#love in the air actor au

[27vampyresinhermind]

I finally got chapter 4 finished!

Phayu and Rain get much closer and the author’s obsession with Mikimoto makes another fic appearance…because the author (that’s me btw) possesses not a single ounce of self control!

[thebuttsmcgee]

It kinda feels like when the Owl Crew were all saying their goodbyes to working on the show again.

Nearly everyone in the tags is getting ready for The End.

Like. Damn. It really is the end as far as we know for the entire franchise of The Owl House.

Man.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐎) !! ❞

❝ A LOVE TRIANGLE GONE RIGHT ?! REPORTING FROM THE SET OF THE HIT SHOW JUJUTSU KAISEN ! ❞

✧ pairing: actors!satoru gojo and suguru geto x actor!reader

✧ summary: rumors swirl about a love triangle between you and your two heart throb co-stars on the set of jujutsu kaisen. except in this case, you and your two co-stars are happily dating. but what happens when you get casted in a movie where they want you to have a PR relationship with your co-star? especially when your boyfriends find out who it is—

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut, no curses, modern au, jjk is a tv show, actor au, yes the actors and characters have the same names lol, reader is dating both of them, funny interview hijinxs, this is kind a lot of crack, jealous! gojo + geto, sukuna is here lmao, innuendos, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi-exhibitionism, face sitting (f! receiving), multiple positions, multiple orgasms, sex (p in v), double penetration, creampie, multiple rounds, swearing, fanart by @ / _3aem

✧ wc: 17,900

“Reporters say the love triangle between the actors Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto and their co-star has become even more shrouded in mystery than the show itself!” an influencer reports on your social media of gchoice that morning, nearly vibrating from assumedly her three espressos, “the stars of Jujutsu Kaisen, the fantasy horror drama series written by Gege Akutami have been embroiled in dating scandals over the last few weeks—“ your phone’s notifications cut the audio from the video for a moment until you switch it to silent, “after being spotted leaving Suguru Geto’s loft just two nights ago, she was then seen having a lunch rendezvous with Satoru Gojo—“ 

You lock your phone, rubbing your temples, as the device nearly had an aneurysm from your social media notifications — buzzing itself off your dining room table and into an early death. Your agent was going to have a field day with this, and the main event is going to be your murder. 

“What are they saying about us now?” Suguru sighs, as he emerges out of the shower in only a towel wrapped around his waist, steam rolling out of the bathroom, as you offer him a coffee, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a sip, “my agent is demanding I call him— and I’d like to know what we’ve done now before he kills me,” he says, though he continues to sip his coffee nonchalantly, unbefuddled by the thought of his death. 

“Oi oi, calm down, shouldn’t you be more upset at the reporters than me?” Satoru comes from the bedroom, “Nanamin, just take care of it. Tell them we’re just friends if they ask you — do me a favor and pay off the reporter who got a picture of us kissing—“ and you nearly snort at the thought of Nanami Kento doing any sort of favor for Satoru. 

“You let him kiss you?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips, as your cheeks burn, rolling your eyes. 

“Not so much ‘let’ as he just kissed me without a second thought,” you shake your head, drinking your coffee as Satoru continues to bicker with Nanami, “I told him I thought I saw paparazzi but—“ 

“Satoru is do first, ask questions never,” Suguru sighs, but still the smirk remains, as he leans closer to you, his large palm against the back of your chair, “you never let me kiss you in public,” 

And you’re resisting the urge to bite your lip, “You know better — look at what Satoru’s done now—“ 

“And was it worth it, Princess?” Your mind wanders to the kiss — Satoru’s hand against the nape of your neck, his lips sliding against yours, the faint taste of the strawberry cake he had for dessert lingering on his tongue and now yours, and the sticky heat that settled over your body from the too humid night air and his warmth leeching onto your skin, and the eyes watching his need for you made it all the more—

“Maybe,” you mumble, choosing to sip at your drink as Satoru cut off your conversation with his own. 

“Just deal with it, Nanami, that’s why I hired you after all, huh?” He earns a swear from Nanami for the claim that he ‘hired’ him in any way whatsoever, and then his lips curl. “No they aren’t here with me—“ the bespectacled man shouts from the other line, “eh? What do you mean I look and sound like a man who only lies?” And then he’s hanging up, running a hand through his hair, a pout on his lips, “I was supposed to wake up to the two of you, not Nanami’s tirade,” he groans, as he makes his way over to you, only to wrap his arms around you from behind. 

“Well, it is your fault, Satoru,” Suguru smirks over the rim of his cup, “someone couldn’t keep their hands to themselves—“ 

“Jealous, Suguru?” he replies, as he presses a kiss to your neck, “jealous that our princess is much more affectionate with me,” 

Suguru cuts you off, “more like she babies you,” and Satoru’s face sours into a scowl, “if she had stayed at my apartment for the week, this wouldn’t have—“ 

“And then they would have seen me coming to your place, and what good would that do?” 

“Guys—“ you try to speak, but you’re cut off again. 

Suguru tilts his head with a small grin, “Are you lonely? Why don’t you find someon—“ 

“Stop, guys,” you couldn’t take this bickering this early in the morning, though you had grown used to it, “we have bigger problems to deal with than your egos,” you sigh, rising from Satoru’s grip even as he pouts, “we have to be more careful,” 

“But how? We’ve already cut down our appearances together for behind the scenes and even stopped going out for dinner or dates,” Satoru pouts, running a hand through his hair, “next thing you’ll want to break up,” 

“That’s not gonna happen,” you flick Satoru on the forehead, “but we have to do something, otherwise our agents will have us murdered,” 

“And Nanami will join them for sport,” Suguru adds, and you snort, finally finishing your drink, before he walks over to you, fingers under your chin, “so what’s your idea, sweetheart?” 

