed. “Steve…” It was like a champagne bottle opened inside you, fizzing all over the place. 

“Christ, sweetheart…” he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppy. You could feel him twitch even as you came down from your high. He let out a sound that could only be made from the back of his throat and let go. 

He laid on top of you, placing soft kisses on your jaw. 

All of it felt unbelievable. Your mind was a haze. It was like a whirlpool of sensation and disbelief. Your body still trembled from the aftershocks of what had just happened. 

How had this happened? How had you gone from presumably hating each other to this

—his body on yours, his lips tracing soft, reverent kisses along your jaw like you were the most precious thing in the world?

The way he had spoken to you, his voice rough with need and unfiltered affection, played on a loop in your head. Everything about you is perfect. You could still feel the heat in his words, the way they'd wrapped around your heart and squeezed it, as if he'd been holding them back for far too long.

You hadn't expected this-any of it.

Not the intensity of his touch, not the way he unraveled you so completely, not the way he made you feel seen. 

And yet, the tender weight of his body, the way his breath brushed your skin as he whispered your name like a prayer, made it impossible to deny. Maybe you weren't just pretending anymore.

Maybe you never had been.

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

HI ALLIE CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR 1000 FOLLOWERS I THINK ABSOLUTELY DESERVED BECAUSE YOUR WORK IS INCREDIBLE YOU ATE THAT UP SLAYYYYYYYYYYYYY

I............ I have never submitted a request, unless I was explicitly asked by the writer because ksjdjdjjjsjsj ME ASKING FOR SOMETHING?????? SNSJSJSJ ANYWAY I was like it should be fine because it's for your celebration SOOO hear me out. Remus Lupin ? IM GOING THRU A REMUS THING ? 1000 scars/1000 glances???? WHICHEVER IS FINE YOURE GONNA EAT WITH THAT

WEE OK BYE I LOVE YOU BYE

xxx

ilysm and I hope this only deepens your Remus fixation 🫶🏻 thank you so much for all of your love and support, I genuinely get excited when I see you pop up in my feed or notifs. my favorite hanni 🤍

1000 inked scars | R.L.

feat. Remus Lupin x tattooartist!reader

cw: mdni 18+, possessive!Remus, marking kink, oral (fem receiving), tattoo needles and tattooing, mentions of injury and scars, probably inaccurate representation of tattooing in the 70's, no war

1000 things prompt list (closes feb 1!) | masterlist

“Quit squirming or I’m going to turn this constellation into a penis,” you griped, lifting your machine from Sirius’ leg.

“Maybe if you didn’t handle that gun like a cudgel—”

You slapped his fresh tattoo and he yelped. “Pull yourself together, Black. You’re almost done.”

He groaned, slumping back onto the table with his arms slung over his head. “Sadist,” he hissed.

You resumed your tattooing, packing black ink to the map of stars. “Said the masochist that paid me to stab him a million times.”

He glanced down at you. “Are you flirting with me?”

You glared up at him.

Just then, the bell on the front door or you shop chimed. A tall man with sandy hair, dressed in jeans and thick sweater stood in the foyer, looking around at the art and plants strewn about. Given your profession, you immediately noticed his lack of tattoos, and the scars marring his hands and neck, one even stretching from his sharp jaw towards his nose.

“Moony!” Sirius called, jerking his leg and nearly inking himself.

“Sirius,” you bit, but he was already out of the chair.

“What’s—uh, what’s up, Pads?” the stranger, Moony?, said, glancing down at Sirius’ rolled up pant leg and the nearly finished tattoo on his calf. Then, his eyes flicked to you, a deep brown and sallow with exhaustion, but his beauty struck you like a blow, the lines of his face coalescing in a way that would make the great painters weep.

Based on the countless stories Sirius had told you in the hours spent on your table, you surmised that this was Remus Lupin, his level-headed, long-suffering schoolmate.

“I wanted you to meet my friend!” Sirius grabbed his by the elbow and dragged him towards your station.

You sighed and set your machine aside. Clearly, you were taking a break.

“Remus, this is y/n, the architect of my beauty,” Sirius said, gesturing grandly in your direction.

You slid off one of your gloves and extended it to Remus. “Pleasure. I’ve heard loads about you.”

“Oh?” Remus asked, shaking your hand with a light touch, his skin warm and a bit rough. “Terrible things, I wager?”

“The worst,” you chuckled, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a half-smile.

“Well, then there’s no where to go but up,” he said with a cheeky wink, and your heart damn near leaped out of your mouth.

“I asked Moony to come hang out for the last bit of the tattoo so he could pick your brain,” Sirius said, hopping back up onto the table.

“Sirius—”

“Pick my brain about what?” You asked, pulling up a chair for Remus and sitting back onto your stool, putting on a fresh pair of gloves.

“I, uh—”

“Moony wants to know if you can tattoo over scars,” Sirius said, earning a glare from Remus.

“Absolutely!” you chirped, hoping to dispel Remus’ clear discomfort. “Just takes a few extra passes, but it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Remus gave you a small, grateful smile. “Really?”

“Really. I’ve tattooed over dozens of scars, cover-ups, or decorations. I’d love to work with you.” Merlin, did you just say that out loud? You needed to get it together; you were a professional.

“See, Moons? I told you!” Sirius propped his leg back up, and you fired up the machine. “And it doesn’t even hurt.”

You lowered the machine back to his leg, taking a few quick warm up strokes.

“AHH YOU WITCH!” Sirius wailed. You and Remus both jumped at his shouting, but he quickly dissolved into laughter. “Bloody hell, I knew you two would get along. You’ve got twin scowls,” Sirius chuckled, leaning back against the table with his hands behind his head.

You glanced at Remus, and he looked back at you. A flicker of connection flared between you, and heat rose in your cheeks. Quickly, you looked away, turning your attention back to Sirius’ tattoo.

“So, what are you thinking you want to get, Rem?” Sirius asked after a few moments of quiet, the buzzing of the machine filling the air.

Remus shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought about it. Just wanted to do…something.”

“Well, if you want, we can try and cover any up. But I find that people really get more out of going the decorative route,” you supplied, looking at Remus while you picked up more ink. “I can hand draw a few designs that flow with the scar, turn it into an art piece itself.”

Remus was quiet for a moment, contemplative, and Sirius gave you a knowing smile. “I think I might like that, yeah,” Remus said, his voice soft, almost awestruck. Like he’d never ever considered the possibility before.

As a tattoo artist, you were intimately aware of how much a person’s skin could impact their well being, scars in particular weighed heavily on many people’s spirit. Remus, it seemed, was no exception.

Sirius guided the conversation in another direction, giving Remus a chance to process the implications of what you offered, and you finished the tattoo half-an-hour later. While you were wiping it down, Remus hovered over you, looking down at the piece.

“You’re really good,” he murmured, close enough that you could smell the wool of his sweater, the lingering notes of cinnamon and tea from his cologne. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks, Rem,” you said, smiling up at him, and he smiled back, a flush creeping up his neck before he hurriedly stepped away.

You patched up Sirius and sent the boys on their way, an appointment for Remus on the books for the following week. All he’d given you to work with was placement, his forearm, and that he wanted something natural, like a plant.

Having no more appointments for the evening, you folded yourself into your studio couch with your sketchbook. You sketched a few things, lavender and roses and chamomile, but your fingers itched to draw something else. Remus’ profile floated into your minds eye, sorrowful and striking, and your pen started to move of it’s own accord. His expression came to life under your hand, with long lashes and a crooked nose and that jagged scar.

You clapped your sketchbook shut, sitting back with a sigh.

Next week couldn’t come quickly enough.

You paced around your shop, pouring over your sketch for Remus. You wanted it to be perfect for him, lest you scare him off a tattooing forever.

The door chimes, startling you out of your concentration, and Remus strode in, carrying a tray of drinks and a paper bag

“Morning!” You chirped, hugging your sketchbook to your chest.

“Morning,” he said, passing you one of the cups. “I asked Sirius what you liked, so if it's awful, blame him.”

Butterflies fluttered to life in your stomach. It wasn't unusual for clients to bring you coffee and food, but with Remus it felt…different.

“Oh! You didn't have to do that. Thank you, Remus,” you said, taking a sip. It was your favorite drink, and it's familiar warmth settled some of your nerves.

He gave you a small smile, but you could tell he was nervous. He set the bag on your desk. “I also brought some pastries. Sirius mentioned you like chocolate?”

“I love chocolate.” You beamed. “Come on in, we can sit over here and go over the design.”

Remus nodded, shirking his coat and following you over to the couch. He was like an anxious thundercloud, tense and unsteady, and it made your chest tight with empathy.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, patting the spot beside you.

He sat down, coiled in on himself despite his long limbs. Like he was afraid to take up too much space. “Ah, fine,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. Earl gray, from the smell of it.

You arched a brow. “It's okay to be nervous, Rem,” you said. “But it's just us, and nothing is set in ink. If you change your mind, it's totally fine.”

“It's just—” he sighed, lifting his arm. He started to roll up his shirt sleeve, dexterous fingers folding the fabric neatly over itself, revealing inch after inch of his forearm. Lightly tanned and taut with lean muscle, veins tangling with the map of scars littering his skin.

He watched your face, gauging your reaction. You tried to stay neutral, but you were practically salivating. He was so beautiful.

“Are they too bad?” He asked, his voice rough with tension.

You met his brown eyes. “Not at all.” You pulled out your sketchbook, flipping to the page you had ear marked. “And it's perfect for what I sketched up.”

He managed a half-smile, some of the clouds disappearing from his aura, and accepted the sketchbook when you handed it to him. His eyes widened.

“Goldenrod,” you said, shifting closer to look at the sketch over his shoulder. “Used to treat pain.”

Remus traced his finger over the tangle of stems, the delicate florals. “I take it almost everyday,” he murmured, looking over at you, his eyes warm and full of something you couldn't quite place.

“So, what do you think?” You asked, your gazes lingering on one another.

“I think it's perfect,” he said, and you smiled, genuinely thrilled that he liked it.

“Okay, ready for me to start sketching?” You asked, and he nodded. You led him over to your station, already set up and waiting for him, and he hoped up onto the chair,, his long limbs dangling near to the floor. To break the quiet, you put on a muggle record, and Remus seemed to relax a bit, sipping on his tea and watching you putter around through dark lashes.

When you settled onto your stool, ink pen in hand, anxiety bloomed in your stomach. Remus was about to watch you draw on him. You’d drawn on hundreds of clients, but like everything else, with Remus it felt…different.

“It might tickle,” you warned, resting his arm where you wanted it, your fingertips tingling from the contact. “And try to stay very still.”

“Whatever you say, love,” he murmured, getting comfortable. Entirely oblivious to the way the petname made your thoughts turn to static.

You placed your sketchbook just beside his arm and made the first line, a quick stem arching alongside a scar stretching from wrist to elbow. Slowly, line after line, the sketch started to come together, flowing with the natural shape of his forearm and it’s scars. You got lost in the act, sinking into the labor of creating.

It wasn’t until Remus made a soft, approving hum in his throat that you peaked up him, breaking your focus. His eyes were almost sleepy, heavy-lidded and soft and the corners, a smile tugging at his lips.

“No wonder Sirius like this so much,” he said, tracing your face with his eyes. “Watching you work is fascinating.”

Heat roared to your cheeks. “Oh, I don’t—he seems more interested in teasing me than letting me work.”

“That does sound like Sirius,” he chuckled. “I like your focused face much more than that scowl.”

Merlin, what was happening to you? You felt like you could melt into your chair like a pile of pudding. Was he flirting with you? Or does he always talk like a romance book hero?

“How long have you guys known each other?” You asked, changing the subject and ducking back down to your work to hide your expression.

“Decade at least,” Remus said. “We met our first year at Hogwarts. Never thought I’d befriend the Sirius Black, but y’know, stranger things have happened.”

“Why’d you think that?”

Remus shrugged, the muttered a soft apology for moving. “Sirius is…Sirius, and I’m…”

“Charming? Sweet? Clever?” You asked, glancing up at him. “Sirius talks about you like you hung the moon.”

A flush creeped up his neck. “He’s dramatic.”

“And brutally honest,” you said, holding his gaze.

“Can I ask you something?” Now it was his turn to change the subject.

“Of course,” you said, capping your pen and setting it aside.

“Why haven’t you, ah, asked?” He glanced down at his scars, and you know what he was implying.

You shrugged. “I figured you’d tell me if you felt comfortable. I’m not here to pry, just help.”

His eyes flitted over your face, swallowing hard, and it seemed he was at a loss for words.

“Ready for ink?” You asked, giving him as reassuring of a smile as you could muster.

He exhaled, turning his wrist to inspect the design. “Ready.”

The rest of the appointment flew by, with Remus sitting like a stone while you tattooed him for close to four hours. You didn’t speak much, letting the music fill the empty air, but it was a comfortable silence, broken by the occasional question or annecdote. Remus seemed to appreciate being able to relax, and you were happy to give him a safe place for little while. Holding space for what this moment meant to him.

When you were finished, Remus stared at the tattoo in the mirror for a long time, and when he turned back for you to wrap it up, you could see tears collecting on his lower lashes.

"Thank you for this," he said, clearing his throat. "You were--this was amazing."

You knew he meant the art, but still, the praise made your heart glow all the same. "Of course, Remus. I'm glad I got to be the one to do this for you."

Before leaving, he placed another appointment on your books for the following week, this time asking for a tree along the back of his calf, the roots spreading across the scaring he had there.

After Remus’ second and third appointment, you noticed a change in him. He seemed more confident, a little more outspoken. He was coming to life before your eyes, and you were starting to see the fuller picture of the boy Sirius loved so much.

Already, you felt so close to him. Connected. And you were starting to miss him those days in between, his appointment becoming the highlight of your week. Your sketchbook was filling with sketches of him, like you mind needed a place to spill your overflowing thoughts of him. With him, it was like every sound was heightened, every movement sharper, the very colors in the room more vibrant. Overwhelming in the best way.

But then he cancelled your fourth appointment, citing illness, and you didn’t see him for two weeks. It wasn’t until he sent and owl requesting an appointment for this coming Friday that you finally felt like you could breathe.

Sorry again for cancelling. Are you free this Friday? Thinking a moon and stars on my chest, with those gorgeous clouds I saw in your sketchbook. Can’t wait, RL.

When Remus walked into your studio, you had to stop yourself from hugging him, you were so excited to see him. He looked tired, a little dimmer than the last time you saw him, but he greeted you with a warm smile and a bag of pastries, and that was all you needed.

You had him sit up on the table, busying yourself with the station in avoidance of the inevitable. He was going to have to take his shirt off. Your heart was palpitating just thinking about it.

“Alright, Rem. Strip for me,” you said, ripping the metaphorical bandaid off.

He huffed a laugh, seeming a bit shy himself. “Yes ma’am.” In a fluid motion, he hooked his fingers under his sweater and tugged it overhead. His chest was tanned and lined with lean muscle, the kind built outdoors, not in the gym. The scaring was worse, deeper gauges in softer flesh, but you barely registered it, too busy staring at the half-healed red slash across his ribs.

You gasped. “Rem, what happened?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was in a fight club?” He rubbed the back of his head, averting his eyes from yours.

“No, but you don’t have to tell me anything. Just that you’re alright,” you said, unable to mask the warble of concern in your voice. You were already starting to gather that Remus was…different. And you'd only met one other person with scars that matched his, and they also always cancelled around the full moon.

His eyes softened. “I’m alright, dove. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m the only one that gets to gauge you with weapons,” you huffed, grabbing up your sketching marker.

He barked a laugh, head tipping back on his shoulders. “Fair enough. Only you get to wound me permanently from now on.”

“Glad we reached an understanding.” You propped the sketchbook on the table and leaned in to start sketching. Remus sat up as straight as he could, resulting in your head hovering around his clavicle. But, with his long legs, you couldn’t get close enough.

Remus seemed to pick up on your dilemma and slowly spread his knees, allowing you to step between them. The heat of his body was intense, drawing you closer, but you swallowed your impulse, trying to focus instead on the moon and constellations you were mapping out.

As you drew, you started to shift closer, drawn in by the work and his proximity, the clean smell of his skin, until you were practically leaning against him.

“You smell nice,” he hummed, close enough that you felt his breath tickle the hair around your ear.

You nearly dropped the marker, but managed to keep your grip steady. “So do you,” you said, unable to come up with something clever.

“Y’know, I probably shouldn’t say this, but I—I missed you the last two weeks.” Remus’ voice was low, just above a whisper, resonant like a drum in his chest. You wanted to wrap it around you like a blanket.

You looked up at him, lips slightly parted in shock, so close you could brush your nose against his if you moved a hair closer. “You did?” You asked, certain that if pupils could turn into lovehearts, yours would be beaming out of your head like a cartoon.

His hand came up to caress you jaw, tentative and gentle. “Being with you is the best I’ve felt in ages,” he said, tilting your face a little closer to his. “I don’t—”

The bell to your studio rang loudly, and you jumped back from Remus’ hold, nearly tripping over your stool.

“Hey Moony! There’s my favorite artist!” James came plowing through, wrapping you up in a bearhug that squeezed the air from your lungs. “How are you, sweetness?”