“Just take a break for a few weeks until the public finds something else to fixate on,” you sigh, “while the episodes air, all we’re going to get is more attention,” 

“We could just take a trip,” Satoru offers, “I own a private island—“ 

“Of course you do,” Suguru says, and Satoru only chuckles. 

“Being envious doesn’t become you, Suguru,” the snow haired actor clicks his tongue at him, before he’s pulling you into his arms, “we could go for a few days, get away from all the noise,” 

“It’s a good idea, but you’re forgetting one thing, Satoru,” Suguru tilts his head, “won’t they notice if we all go on vacation at the same time?” 

“Plus we have interviews to do in the coming week,” you remind Satoru, and he’s sighing, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “but maybe we can go after?” 

“Unless you get that role,” Satoru mumbles against your skin, pressing sweet kisses to the nape of your neck, “have you heard anything yet?” 

You shake your head, a sigh stuck in your throat, “It’s a long shot. This is such a big role and it’s for the lead,” and Suguru is finding his way to you, warm fingers cupping your cheek. 

“They would be lucky to have you — do you know how many people say you were their favorite character? They were ready to fight me and Satoru for you,” he adds with a chuckle, lips ghosting over the swell of your cheek, “I think they would beat us with sheer numbers,” 

“Nah, I’d win,” Satoru says, and you snort, rolling your eyes, “but he’s right princess, how crazy would they have to be not to cast you?” 

“There’s so many other talented people up for the role—“ 

“There’s always going to be someone else,” Suguru cuts you off gently, as his fingers find yours, lacing with yours so perfectly you wondered if it’s what they were made for, “but that doesn’t mean you’re any less valuable or incredible,” 

“And you’re already far more talented than you give yourself credit for,” Satoru adds, “but when do you get the role, inevitably,” Suguru smirks at him, “when would shooting begin?” 

“Probably just after our press wraps for season two,” you lean into their touch, “they still haven’t casted the two leads, but apparently both are down to the final audition,” and you’re pressing nosing Satoru’s cheek, before pressing a chaste kiss to Suguru’s nose, “and that’s why we’ll have to cool it for the next few weeks, ok?” 

But you don’t — or rather they don’t. 

“Who is Satoru Gojo’s…” Satoru rips off the tape off the cardboard printout of Googled questions, “favorite actor to work with?” 

“We all know the answer to that,” Suguru replies with a sigh, his eyes sliding to you, and you roll your own. 

“Look who’s talking — these two are obsessed with each other,” and Satoru has a shit eating grin, sitting back and watching the two of you argue, “the two of you are soulmates — and I’m not talking about your characters,”

“Don’t go there,” Suguru scoffs, and you tilt your head, lips curling, as your gaze meets his. 

“Are you begging?” and you can’t help the way your tone bites back, falling far over the line of playful teasing and into blatant flirting, and you can only hope the camera plays off the dark glint in Suguru’s gaze as he smirks as teasing rather than what you know it is — lustful. 

“You’re both wrong anyway,” Satoru cuts in, “obviously my favorite actor to work with is Megumi!” 

And you and Suguru both snort, words falling from your lips in unison, “Poor Megumi,” 

“Ehhh? What do you mean by that?” And Satoru smacks you both playfully with the piece of cardboard an intern probably painfully put together before tossing it away. 

“What happened to Suguru Geto….” in Jujutsu Kaisen?” Suguru reads. 

“Dead,” you and Satoru answer in unison, and Suguru raises an eyebrow. 

“You both are a walking spoiler,” and you gape at Suguru. 

“They asked, and he’s the spoiler warning — he read ahead and told me that his character—“ and Suguru covers your mouth, looking the camera dead in the eye. 

“You’re welcome—ow!” And he pulls his hand away, “did you just bite me?” 

“You weren’t complaining last night,” Satoru says, earning a whack to the face with the cardboard printout from Suguru, “when you tried to steal her snacks—“ 

And you weren’t really helping either. 

“Do you think of yourself as a heartthrob?*” You ask Satoru, hooked up to a lie detector, the polygraph examiner studying the results closely, as Suguru didn’t bother biting back his smile. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m not—“ 

“It’s a yes or no question, Satoru,” you cut him off as he sighs dramatically, running a hand through his snowy locks. 

“Then I’ll have to say yes,” and he’s winking at the camera, and you’re snorting, looking at the lie detector reader. 

“It’s the truth,” he says simply and the examiner nods, and you scoff, as Satoru only pouts at you. 

“Have you ever,” Suguru lets a chuckle escape his lips, “look at fan accounts for yourself? I can answer this one, yes he does, I’ve watched him do it—“ 

Satoru scoffs, doubling down, “can you blame me? My fans do such wonderful edits—“ 

“And inflate your ego to a catastrophic size—“ and Satoru is reaching across the table to cover your mouth. 

“Be careful she bites,” Suguru warns, leaning back in his chair, as you grin against Satoru’s hand, and he shrugs, lips curling. 

“Don’t worry, I like it,” 

The examiner nods, “that’s the truth.” 