“I’m good, Jamie,” you wheezed, and he set you back on your feet.

The boys clasped hands, a quick, almost automatic handshake.

“What are you doing here, Prongs?” Remus asked, trying and failing at not looking irritated.

“Sirius said you were getting some ink today so I figured I’d swing by and have you take a peak at how mine’s healing.”

“James, it’s been like six months. Your antlers healed fine,” you reminded him.

“You did his antlers?” Remus asked, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes.

You nodded. “Yeah, you didn’t know?”

He shook his head, glancing sidelong at his friend.

“I suppose it might be time for a touch up. Let me see,” you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest.

James lifted his shirt, revealing a peak of his washboard abs, framed by a pair of sprawling antlers across his hip bones. You leaned a bit closer, checking for any faded spots or ink spreading.

“Looks perfect, Jamie. All good,” you said, sitting back on your stool, mildly impressed with yourself.

“Brilliant. I love them, and they’re very effective.” He waggled his eyebrows, and you and Remus rolled your eyes.

James hung out for another hour, chatting with Remus while you finished the sketch of the tattoo. Your bodies were just as close as before, but with James, you were forced to keep it strictly professional. But the proximity without being allowed to touch was melting your mind, making heat pool in your lower belly. You could feel every breath Remus took, feel the rumble of his voice in your chest, the warmth of his body mingling with yours.

It was maddening, and you could tell Remus was growing more impatient by the second, the muscles around his neck taught with tension, his fingers twitching against his thighs.

At one point, you laughed at one of James’ jokes and swatted at his chest, earning a smile from him. When you glanced back at Remus, his jaw was clenched tight, eyes glaring a hole into the drink in his hands.

Was he…jealous?

He had no right to be, but still, the thought of him being possessive made your heart rate quicken.

Finally, James left, leaving you and Remus alone in the simmering tension you'd built. He watched you closely as you returned to your station, prepping the tattoo machine.

“Would you ever get a tattoo like that?” You asked, glancing up at him through your lashes.

He leaned back on the seat, bracing his hands behind him. Showing off the lean expanse of his torso, the rugged look of him that stood in sharp juxtaposition to his style and personality. “Not sure I could pull it off.”

You scoffed, allowing him to see you peruse his body. “I strongly disagree.”

He chewed on his lower lip, a nervous habit. A flush started to spread across his chest, reaching towards his cheeks. “What would you suggest?” he asked, a sultry edge of his voice.

Unhurried, you stepped back between his legs, letting your fingertips graze along the valleys of his lower abdomen. “Perhaps a snake.” You traced the shape along his skin, his muscles tensing to stop himself from shivering. “Or ferns. Maybe a wolfs jaw—”

“A wolfs jaw?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You met his eyes. “You should give me a little more credit, Moony.”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback that you knew his secret. “You knew.”

“I do now. I've only seen scars like yours once before, on another werewolf. And with the nickname, your tattoo choices, being MIA on the full moon…it adds up.”

His eyes searched your face. “And you don't care?”

“Of course not. I care about you, not your affliction.” Your hands still lingered on his hips, like your skin was magnetized together, you couldn't seem to pull them apart.

Remus straightened, his hand coming up to cup your face again. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about you,” he breathed. “You’ve gotten under my skin, dove.”

“It's risky, y’know, to flirt with your tattoo artist,” you murmured, grazing your fingers over the mostly healed goldenrod tattoo. “You've got a permanent reminder of me.”

He smirked, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Well, the thing about werewolves…” he was so close, warm breath fanning across your lips. “We're a possessive sort, territorial. So having your mark on my skin…” he sighed, eyes dark with desire. “I'm finding it hard to hold myself back.”

“Then don't,” you replied, heart in your throat.

Remus surged forward, lips colliding in a heady, toe-curling kiss. You immediately gave into him, his tongue caressing the seam of your mouth, dipping past your lips to taste you, claim you.

Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers digging into his feathery hair and tugging at the roots, drawing a low groan from his chest. He nipped at your lower lip in warning before soothing it with his tongue.

“Be gentle with me,” he grated, kissing along your cheek, down towards your throat. He craned your head back, grazing his teeth along your pulse, and you shivered. “I’m trying to savor this, not devour you.”

“Do you always keep yourself on such a tight leash?” You asked, breathless as he lapped at your skin, your thighs trembling with desire.

“Patience, dove,” he chastised affectionately, lifting his head. “Just be good for me, yeah? You’ll get what you want.”

Your brain emptied. Seeing this dominant side of Remus had you folding like origami. You nodded, letting him drag you in for another languid, bone-melting kiss.

Remus slid off the table without breaking the kiss, leaning down to scoop you up by the thighs in a fluid motion.

“Rem!” You gasped in surprise when he turned and dropped you onto the table he just vacated.

He leaned over you, one hand reaching down to recline the seat so you were laying back, legs on either side of his hips. His lips found your neck again, kissing and licking his way down while his hands pushed up the hem of your shirt, fingertips cool against your fevered skin.

“Tell me if you want me stop,” he said, shifting to kiss around your navel.

“Don't stop. Please don't stop,” you pleaded, and he smiled against your hip before sucking the skin between his teeth, biting at your flesh just hard enough you make you keen.

“I won't, love. I'm not going anywhere.” His fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans, easing them down over your hips until they fell to the ground in a pile.

Your knees tried to pull together on instinct, the vulnerability making you flush, but his hands gripped your inner thighs, spreading you apart for him. You could tell he was in his element, something having loosened from his usually reserved demeanor. It felt like you were seeing him completely for the first time. No holds barred.

“Don't hide from me, pretty girl,” he cooed, lowering to his knees. “You're gorgeous.” He trailed kisses up your thigh, charting a tingling path until his nose grazed sodden panties, making your pussy flutter and clench. “Fuck, you smell divine,” he muttered before dragging his tongue over the thin fabric.

“Oh, god—Remus,” you moaned when he sucked on the fabric over your clit, pleasure blooming from your center. Your eyes rolled back, fingers tangling in his hair as he flicked your swelling bud with his tongue.

“So responsive,” he praised, pulling your panties aside with his middle finger. “You this sweet for all of your clients?”

You shook your head. ”I've never—fuck, baby.” Your words splintered into a cry as he eased his middle finger inside of you, your dripping entrance accepting him eagerly. He nudged your clit with his nose, making you cry out again.

“Just me?” His voice almost sounded like a purr, deeply pleased by your admission.

You nodded, urging him closer by the roots of his hair, and he practically growled.

He nipped at your thigh, overpowering your meager attempt easily. “Patience, remember?”

You whined. “Remus, please. Just wanna feel you.”

He withdrew his finger, then added a second, pumping you slowly. “I know, baby. I'm right here, I've got you.” His mouth found your clit again, his tongue circling around and around, and you arched off the table, moans spilling from your lips like a song.

Steadily, the fire built, with Remus' devoted attention pouring over you like gasoline. He moaned against you, eyes screwed shut when your pussy clenched around his fingers, teetering on the edge.

The table shifted, rocking back a bit, and you looked past Remus' hair tangled in your fingers to his body. He was rocking his hips against the edge of the table, so turned on by the act of eating you out that he needed some relief.

“Rem, baby,” you whined, the sight dragging you that much closer to release. He glanced up at you, his eyes glazed and pussydrunk, and he whimpered against you.

His deliberate motions got sloppier, greedier, as he rutted against the table. Losing control of himself, like his entire being was desperate to be inside of you.

With a final curl of his fingers, you toppled over the edge, coming with a cry loud enough to rattle the windows as relief crashed over you, cool water dousing the flames beneath your skin.

“Good fucking girl,” he growled, withdrawing his fingers to lap directly from you, savoring every drop of his efforts. “That's it, love. Relax f’me.” He brought you back to earth with his tongue, long, languid licks and kisses around your trembling center, across your inner thigh slung over his shoulder.

“Fuck, Remus,” you panted, slumping back against the table. “That was—”

He made his way up your body, catching your words in a messy, top-lip kiss. “Got your mark all over me now, dove,” he purred, pecking your cheek with a cheeky grin.

“What about…” you trailed off, fingers toying with his belt, unsure of what you were asking for him to fuck you, or mark you. Or both. All you knew was that you wanted him, badly, even more so with that post-orgasm clarity.

“Patience,” he replied, chuckling at the annoyed look you shot him. “Ready to finish up this tattoo?”

“But you didn't get to—”

“I’m, ah, a bit embarrassed to say that I did.” He straightened with a sheepish smile, revealing the dark spot leaking through his jeans.

Holy shit. You'd made him cum in his pants.

You surged up, throwing your arms around his neck and tugging him down in to a ravenous kiss. “Merlin, you're so fucking hot,” you mumbled against his mouth.

He grinned, breaking the kiss to nuzzle into your neck, hiding the flush you could see staining his ears. “Says the girl that made me cum without touching me,” he muttered, almost indignant.

“I’m not sorry,” you chuckled, sighing when he pressed his plush, kiss-swollen lips to your racing pulse.

“It's alright, I'll get even,” he teased, his teeth nipping at your skin.

“Is that a promise?”

“Most normal people would interpret it as a threat.” He picked his head up, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well, I'm not normal people,” you replied.

“And thank Godric for that.” He kissed you again, all smiles and airy pecks.

Normal was never your style anyway.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hexed?

Dean Winchester & daughter!reader, Sam Winchester & niece!reader

Requested by anonymous (x2)

Synopsis: you get your period for the first time, and Sam and Dean help you through it

Warnings: blood, period, crying, fluff

You awoke in the middle of the night, unsure at first what had woken you up. Then a sudden, stabbing pain in the pit of your gut had a pained gasp escaping your lips.

“What…” you mumbled as you pulled your blankets aside and clicked on your lamp. Another gasp, this time one of shock, came out as you saw blood covering your sheets and blankets. The gasp was followed by a whimper as another wave of pain washed over you.

You didn’t understand; you hadn’t been injured anywhere recently, and certainly not down there…

The only thing you could think of was a witch—Rowena had been around lately, and though she seemed to be on your side, could you really be sure? She could have left a hex bag in your room, something that would make you bleed to death! You checked your mouth, your nose, your ears—anywhere else that you could be bleeding from—but nothing; it was just between your legs. Your chest was tight, your throat constricted, as panicked gasps left you. You tried to take deep breaths—you needed to keep calm—but it wasn’t very effective.

You wanted to go and get your dad and Uncle Sam, but first you decided to do a quick sweep of the room; you didn’t find any hex bags.

You made your way awkwardly towards your fathers room, very aware of the blood running down your right leg. Your hands were shaking as you reached out to knock on his door, and when you looked down you realized that all of you was shaking.

Dean opened the door, rubbing his face and looking half asleep.

“N/N? What are you doing up?”

“I-I-I…” you swallowed hard and tried again to speak past your tears. “I think I got hexed.”

Dean was suddenly alert, his eyes fully open and his stance straight.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Im ble-bleeding and it won’t stop,” you sobbed.

“Bleeding? Where?” It was too dark for Dean to see the growing stain on your pajama pants.

“Um…my-my…” you were suddenly shy, struck with how awkward it felt to talk about this with your father. You clammed up, alarming Dean.

“Commere,” he said, opening his room for further and gesturing you in. He clicked on his bedroom lamp and looked you up and down. It took him mere seconds to see the blood on your pants, and to your surprise he relaxed completely. “Oh kiddo…”

His lips began to twitch ever-so-slightly, and now it looked like he was having an internal battle. Was he…

“Are you smiling?!” You demanded. “Dad, I could be dying!”

A single second of laughter escaped him before he schooled his features, noting how scared you were.

“Honey, you’re not dying, I swear. This is totally normal.”

“Normal? How could this be normal, I’m bleeding!” Dean’s nonchalance just made you more frustrated, which just made more tears fall.

“Hey, hey ok,” Dean’s voice was gentle and understanding. “Just take a seat and I’m gonna go get Sam. He can get you what you need for this and while he’s gone I’ll explain it.”

“Do-do we have to tell Uncle Sam?” You mumbled, still embarrassed, but less panicked.

“Trust me, Uncle Sam knows what this is too. It’s not gonna bother him a bit.”

“Ok.” You nodded your assent. “But-but I can’t sit on your bed, I’ll get blood all over your sheets.”

“Just sit, I’ll wash them later, ok?” Only after you’d hesitantly sat on your dad’s bed did he leave to get Sam.

…

Dean was just wrapping up his explanation when Sam returned with a Walmart bag and a gentle smile.

“Hey there,” he greeted. “How are we doing?”

“Um—ok,” you mumbled. Now that you understood you weren’t dying, you were more embarrassed than anything. “Sorry for freaking out.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dean insisted. “I should’ve told you earlier, I just…I thought I’d have another year or two.” Dean ruffled your hair. “You’re growing up fast, kiddo.”

Your lips twitched up—only a little—and Dean grinned before turning to take the bag from Sam.

“Ok, what do we have here?”

“Uh—“ Sam scratched the back of his neck. “Well I asked this lady that was buying some of this stuff herself, just to make sure I got everything. I got pads and tampons, because she said that Y/N should get to pick. Then I got a heating pad—that’s supposed to help with cramps. I got this one that you can plug in, it looks easy to use, but then I got this one shaped like a teddy bear that you can put in the microwave.” Sam reached into the bag as he spoke, pulling out each item in turn. Sure enough, he pulled out a little brown bear, and you smiled. “And then I got a lot of chocolate, and some, uh…” Sam pulled out a bottle. “I don’t really know what they are, but it’s supposed to be better for cramps and stuff than Advil, so…”

Looking at all the stuff on the table, you felt incredible overwhelmed. You needed all this stuff?

“Ok.” Dean clapped his hands together. “I guess you should start with these.” He held out the box of pads and the box of tampons. You took them both, reading the instructions on the back carefully before taking both boxes with you to the bathroom. You returned a few minutes later to both men busy at work—Dean taking the sheets off his bed while Sam was returning from your room with clean clothes.

You took the clothes from Sam and retreated back into the bathroom, and after a quick shower to clean yourself off, you emerged again in clean pajamas. Dean was just returning to the room with the teddy bear fresh from the microwave, and Sam had gotten you a water bottle.

“Do you want us to take this stuff to your room?” Dean asked, and you saw his question for the open invitation that it was.

“Could I stay in here?” You asked, and Dean smiled.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’m gonna go get some clean sheets, and then we can go back to bed, ok?”

Not ten minutes later, Sam had returned to his room and you and Dean were getting comfortable in his bed.

“Just let me know how you’re feeling in the morning, and we’ll go from there ok?” Dean said.

“Ok,” you mumbled sleepily, burrowing into Dean’s side. “Hey dad?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure, kiddo.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

[equalheart]

enhypen when you get stood up / rejected / dumped

comedic fluff! enhypen!member x reader w: sad-ish? content. y/n is kinda “cheating” since they kiss someone RIGHT after breaking up… ©equalheart REPOST FROM HYKAI ⋆ ࣪. ୧ ♡ ୨ ִ ۫ ⁎ . i really wanted to write something like this, to avoid repetitiveness i added 3 different scenerios. sorry if this is confusing!

양정원 (YANG JUNGWON) — Stood Up

You were walking along in a park by the place your date was supposed to be. You felt like crying. After talking to this guy for a few weeks, you’d expect him to show up, right? What a waste of time. You’re walking peacefully when a dog runs straight at you and starts sniffing your feet. An owner quickly runs towards you. “Maeumi!” he quickly scoops the dog up into his arms. “I’m so sorry! I let her off her leash for one second and she—” he looks up, “Y/n?”

You realise who you’re talking to. It’s Yang Jungwon from your extended-maths class. “Oh, hi!” you try to cheer up. “Is this your dog?” he smiled while looking at Maeumi, who quickly gave a lick to his face. “Her name is Maeumi, do you wanna pet her?” you don’t decline, letting the fluffy dog run straight to your arms, licking your face as well. “I heard you were busy today.” randomly, it comes out of him, and you deeply sigh. “Yeah, I was supposed to go on a date. But the guy didn’t even show up.” Jungwon also lets out a deep sigh. He doesn’t know if he should feel angry for you, sad for you, or if he’s allowed to feel anything for you. But he feels relieved. “I’m happy he didn’t show up. Now you’re here with me.” He grins at you, Maeumi in his lap.

"Why is that? Do you like me or something?" You laugh until noticing he's gone silent. when you look back up at him, he bites down on his lower lip while looking down; like a sad puppy. "Wait, you like me?" He blushes and nods his head 'yes.' "Well, there's no doubt you're better than the guy who ditched me today. should we go on a date right now?" His eyes shoot up. "You like me too?" you giggle at his reaction. "Let's just say, I'm interested." "Then.. Let's consider this a date." He smiles at you and lets go of Maeumi, while she runs around you in circles. "First I'll have to drop her off at home." He giggles.