“We’ll start out tame,” you say, as you look at the list of thirst tweets in front of you and choosing one of the more…hinged ones, “Suguru Geto, I would let you kill me like the monkey I am, and I’d thank you for it,” and you show the tweet, “monkey emoji covering their face,” 

“That’s a tame one?” Suguru covers half his face with his hand, much like the emoji, “what the **** are the wild ones?” And you open your mouth to reply and he cuts you off, “I don’t want to know,” 

“Sweetheart, I’ll read one for you next,” and Satoru scans his list, and he clears his throat, holding out his hand to you, your name on his lips, “the only way I could die happy ever is if I suffocated when you sat on my face,” 

And heat climbs your face at his words, a single chuckle giving way to full laughter, “***, that’s a lot of pressure to put on me—“ 

“And on them,” Satoru adds, and you’re glaring at him only to dissolve into giggles, “I can't blame them. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go,” 

“It’s my turn,” Suguru scans the list and grimaces, “I don’t want to read this,” and then he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I’d let Satoru Gojo **** me, spit in my mouth, and make my daddy issues worse, and I’d thank him for it, respectfully,” 

And you’re doubled over in laughter by the time he gets to the end of his monotone reading, while Satoru only grins at the camera, leaning against the table, as he pulls his sunglasses on only to tilt them down his nose. 

“I’m available.” 

No, this press junket did not help at all. 

“Fuck,” you grumble, propping yourself on your elbow, your knuckles pressed to your lips, “how are we still trending? Aren't there other things to talk about?” 

“Stop checking it, it’s only making you crazy,” Suguru sighs, collapsing next to you on the couch, his hand thrown over the top of the couch, before it slips down behind you, warm palm resting on your hip, “there’s nothing you can do,” 

“My agent said she’s definitely going to get news on whether I got the part tomorrow — and tomorrow is when the last episode of the season is airing, and when—“ 

“The scene with Kenjaku at the end, I know,” Suguru presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, “think I could pull off stitches?” He drags a finger across his forehead teasingly. 

“If you’re asking for a lobotomy, I always wanted to try doing one,” Satoru walks in from the shower, hair still damp, as he squeezes on your other side, “Princess, you can be my nurse, hm?” 

“Did you already have one?” Suguru bites back, and Satoru doesn’t reply, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “she’s still worried about tomorrow,” 

“Don’t you know there’s no such thing as bad publicity?” Satoru presses a sweet kiss to your neck. 

“Not when they’re speculating if I’m dating or cheating on one or both of you,” you shake your head, “what if the director thinks I’m a liability?” 

“If the director thinks you’re a liability after seeing your work and meeting you, then he’s clearly blind,” 

You flick his sunglasses down, “can you say that four eyes?” 

“Don’t you mean six eyes?” Satoru sticks his tongue out at him, and Suguru’s fingers find yours, laced hands against your thigh, “whatever happens, happens — you know your worth,” 

“And your worth is far too high for you — only I could afford it,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you shove Satoru, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you against him, his lips grazing the soft skin behind your ear, “how much?” 

“For you? A billion dollars,” and his lips find yours in a kiss, lazy but warm, heat from his touch spreading like a flames carried by the wind. 

“That all? What a bargain,” Satoru pulls a breath away, his lips curled in a grin, only for Suguru’s fingers to cup your chin and make you turn around. 

Deep purple irises you grew lost in, his thumb dragging down your kiss bitten lips, “and for our princess?” He hums, lips grazing yours teasingly, “a steal,” 

“Well, you both stole my heart so you might as well have the rest,” and Suguru’s lips finally find yours in a real kiss, deep and full, until your mind is filled with nothing but him — and Satoru, whose  lips ghost over your shoulder and collarbone and hands slip under your shirt, warm palms against your far too heated skin, “fuck—“ you’re sighing, melting agaisnt them, “Sugu, Toru,” you’re whining already, drawing smirks to both of their lips. 

“Let us take care of you, sweetheart,” Satoru whispers, lips finding your earlobe and sucking at the sensitive skin, and Suguru pulls away from your kiss for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips. 

“We’ll get your mind off things, Princess,” and his fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, “all night long.” 

And they do, they keep their promise — the three of you falling into bed in a jumble of limbs, and you forget until the next morning. 

And in the morning—you get the call, “okay, thank you,” you hang up, still between mussed sheets and arms wrapped around your waist, “I got it!” 

“Heh, I knew you would,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in your side, “I’m so proud of you, baby,” 

“Hm? Proud of her for what?” Suguru murmurs, half asleep, black locks strewn around his head like a halo. 

“I got the role, Sugu,” you lean down and kiss his nose, and he’s grinning wide, fingers winding into the back of your head to pull into a kiss, “you’re looking at the leading actor of a movie,” 

“You’re going to be in demand now, Princess,” Suguru says, dragging a thumb down your lips, “will you still make time for us?” 

“Of course, always — you’ll visit me on set right?”

“You sure, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll be too busy for us,” Satoru leans up and presses a kiss on your neck. 

“Maybe for you,” and he’s pouting, and you lean down to kiss his pout away, and then you get an email, “oh it’s the casting sheet for the other roles,” you scan the list, “oh,” 

“‘Oh?’” Suguru raises an eyebrow. 

“The male lead, he’s someone we know,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, “and I’m already getting a headache,” 

Satoru furrows his brow, as the two of them lean over your shoulders to look — Satoru scowling and Suguru glaring at your screen, as they say his name at the same time — as if summoning him from the underworld. 

“Sukuna?” 

Ryomen Sukuna was both famous and infamous in the industry — famous for his portrayals of villains and antiheroes alike, ability to make you despise the enemy to the point of near or blatant admiration, and his skill of stepping into each role and taking it as his own. And he lives in infamy for, well, what happens between takes of the camera. 

“Look any longer and I’ll have you thrown off set, brat,” Sukuna says, without a glance at you, newspaper in hand as if he was pulled from thirty years ago, his phone seemingly laying discarded on a nearby. The P.A.s nearby cower a few feet away, trying to look preoccupied, as their terror has fully set in of this man. 

Or should you say monster?

“I see the stick up your ass makes you as pleasant as ever,” you mutter, and you don’t see that it earns you a smirk from him, his dark gaze takes over you, earning a glare from you, “now who’s staring?” 

He leans against the arm of his chair, “I was just noticing how lovely the view is without those two pests hanging on your every word,” and you’re rolling your eyes. 

“Jealous?” 

“Of your little throuple? No,” he smirks, rising from his chair, hands sliding into his pockets as he brushes by you, “because unlike those two,” he pauses, voice dropping to a whisper, “I know how to satisfy a woman on my own,” 

And you grit your teeth, holding your tongue — your relationship with Satoru and Suguru was a badly kept secret on the set or Jujutsu Kaisen, but it never was a problem — until now. 

You follow behind him, heading to the director’s trailer for your meeting before rehearsals began. 

“You want us to what?” 

“We spoke to your agents, and they agreed with us that it would be good publicity for the two of you to pretend to be a couple during the filming and leading up to production,” the director leans back in his seat, “it shouldn’t be a problem — the two of you have worked together before right?” 

You can’t hide your aghast expression in time, not before Sukuna glances at your face and sees the horror, and it puts a rare grin on his lips, “I’m in, what’s a little more acting?” 

You’re swallowing thickly, eyes flitting over Sukuna’s smug grin so fast you only hoped your gaze was sharp enough to cut,  “Can I please speak to you privately?” 

And Sukuna gets up from the edge of the table he leaned against, flashing you a wry grin, “see you out there, sweetheart,” and you wished you could rip out his heart and show him how very sweet you were — but you bite your tongue, waiting for the door to swing shut, “I—“ 

“Do you know part of the reason we choose you over the other actor vying for your role?” The director cuts you off, arms crossed over his chest, and you shut your mouth, shaking your head, “Jujutsu Kaisen has done tremendously this season — one of the most viewed shows across the world and do you know part of the reason?” and again you shake your head, “your P.R. stunts with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto,” 

You knit your brow together — not your talent, your work, or art — but your boyfriends? “Your ability to have chemistry with the both of them have enticed the public and the number of times you’ve trended alone this season—“ 

Your fingers curl into fists, “With all due respect—“ 

“If you do this, the film will be a hit — i see you two already, there’s chemistry—“ 

You scoff, “more like a fucking bomb,” you mutter, running your fingers through your hair, “bottom line, do I have a choice?” 

“You do,” he says, arms crossed, “but so do I,” fuck, you grit your teeth. 

You emerge from the office, Sukuna waiting right outside, leaning against the wall right beside the doors,  “you fucking make this difficult—“ 

“And you’ll do what, brat?” his face twists with his frown, as he leans over, lumbering over you, “what do you think you could do to me?” And he’s clicking his tongue, the condescension rolling off of it, “director told us to play nice, so be nice,” his lips curl, “but I like you mean too,” 

He stalks off and you’re scrubbing a hand down your face. You were so fucking screwed. 

“You what?” Satoru’s mouth gaped at you, twisted in pure disgust, while Suguru only stared at you, as expressionless as Satoru was expressive, “and you agreed?” 

“She didn’t have a choice, Satoru—“ 

“That’s because the bastard didn’t give her a choice,” Satoru’s face twists again, this time in anger, brow furrowed, but lips in a sharp smile, “so why don’t we not give him a choice either?” Satoru is pulling his phone out. 

“What are you doing—don’t—“ 

“One call, and I’ll have this guy firing Sukuna—“ 

“And there goes any actors or directors who will want to work for me if these guys go off, and you know they will,” you shake your head, “I’ve run this — it’s either I do the movie or I don’t,” 

Suguru frowns, hands in his pockets, “What do you want to do?” 

Your face in your hands, “I don’t want to drop the movie because of this, I can’t—“ 

“Then you do it,” Satoru rubs the back of his head, and Suguru tilts his head at him, “and after you become the biggest star out there, I’ll take care of that director and Sukuna,” 

You and Suguru both snort, “Well that was verging on heartfelt,” Suguru shakes his head, “but he’s right, you can’t let two bullies kick you off your movie, you earned this role — and when you act circles around everyone else, you’ll have carried it too,” 

You wrap your arms around both of them, “How’d I get so lucky?” You murmur, and Satoru’s nose brushes against yours before meeting your lips, while Suguru kisses wet kisses against your neck, “encouragement and threats of violence,” and Satoru only grins, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your lips. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” and Suguru rolls his eyes, before his arm slips around your waist. 

“And he really means anytime, last time you talked to Toji, he pouted for two hours,” Satoru glared at Suguru, while you laughed, pulling the snowy haired actor close. 

“It’s so cute when you’re jealous, Toru,” you kiss his chin, eyes sliding to Suguru, “but you’re terrifying,” 

“What are you talking about?” And Satoru chuckles, tilting his head. 