이희승 (LEE HEESEUNG) — Rejected

“Hah, why would I date you?” you’re on campus of your university, and your year long crush has just... rejected you? He’s been flirting with you, so it’s not surprising that this will be an extra shock to you. “I—” you stare at him, at a loss for words. “Y/n, nobody would like someone like you” you feel glossy eyes and also enraged. How could he say this after mentioning that his parents would love you? Even when you weren’t dating. A waste of time. Suddenly, you feel an arm around your shoulder. “I like them.” you turn around to see Lee Heeseung. You’ve talked to him about some lectures in groups, but nothing more than that—so what’s he saying? “I like Y/n. If you’re just gonna toy with them, leave them alone.” he raises an eyebrow and you watch your crush, or, well, ex-crush scoff and walk away, cussing at the ground.

Heeseung’s arm falls off your shoulder immediately. “I’m sorry for touching you, are you alright?” you tear up and he pats you back. “Shhh, he’s just a jerk, okay? Forget him.” your vision is foggy as you look at him. “Why’d you help me?” he looks at you blankly for a second, like a deer struck by headlights. “Didn’t you hear me? I said "I like you.”

박종성 (PARK JONGSEONG)  — Dumped

You call Jay on the phone, crying rather loudly. "Y/n? What's wrong?" He sounds alert. "I got dumped." You say between sniffles. Those words cause Jay to hang up on you. What the hell? What a jerk, you thought. - An hour passes and you've been watching a kdrama while crying your eyes out. There's a sudden knock at your door, and you open it to see Jay. You shut the door immediately. "Leave." You state as he jiggles the doorknob. "Y/n, wait. I'm sorry it took me so long there was traffic, and you know the ice cream place is far from my house!" Confusion takes over you as you slowly unlock and open the door. He continues: "Here, I got you all your favourite things. Do you want me to stay, or should I go..?" You take two white plastic bags from his hands. "You jerk. You suck." Now he's confused. "Should I??" he pointed to the street, more directly to his car. "How dare you hang up on me! Do you know how upset I was?" You pull him into the house, not noticing how he tripped over your shoe and stumbled forward, pushing himself to the nearest wall, with you in front of him. "O-Oh, i'm sorry—I was just trying to get here as fast as possible.” You can feel his hot breath fanning against your neck as he talks. "It's okay! It’s fine, don't worry." you blush and walk away, sitting back on the couch, now with your snacks. Jay stayed there, pinning air against the wall as he covered his mouth with his other hand. Shit. He was blushing like crazy.

심재윤 (SIM JAEYUN)  — Dumped

You're at Jake's house. in his room, sobbing on his gaming chair. "And then he just said it's over." You completed your story, not without at least one billion sniffles along the way. You knew you could rely on Jake, your best friend since almost forever, to comfort you. "Yeah? I'm sorry, Y/n. You deserved better." Your eyes sparkle in admiration and your eyes flashback distant memories from when you had a crush on Jake. Your heart aches. He was so perfect, but you were both young, and you didn't wanna risk losing him. "Jake.. Could I hug you?" He blanks out for a second before responding. "Of course! Sure! Just don't get any snot on me." Your face turns red in embarrassment and he notices. "Kidding, obviously!" He hugs you and you hold him tight.

After a few seconds, Jake tries to pull away, but you pull him tighter—maybe just a little too tight. From pulling Jake, his body weight was on you now and his gaming chair could not handle that; it toppled over. You were laying down on the chair, which was now flipped on its back (so you were still technically on it) when you realised Jake was on top of you. Woah. You both made eye contact for a split second before he got off. "Oh my gosh, Y/n, i'm sorry!" His cheeks are pink from prior. You just giggle. "No, seriously it's fine. It was my fault anyway." He looks at you, slowly speaking up. "In that case.. Wanna do it again?"

박성훈 (PARK SUNGHOON) — Rejected

It was embarrassing, getting rejected. And you needed someone to talk to. You went to your first and only resort, your best friend, Park Sunghoon. Something about the sparkle in your eyes while talking about him made Sunghoon uncomfortable. Did you like him that much? Come on. You barely knew him. Sunghoon decides not to speak on his thoughts and listen to what you have to say instead. He was always a good listener anyway.  But when you get to a point talking about stuff you “did wrong”, he can’t hold back any longer. “Y/n.” his sharp voice catches you off guard, and your eyes avert to him. “You did nothing wrong, okay? Just because you thought he liked you doesn’t mean you were wrong. He totally led you on and played with your feelings.” You feel tears wither up into your eyes and you clasp onto Sunghoon’s waist. It takes him by surprise, but he wraps his arms around yours. “Thank you, Hoon.”

김선우 (KIM SEONWOO) — Stood up

Sunoo could not believe what he was hearing. How could someone as pretty, kind, and sweet as you get stood up? I mean, the guy promised he'd show up. What a jerk. Sunoo stayed by your side as you ranted about how long you took getting ready, and how nervous you were. At first, you were a little upset, but then you were just irritated. You got all dressed up and ready for absolutely nothing. What a waste of time. Sunoo, unlike you, was furious. He asked (begged) for the guy's number so he could meet him, but you declined. Being petty wouldn't get you back time. "I give up on dating people." you sigh, and Sunoo panics. "You can't give up! There's still someone out there waiting for you!'' His sudden defensiveness leaves you confused. "And who would that be." you roll your eyes, sipping the water he brought for you earlier. "…. Me."

西村 力 (NISHIMURA RIKI) — Rejected

Before you even came up to Ni-ki, he could sense something was wrong—His spidey senses were tingling. He saw the small tear droplets formed in your eyes and sighs, pushing a stand of hair out of your face. His eyebrows were furrowed while he studied your sad features. "I thought you said you were absolutely confident he liked you back?" You sniffle a bit and he can't help but chuckle. "Idiot." He whispers under his breath. Ni-ki's face holds a soft smile, his eyes holding oceans of stars. "Hey!" You punch him and he lets out a fake cry. "Maybe he changed his mind." You huff at him.

Not a great situation for jokes, but Ni-ki always managed to make you laugh. "You should've stayed with me.." He pats your head, still making eye contact even if he's towering over you.  "You know I'd treat you better." Your heart flutters. How could it not? But it was for your friend. Was this wrong? You give him a confused expression, still at a loss of words from his actions. "Y/n, you don't know? You really  don't know?" His blank expression still confused you, and a slow, soft smile appeared in his mouth. He bends down to your level, and your eyes widen. He's.. super attractive. How couldn't you notice him before? "I like you."

[iwanty0uu]

all mine ~❥

(unedited)

It all started when you were getting too friendly with Nanami. Considering Nanami’s usually stoic and nonchalant attitude, Gojo knew that it wouldn’t be long before he started to like your antics. Jealousy struck him and forced him to say something.. almost. Again, as strong as Gojo was..you were stronger, and not in the sense of being the best jujustu sorcerer like he was.. no. You never cared when he threw his tantrums, or when he would give you the silent treatment, and after a couple of minutes, he always caved and dropped it. To be quite frank, he was always a little bitch in the nicest way possible, but you took it a little too far one day. He caught you basically eye fucking Nanami in the teacher work room, feeling on his biceps, playing with his perfectly ironed and straightened tie.. this drove him off the edge.

So he asked himself as the claps from the fat of your ass and his muscular pelvis filled principal Masamichi’s office.

“Should I really have mercy?”

“G-gojo please I said im sorryyy” you couldn’t help but cry as tears filled your eyes, face down on his desk as you were railed from behind, you felt his happy trail on your backside as he pulled your head back. His palm was filled with your long curly hair. He didn’t say a word. “Sato please ta- fuck” You bit your tongue. Your head was shoved back on the desk as you felt yourself clench around his ling hard throbbing member. It elongated and curved, it felt like it stretched past your cervix and into your liver at this point. Your pleads were useless, so you stopped, now the room was filled with whimoers and your beautiful moans.. “Mhmm Gojo im gonna cum please slow down..” You asked as nicely as you could because you know that he would use his domain on you if you were a stranger..his anger was freighting... Your thighs quivered as you came to your high, making yourself small and twisting, attempting to loosen yourself from his grip as he continued to mercilessly ram into you.

“Who’s pussy is this?” he finally spoke.

“Yours Gojo I swear it- hmmm I just wanted your attentionnnn”

“Tell Nanami it’s all mine” He demanded as he ringed the poor man on the phone, he answered with a gruff voice “What.”

“Nanamiiiii… help..” You mumbled, “Y/n??” He asked worried

“Say it”

“I am all and only Gojo’s” you said quietly, He knew you hated embarrassment so he wouldn’t go too far, he didn’t want you to hate him, so he settled with what he had. The only thing that he’d ever want.

“All mine” His seed loaded into you, seeping out of your skirt, he patted your ass twice and picked you up. He turned you around to face him as he fixed your glasses. “Don’t let that shit happen again…” He wiped your tears, and cleaned you up, kissing you, as you hiccuped into his kiss…

“mkay…” :(

awwwwww so nastyyyy i was watching jjk while making this btw Gojo so bhaddd ~ 𝓵𝓮𝓵𝓮<3

@alaurannara thx for the ideaaa!!!

[banquetwriter]

saw you asked for viktor x reader requestssss, may i ask for some fluffy modern au ones? love your blog!!

AN: tysm !! and yes i love for modern au!viktor bc maybe he has a chance to be happy :((

warnings: i mention the pandemic a lil and some sad stuff about his disability but over all fluff :), ooc viktor bc im not used to writing him rip

i feel like in any universe viktor has nightmares, in a modern world he would wake with a jolt of fear, drenched in sweat. eyes dark and sunken in. his leg is killing him and he sighs peering at the time. 2:34 am. ahh of course he cannot possibly get a full nights sleep.

he doesn’t want to wake you of course. you need your sleep, more than him but he just can’t handle it. the pain sometimes it’s just too much. he rubs his forehead reaching for his phone and dialing your number. to his delight and concern you awnser almost immediately. “viktor?” your worried voice says through the phone.

“are you ok? did something happen.” you ask, your voice isn’t tired- like it should be. “no- just another bad dream i’m afraid. why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked with a small amused smirk.

silence met him on the other end “darling you need to sleep-“ he tries to reason before you cut him off complaining about how he never sleeps.

definitely still a work-a-holic… can’t for a moment pull himself away from work. in a modern world he is definitely still a scientist… maybe working in the medical field? possibly! the tech world seems most likely….

he’d always have accesses to the newest gadgets and do-dads. stuff that blows your mind but for him? another tuesday. and for being as technologically advanced as he is he doesn’t care much for tv show or modern movies…

he’d like the classics of course but he strikes me more as a classic ligature guy… maybe just some self projecting but some gothic lit perhaps?

he also eats extremely healthy. and when he does eat it’s not to enjoy the food it’s purely to keep him going… and your snacking habits and fast food would amuse him slightly.

of course he’d get invited to speak at many tech (or medically i’m telling you i can see him in the prosthetic industry) events. jayce forcing him to get all black suit and tie fancy. which he would hate.

what he wouldn’t hate would be seeing you all done up pretty/handsome, wondering how he managed to trick you into falling in love with him.

viktor sat in front of his full length mirror (a space specifically for him to be able to down while getting ready) adjusting his tie before using his crutch to stand up. the only thought running through his mind was how much he didn’t wanna go

then he saw you rush out of the bathroom “ugh we are gonna be late” you said worried putting in your earrings or adjusting your own tie. but viktor didn’t here your complaint. he saw his beautiful partner. his love struck eyes followed as you rush to his mirror. he slipped a hand around your waist.

you turn to him finally done adjusting your outfit he just smiles back. “you clean up nice.” you whisper before planting a small kiss on his cheek. if you wear lipstick he admires the mark before regrettably rubbing the mark off.

and even if you don’t wear it he can feel the spot burn all night long as he watches jayce mingle through the crowd.

since his right leg is the leg he needs his crutch for i think it’s safe to assume he can’t drive. he most likely could when he was younger when he used the cane not the crutch but even then after a few years he most likely wouldn’t be able to

and even if it sounds a little uncharacteristic i think he would have a personal driver. he is definitely making bank in the tech (or medically yk yk) field, especially being an inventor.

so he wouldn’t have one to be an ass but simply because he cannot walk places and the modern world relies on cars… if you can drive he much prefers you to do it however.

during the pandemic since he is most likely immune compromised i don’t see a world where he goes out much before let alone after a global pandemic. which makes his anxiety worse.

it’s better for his pain to be able to run his business from home or a quarantined lab but his mental health suffers. when the band are lifted and your allowed to go out more he has a panic attacks a lot.

during zoom calls sometimes you’d be just out of frame holding his hand as you read or something. it took a while and a lot of convincing but he eventually started to go to therapy

ik big deal for mr i don’t deserve anything good in my life…

as his health declines and he is forced to stay home rather than choosing to stay home he becomes close to bed ridden. you quit your job to help care for him more full time. he hates it.

he hates the pitty looks from jayce and all the people that worked for hextech. he doesn’t have to worry about money of course… but he wishes the world would allow him more time.

i don’t know how modern the medicine is in piltover but i’m assuming it’s decently close to ours ??? and if so he would decline at about the same rate. if our modern world has better medicine than of course he takes advantage of it to a point

until having to pop 5 pills every three hours takes a toll and he slowly stops taking them.. but he always has you to remind him why he takes them. so after increasing his therapy sessions he starts to take them again.

i’d imagine he likes to spend every domestic moment he can. massaging your legs as they lay across his lap as you ramble on about whatever tv show your watching. chuckling at your reactions as he reads

being able to brush his teeth with you in the shower… just the pure domestic bliss he basks in. having a lonely childhood he is has never been more happy to experience a life with people he loves !!

[shadebloopnik]

This is gonna sound SOOO off or smthn but

Was the Perfect Family Harmony planned to be a weapon against the Bergens?

Long post ahead bc brain is rotting

Ok so as we know, the Perfect Family Harmony is smthn that's so powerful that its capable of shattering diamonds. Not just that but its one of the only thing capable of doing so(according to Floyd it was the only thing but giving the benefit of the doubt)

So we know its strong, and we saw it blasting off Velvet and Veneer off their platforms when they performed it, and they weren't even the targets, they were blasted away by just the shockwave that came with using it.

"Its that powerful."

Ok, so its definitely powerful enough to be used as a weapon right? Yeah it was relatively safe enough to use in front of a crowd, else they wouldn't have tried to do it during a concert, but that could just be when those harmonizing aren't targeting anything.

If it could shatter diamonds, how easily could it break cages? What would it do if it was used to target a Bergen? A whole Kingdom of Bergens?

Lets also go back to that concert, to that time John was obsessed with them getting it right. They were in the Troll tree, in Bergentown, a place where any of them could die during Trollstice. The Bergens were a huge threat, something that trolls, at their size, couldn't fight back against normally so they had to run instead right?

But what if they COULD fight back? What if they had a weapon so powerful that it might finally be able to free them? To defeat the monsters that tortured their kind for centuries?

What if John Dory found a way to help make sure nothing would threaten his brothers' safety ever again?

Like, it'd make John Dory's obsession make SOOO MUCH MORE SENSE

Like yea he clearly has OCD and anxiety and some bossiness and that definitely added to it all, but imagine if it was more than that?

Look at him during that performance. He was in deep. He had a wild look in his eyes, a sort of deranged obsession to have everything be perfect no matter what. It wasn't healthy, it was scary, maybe even downright terrifying for his brothers who had to be subjected to it.

But you know what else he looked like?

Terrified

Man was scared out of his mind. His anxiety and stress levels were through the roof. He probably was one wrong tune away from hyperventilating.

What if it was bc it was so much more than the fans? What if he put the salvation of the entire troll-kind on his shoulders?

One wrong step meant they were nothing.

One wrong step meant disappointing the fans.

One wrong step meant letting down the kingdom.

One wrong step meant another troll getting eaten.

Thats why when they failed, John blew up. He took all of that self-hatred of failing to use that weapon to defeat the bergens and poured it all onto his brothers.

"I know we can reach the Perfect Family Harmony."

"What if we don't want to."

John Dory, blind to how and WHY his brothers didn't want to follow his lead, felt betrayed.

To him, all he's ever done was to ensure their safety, everything was for the greater good. He'd done everything he could, his goals slowly twisting him into a crazed obsession. To hear his brothers say they didn't want to help anymore might've struck a cord too much. If you'd noticed he actually looked really sad and hurt when they started bringing up how much they hated being in the band, but it slowly twisted to anger instead. Kind of in a like, "I tried doing everything for these shts and THIS is how they repay me???" way. He was so stressed and stuck in his own head with his failures that he just couldn't see what his brothers were trying to say.

So in a fit of impulsive rage, he left. To him it probably was like that rlly childish way of saying "Yea im leaving, good luck dealing with the Bergens while im goneee." You know? Like how kids runaway from home when they get angry or upset over every little thing but come back when they realize how stupid that was?

"Im not allowed to change."

And he DID come back. Who knows how long, but he did. Imagine how he must've felt seeing their empty pod in an empty tree, with the knowledge that he could've done something about it. The Perfect Family Harmony could've saved them. They could've used it to break the cage, to fight the Bergens. Hell, it could've been powerful enough to wipe out all the Bergens if they do so wished.

"Im the oldest, I have to be the leader."

He and his brothers were the only ones who'd ever gotten close to getting it right.

"Why do you think I moved into the middle of nowhere? So I didn't have to be in charge of anyone."

The village was counting on them. Counting on him. He let them down. He failed.