“You mentioned me during Toji? You nearly yanked our princess away from him,” and Suguru furrows his brow, lips a thin line, “maybe we should drop by during rehearsals,” 

You scoff, “Yeah that sounds like a terrible idea,” and Suguru’s arms are wrapping around you, “Sugu—“ 

“If we can’t spend as much time together, then we better make this time count, isn’t that right, Satoru?” 

“You’re right,” and Satoru’s hands slide under your baggy t-shirt, “better use all the time we have,” and as they lead you to the bedroom, your limbs entangled, you knew you weren’t sleeping that night. 

But you didn’t know that would be the last time you’d be sleeping with them at all for the next month. 

“You have to cut down the time you spend with anyone else — especially other men,” your agent told you, “that goes for Gojo and Geto too,” 

“Why is this role controlling everything in my real life too?” you mutter under your breath, “why does it matter we won’t get caught—“ 

“Like all the other times you didn’t get caught?” and your words leave you abandoned as no articulate response comes to mind, “it’s for a couple months. You can have them visit on set, you can still see them once a month, but not every day,” 

“But why—“ 

“Once a month reduces your chance of being seen with them exponentially over the next few months. Just deal with it. After this, you won’t have to put up with bullshit,” she hangs up, as you stare at your phone screen, squeezing it at the sight of Satoru and Suguru’s good luck texts — and why did it feel like you still always would have to keep putting up with bullshit? 

“Better not fucking cry. We have to pretend to fall in love in ten minutes — I would rather not be looking at something ugly this early,” Sukuna cuts into your thoughts, hands in his pockets, as he sips his coffee. 

Exhibit A. 

“We’re not shooting for an hour,” you were on set after getting ready, waiting for the weather to clear up for the shoot, and he gives a gruff chuckle

“Not that shoot.” 

“Looks like Sukuna not only has taken over Itadori’s body, but also the heart of one of Jujutsu Kaisen’s fan favorites,” you groan, earbud slipping out for a moment, just like your life was slipping, “the actress and co-star were spotted getting cozy off set before shooting had even begun for the day,” 

Oh what the fuck. 

You toss your phone away before falling back in bed, far too empty without Satoru and Suguru, only their pillows to keep you company as you twisted in the sheets. You had passed off your social media to your agent to handle — it was bad enough when you were caught in a love triangle with Satoru and Suguru, but now Sukuna? You can only imagine what people would say about you. 

And you didn’t need to see it to do that. 

But that wasn’t important. It was your day off, you turned over in bed, burying your face against your boyfriends pillows — nothing a nap couldn’t fix. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Or maybe not. You slide from the arms of sleep reluctantly, already missing the warmth of the covers as the cold air hits your skin. You’re rubbing your eyes as you check who it is before opening it. 

“Satoru? What are you—“ and his arms are around you in a moment, your breath catching, “Toru—“ 

“You see what they’re saying online?” His gaze is stoic, lips a thin line. 

“We can’t—“ and he’s shutting the door before locking it, before he’s had you pressed against the wood, the grain dragging against your skin. 

“They said you two make the perfect couple,” he cups your chin, his breath warming your lips, “even more than me or Suguru—“ his hand slides against the swell of your hip, “a walk, a coffee? Was that all?” 

Your brow knits together “Of course, you know I would never—“ and his lips ghost over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nosing at the soft skin of your neck, “Toru—“ you bite your bottom lip. 

“I know you wouldn’t, sweetheart, I know,” he says softly, “but I have to make sure he knows that,” his teeth grazes over your soft skin, “knows that you’re mine,” and his teeth digs into your soft flesh, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, pain melting into pleasure, as your head lolls back against the door. 

“Toru, no I have rehearsals in a week,” you whine, but that just makes him soothe the blooming love bite with his tongue, “Toru—“ 

“Do you really want me to stop now, sweetheart?” he’s pulling your mouth open with his thumb, “your face says you don’t,” and his large palm slides down your body and into your shorts, the wet squelch and the brush of his fingers through the drenched fabric, “and your pretty cunt seems to agree,” 

“Toru,” you’re biting your lip, “fuck, you’re impossible,” and his mouth travels lower, as his other hand slides up under your shirt, squeezing your chest. 

“You’re the one who slept without anything under your clothes,” he murmurs in your ear, lips sliding against your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin there, “you’re so wet already, hear that? Did you touch yourself thinking of us? Want us to fuck you that bad after a week?” his lips ghost over your jaw. 

“Fuck, you talk so much,” you’re pouting, thighs pressing together, but he’s pushing them apart, “why are you teasing me so much?” 

And he pauses, ocean blues stormy instead of the tranquil skies you’re used to, “Sukuna touched you. He got to hold you,” he’s pouting now, “that privilege is for us, and he got to so easily,” 

“I didn’t want him to,” and he’s nuzzling your neck. 

“Let me erase his touch,” and he’s lifting you with the practiced ease he always had. 

“Where’s Suguru—“ and you yelp as he playfully tosses you on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head with one hand, a grin as he watches you bounce. 

“He’ll be here later,” and he’s kissing up your body, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts to pull them down, half lidded eyes with deep lust finding yours, “for now, you’re all mine.” 

“I-I can’t,” you’re whimpering, your hands clutching at Satoru’s back, fingernails digging crescents into his perfect skin, only hoping he doesn’t have a shirtless shoot tomorrow, but you barely can register that with three of his fingers in your pussy, “Toru,” 

How many times had you orgasmed? Six or seven at least — it was nearly second nature at this point. Satoru knew what spots to touch, where to press, how to move to have you writhing underneath him in a moment. He’s knuckle deep, spreading your walls as his thumb toys with your clit, drawing another moan from your lips. Your release soaked his fingers and sheets underneath, his fingers surely wrinkled from their time spent inside your walls. 

And by his smirk against the swell of your breast, he knew it. 

“Yes you can baby, I know you have one more f’me,” and you’re already so close, but you have been — it’s been a repeated coil winding and snapping over and over, and you’re nearly to tears, back arching as he plunges his fingers somehow deeper, “know this pretty pussy too well, look at the way you’re sucking me in,” your insides flutter around his digits again, the tips dragging against your walls, “practically begging me to fuck you more, sweetheart,” 

“I’ll say,” and your eyes barely can flit up to meet Suguru’s wry smile, corners of his lips curled, “I see you’re as impatient as ever, Satoru — started without me,” and he’s tugging his shirt over his head, “but at least you’ve gotten her ready for me,” 

“Sugu—“ and Satoru adds a fourth finger, stuffed full with him, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

“Don’t want you to say Suguru’s name when I’m the one pleasuring you,” Sstoru clicks his tongue, “wanna hear you moan my name, sweetheart, when I make you cum,” 

“You’ll have plenty of chances to moan my name,” you make a whining noise in the back of your throat, pleasure felt as if it had burned out your nerves, but it still was able to overload them, the throbbing in your cunt a telltale sign, “you g’nna cum, pretty? Use your words for me?” 

“G’nna cum—ngh, Toru,” you feel that familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, your walls wring his fingers as you cum, hard, your head thrown back against the pillow. And the squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. 

“Fuck, she’s so pretty everytime she falls apart for us,” Suguru groans, as Satoru leans over to kiss you, “so good for us, Princess,” you only moan in reply, lost in the pleasure that still floods your body, as Satoru pulls his fingers from you. 

And your eyes catch a glimpse of Satoru licking his fingers clean, one by one, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” 

“Don’t hog her, Satoru,” Suguru is pulling Satoru away, settling between your thighs, “you both made such a mess,” and you gasp, as his lithe fingers brush against your still too sensitive folds, spreading them only for your juices to slip out, “I’m always stuck cleaning up, but in this case,” he drags the flat of his tongue up your needy cunt, a moan falling from your lips, as your fingers fisted in his black locks, “I don’t mind at all.” 

But that night wasn’t the end of it — no, not by far. 

It wasn’t enough for them to ravish you, now they have to show up on set — their schedules lining up just perfect to see your rehearsals (though you think their schedules had some help from using the words “contagious” and “sickly”). However the only thing they were seemingly sick with was jealousy — especially so as you sat with Sukuna, going over lines for the next scene. 

You rubbed at your neck, feeling lucky that the marks they left had faded, but they still had begged you to show up to the shoot. 

“We won’t make you uncomfortable,” Satoru pouted, nuzzling your side, as you snort. 

“Just like you said you wouldn’t leave hickies on me?” You scoff, and suguru buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses along the marks Satoru left. 

“She has a point,” Suguru murmurs, but Satoru only pouts, “but I would like to be on set so that freak doesn’t try anything,” and you run your fingers through Satoru’s snowy locks, while leaning into Suguru’s touch, “he has a reputation of making moves on all his co-stars,” 

“So? It’s not like I’ll let him,” and Satoru’s gotten you pinned to the bed, your hands trying to break free but you can’t. 

“It’s not a matter of letting him, it’s matter of him trying to do something you don’t want,” and your brows knit together, as Satoru presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“There’ll be other people—“ 

“Other people who may very well look the other way, for someone like Ryomen Sukuna,” Suguru sighs, words almost whispered against your ear,  “you know that’s how this business can be,” and it was — it could be. The Jujutsu Kaisen set was a rare exception, but this movie — the director’s words still ringing in your ears — it was different. 

“Let us just make sure you’re safe, make sure you’re okay, and then we’ll go.” 

And that’s how you ended up with their states boring into the back of your head. 

“You bringing a pair of guard dogs with you everywhere now?” Sukuna spares a glance at your boyfriends, who were relegated to stand near your trailer — Satoru stood, arms crossed over his white t-shirt, a black jacket thrown over it, his blue eyes narrowed in frustration, as if his crossed arms were the only things holding him back from throttling Sukuna. While Suguru leaned against your trailer, scrolling on his phone in his dark navy button up, stealing glances at the two of you, his eyes narrowed and lips a thin line, “don’t know if they are ready to rip you apart or me,” 

You bite your tongue, wanting to say they had already ripped you apart last night, but you only shook your head, “They insisted on coming today, I don’t know why,” 

He grunts in reply, “It’s bad timing on your end, brat,” and your eyes snap to his, and he tilts his head, leaning against his hand, “you didn’t hear? The director wants us to film our big kiss at the end of the movie,”

Your blood runs cold, “Since when?” 

“Since you were late to our morning meeting, assuredly because of those two,” he jerks his head in the direction of Satoru and Suguru, before giving them both a wide grin, “they don’t know do they?” Your silence is all the answer Sukuna needs to give a rare laugh, “oh this will be entertaining, brat, and I thought acting with you would be boring.” 

Oh, you’re fucking screwed. 