"Freeing the village Four little brothers is a lot of responsibility."

They could've gotten it. If only John did it right. If only John did it differently.

If only John Dory was Perfect

[billsbabydoll]

“𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝒾𝓍𝒶𝒷𝓁ℯ, 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓁𝒹.”

contains:HARSH ANGST+SMUT<3

summary:finally getting sick of bills toxicity and instability, i packed up all of my belongings and planned to “leave him” or as i stupidly told myself, only to find myself easily falling back into his same hypnotizing trap.

WARNINGS:abusive relationship, fighting, arguing, manipulation (I DO NOT CONDONE ANYTHING THAT HAPPENS in this story, this story is ONLY for entertainment purposes!!!), very narcissistic and misogynistic bill, hard-dom!bill, dumb-sub!reader, p in v (against the wall), degrading, pet-names, LIGHT choking, heavy breeding kink.

notes:as someone who has experienced theses types of situations firsthand, if you ever do find yourself in these kinds of circumstances please take the initial steps to get yourself out that relationship immediately, youll be fine i promise love ya!

HEAVY THEMES AHEAD!

“yeah go fucking cry about it you sensitive bitch, get the fuck outta’ my face!”bill loudly shouted at me from the living room as i ran and locked myself into our shared bedroom, tears streaming profusely down my cheeks, as i tumbled onto the bed and proceeded to curl myself up into a small pathetic ball.

im tired of living like this, being so isolated, feeling so trapped, being so mentally and physically drained, having to constantly walk around eggshells around him.

me and bills relationship was a perfect fairytale in the beginning, but quickly came burning down in flames and burnt down to pure ashes at his rage.his anger completely undoing every single precious thing he ever once said to me.

every “i love you.” or “i cant wait to start a life with you.” was once a simple loving string of words now being dangled high above my head as a reminder of his broken promises.

i still cling onto that small glimmer of hope that he could change some-day, that he could love me again, or that he could simply hold me without hurting me.

i lay in my own pity for a long grueling hour before i decide to slowly unravel myself from my position, gently getting up from the bed, wiping the tears from my eyes telling myself,

“i need to leave,

right now.”

i kick into full panic mode and immediately start changing into a dark colored tracksuit and a comfortable pair of sneakers, then i rummage through our closet grabbing random handfuls of my belongings stuffing my suitcase to the brim.

i quietly creak the bedroom door open and make my way through the dark hallway, my luggage in one hand as i try to rush towards the front door.

“going somewhere babe?”he eerily questioned, his evil presence immediately sending cold chills down my spine.

“i-i-uhm..”i mumbled trying to find some kind of explanation but it was if something was struck in my throat, i looked like a child who just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

“im leaving!”i managed to spit out, slowly turning to face him.

“oh your leaving?”he responded in a cartoonish voice mocking my own, chuckling manically at my response.

he crosses his arms over his chest as he cockily looks me up and down, he then quickly steps forward grabbing me by my chin with his right hand, yanking a fistful of my hair with his left.

“cant you see THIS is the life i promised you honey?you know no-ones ever gonna buy you all those pretty dresses you like wearing f’me, provide for you like i do, or keep a GODDAMN roof over your head like i do!”

what he was saying was true, without him i wouldnt have a single penny to my name.he took care of every expense, he even had me on a monthly allowance but he didnt do anything of it out of the goodness of his heart he rather used it to his advantage knowing hed always win.

“i know i know but, i-im tired of you being like this bill, im sick of it!i swear ill give it all back if thats what you really want!”i nervously murmured, his grip on my chin and hair tightening.

“your such an ungrateful brat, you dont even deserve to be breathing the same air as me, i shouldve just throw you out months ago like the trashy bitch you are.”

he yelled into my face before slamming me against the wall letting go of some of his grip on me as he pulled down his pants and boxers along with my sweatpants and panties.

“you wanna be treated like a worthless whore ill fucking treat you like one then.“

he wrapped one of his arms strongly around my neck keeping me in place, as he teased his cock in between my slicks folds, causing me to softly whimper.

“aww…look at you poor baby, you just wanted some attention huh, want me to fuck you isnt that right?”he purred squeezing my neck firmly in his arm, sliding his length harshly inside my walls.

though i hated to admit it, it truly turned me on how possessive and upset he got when i tried leaving it showed me he still sort-of cared.the fact he still had enough respect to still fuck me was enough to have me eating right out of his palm, anytime he showed me the slightest bit of affection it casted his spell over me all over again.

he continued thrusting his full length inside my cunt, beginning to aggressively pound away, my head banging against the cold wall.

“ugh-i shouldnt even be mmhtouching you right now ungrateful bitch!”he shouted, his free hand slapping my ass sure enough to leave hand prints the next morning.

“f-fuck fuck, im ughh-yours baby!”i moaned out, tears beginning to spill from my eyes, his tip kissing my cervix perfectly.

“das ist r-richtig, mhm!du gehst verdammt noch mal nirgendwo hin(thats right, your not going fucking anywhere),

gonna fill you all up, hopefully y-you get pregnant that way your ugh-stuck with me!”

the sound of our moans combined with the banging on the wall echoed throughout the house, the faint tv not even being enough to cover up his disgusting insults and my foul cries.

“b-bill ugh please i c-cant!”

“take my f-fucking cock mhmy little cum slut!”

his hips are bucking into mine at an animalistic pace as he urgently chases his release, my walls deliciously clenching around his girth, sending him immediately over the edge.

“scheibe scheibe scheibe(shit shit shit!)”he yelled out suddenly fucking his cock deeper inside my sweet walls, ropes of his seed oozing deep inside my pussy.

“ich w-werde ganz in dir abspritzen du mmh-dumme s-schlampe, ich werde dich mit meinem verdammten baby schwängern (im gonna cum all inside you, stupid slut, im gonna get you pregnant with my baby!)”he adds breeding his cum inside me with a few final thrusts, pulling his length out of me with a loud pop.

bill then releases me from his arm allowing me to slam down onto the floor, pulling his pants up smugly as he knelt down to my level.

“next time im beating the fuck outta’ this was me playing nice, understood? now go make me some dinner before you piss me off again.”

i nod my head instantly at his demands, rubbing the side of my cheek that hit the ground.

“such a good little girl, i love you.” he praised grinning widely down at me before getting back up and walking away from me.

“i love you too.”

and the cycle continues.

THE END

[storywriter007]

do you do requests? if you do, can you do Leo x fem reader who is the daughter of Khione, she has ice powers and she has a very friendly, cheerful demeanor and is genuinely kind tends to smile a lot of the times although it does comes off as creepy sometimes, the reason why the reader smiles a lot is because just like Leo as a way of coping with her mommy issues and doesn't want people to worry

Fire & Ice - Leo Valdez x Fem!Reader

author's note: i do take requests :) and this is such a cute idea! like fire and ice, polar opposites, but they end up being the exact same. thank you for the request!

author's note 2: i didn't know if you wanted this to be fluff or angst, so i kinda did both (please send me more angst im internally dying writing all of this joy)

warnings: slight bullying, mommy issues, cursing

genre: angst ending in fluff

word count: 1.9k

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

y/n gently braided the curly hair in front of her. she put a little elastic towards the end of the braid, and leaned back. it looked wonderful. beautiful brown curls cascaded down like a waterfall, and two cute little braids were at the top of the head.

"all done lay!" she smiled.

"you look beautiful," she said, holding up a mirror for the girl to see.

"thank you so much y/n! i loooove it!" she beamed, giving y/n a big hug.

"of course!"

she ran off, and y/n began cleaning up.

"surprised you didn't give the kid a brain freeze." a familiar voice laughed.

"nice to see you too, valdez." she rolled her eyes.

leo's smile died out whenever he saw y/n, and y/n's kindness turned into cruelty whenever she saw him. they didn't get along; not in the least. leo was a fire-producing maniac, and y/n was a snow-summoning psycho. their rivalry started when y/n was ice skating on the lake (after turning part of it into ice) and leo came up and set it on fire. y/n would've drowned if she didn't quickly skate away and create ice until she got to the grass. after that, y/n froze one of his favorite machines, and he spent days trying to melt all the ice off. they'd had it out for each other for two summers - ever since leo found out she was the daughter of khione.

leo was loud. annoying. funny on occasion. y/n was soft spoken. kind. caring. fire and ice. they were far too different.

"don't you have something to blow up?" she asked, meeting his brown eyes.

"yeah." he said, looking over at her cabin. "elsa's castle."

"i swear to god, i'm going to-"

"turn me into a rocket pop?" he grinned.

"i'm gonna freeze your bed. have fun sleeping outside for the week." she said, staring him down.

"that'll make two of us."

they both stormed away. gods, she couldn't stand him.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

evening struck, and as y/n made her way to the mess hall, she saw a little boy sitting all alone on a fallen tree. he had curly blonde hair. he was wearing a blue t-shirt and beige cargo shorts. he looked no older than twelve. he sat quietly, his face resting on his right hand. he looked upset.

"y/n, c'mon." one of her friends said.

"you guys go, i'll be with you in a few."

she made her way over to the little boy.

"can i sit here?" she asked.

"yeah." he said glumly, moving over.

"what's your name?"

"daniel." he said, not looking at her.

"tough first week, daniel?" she asked.

he nodded his head. new campers came in everyday, and it didn't get easier for any half-blood who stepped in the magical boundaries.

"it's alright." she reassured. "the first week is always the worst week."

"i've got no friends." he said shakily. "no one wants to talk to me."

he finally looked up and met y/n's gaze. she could see the scattered freckles on his face and the tears that were welled up in his light green eyes.

"what about your siblings?"

her voice was soft and calming.

"they don't wanna talk to me either." he said, defeated.

"i know." she sighed. "it's tough being new. but, uh, tell me dan, what do you like to do?"

"i-i like to draw." he said.

"that's so cool! i can only draw a stick figure, dear gods. what do you like to draw?"

"mostly nature and stuff. i draw a lot of animals and landscapes." he said, his tone picking up a little bit. "i have a sketchbook, if y-you want to see.."

his voice trailed off.

"i'd be delighted." she smiled.

the boy's eyes lit up as he rushed off and quickly came back with a sketchbook. he showed her all of his drawings and where he had drawn them. they were absolutely beautiful. they continued talking about the drawings, and daniel told y/n about all of the parks, lakes, and mountains he'd visited before arriving at camp. she could see he was feeling a lot better.

"don't you want to go to the mess hall?" y/n asked him. "get somethin' to eat?

"my siblings don't like it when i sit with them." he sighed.

"who said you have to sit with them?" she laughed. "sit with me. c'mon kid."

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

after walking daniel to the ares cabin, y/n turned around and rushed to the camp headquarters for a counselor's meeting. she wasn't looking forward to seeing leo. as she walked into the very informal meeting room, his first remark was made.

"someone's late." he coughed.

the other counselors turned to look at her.

suck my dick is what she wanted to say.

"one of the kids wanted me to walk them back. that's kinda what happens when the younger campers actually trust you." she smiled, passive-aggresively.

"hey, they trust me!" he defended. "they love me."

"first you lie about your height, and now how much the kids like you?"

the crowd of counselors started laughing.

"don't encourage her guys." he said, so seriously that the crowd quit laughing. "she's gonna start singing 'let it go!'"

giggles and laughs burst out from every corner of the room as y/n felt her cheeks grow warm.

"c'mon johnny storm." she paused. "give them a real show and sing 'this boy is on fire,' won't you?"

he glared at her as more laughs erupted from the counselors. to them, it was all in good fun. to leo and y/n, it was the continuation of a war. just as leo was about to holler another snappy insult, their verbal sparring was interrupted.

"enough." chiron said, entering the room. "i've had it with you two."

the room stood quiet.

"yeah, y/n, pack up your shit." he snickered.

"i'm sorry for the constant misconduct." she smiled, trying to repair the damage. "i could fix it, if you'd let me turn valdez into a statue for my ice castle."

laughs erupted from more of their banter.

"go clean the stables." he ordered. "both of you, together. come back to your cabins once you've become friends."

"there's no way that me and evil frosty are gonna get along." leo protested. "we're gonna be there forever!"

shut up y/n wanted to yell. he was just making things worse.

"then i suggest you ask mr. jackson to teach you how to speak horse." chiron said firmly.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

y/n cleaned the stables while leo swept the floor.

"leo, could you pass me that-"

"no."

they had been here for four hours and leo had refused to cooperate. she was at the end of her rope with him.

"why do you hate me?" she asked, exasperated.

she'd wondered this ever since they'd got here. she assumed it's because ice and fire don't get along, but everyone at camp assured her leo would never hate anyone over something they couldn't control. especially, godly heritage.

"you got us stuck here!" he argued.

"you started it!" she countered.

their voices slowly rose as they yelled at one-another.

"you were late!" he continued. "and besides, i might've started it, but you ended it!"

"you started things with me from the first day i got here two summers ago! you tried to burn me alive! you threated to blow my cabin up! why!?" she asked loudly.

she was tired. she was sore. and she was sick of leo always being a douchebag.

"your mom tried to kill me!" he yelled.

"she tried to kill me too!"

"what?" he asked, his gaze softening and his voice lowering.

"nothing." y/n said, realizing what she'd just said. "nothing, just forget about it."

"y/n-"

"go to bed." she demanded. "i'll finish this by myself. not like you were doing anything anyways."

"you can trust me." he insisted. "please?"

"make whatever snide remark you were going to, and leave."

"please, y/n." he said, his voice low and steady. "what happened?"

"i was nine, and uh, my mother had decided she was done with me. she tried to freeze me, and uh, then she tried to stab me." she paused to say the next part. "and when none of that work, she uh-she tried to burn me."

"i'm so sorry."

"don't worry about it." she said, quickly plastering a smile on her face. "now it's your turn to answer my question. why do you hate me?"

"i-i don't. i never have." he sighed. "i figured you'd end up hating me regardless, so i just sealed our fate."

they stood in the silence of the stables.

"you started a fight with my because you assumed i would automatically dislike you? because you can summon fire?" y/n asked, it being her turn to be shocked now.

"yeah." he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "i thought you'd be some cold, icy, pessimistic bitch.

"ouch."

"until i saw you. how much you cared, and how much you smiled, and how much you made other people feel better. by the time, i realized you weren't what i had made of you, it was too late to turn back."

"leo." she said, unable to speak. "i care about people regardless. i would've never had a vendetta against you because you're a mini human torch. and even though you were convinced i hated you, i never did. i just played along."

"liar." he chuckled.

"when you passed out from exhaustion for forty-eight hours, do you know who monitored you each and every second? do you know who constructed your diet and recovery plan? do you remember the fuzzy voice telling you everything was going to be okay? because that was me."

"why?" he asked. "why are you so nice?

"i just want someone to stay."

they started at each-other for a moment. leo used humor and jokes to cover up the pain he felt. y/n used compensating kindness. they didn't want people to leave them, so they found something that would make them valuable: witty remarks and selflessness. they both covered up their profound pain and self-hatred with a form of fake happiness. they both had constructed a person who is only upset when no one is watching. and it was all because both of them didn't want people to worry, they just wanted them to stay.

"i feel the same way." he shared.

they weren't as different as they thought they were.

"i'm sorry." he said, sincerity in his eyes. "i misjudged you."

"i'm sorry too." she responded. "i held up my end of the bargain, didn't i?"

"i guess fire and ice aren't polar opposites after all." he smiled.

"i think they're identical." she agreed, reaching her hand out.

they shook hands, but didn't let go. leo's grip was firm on her hand. they looked into each other's eyes. leo pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers. his rough hands wrapped around her waist, as hers roamed his face and neck. it wasn't a needy kiss, it wasn't a passionate kiss, it was a "i'm glad you're here" kiss. leo felt her cold fingers move around his neck. it felt refreshing. y/n felt his warm hands around her waist. it felt comforting. after a few seconds, they pulled away, and laughed a little. y/n put her head on his shoulder as he held her tight.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

domestic jason hcs? >:)

(this ask feels self-indulgent but i was VERY inspired by this one buff dude i saw on insta reels baking in a not-so-sexual way but like women in the comments are down bad and i cant really describe it im so sorry 😭)

imagine waking up to jason baking something (doesnt have to be anything could just be bread). you wanna help but the only instructions he gives you is to sit pretty, wearing his shirt and all. everytime he moves around the kitchen, he give u a lil peck on the lips if hes close enough to you. youre just sitting pretty like he asked, watching this man work and looking a little love struck cuz all you wanna do is pull him down and give him the fattest kiss for being so husband material

(dude, im yearning so much. thank u for writing a lot for jason 💞 ALSO ive seen u around in the cod tag so another thanks for ur fics there too 💞)

I’m sticking with the prompt cause I had unholy thoughts. An thank you! I appreciate your appreciation for my works ✨

This may be the tiniest bit suggestive 🌝

Time Written - 5:51 a.m

Baking at an early hour was somewhat new for Jason.

Baking at an early hour after an intense ending to an incredible date night was incredibly new for Jason.

His hands were occupied with an intriguing scene of soft dough and hard, rich yellow butter on a marble countertop. His muscles at work folding in the pockets of butter into the dough, pressing it with the heels of his palms.

“Morning, mama.” His morning voice held that early rasp in his tone that tickled you just right. You reciprocated his greeting as you walk into the kitchen, dressed in one of his shirts he aggressively yanked off the night before.

There he stood in grey sweatpants. Baking something delectable for seemingly no reason.

“What’s the occasion?” You question as you approach the counter, admiring his bed rugged hair adding onto his every attractive appearance.

“Cloudy outside, which means baking time.”

“Baking time?” The slightest glance at your cheeky little grin made him amusingly scoff.

“Baked goods,” he clarified with a head gesture behind him. “Coffee’s ready for ya, babe.”

Soon, the kitchen will flood with the warm aroma of browning butter and cooking sugar, invading throughout your home for a very long evening. Neighbors will get jealous over the smell of bakery air, hopefully helping them ignore the noises prior to the other night.

It was quite a sight to watch, his muscles flexing with a focused flare along his brow. You almost didn’t hear his insistence the second time towards the cinnamon coffee waiting in the pot for you.

“Gonna stick around? You’ll get first glance at what I’m making.”

“Which is?” You pry, watching him approach the sink to wash his hands.

“Crossiants,” he admits after drying his hands, giving the tip of your nose a peck. “With chocolate.”

“Look at you, my man’s a baker.” You smile while leaning against the counter, feeling your heart throb romantically from his chaste kisses.

“Not what you expected, huh?”

“What, my Red Hood busting skulls and baking? So many single moms would chase after you if they could.”

That comment has him unexpectedly laugh. Not the worst thing he’s been told, so he’ll take it. Poor single mothers, too bad he’s already taken.

“I thought you meant the chocolate would be inside?” You ask after peeking at the dough he wrapped up in cling wrap.

“No,” He shakes his head. “See, I thought that, but I like the idea of dipping them into melted chocolate a whole lot better.”

“Where’d you get the inspiration?”

“France,” he amusingly huffs with a shrug after approaching to take the packet you handed to him. “Thanks baby. Where else?”

He slips the packet of buttered dough into the fridge before turning towards the stove, almost running into you as you beat him to it, peering into a saucepan full of melted chocolate.

“Hey, hey.” Cool, clean hands gently grasped hold of your shoulders, gently nudging you away from his little workspace. “Easy on those eyes, almost knocked you into an accident.”

“Need some help with anything?” You offer, reminding him of when he used to ask his mother the same question. Happy little memories that brought embers of warmth in his heart.

“You can be of huge help,” He begins, calloused hands grazing down along your fingerprint shaped bruised hips before hoisting you up in his arms like a little doll.

“By sitting pretty, an’ letting me work.”

He plops you down on a stool he pulled out from the island counter, giving you a perfect little spot to watch him work. You slouch after he turns away, watching him return to his little objective on the stove.

“You just melt chocolate in the pan like that?”

“Sorta,” Jason tilts his head after grabbing a spoon, stirring the smooth, ganache-like chocolate concoction around. “France’s version of hot chocolate. Some milk, cream, a little sugar.”

You hum as a response, watching the muscles along the back of his left shoulder move as he enacts upon such a simple, minor task. Jason probably said something else, along the lines of not wanting such a beautiful body of chocolate boil on the stove, but it wasn’t much of your concern as it was his.

Maybe your main concern was how exactly did the scratches you left along his back didn’t break skin, clinging onto him for dear life as they flexed along your greedy palms.

He probably knew that, he was hiding a smile for all you could tell if you paid any attention.

“My girl want a taste?” He offers, his real gaze snapping your mind back into reality. You nod, anxiously sitting up in your seat.

He spoons warm, melted chocolate on the top of your tongue, watching it dribble down your bottom lip. The pink of your little tongue swiped up the remnants, all for Jason’s adoring gaze to witness.

Your reaction varies upon the subtle lack of sweetness from the chocolate.

“It’s not that sweet. Is it dark—?”

Your words are stolen when he kisses you, cradling your face within his two warm hands after carelessly setting down the spoon.

His heavy lidded gaze meets yours after breaking off the kiss, his cheeks flushed with affectionate warmth.

“Don’t know,” his glistening lips curve upwards after licking his lips. “Tastes pretty sweet to me.”

He turns away, as if he hadn’t committed such a crime in the first place.

You’re left watching once again, anxious nerves preventing you from sitting still. Fidgety fingers lingering in your lap, grasping along the lower hem of your shirt.

“Also coffee,” Jason pitches as if he forgot. “Added a little espresso to enhance the taste. You, uh… never got your coffee, babe.”

Oh. Right. The first thing he told you when you came in.

“Sorry,” you sheepishly admit, slightly shifting your hips whilst on the stool. “Got a little distracted.”

He chuckles, not even needing a detective’s mindset to understand fully why. “Did you now?”

Not giving you a chance to answer, Jason sets the saucepan off the burner before turning full attention towards you. Swooping you off the stool you sat, hoisting you ontop of a warm, clean counter.

His torso pressed against yours, keeping you comfortably confined between a marble surface and a hard place. His hands caress along your torso, thumbs trickling over your stiff nipples through your shirt, still sore from his teeth marks.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles against the shell of your ear. His lips press against your neck as you swallow, kissing down along your collarbone. “Figured you’d have stayed sleeping in ‘till I was done here. Guessin’ last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“Your fault for putting on a show.” You whisper, hooking your legs the best you could around his broad waist.

He chuckles against your neck, his excitement as palpable as his pearly smile expressed. “Your fault for watchin’, mama.”

[its-avalon-08]

Amoreeee!

i love ur works and i have a very specific reuqest in mind. this is too detailed so please feel free to ditch a few details because im aware its too much. this is a mv1 x senna!daughter one.

max is hard racing some driver and he gets angry and flustered and he crashes because he act irresponsibly. y/n's heart stops because the way the car rotated and hit the barrier refletced her late father's passing.

her breath stops, max is ok but gp IS ANGRY at him because that could have been easily avoided. max is not hurt at all.

he is still angry when he comes back into the motor home. and then y/n gives him a cold shoulder and doesnt speak to him.

this makes max angrier leading to a passive aggressive arguement. max says something which leads y/n to say "fine then, fuck off and die see if i care" max is shcoked and so is everyonbe else in the motorhome

when she rushes out in tears she bumps into carlos/charles/lando and he comforts her and she says "i never shouldve said that"

they make up, hapoy ending make it extra emotional.

LOVE UR WORKS!

i have to confess, i love this one the most out of everything i've ever written. its extra extra long, and the anon messaged me and asked me to add a few more things, so i have done the same! anon ily ! (edit - i messed up the translation! its been fixed now!!) enjoy reading <3

coração valente (mv1) (brave heart)

find the headcannon here!

The roar of the engine was a dull thrum in Y/N's ears as she watched the battle unfold on the screen. Max was locked in a fierce fight for position with Esteban Ocon. Every aggressive lunge, every desperate attempt to overtake sent a tremor of unease through her. It was too reminiscent, too close to the edge.

Then, disaster struck. Ocon made a late move, and Max, fueled by frustration and a competitive fire, reacted impulsively. He swerved to block him, the car losing traction as it took the corner too tightly. The world slowed down as Y/N watched in horror. The Red Bull spun, a sickening ballet of red and blue against the asphalt, before slamming into the barrier with a sickening crunch.

Her breath hitched, a choked sob escaping her lips. The way the car crumpled, the dust cloud mirroring the crash that stole her father… the memory flooded back, vivid and terrifying. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo threatening to burst through her chest.

Thankfully, the medical team rushed to the scene, and the relief was almost a physical blow. Max emerged from the wreckage, shaken but unharmed. But the reprimand from Horner was swift and brutal. "Unnecessary risk, Verstappen! You could have avoided that entirely!"

By the time Max stormed back into the motorhome, his anger was a palpable presence. He tossed his helmet onto the couch, the thud echoing in the tense silence. Y/N sat by the window, her back to him, a cold, hard wall where warmth and concern usually resided.

"Great job out there," Max spat, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Another brilliant strategy by Horner, putting all the pressure on me."

Y/N remained silent. Her silence was a punishment, far worse than any raised voice. Max, already on edge, bristled.

"You gonna say something, genius?" he snapped. "Or are you just gonna sit there like a statue?" Y/N turned a deaf ear to that.

The air in the motorhome felt thick enough to chew on. Y/N sat at the table, meticulously organizing spare race parts, a pointed silence radiating from her. Max hovered by the coffee machine, his usual swagger dampened by a heavy frown.

Christian Horner, ever the mediator, attempted to lighten the mood. "So, Max," he boomed, "what are we learning from this little spin?"

Max, bristling at the reminder, mumbled a vague response about tire strategy. Y/N, without looking up, chimed in, "Perhaps a lesson in spatial awareness wouldn't go amiss."

The air crackled. Max whipped his head towards her, his jaw clenched. "Oh, and who's the expert on spatial awareness, Miss Never-Been-On-The-Track?"

Y/N slammed a wrench down a little too hard, the metallic clang echoing in the tense silence. "There's a difference between calculated risk and reckless driving," she retorted, her voice laced with ice.

Max scoffed. "Spoken like someone who's never felt the pressure of a championship on their shoulders."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "Pressure doesn't excuse stupidity, Max," she said, her voice clipped.

Horner cleared his throat, his booming voice a desperate attempt to break the ice. "Look, let's all take a moment to cool down. We can dissect the crash later. Right now, Max needs a clear head for the next race."

With that, Horner steered Max towards a debriefing session, leaving Y/N alone in the charged atmosphere. She picked up a stray bolt, turning it over in her hand, her knuckles white with repressed anger. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the workshop around her.

Just then, Charles walked in, his perceptive eyes catching the glint of tears on her cheeks. "Rough day?" he asked softly.

Y/N choked back a sob. "It's just… I don't know if I can watch him race anymore," she confessed, her voice thick with emotion.

Charles pulled up a chair beside her, his presence a silent comfort. "You know Max," he said gently. "He makes mistakes, but he learns from them."

Y/N shook her head. "This wasn't just a mistake, Charles. It was reckless. And it brought back…" she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Charles squeezed her shoulder in understanding. "The fear," he finished for her. "It's always there, isn't it?"

Y/N nodded, a tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. "I can't lose him too," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Charles offered a sad smile. "You won't," he assured her. "Max is stubborn, but he cares about you. He'll learn from this."

His words offered a glimmer of hope. Y/N knew Charles was right. But the fear, the raw terror that had gripped her during the crash, still lingered.

Max, a whirlwind of frustration earlier, had retreated into a sullen silence. Y/N, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, refused to acknowledge him directly. The tension crackled between them, a storm waiting to erupt.

Daniel Ricciardo, ever the peacemaker, tried to lighten the mood. "So, Max," he said, a touch too cheerfully, "what are we having for dinner? Surely Y/N has whipped up some magic in the kitchen?"

Y/N's lips twitched, but she remained focused on her phone, pretending not to hear. Max, still fuming, mumbled a curt, "I don't care."

The forced joviality died a quick death. Charles, sensing the undercurrents, offered, "Actually, I wouldn't mind ordering some takeout. How about some Indian?"

Y/N finally looked up, her voice clipped. "No, thank you, Charles. I'm not particularly hungry."

Max scoffed. "Suit yourself. More for the rest of us, then."

The passive-aggressive jabs continued throughout the evening, each veiled comment a fresh barb. Y/N praised Charles's recent qualifying performance, a clear dig at Max's reckless driving. Max, in turn, bragged about a new training program he was starting, a not-so-subtle jab at Y/N's perceived lack of understanding.

"Honestly that race was mine, Ocon fucked it up for everyone," Max proclaimed.

"Maybe," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "if you hadn't been so busy playing daredevil, you wouldn't have thrown away the race."

The words hung heavy in the air. Max felt a flicker of something cold and sharp twist in his gut. "Playing daredevil?" he scoffed. "I was out there fighting for the win!"

"At what cost?" Y/N's voice cracked, the dam of her emotions threatening to burst. "Do you even understand the fear you put me through?"

Max, for the first time, saw a glimpse of the terror that mirrored his own reckless driving. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words wouldn't come.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, in a moment of horrifying clarity, Max blurted out, "Look, if you can't handle the pressure, maybe you should just—"

The sentence died on his lips as he saw the blood drain from Y/N's face. She stared at him, her eyes filled with a hurt so profound it took his breath away.

"Fine then," she said, her voice a choked whisper. "fuck off and die. see if i care."

The words echoed in the stunned silence. Everyone in the motorhome froze, their eyes wide with shock. Even Max, fueled by anger, felt a cold dread settle in his stomach.

Y/N didn't wait for a response. Tears streaming down her face, she bolted out of the motorhome, the slam of the door a punctuation mark to the shattered silence.

Max stared after her, a tapestry of emotions swirling within him – anger, regret, a terror that mirrored her own. He lunged after her, but Charles, who had witnessed the exchange, caught him by the arm.

"Let her go," Charles said gently, his voice laced with concern. "She needs some space."

Max sank back onto the couch, his head in his hands. "What did I do?" he rasped, the anger replaced by a crushing weight of remorse.

The atmosphere was suffocating. Everyone, even the usually jovial mechanics, seemed to walk on eggshells around the warring couple. Tears streamed down Y/N's face as she walked, the weight of the fight, the fear, and the unspoken hurt threatening to overwhelm her. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

The cool night air did little to soothe the burning in Y/N's eyes. She wandered away from the motorhome complex, her legs numb and directionless. The roar of the track faded behind her, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves. Tears streamed down her face, carving clean tracks through the grime of the day.

Then, she saw it. Half-hidden behind a cluster of trees, a towering mural emerged from the darkness. It was a familiar image – her father, mid-corner, a determined glint in his eyes, the car a blur of yellow and green. A wave of emotions washed over her – grief, pride, and now, a searing anger.

Sinking down onto a nearby bench, Y/N found herself talking to the painted image. "Why didn't you tell me, Dad?" she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Why didn't you tell me how terrifying it would be to watch someone you love race?"

"Doesn't he understand, Dad? Doesn't he see the risk he takes? It's like he doesn't care! Doesn't care about the fear he puts me through, the terror that I relive every single time I see a car spin out of control!"

She slammed her fist against the concrete wall, a raw scream escaping her lips. The sound echoed in the quiet night, a testament to the storm raging within her. Tears streamed down her face, hot and angry.

"And then," she continued, her voice trembling, "he has the audacity to get mad at me? To act like I'm the one overreacting? Doesn't he see what his actions do? Doesn't he see what he almost took away from me today?"

Silence, except for the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. But in her mind, she could almost hear his voice, warm and reassuring. "coração valente (brave heart)," it seemed to say, the nickname he always used for her. "Fear is a part of it, but it doesn't have to control you."

Y/N wiped her eyes, a flicker of understanding replacing the anger. Her father hadn't raced because it was easy. He raced because of the passion, the thrill, the dance with danger. He wouldn't have wanted her to live in fear, but to find her own strength, her own way to navigate the world he left behind.

The sting in his eyes wasn't just from the acrid smoke billowing from a nearby barbecue. Max's chest ached with a dull ache that had nothing to do with the crash. Y/N's words, "fine then, fuck off and die. See if I care," echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his monumental screw-up.

He couldn't just sit there, stewing in his self-pity. He needed to find her, needed to apologize and explain the terrifying realization that had dawned on him during their tense silence.

Following a hunch, he made his way to the secluded corner where the mural of Ayrton Senna stood. In the dim glow of a single overhead light, he saw Y/N curled up with her back against the wall, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. A red mark marred her hand where it had connected with the concrete.

His heart lurched. He knelt down beside her, his voice barely a whisper. "Y/N?"

She flinched at the sound, whipping her tear-streaked face towards him. Her eyes, red and puffy, held a storm of emotions – hurt, anger, and something akin to pleading.

Max swallowed the lump in his throat. "I… I shouldn't have said what I said," he began, his voice thick with remorse. "My anger… it clouded everything. I didn't…" He broke off, his own voice cracking.

Tears spilled down Y/N's cheeks. "And I..." she started, her voice trembling. "I never should have said what I did. It was awful, unforgivable of me." Her voice choked on a sob. "I don't… I don't want to lose you, Max. Not like that."

With a choked cry, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Max held her tight, the dam breaking inside him. He pressed kisses to her hair, each one a silent apology, a promise.

"I get it now, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand the fear. I see it reflected in your eyes every time I step onto the track. And I promise, I'll never do anything like that again. Not if it means putting you through that kind of pain."

They clung to each other, a tangle of limbs and broken sobs. The night air vibrated with the raw emotions they were finally releasing. Slowly, the sobs subsided into sniffles, leaving behind a fragile calm.

Max pulled back, wiping away a stray tear from Y/N's cheek with his thumb. "Let's go back," he said gently, his voice hoarse. "We can talk properly, sort things out."

Y/N nodded, her eyes searching his. "Together," she added, a shaky smile playing on her lips.

Max grinned back, the familiar spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "Always," he promised. "Together, no matter what the track throws at us."

As they walked back hand-in-hand, the mural of Ayrton Senna seemed to watch over them, a silent guardian of their love, a love forged in fire, tested by fear, and ultimately strengthened by understanding and forgiveness. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with each other, they knew they could face anything.