“Cut!” The director called for the billionth time, and you were about ready to wring his neck, and you were not the only one — if looks could kill, Satoru and Suguru would have had the director skewered a million times over by now. Unfortunately for them, looks did not kill, “we need more passion,” 

And you’re biting back a groan, as Sukuna smirks, leaning over to whisper, “don’t look so disappointed, I see the two idiots haven’t taught you to kiss,” 

“More like the partner I have doesn’t make kissing him appealing,” you bite back, running a hand through your hair as you spoke to the intimacy coordinator again, but your eyes keep sliding over to Satoru and Suguru, “fuck,” how were you supposed to do this with them staring you down? 

“Let’s try it again,” you both get in place for the shot, the clap of the clapperboard, as Sukuna’s fingers brushed against your cheek again. You stepped into the role, letting yourself be consumed with the passion of your character, channeling what you felt for your own loves. 

And finally your lips met his — you felt nothing, only the pressure of lips meeting one another, but you tried to show emotion, fingers clutching at his shirt in desperation, the small gasps and sighs parting your lips between kisses, and the way your hand then slid up to rest at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you, more than anything,” you murmur against his lips, nose brushing against his, “more than anyone. You can’t go. Not without me,” 

“What choice do I have?” Sukuna mutters back, his arm coiling around your waist, “it’s too dangerous for you to come along,” 

“Who said you get to make my decisions for me?” your lips curl, “and who says I can’t buy my own ticket to come with you?” And he’s shaking his head, “listen,” your fingers cup his cheek, “don’t think, just let it happen,” and you’re leaning even closer, breath warming his lips, his breath hitching. 

“Cut!” And you’re trying to pull away, but Sukuna holds you there, leaning forward, making you flinch, only to whisper in your ear. 

“Sorry, just wanted to give them more of a show,” and he lets go, lips curled in a wide grin, “looks like we have a break now, so have fun, but not too much,” he laughs, as the director beckons him over. 

You glance at Satoru and Suguru — oh fuck. 

“Sugu—uumph—“ Suguru barely let you get a step inside the trailer before he pinned you to the metal door, his hands dragged over your sides.

“Hold still, Princess, I have to overwrite every place he touched you,” his fingers trace over your cheeks, lips grazing your jaw, his thumb dragged over your lips, before catching on your tongue, “did you brush your tongue against his — run it over the seam of his lips before slipping it inside? Flick it over like you do? Did you enjoy kissing him, sweetheart?”

“Of course I didn’t—“ and Satoru’s taking the opportunity to kiss you, teeth dragging over your bottom lip. 

“Course she didn’t, but I’m sure he did,” Satoru’s fingers traced over your jaw, “enjoyed our sweets’ even sweeter lips, didn’t he?” And Satoru kisses down your jaw, while Suguru is sinking down to his knees, large palms sliding up and hiking up your dress, “should leave some marks to remind him who you belong to,” his teeth dig into the soft of your flesh. 

“Toru! No, I still have to finish the shoot — the makeup artists—“ you whine, but god, it feels so good, as his tongue flicks against his teeth marks, “fuck,” 

“Be careful, someone will hear you, Princess,” Suguru murmurs, soft kisses to your inner thighs, “hear how good you’ll feel,” his teeth sink into your thigh, nipping and sucking, “and how good we’re both making you feel,” 

“Sugu, ah, I—fuck,” and Satoru is eagerly swallowing your moans with his lips, taking the chance to slip his tongue in, while Suguru noses at the soft of your thigh. 

“She’s already dripping, how are you so pretty here, Princess?” And he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, not that you could with Satoru’s tongue down your throat, as his lips press a kiss to your messy folds, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “tastes even better,” he moans, sound reverberating against your sensitive cunt. 

“Oh that won’t do at all, we’ve barely started,” Satoru tsks all the while tugging your sleeves down to reveal your bare chest underneath the dress barely on your body at this point, crumpled fabric pushed up and down into the middle by them, “no bra, Princess? For us or for the camera?” 

“For you,” you manage between moans, Suguru’s tongue tracing teasing circles around your clit, “always for you—“ the word trails off into a moan, as Suguru meanly sucks on the sensitive nub, “ngh, fuck—“ your knees are buckling, quaking as if your bones were made of rubber, a gasp pulled from your lips, when Satoru’s lips press a teasing kiss to your already erect nipple, while he toys with the other between his forefinger and thumb, pinching and pulling. And he switches, welcoming the other with a graze of his teeth and the flick of his tongue. 

The sounds of the lewd squelch of Suguru’s mouth against your dripping cunt filled your ears, volts from his touch reaching every inch of you, “so wet f’me, pretty, you like thinking someone could hear us fucking you?” Suguru mutters, his lips pulling away for a moment, as his long fingers spread your folds for him — every inch of you exposed, “fuck, you’ve dripped all over the floor of the trailer, Princess,” 

“All that just from Suguru’s mouth?” Satoru smirks, dragging a finger down your puffy lips, while his other hand gropes at your breast, “imagine how sopping you’ll be when we fuck you,” 

And you’re whining, as Suguru teases your entrance with a finger, “You fuckers—“ you yelp as Suguru picks you up with ease and tosses you into the nearby bed — a request you had made so you could nap between scenes or during times you weren’t needed on set — not that you had gotten to use it, until now. 

Satoru’s pulling the dress up and over your head, tossing the garment away, both of their gazes dragging over your exposed skin. Satoru flips you onto your stomach, and you hear the creak of the bed behind you and you know Suguru repositioned himself between your thighs. 

“On your knees, pretty,” Suguru’s hands are lifting your legs, his fingers already teasing your sopping hole again, and he’s bracing an arm around your thighs, “such a good girl,” and his fingertips breach you only to pull away, even as your walls try to beckon him inside. 