[travelersspark]

IM BACK! 🌟

Literally when on break since I've been busy with college and work😅. Now I can get back into the swing of things ! Since I'm here , might as well make a new headcanons post ~♡

𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝑳𝑲 .ᐟ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝑮𝑵.ᐟ𝑯𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

𝑶𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒔

First off. Cayde had a meeting with you at your local job. You and Cayde were close since he practically raised you along with Tessa . You were running late and Cayde was inside Optimus. Optimus had heard about you but never thought much about it.

He'd ask about you to Cayde and Cayde talked fondly of you so Optimus could sort of trust you. So could Cayde. Hence why he was gonna finally explain to you whats been going on for the past year.

Of course you are insanely confused when you get in the truck and Cayde starts being cryptic saying. “ Y/N. You know you can trust me right ? I would always tell you if somethings up.. ” -Cayde

You are dumbfounded at first while the silent drive fills the cabin with awkwardness. Then it hit you. “ Have you been looking for girls on tinder Cayde?! God I swear - ” - Y/N.

Facepalm from Cayde. Optimus almost laughed in his alt form but Cayde coughs before having to disprove your idiotic suspicion. He basically rushes an explanation of the autobots and decepticons and everything that has happened for the past year since you haven't really seen him.

Annnnnnnnndddd. Your not buying it. After the drive he tries explaining more but you brush it off basically just tired from work and chalking up his excuses to him being tired and or drunk.

Well.. until you see a group of vehicles strolling around and stopping with their headlights nearly blinding you (Kind of like the introduction the team from TF1) and with some loud noises and rumbling. You see them. Giant robots standing among you.

You Fucking FREAK. Definitely bout to be ready to throw some shit. Like WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK CAYDE ! Cayde has to mostly calm you down as well as Optimus surprisingly trying as well explaining that they would never hurt you.

After a couple of minutes of losing your shit. Optimus introduced himself explain his motives and his following. Your still apprehensive but sort of star struck. Ootimus's voice and tone was totally different than his remorseful and sort of stern tone. It even surprised Cayde.

Optimus certainly finds you intriguing due to the stories Cayde told him Since you now know of thier existence they have to basically become your body guards in a sense. You don't mind it but you still have your worries. Mostly about the part with the decepticons.

He reassures that he would do anything to try and keep you and the other humans safe.

A couple of banter from the crew but with one Stern glance of Optimus they shut it.

You two might have a quite interesting partnership - in a good way.

𝑩𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒆

oh. This mute bot is EXCITED to meet you ! He was the first one to transform and show himself to you after optimus.

Kind of flustered and worried when you lost your cool about seeing them. But after he calms his excitement and lets his leader explain himself.

He flashes his sick moves which makes you smile and laugh a bit. He gladly would do it again to make you smile.

Bee is one of the first bots you considerably found yourself talking to.

When you found out he couldn't speak like the others and communicated through a radio, you though he was quite a special bot.

He's like you in a way. You to pair together so well. Bee thinks of you like his old partner Sam.

Oh. He can get protective of you. Mainly when Crosshairs or Hot Rod get a bit flirtatious or silly around you.

Casually offers a drive after a few hours of meeting which you don't really refuse. You had to admit. He was a dream ride of yours.

Its love at first sight in his eyes. He already finds himself crushing on you from day one. And he hopes that you stick around with him.

𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒔

God another Squishy thing?! Let's just say he wasn't amused.

Well until you basically cursed the hell out of Cayde. Now he's impressed

Now he's made it his mission to figure out what makes you tic.

Weirdly he can he either considerate or just a complete jerk. But a loveable one at that.

He finds himself always trying to be flirtatious with you. But when you do it back he gets completely flustered and curses you out (his love language according to drift)

Fights about the miniscule things with you. Like if you eat in his alt form and there's a crumb he's gonna scold you.

Never saw himself being friends with a human but he would definitely enjoy his company with you.

First meeting him he is pretty serious about not wanting you around a bit but it shifts to wanting to hang with you more.

You two are FUCKIN GREMLINS TOGETHER. yall annoy the hell out of optimus and cade at times. God you two are a mess

Starts out as not being protective of you to being ULTRA protective. Mans always worried about you but tries to play it off.

𝑯𝒐𝒕 𝑹𝒐𝒅

Omg him and Bumblebee fell HARD for you when Cade introduced you to the crew. Literally he couldn't stop gawking at you.

Already trying to one up everyone else with his flirtatious and suave energy.

Placed a bet with bee to see if you'd like him more.

First to offer you rides from work, school or whatever. (He figured you showing up in his alt form would make you popular or cool. And he wasn't wrong either.)

Immediately asks Optimus to assign him as your guardian. Let me tell you, he is smitten by you and in the best way possible.

Says small pet names in french

Arrogant little bastard. Can't take any hints when you need space.

Overall hes just wanting time with you but doesn't exactly understand the idea of patience is a virtue.

𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅

Another human huh. Cool, hope they useful type energy.

Hes pretty chill about it to be honest. Definitely hesitant at the idea but understand where Cade is coming from.

Would personally introduce himself to you if you find him a bit intimidated. Secretly he's a big softie and jokes terrible behind closed doors.

Once he finds out you are just as handy as Cade is hes all over you. Don't expect him.to leave you alone with random weapon scraps and ideas he has in his head.

Probably would take you out to test some grenades with him or something.

Pretty protective on first meet. Mostly since he knows he can keep you safe with his experience and skills in war.

If you don't like the sight of anything remotely similar to cigars and smoke. He would actually stop puffing his bullet in front of you out of respect.

Doesn't care much about your habits as long as you don't get your ass in trouble that is.

Not the type to drive you around since he's a big ass military vehicle and that would definitely cause alot of suspicions.

𝑫𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒕

Not bothered but skeptical of your arrival. Let's just say he isn't too fond of the idea of another human around

Probably would discuss his concerns to cade and optimus about the risks but would be told that it was mostly for the best.

He gives up and pretends you just another one of the bots.

Pretty distant at first since he's still weary of you.

But if you compliment him during training of something and use the right terminology of the kata forms and martial arts he will definitely open up to you.

He appreciates someone who can understand his dedication. As well as someone educated in the sacred arts of Japanese and Chinese traditions.

Offers meditation lessons after some time if you are willing to do so.

Silent but deadly type of protective.

Has fought with crosshairs one time.when he was picking on you.

Very tsundere at first but overall he knows you are a good person and wouldn't mind getting to learn more about you

[mononijikayu]

love of my life — geto suguru.

When Geto Suguru walked through the door, you felt your breath catch. He looked both familiar and distant, the lines of weariness etched deeper than you remembered. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. He was still the man you loved and the man that broke your heart—he was everything to you and he was nothing all at once. And you wished, you wished you could decide what he was, truly.

Genre: Alternate Universe - No Curse (Modern Day)

Warning/s: Actors AU!, Romance, Actors in Love, Secret Romance Trope, Co-workers In Love, Friends to Lovers, Lovers to Exes, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Emotional Hurt, Break-Up, Happy Ending, Profanity, Mention of Sexual Contexts, Mention of Exes Getitng Back Together, Depiction of Break-Up, Depiction of Alcohol Consumption, Mentions of Alcohol, Geto Suguru as a Singer-Songwriting Actor, Reader is his Muse, HE IS IN LOVE YOUR HONOR;

masterlist

song: love of my life by queen.

note: i ended up rewatching the videos by cut and im still struck by the conversation between tony and sofya in truth or drink and got inspired. i hope that they find the happiness that they always deserved and know that the love they had at one point was something else. anyway, i hope you enjoy this and i hope you guys have a good one!!! i love you <3333

YOU WERE EXCITED FOR YOUR CHARACTER. You couldn’t help but feel excitement flood through you as you read through the words across the pages over and over. You could not stop reading. The writing was really well done for this part of the manga, and so when you heard that this part of the story was finally going to make it into the screen, you were ecstatic. 

You hummed as you tried to speak a line, one after another, in different tones and textures. Often, you would bring a pen with you and write off what you think about the scene and how you want to say it. But getting this from your manager just now, you wanted to immediately dive into it and so, you neglected the pen. You’ll make a mental note about it. 

The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you settled into the languid table, your vibrant eyes skimming over the script. The coffee machine’s sound echoed for a moment. Your drink was done. You put down the script for a moment and walked over to your coffee machine.

You pour some on the mug waiting on the corner. Rushing over to the fridge, you take the carton of milk and pour a little bit of it on your cup. You didn’t put in that much milk. You wanted to be active as you read, the milk would make you sleepy. 

Script in hand and coffee secured, you make your way into the living room and carefully rested the mug on the coffee table. You plopped your body onto the couch once again and started to read once more. You were captivated by the story when it first came out in serialization.

But you never expected that it would grow big like this one day and even more so, play one of your favorite characters in the show. You were glad for the opportunity, when it first came around. The yes was immediate and one season and a movie — you were now here, for another season once again.

“Oh, so that scene with Suguru is happening, hm?” You gasp, your eyes scanning through the words. “Yo! Suguru, they’re not going to disappear, don’t hog them, oh my god.”

Your character was the only senior left in Tokyo Jujutsu High by that point and so, they guide them into the ropes of being sorcerers. In modern times, they’re very close, Satoru and your character. You were both left behind by Suguru's character.

But before that, there was Suguru and Suguru was in love with their senpai, but staved off for Satoru. But this scene, in Okinawa, was the moment Suguru couldn’t help it anymore and thought about making a move. You flipped another page.

“Oh baby, you’re gonna be so sad when he leaves.” You muttered under your breath, continuing to read. “Don’t start something you can’t continue!”

“Don’t start something I can’t continue?” You heard the voice echo through the apartment. Your head snaps to the direction of the door and you smile, seeing his purple eyes gleam against yours. “What do you have on hand, darling?”

“Script’s arrived!” You say, waving your own in the air. You pointed to the side. “Your manager left yours here too.”

Geto Suguru blinked, looking at where you were pointing out. “Wow, I didn’t think that it would get here this early.”

“Right?” You say as you look at the scripts again. “They really crunched the writing time this time. And it’s so good!”

“Well, they finally got the approval from Akutami–sensei fast this time.”

“I suppose they probably did.” 

He hums as he walks over to you and sits down by you. He turns to you and places a small kiss on your lips. ”Hey, love.”

“Hey, Sugu.” You whisper back. “You’re home late.”

"Sorry I'm late. The recording ran longer than expected."

You smiled up at him, feeling the familiar warmth that always accompanied his presence. "It's okay. How did it go?"

He slid into the seat opposite me, his purple eyes sparkling with excitement. "It went great. I think you're going to love the new song. It's… special."

"You always say that, Sugu." You teased, though you knew this one would be extraordinary, just like all the others.

“Well, it's because you’re the only person I write about.” He grins at you sheepishly. “And I am in love with you.”

“Hm…that’s true.” You giggle.

“Anything interesting in the script?”

“Oh, darling, you have no idea! Let me catch you up!”

The two of you spent the next hour discussing the show, your upcoming scenes, and the plans for your future projects. He told you about the upcoming releases he has for his music, if he was planning to go touring again.

It was moments like these, away from the glitz and glamor, that you think you cherished the most. You were both natural, you were just whole — together. Here, we were just two people in love, supporting each other through the highs and lows of your demanding careers.

Once you finished the other script you were going to receive in the upcoming week for a movie you were going to star in, Suguru sighed and looked at you for a moment. He often does that, trying to memorize the wonder in your face, over and over again.

He’s often away from you because of work too. And so he takes it all in. He burns the memory of you so deeply into him that it's all he remembers for weeks and months until you both meet again.

Suguru took my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You know, I was thinking about our next awards show. I have a feeling you might be giving another speech soon."

You laughed, shaking my head. "And you know I'll be paying homage to you, as always."

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And I'll be in the front row, cheering you on, as always."

Geto Suguru is your lover. But he’s also your co–worker on multiple projects, including Jujutsu Kaisen. The beloved charismatic actor with a voice that could melt hearts, had captured your attention from the moment you first met on set. His passion for acting was matched only by his love for music. He was such an addition to the casting list, because he’d been popular since he was a teenager and he only kept getting popular with time. 

Everything about Suguru was electric. From the moment you met him, he exuded a kind of wonder that drew you in effortlessly. As your senpai in the industry, he was a bit older and infinitely wiser, but unlike others you had encountered, he didn't just guide you—he cared for you deeply, nurturing your talents and helping you grow.

He was always there with a kind word and enthusiastic encouragement, urging you to accept scripts that came your way and guiding you on how to navigate the complexities of the industry. His wisdom extended beyond acting techniques; he knew how to choose stories that would resonate with you, stories that would challenge and inspire.

"Remember, it's not just about the lines you deliver," he once said over coffee, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. "It's about the stories you choose to tell. Each role you take on is a part of your journey as an artist."

He taught you the intricacies of set dynamics, the unspoken rules of professionalism, and the importance of forging genuine connections in a competitive world. Suguru didn't just impart knowledge; he shared his passion for storytelling and his belief in your potential.

You were grateful for his presence in your life, not just as a mentor but as a friend who believed in you when doubt crept in. His kindness and enthusiasm were infectious, and every interaction with him left you feeling inspired and capable of reaching new heights.

As you reflected on your journey together, you couldn't help but smile at the thought of how far you had come under his guidance. Suguru was more than a mentor; he was a guiding light in an industry that could sometimes feel overwhelming. And for that, you were endlessly thankful.

The kindness and care Suguru showed extended far beyond the flicker of the camera lens. Alongside Satoru, the three of you often found yourselves on spontaneous trips together. When Utahime and Shoko weren't caught up in their own burgeoning careers, they joined in too. These moments outside of work allowed your bond with Suguru to deepen naturally over time.

As you explored new places together, shared meals, and exchanged stories under starlit skies, a subtle shift occurred. What began as admiration for his talent and guidance blossomed into something more profound. Suguru's laughter became the soundtrack to your happiest memories, his understanding gaze a sanctuary in moments of uncertainty.

One night, sitting by a crackling campfire under a blanket of stars, Suguru reached for your hand. The warmth of his touch spoke volumes, words unspoken yet understood between you. 

"I never expected this, you know." he murmured, his voice soft with wonder.

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently. "Me neither." you confessed, feeling the weight of truth and possibility melt into one in the air.

As days turned into weeks and months, the realization grew stronger: you had fallen in love with Suguru. His kindness, wisdom, and unwavering support had woven their way into your heart, creating a tapestry of feelings that surpassed friendship and mentorship.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, you found yourselves alone by a tranquil lake. The serenity of the moment mirrored the quiet certainty in your hearts.

"I love you, doll." Suguru finally whispered, his eyes holding yours with a depth that took your breath away.

Tears glistened in your eyes as you replied, "I love you too, Suguru." the words a promise of shared dreams and endless possibilities.

In that serene moment, under the canopy of stars and the gentle rustle of leaves, romance bloomed between you—born from shared adventures, mutual respect, and a love that had quietly taken root and blossomed into something beautiful.

After those tranquil moments by the lake, Suguru and you returned to your bustling lives, carrying the newfound certainty of your love like a secret little treasure—one that only you could find. And you were happy with that. You wanted to make the privacy continue and so did he. The world has no claim to your love, until you both were comfortable about sharing it to the world.

In the whirlwind of your demanding careers, where every moment seemed accounted for and every move scrutinized, you discovered a sanctuary in stolen moments together. Your love thrived in the secrecy of stolen kisses exchanged on secluded corners of film sets, where the world couldn't intrude. 

Backstage at glittering award shows, amidst the clamor and flashbulbs, your fingers intertwined, a silent declaration of affection amid the spectacle. Despite the challenges that you both faced, from conflicting schedules to the relentless glare of media attention, you both carved out your own private oasis, where your connection deepened, nurtured by these precious, stolen moments.

It was during one of these stolen moments, when the whole Jujutsu Kaisen cast went on a spontaneous ski trip to the mountain, that the world caught a glimpse of our budding romance.

Paparazzi cameras flashed as we laughed and skied down powdery slopes, oblivious to the lenses capturing your every move. One kiss was all it took, and it was because you were desperate, you missed him too much and he obliged you, not caring who sees you both.

The photos splashed across tabloids and social media, sparking speculation and curiosity among fans and industry insiders alike. Your management started trying to do damage control at this time, as you both were not yet ready to say anything.

For days, the two of you navigated the newfound attention with a mix of amusement and caution, unsure of how to address the public's piqued interest in your personal lives.

But amidst the frenzy, there was a quiet certainty between us. One evening, as you and Suguru sat together in his cozy cabin retreat in the countryside. It was one of the places you loved being with him. Both of you were comfortable here, and no one was harassing you both. It was a change of pace from the city and for that you were glad. You knew your lover was in distress watching you have to be followed by cameras. 

It would have been fine if it was just him, but it was hard to see you struggle with that unwanted attention. But here, at the very least, he could be reassured that no one was going to be chasing after you both to catch a scoop for the newspaper tabloids tomorrow. You were in peace, watching the stars, surrounded by flickering firelight and the hush of falling snow outside, we knew it was time.

"I think we should tell them," Suguru said softly, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, I think so too. It's just... it feels like the right time, doesn't it?"

Suguru's smile was tender. "It does. We've been keeping this between us for so long. It's about time we let them know."

There was a mix of relief and nervous anticipation in your chest. The decision to share your relationship with others meant opening yourselves to scrutiny, but also embracing a newfound freedom in being open about your love.

"I'm glad you feel that way," you admitted, squeezing Suguru's hand gently. "I've been thinking about how we'd do it, though. Should we just... announce it? Or maybe ease into it somehow?"

Suguru considered for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I think a quiet announcement, something personal. Maybe a statement or a post, just letting people in a bit. Nothing flashy, just sincere."

You smiled, feeling reassured by his calm demeanor. "That sounds perfect."

Together, both of you crafted a heartfelt message to the world via Instagram. You posted pictures of you both through the years, showing the little glimpses of the two of you, from colleagues to friends, and finally to lovers. You wrote about your deep respect and admiration you had for each other, of the shared moments that had brought you closer, and the joy you found in each other’s presence. 

When the announcement went live on your social media accounts, the response was overwhelming. Messages of love and support poured in from fans, friends, and colleagues alike. The world celebrated your love story, touched by the sincerity and authenticity of your words. And people were hooked about your romance. Somehow, the world saw an it couple. People gushed over everything about you.

Over the years, Geto Suguru had poured his heart into composing songs that were not just music, but reflections of your relationship. Each song was a tapestry woven with threads of joy, resilience, and quiet understanding. No one would understand each song better than you. Each lyric was a brushstroke capturing the nuances that only belonged to the two of you.

In the private moments between tours and film sets, Suguru would often retreat with his guitar, letting melodies weave themselves around the emotions that sparked everything that made him think of you.

He found inspiration in the simplest gestures—a shared smile across a crowded room, the touch of hands entwined in a moment of quiet intimacy, or the unspoken reassurance in a glance exchanged amid hectic schedules.

His songs became a soundtrack to your lives, resonating with authenticity that transcended mere performance. Through his music, Suguru painted vivid portraits of shared laughter under starlit skies, whispered promises exchanged in moments stolen away from the world, and the profound sense of belonging that anchored us amidst the whirlwind of fame and public scrutiny.

As his compositions evolved, so did your relationship, and each new song became a chapter in a long and happy road that you both dwelled on. The world watched with fascination as your on-screen chemistry seamlessly transitioned into real-life devotion, and fans marveled at the palpable love that radiated between the both of you on and off the screen.

In the spotlight of a concert hall filled with eager listeners, Suguru stood before a sea of faces, his guitar a conduit for emotions that flowed freely from heart to fingertips. With each strum and every lyric sung with unwavering passion, he not only shared your story but invited the audience into the intimate spaces where your love blossomed and flourished.

And as he dedicated a song to someone special, his eyes met yours in the front row, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had embarked on together—a journey immortalized in melodies that would linger in the hearts of all who bore witness to this love story.

The audience hushed as Suguru walked over to the microphone and spoke into the microphone, his voice carrying a soft warmth that filled the room. You could feel your heart pounding as he tried to find you. When your eyes met, it was electric.

"Tonight, I want to dedicate a song to someone very special." His eyes met yours in the front row, where you sat, heart skipping a beat at the intensity of his gaze. “Love of my life, up on that balcony! Doll, I love you. I hope you know that all this would never exist without you.”

As the first chords of the guitar filled the air, memories flooded back—late-night conversations, stolen kisses, moments of quiet intimacy that had woven themselves into the fabric of our lives. The world had watched in awe as our on-screen chemistry translated seamlessly into real life, and our fans often remarked on the palpable love we had for each other.

Suguru's voice resonated with emotion as he sang, each word a love letter whispered to your heart.  The world was singing songs to the words, the poems he wrote to you and only you. And you couldn’t feel any happier. Any more content, to be this loved. To be the only person that he truly deeply loves.

The lyrics painted a portrait of our journey, from tentative beginnings to a love that had weathered storms and emerged stronger. In that moment, surrounded by the melody and the warmth of Suguru's presence, you knew that this was more than a concert—it was a declaration, a celebration of a love that had transcended the screen and found its place in the hearts of everyone present.

As the final notes faded into the air, applause erupted, but all you could hear was the beating of your heart, synchronized with Suguru's, united in the melody of a love song that would resonate long after the last encore. The crowd clapped and cheered. You felt your eyes water with nothing but tears of joy.

He looked at you with that loving grin that was only for you.

The one that would stick with you for the rest of your life.

A month later, you both were in the clasp of your break up.

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW IT ALL FELL FAST. Work had always been demanding, but recently, it seemed to swallow up every spare moment. Your schedules became a maze of conflicting obligations, leaving little room for the moments of connection that once defined your relationship. As days turned into weeks without seeing each other, and unanswered messages piled up, the distance between you grew palpable.

One evening, after another missed opportunity to meet, you couldn't contain your concerns any longer. Sitting across from Suguru in a dimly lit corner of a bar, you voiced your worries, the words tinged with frustration and worry. "I feel like we're drifting apart. We hardly see each other anymore, and I miss you, Suguru.”

Suguru's response was unexpectedly calm, his demeanor unwavering. "We're fine, babe." he assured you, his voice steady but distant. “You know that.”

Frustration flared within you, fueled by the sting of his apparent indifference. "Fine?" you retorted, the words tinged with frustration and hurt. "How can you say that? We haven't even talked properly in weeks. I don't feel like my needs are being met, Suguru."

The bitterness of unspoken grievances bubbled to the surface, amplified by the haze of alcohol and the weight of unaddressed concerns. Pushing further, you demanded clarity. "When can we talk about this? When will you make time for us?"

Suguru's response was curt, his own patience wearing thin. "Not now, okay? I have too much on my plate."

The tension hung heavy in the air, charged with unresolved emotions and the sharp edges of unmet expectations. You leaned forward, voice tinged with desperation and a tinge of anger. "How long are we going to keep putting this off, Suguru? I need to know where we stand."

Suguru's expression tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "I said not now, alright? Can't you see I'm dealing with a lot right now?"

The words cut deeper than intended, slicing through the fragile thread of patience that held you both together. "I get that you're busy," you shot back, the bitterness in your voice betraying the hurt beneath. "But what about us? Are we just going to keep pretending everything's okay until it's too late?"

His silence spoke volumes, a testament to the growing distance between you. The crowded bar seemed to fade into the background as the weight of your words settled between you like an unbridgeable chasm. In that moment, the stark reality of your situation crystallized—you were drifting apart, caught in the undertow of careers that had once bound you together but now threatened to tear you apart.

The ache of longing mingled with frustration as you searched his eyes for a glimmer of reassurance, a sign that he still cared enough to fight for what you once had. But all you found was a weary resignation, a reflection of his own internal battles and the relentless demands of fame.

"We can't keep avoiding this," you finally whispered, the admission heavy with resignation. "I need more than just promises, Suguru. I need you."

Suguru's jaw tightened visibly, his normally composed demeanor cracking under the strain of your words. "What do you want from me, huh?" His voice, usually calm and steady, now carried a sharp edge of frustration. "I'm doing the best I can here. I have responsibilities, deadlines—"

"Responsibilities? Deadlines?" You couldn't hold back the bitterness that laced your retort. "What about us? Where do we fit into your grand plans, Suguru?"

The bar seemed to shrink around you, the noise of other patrons fading into a distant hum as your argument escalated. Anger surged through you, fueled by months of feeling sidelined and ignored. "I'm tired of waiting for you to have time for us. We used to make time, remember?"

His silence was damning, a stark confirmation of the growing divide between you. "You're being unreasonable," Suguru shot back, his voice rising slightly. "You know how important my work is."

"And what about how important we are?" The words slipped out like a dagger, cutting through the last vestiges of restraint. "I feel like I'm competing with your career for your attention, and I'm losing."

A wave of regret washed over Suguru's features, but his reply was defensive. "I can't just drop everything whenever you want me to, doll." he said, voice tinged with frustration. “It’s not that easy!”

"Then when, Suguru? When will you make time for us?" The plea in your voice was raw, exposed in the harsh light of reality. "Or are we just going to keep drifting further apart until there's nothing left?"

The accusation hung heavy in the air, a painful admission of the cracks that had formed in your once-solid foundation. In the charged silence that followed, neither of you seemed to have an answer, each grappling with the weight of unspoken truths and the daunting prospect of what lay ahead for a relationship once filled with promise, now teetering on the brink of irreparable damage.

Suguru's jaw tightened further, his gaze flickering with a mix of anger and hurt. "I don't know, okay?" His voice wavered, betraying the turmoil within. "I'm trying to balance everything, but it's not easy. Can't you see that?"

Frustration gnawed at your resolve, tears threatening to spill over as the ache of longing collided with the sting of his words. "I just need to know that we are still a priority to you." you whispered, voice cracking with emotion.

"I'm sorry. Suguru replied, his tone softer now, tinged with remorse. "I didn't mean for it to be like this. I thought... I thought we could make it work. We always have—”

The weight of his admission hung heavy in the air, a fragile bridge over the chasm that had widened between you. "So did I," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But we can't keep going on like this, Suguru. Something has to change. We can’t continue like we always have and I just…”

For a moment, there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes, an acknowledgment of the pain and uncertainty. "Maybe... maybe we need some time," Suguru suggested tentatively, his voice tinged with resignation. "To figure things out. Cool down.”

The words landed heavily, their implications sinking in like stones cast into still waters.

Time—perhaps the only currency left to salvage what remained of your fractured relationship. In the dimly lit bar, amidst the ebb and flow of conversations that now seemed distant and inconsequential, you both grappled with the reality of what lay ahead. It was a crossroads of roads not taken.

Your heart sank as Suguru's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the reality you both faced. Time—a desperate plea for a lifeline amidst the storm threatening to tear you apart. But beneath his suggestion lingered the unspoken truth, a truth you could no longer deny.

"I think... maybe we need more than just time, Suguru." you replied softly, each word heavy with the weight of impending sorrow.

Suguru's brow furrowed, confusion etched across his features as he searched your eyes for clarity. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Your voice caught, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I think we need to break up, Suguru."

The words hung between you, heavy and final. The air seemed to still, the ambient sounds of the bar fading into a distant echo as the gravity of your declaration settled over both of you. Suguru's expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, then to a desperate plea as he reached out, his hand trembling slightly.

"No." he whispered, his voice cracking with a mixture of anguish and denial. "Please, don't do this. We can work through this, I know we can."

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you shook your head, unable to meet his pleading gaze. "I don't think we can." you managed, voice breaking with the weight of your decision. "I can't keep feeling like I'm second to everything else in your life. I need more than what we have now."

Suguru's hand dropped to his side, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "But I love you, doll." he pleaded softly, voice thick with emotion. "I love you more than anything."

The pain in his voice mirrored your own, one that understands the gravity of this situation. But love alone couldn't bridge the gap that had grown between you, nor could it erase the wounds inflicted by neglect and unfulfilled promises. You can’t keep climbing on seesaws and expect no one will fall. Someone has to get down before someone hurts someone worse.

"I know." you whispered hoarsely, your heart breaking with every syllable. "But love isn't enough anymore."

With those final words, you turned away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer. Each step felt like a farewell to a chapter of your life that had once held so much promise, now shrouded in the ache of what could have been.

“Goodbye, Suguru.” You whisper to him.

As he watched you leave,  Geto Suguru remained rooted to the spot, a solitary figure amidst the bustling bar, grappling with the sudden emptiness that enveloped him. As you disappeared into the night, the echoes of your decision lingered, leaving behind a void that neither time nor distance could easily fill. 

Like he was then, he was alone again. 

There were no more love songs to write.

After all, he doesn’t have a muse anymore.

IT WAS A HARD THING, POST BREAK UP. After months of deliberate distance, you had meticulously carved out a life without Geto Suguru—deleting social media, blocking his number, and meticulously avoiding any reminders of the past. It wasn't about erasing him; it was about finding clarity amidst the pain.

Yet, despite the space you sought, thoughts of him lingered, an unwelcome but constant presence in your thoughts. You hadn't wanted to discard everything you had shared—your friendship, the laughter, the late-night conversation. But the ache of heartache had necessitated the separation. And that separation, it was what you can’t do away with. Pain was always necessary to living. You can’t always be happy about things all the time.

Then came the unexpected twist: the news that you and Suguru were paired for the upcoming promotions of Jujutsu Kaisen Season 2. Your manager pitched an idea that made your heart sink and pulse race simultaneously—an appearance on a popular show where you both would participate in a "Truth or Drink" segment.

The proposition was daunting. The prospect of facing Suguru after all this time, under the scrutiny of cameras and questions designed to peel back layers you had painstakingly protected, left you torn. Part of you longed for closure, a chance to mend what had fractured. Another part feared reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal.

Deep down, you knew one thing: despite the pain, you still cared. You wanted to salvage what remained—a friendship built on shared dreams and mutual respect. The thought of facing him again, navigating the uncertain terrain of unspoken apologies and lingering affection, stirred a tumult of emotions.

As you mulled over the proposal, uncertainty clouded your judgment. Could this show be a bridge to reconciliation, a chance to mend fences and rediscover the camaraderie that had once defined your bond? Or would it unravel the fragile peace you had painstakingly cultivated in his absence?

With a sigh, you realized that regardless of the risks, the opportunity to reconnect, to confront the unresolved emotions that had tethered you to Suguru, was one you couldn't dismiss lightly. Whatever lay ahead, it was time to face the truth, whether through words spoken or drinks shared, in hopes of finding a way forward, together or apart.

You stared at the email on your screen, heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Your manager had just sent the proposal to Suguru's team, and surprisingly, he had accepted. A wave of emotions crashed over you—relief, nervousness, and a flicker of hope.

Days passed before the meeting was set in a quiet cafe near your house, chosen for its familiarity and the privacy it offered amidst the city's bustle. You after all preferred to live in a more down low neighborhood than most celebrities. You arrived early, hands trembling slightly as you waited, nerves building with each passing minute.

When Geto Suguru walked through the door, you felt your breath catch. He looked both familiar and distant, the lines of weariness etched deeper than you remembered. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

He was still the man you loved and the man that broke your heart—he was everything to you and he was nothing all at once. And you wished, you wished you could decide what he was, truly.

Finally, Suguru broke the silence, his voice tentative yet determined. "Hey, doll." he murmured, sliding into the seat opposite you.

"Hi.” you replied softly, managing a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Your nickname makes you feel weird all the sudden, after not hearing it for so long. “It’s nice to see you.”

He nodded back at you. The silence stretched between you, pregnant with unspoken apologies and lingering questions. Finally, Suguru cleared his throat, gaze searching yours with a mix of regret and longing. "I... I didn't expect us to meet like this, truly." he admitted, voice tinged with sincerity.

"Neither did I." you confessed, fingers tracing patterns on the tabletop. "But here we are."

Suguru nodded, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "About that Youtube show... I didn't think you'd agree to it."

You exhaled slowly, the weight of your decision settling over you. "I... I think it could be good for us." you admitted, meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "To talk. To clear the air. There’s….a lot of misinformation.”

"I want that too," Suguru said quietly, his gaze meeting yours with a glimmer of hope tempered by caution. "To clear your name from all those nasty rumors, once and for all."

You couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and gratitude at his words. The weight of the accusations that had circulated, tarnishing your reputation and testing your resilience, had been a burden you bore alone. To hear that one day, Suguru made the decision to take legal action against those responsible stirred a wave of emotions within you.

"I didn't think you'd sue those people." you admitted, your voice soft with both relief and lingering disbelief. The thought of confronting the falsehoods head-on had initially seemed daunting, even isolating, but knowing Suguru stood by you brought a renewed sense of strength.

Suguru reached across the table, his hand finding yours in a gesture that spoke volumes. "I couldn't stand by and watch you suffer, doll." he murmured, his gaze intense yet reassuring. "You deserve to be heard, to set the record straight."

His words resonated deep within you, a validation of your struggle and a beacon of support in the face of adversity. For the first time in months, you allowed yourself to believe that perhaps, together, you could navigate the storm that had threatened to tear you apart.

 "I've missed... talking to you." He admitted to you.

The admission hung between you, a fragile bridge over the chasm of hurt and regret that had kept you apart. For a moment, you both sat in companionable silence, the warmth of shared memories mingling with the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

"I've missed it too." you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “More than you know.”

Silence engulfed you both for a moment, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions lingering between you like a palpable presence. Suguru's question hung in the air, a tentative bridge over the divide that had grown between you.

"How have you been?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and genuine concern.

You took a deep breath, the question unraveling a floodgate of thoughts and feelings you had guarded so carefully. "It's been... challenging." you admitted finally, your gaze drifting to the tabletop as you searched for the right words. "Lonely, at times. But I've been trying to focus on moving forward."

Suguru nodded slowly, his expression reflecting a blend of understanding and regret. "I'm sorry, doll." he murmured, his voice tinged with remorse. "For everything."

The sincerity in his words touched a chord within you, a reminder of the bond you had once shared and the wounds that had driven you apart. "I know, Suguru." you replied softly, meeting his gaze with tenderness. "I've missed talking to you."

A flicker of relief crossed Suguru's features, his shoulders relaxing marginally. "I've missed it too." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s hard….not being able to talk to you.”

The admission hung between you, a fragile thread connecting past regrets to uncertain futures. In that moment, the bustling cafe seemed to fade away, leaving only the echo of shared memories and the tentative hope of reconciliation.

"I don't know where we go from here, after we do the show." you confessed, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Suguru reached across the table once more, his hand finding yours with a gentle squeeze. "Maybe we start with honesty," he suggested quietly, his gaze unwavering. "And take it one step at a time."

You didn’t know what else to say to him.

But you think that you both long for the same things in life.

You wanted to stay in each other’s lives for as long as possible.

SO CAME THAT DAY. When you arrived in the studio, you didn’t know what you were going to do. But the more you think about him being there, being with you to hold your hand to talk you through it, the more you think that you might get somewhere.

You and Suguru sat across from each other, the sounds of music floating softly in the background. The line up of alcoholic beverages on the table along with shot glasses and a cup of soda for a chaser. The tension in the air was palpable, each of you unsure of what this conversation might reveal. 

Emotions churned beneath the surface, like a storm gathering strength, and the truths that might come out held the potential to either break or shatter what remained between you. Suguru and you wanted to be honest, to address things properly, but also to keep some boundaries intact. But then again, how could you, when it came to him? He was the love of your life. And you knew you were his. 

As you sat down, you smiled at him, a gesture that felt both familiar and foreign. He smiled back, as tenderly as he could, just as he always had. For a moment, you were transported back to a time when things were simpler, when the man sitting across from you was the one you fell in love with. His eyes held the same warmth, the same quiet intensity that had once captivated you.

"You know….I really don’t know what’s going to come out of this conversation between us." Suguru said, his voice trembling slightly. But he smiles, as though trying to comfort you too. “This is a new sort of conversation to have in front of the camera.”

You glanced at him, your own hands shaking. You laugh shakily. "Don’t worry. I feel that too. I don’t think that this is gonna be any easy for us.  I'm afraid it's going to be like..." You railed off, unable to finish the thought. “You know what, let that thought disappear.”

"Do you want to go... Yeah," he chuckled nervously. “Let it disappear with a drink.”

“Pour it down, Sugu!”

You watched Suguru take a deep breath, his hands steady as he poured the clear liquid into the small shot glasses lined up between you. The familiar scent of vodka filled the air, a sharp contrast to the subdued atmosphere that had settled over the table.

"You really went with vodka first?" you quipped lightly, a hint of amusement coloring your tone despite the nerves that fluttered in your stomach.

Suguru chuckled softly, the sound familiar and comforting. "It's the closest to grab!" he replied with a half-smile, his eyes meeting yours briefly before returning his attention to the task at hand.

A moment later, you both raised the glasses to your lips, the cool liquid burning slightly as it slid down your throat. The familiar warmth spread through you, a mixture of nerves and determination mingling in the shared ritual. As you set the empty glasses back on the table, a sense of tenderness settled between you. Liquid courage settled tremendously well.

"Here goes nothing, Sugu." you murmured, meeting Suguru's gaze with a mixture of apprehension and resolve.

"Nothing we can't handle, doll." he replied softly, his voice carrying a reassurance that eased the lingering doubts. 

You shake your head at him, as he smiles as you introduce yourself. "And I play his situationship in Jujutsu Kaisen." you said, breaking the ice. He laughs.

"And I'm Geto Suguru." he replied, smiling faintly. “I also play their situationship in Jujutsu Kaisen.”

"We used to date each other.” you continued, looking at him.

"Is dating the right word?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Yeah, I think it could be the right one." you nodded. "I mean, people who date also live together!" 

"For many happy years, I may add." he added, and you both laughed at the shared memory. “Those were the days.”

"I guess that's how we know each other. Then, we broke up a few months ago." You said, the laughter fading into a more somber mood. 

“That really killed the mood so fast in the studio!” Suguru laughs. “We are so sorry about that.”

“I feel like I need a penalty shot for that.” You laughed with him.

“Should I pour some whiskey for that?”

“Yeah, why not?” You say as you watched him pour the whiskey

"Okay," Suguru said, raising his glass. "Cheers."

“Cheers.” You clink your glass with his and you start drinking. 

It was your turn to pick up a flashcard, your fingers trembling slightly as you lifted it from the pile. Across the table, Suguru had already started sipping his chaser, a nervous habit that betrayed the gravity of the game you were about to play.

"Am I a better lover than who you're currently with?" you asked, your voice steady despite the sudden seriousness that settled over the conversation.

Suguru paused mid-sip, his expression shifting from casual to contemplative. "I'm not currently going out with anyone, that's for sure." he admitted quietly, setting down his glass. His gaze met yours, earnest and vulnerable. "And because of that, yes. You are a better lover. Probably always will be my best lover."

The honesty in his words took you aback, a mix of validation and melancholy washing over you. To hear Suguru acknowledge the depth of your connection, even amidst the uncertainties that had driven you apart, stirred a tumult of emotions within.

"I..." You faltered, unsure how to respond to such candid admission. The weight of his words hung between you, echoing the intensity that had defined your relationship. “That was not the answer I was expecting from you. I thought you were already dating.”

“I doubt that I could get over you very quickly.” Suguru sighs.

"Do you think they feel the same way?" a female staff voice interjected.

“Do you?” Suguru turned to look at you.

“Yeah.” You responded to him a moment later. “I’m also not seeing anyone, so…. I doubt that I could think anything of it.”

“If you were dating someone, would you feel like that too?” The staff once more interjected with a question.

You hummed. “I think…..probably. Suguru and I dated for a long time. And I was loved in ways that people can never even fathom. Only he has been able to do that.”

Suguru looked at you for a moment, as though he saw the universe in your eyes. He felt the heat pierce his cheek. “I think I need to get a drink on that.”

“Go for it.” You say, blushing just as equally bad. “I’ll drink with you.”

You both drink together, your eyes lowering at the intensity of his gaze. “You stare at me too much.”

"Can’t help it,” Suguru whispered, his voice a soft admission of vulnerability and lingering affection.

His eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of warmth passing between you before he glanced down at the flashcards scattered between you on the table. Each card held a potential truth, a shard of their past waiting to be explored.

“I guess it’s my turn,” he murmured, his fingers lingering over the cards as he chose one with a thoughtful deliberation.

As Suguru flipped over the card, you held your breath, uncertain of what awaited. The air in the cafe seemed charged with anticipation, the ambient sounds fading into a distant hum as he prepared to reveal the next piece of their shared story.

With a steadying breath, Suguru read aloud, his voice steady yet tinged with emotion. “Do you regret how things ended between us?”

“I do.” You responded to him, confidently. “I feel like I was an adult and I should have been able to be an adult in that situation with you. But instead, I acted like a child when I should have settled down too.”

“No, but I feel like I hold the most at fault for that.” Suguru says as he leaned forward, straightening his posture. “There was really no reason for me, even if I was stressed and exhausted, for me to have reacted to you that way.”

“You were exhausted that time too.” You smiled at him softly. “I don’t think I could hold it against you.”

“Just like I don’t hold it against you that you were exhausted waiting for me and trying for me to figure things out.” Suguru replied back. “You don’t deserve that and I’m glad you stood your ground and put yourself first when you needed to.”

“I was waiting for something like that from you.” You retorted back to him, your smile turning emotional. “I’m glad that you gave it to me.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” His face softens, the hurt in his eyes palpable. 

You shook your head. “It’s alright, we’re alright.”

“It’s your turn.”

"Did you ever cheat on me, and if you did, what was the reason?” You read the card, looking at him. “Did you ever do it?”

"I've had some pretty solid opportunities, doll." he admitted to you. “But I never thought about it.”

"Is that a no?" You pressed.

"It’s a no.” He tells you, and you could see it in his eyes, he was honest. “I had you, doll. I don’t think I needed to have anyone else.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re telling the truth.”

“How about you? Did you ever cheat on me?" Suguru asked, turning the question back on you.

"No. The fuck?" You replied, offended. He laughs. “I would never.”

“I really don’t think we had the energy to do something like that.”

You nodded, looking at the camera. “Our managers are behind the camera. When we tell you that our schedules were so packed….there wasn’t even room to pee!”

“I say that every time we have to do a reshoot because Satoru made a funny face.” Suguru added. “Gojo–kesa isn’t easy to remove everyone. Especially when you need to pee!”

“I think we got too far ahead of ourselves here.” You retorted as you drank your chaser. “That got me thirsty.”

“To everyone, we did not in fact cheat on each other.” Suguru makes an ‘x’ sign with his arms. “We broke up normally, like some couples do.”

"Let's keep going," You said with a laugh, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. 

"How long did it take you to get over us, and what did you do to help yourself get over it?" Suguru asked.

"I think I'm gonna take a drink." I said, dodging the question with a laugh. 

“It’s only been a few months, so I don’t think that’s an easy thing to answer.” He laughs with you.

“Yeah, you’re right about that one.” 

He winks at you. “I always am, doll.”

“My turn.” You say, picking up a card. "Do you think I'll be a great spouse?"

"Definitely." he said without hesitation, looking at you tenderly. "I wanted you to be mine, you know?"

"I know." You whispered, tears threatening to fall.

“Hey don’t cry now.”

“It’s the alcohol, don’t worry.”

"What was your least favorite thing I did to you in bed?" he asked.

"Well, my least favorite thing that you did to me in bed," You began, trying to keep my voice steady, "I think it's to not make love with me. You once slept on me before we could start something.”

"I can see that being your least favorite thing." Suguru snickered. 

You pointed to the camera. “Lesson 101 folks, tell your partner beforehand!”

"When did you know it was over?" He asked, taking his turn. 

"When your work and your friends become bigger than me." You said honestly. “I really didn’t know where we were and you kept telling me that it was fine and your friends told me it was fine. I think I was not understanding my place with you at the time.”

"Hmm. I didn't feel like all that became a priority. I think I was having a hard time trying to understand how to slow down from the work that was my life." He explained to you, as you nodded. "You know? And that was my fault. I feel like that community I had understood that and didn’t question it.”

“But that needed to be questioned.”

“Yeah, because it affected what we had. And that wasn’t fair to you.”

You nodded in surrender. “Yeah, that was it.”

"I'm sorry for all of it, doll." He whispered back to you. “That it hurt you.”

“It’s all in the past.” You whispered to him. 

"If you could erase every thought of me, would you?" you asked, your voice breaking.

"Fuck, no! There would be nothing to feel pleasure about at night.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood. You smacked his hand, laughing so hard. “I’m sorry, that was a crude joke.”

"No, that's okay.” You whispered back at him, laughter subsiding. “That makes me feel really good about myself, actually.”

"It should make you feel beautiful, doll. All the expensive towels at home die because of you.” he teased.

"Alright, I'm gonna forget the towel thing now." you said, rolling your eyes as you tried not to laugh. "Why do I keep getting these cards? I dare you to take a body shot off me, or you have to take two shots."

"Was it two shots?" he asked.

"Yeah, it was two shots for you, Sugu." you confirmed.

“Okay, I’ll take the shots.” Suguru says as he gritted his teeth, pouring whiskey on two shot glasses. “This is not a good think for me later.”

“He still has to record a song later.” You say, laughing as he puts the bottle back and starts taking a shot. “I feel like you’d do fine though. You aren’t that much of a light weight.”

“I think so, but it would be emotional in the booth.”

“Oh then, cry it out!”

"This is a good question!" Suguru said, holding up a card for his turn. "If you could do it over again, what would you change?"

"I don't think I'd change anything, for our previous relationship.” You tell him honestly. “I think it ended when it needed to.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’m not putting the door to a close yet, I don’t know what would happen.” You whispered back at him with a soft smile. “But given the chance, similar to the question, how would you make it better?”

"I would put in more time, doll." he admitted to you. “I think I’d put you as my priority and what future we have together first.”

"That would be cool.” You said softly.

"I fucked up." he sighed, looking at you softly.

"Would you do it again?" You asked, your heart in your throat. “Would you take another shot at it, Sugu?”

"You know the answer, doll." he said, avoiding my gaze. He picks up another card. "Do you still love me?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course." You said, your voice trembling as you smiled. Your eyes water with emotion. "I think I always will.”

“I guess I’m the love of your life, huh?”

“You know that already.” You sniff, laughing.

“That I do.”

“Are you happy with our current relationship?" You asked him, turning to him as he slowly smiles.

"Doll, are you happy with everything right now?" he countered.

“With all that’s going on in my life?” He nodded at you. “Yeah, I’m happy. Some days are bad, but you know….I’m happy. You taught me how.”

"Good.”

“Huh?”

 “Then the answer is yes." Suguru smiles at you, with that same smile that made you fall in love with him in the first place. “I’m happy.”

"Really?” You were taken aback, smiling as your face wells in your tears. “I don’t know what to say, Sugu.”

"You don’t have to say anything.” He whispers, leaning forward as he wipes your tears away. “As long as you’re happy. It’s more than enough for me to be happy too.”

"I wished that would have been enough, when we were together.” You whispered back to him. “I would have loved to hear that from you.”

"I know.” He smiles at you, pained. “I wish I could tell you more.”

"'I wanted to be with you for a long time." You admit to him, tears flowing more. He wipes them all away. “I really thought I would end up having forever with you.”

"Do you think your past break up has had closure, you two?" the staff’s voice asked, cutting through the emotional moment.

“I don’t think there’s ever going to be closure between the two of us.” You admit to them, almost as though it was a fact. “He’s my person, you know? I think the fact that we’re not together, it just…it's hard to know how there could be anything, but pining.”

“How about you, Suguru?”

"I think about them often and it hurts knowing that we're not going to have any closure.” He whispers as he too starts feeling his eyes sting with tears. He takes your hand into his and you squeeze back.

“You know, when the future changes everything so fast. And I just don’t know what to do, because they’ll always be my muse. And I’ll think about all these years, wondering whatever happened to the love of my life.”

He wipes his tears. “Fuck, I can’t see anything with these tears.”

"Hey, you wanna wipe our tears away with alcohol?" you suggested, attempting a smile through the lingering pain that tugged at your heart.

Suguru looked at you, his eyes softening as he nodded. "Yeah, let's go." 

He pours the drinks and raises his shot glass, his faint smile touching his lips. "I don’t know what will happen in the future, but I am genuinely so lucky to have you in my life and I am so very lucky to have you as my muse. I hope you have nothing but happiness, love and joy, doll, my love.” 

"Cheers, Sugu." You said softly, lifting my glass and clinking it against his.

"Cheers, doll." Suguru echoed as he downs his.

The sound of applause from the crew and staff filling the room as you both toasted farewell to your shared past and a hello to your uncertain future. The weight of our emotions mingled with the bittersweet taste of the drink, of the complexities of love and the resilience of the human spirit.

You smiled at him as you stood up from your own chair, being handed your bouquet of sunflowers — your favorite as you were thanked by everyone.  And Suguru, being thanked by the other staff for his hard work with his own bouquet.

After the taping concluded, Suguru and you met at the lobby of the studio. The staff had already gone and left and your managers were waiting for your drivers outside. The atmosphere is still buzzing with the energy of the show and the lingering emotions from your candid revelations. You exchanged tentative smiles, a mixture of relief and uncertainty evident in your eyes.

"I'm glad we did this, doll." Suguru admitted softly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I feel... I feel like this is the happiest I've been in a long time, just being here with you."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words.. "I feel the same, Sugu.” You confessed, meeting his gaze with a sincerity that echoed through the quiet lobby. “It was…..something that relieved me.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between the two of you, until Suguru broke the silence with a gentle smile. "Well, I have a recording session to get to, doll." he said, his tone tinged with regret. "But I wanted to say... I wish you all the luck in the world with everything, you know?"

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat as you struggled to find the right words. "Thank you." You finally managed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

As Suguru turned to leave, a thought seemed to strike him, hesitating for a moment before he looked back at you with a hopeful expression. "Hey, are you free to hang out on Friday?" he asked, his voice quietly hopeful.

You couldn't help but return his smile, the warmth spreading through you once more. "Yeah, Sugu." You replied softly, the weight of uncertainty lifting slightly.  “I am."

Relief washed over Suguru's features, a genuine happiness coloring his expression as he nodded. "Great," he said, his voice filled with quiet excitement. "I'll... I'll text you the details.”

"Is your number still the same?" You asked, a mix of nervousness and hope in your voice as Suguru paused, turning back towards you.

"Yeah, I never changed it," he whispered softly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Did... you?"

"No," You replied, relief flooding through him as you returned his smile. "I didn't."

"Great," Suguru nodded, his expression almost visibly lighter with relief. "I'll just... text you."

With that, he turned again, his steps echoing softly on the polished floor as he made his way towards the exit. You watched him go, feeling a surge of gratitude and anticipation welling up within me. The weight that had pressed on your heart for so long seemed to lift, replaced by some hope.

As Suguru disappeared from view, You couldn't suppress the smile that spread across your face. The promise of a future, uncertain yet filled with hope, stretched out before you, the both of you. And as you stood there, in the quiet of the studio lobby, you knew that whatever came next, you both had taken a small but significant step to take.

Maybe one day there will be more than this.

But for now, you were grateful for this moment.

You were grateful to have another chance to joy.