“Fuck,” you’re groaning, needy cunt begging for release, you needed it, needed it so bad. 

“Such a filthy mouth,” Satoru clicks his tongue, as he undoes the buckle of his belt, tugging his boxers and pants down to free his weeping erection. And god, his cock is so pretty — long and pink, with beads of pearly precum dripping from the slit, lovely veins running up and down his length, “how ‘bout I put it to use sweetheart?” 

And the tip brushes against your face, smearing against your lips, before you part your lips and let his dick slap against your tongue, before letting it part your pretty lips. The tip of your tongue traces his slit, tasting his pre, as you sucked and licked along his length, until his sweet grunts slipped from his lips. And fuck, you know he would feel so good inside you, long cock reaching the places he always did and that you never could. 

But it was hard for you to stay focused when Suguru bas two thick fingers buried in your right cunt, dragging against your walls, moaning around Satoru’s length. And it feels almost too good, as if you’d melt between them, burning from their touches. And you’d still always ask for more. 

Satoru’s fingers dig into your locks, as he moans, “Fuck, s’good for me, baby,” his hips buck against your mouth, his hair sticking to his forehead, sticky with sweat, “not gonna last much longer, Suguru,” 

And Suguru pulled out his fingers, licking them clean, his face still sticky with your cum, as you whine at the absence, “she’s not either, but I think she needs something more,” and you feel his cockhead drag against your folds, and you’re whining, “not gonna put it inside baby, too much of a mess, and can’t do too much, can we?” And you feel his lips curl in a smirk, “after all, your boyfriend out there might mind,” he’s pressing your thighs together, beginning to rock forward, sending you deeper onto Satoru’s cock, making him hiss. 

“Fuck, take it, sweetheart,” his fingers tilting your head up slightly to find your eyes glazed over in pleasure, puffy lips with saliva and precum dripping from the corners, and it only makes him want to fuck your throat, “gonna go back on set like this? All messy from your ‘side pieces?’” 

“Fuck, she twitched hard when you said that,” Suguru is fucking between your thighs, his hard cock rubbing against your dripping slit again and again, delicious friction sending you closer and closer, “fuck, g’nna cum for me sweet girl?” 

And you’re moaning around Satoru, and his tip brushes against your throat with one particularly hard thrust from Suguru, and that’s it. 

Satoru’s moaning your name, unable to hold back, as he cums in your mouth, his hot load pouring down your throat, dick twitching as it continues to spurt as he rocks his hips into you. Suguru pinches and rubs your clit hard, rocking his leaking cock into you, and you cum, walls fluttering around nothing, as you soak him in your release. 

The moans of their names on your lips send Suguru tumbling over too, as he pulls back and pumps, before cumming all over your back with his thick seed. 

You’re pulling yourself off Satoru, with a wet pop, cum and spit trickling down your lips, as your tongue flicks out to clean it off. And Satoru groans, as he lays down and settles beside you, “don’t make me fuck you right here,” 

And Suguru helps you turn on your side, legs still shaking from your orgasm, as he slips up behind you, his softening cock pressed against you, pressing sweet kisses to your sweat soaked skin. 

“Think anyone heard us?” you mumble, burying your face in the crook of Satoru’s neck, and their chuckles rumble against you, making you shiver. 

Suguru answers, “No, if someone did, they would have come—“ 

There’s a harsh knock on the door, followed by the call of your name, “The director’s calling you to set,” it was your agent’s voice, “so I suggest all three of you clean up and come out.” 

Well, fuck. 

“How has shooting the film been so far?” 

“It’s been wonderful. It’s so different from filming a television series, and I’ve loved learning the nuances of film and how it’s made,” you say, sitting in the worlds most uncomfortable chair behind Sukuna, who managed to look interestedly disinterested. 

“Speaking of which, you two have worked together before, right?” 

“We have,” Sukuna replies before you have a chance to answer, “the two of us haven’t had many scenes together before, so being able to finally act together is…fate,” 

You force yourself to give a wry smile, “I forget he’s such a romantic, when he isn’t too busy calling me a brat,” the words slip out and you’re instantly regretting your words — fuck, fuck, fuck. You really just said Ryomen Sukuna called you brat — in an interview that will air on TV but also live on the internet. 

“A brat huh?” The interviewer chuckled awkwardly, “is she a bit of a diva on set?” 

“Oh and off,” Sukuna’s grin grows all the more wide, leaning against his hand and stealing a glance at you, “but I know how to tame her,” and you self consciously tug at your high neck sweater, the bites Satoru and Suguru well concealed — and you’d never have him pass it off as his own. 

Oh, you would kill him. If not for the fact that you had dug your own grave, and he only did you the favor of pushing you in and burying you. No the only funeral was your own. 

“How bad?” You ask your agent on the way home, earbuds in your ear as you sit in the back of the car, partition up as the driver makes their way to your home. 

“How bad? You mean how great! We’re getting so much traffic on that interview. People keep talking about you and Sukuna. You’re trending again,” and that was the last thing you wanted to hear and the first thing she wanted to tell you. 

Why the fuck did you want to be an actor again? 

“What are they saying about me?” 

“There’s some negative stuff about both of you, but that’s expected — mostly people surprisingly, uh, like you better with Sukuna than Gojo or Geto—“ 

“What? Why?” God, fuck the public’s want for an older man. 

“I don’t know. You guys have this chemistry in interviews. The way you guys banter it feels so personal and electric I guess?” Her voice almost makes it sounds like she agreed.

“Are you saying that or the fans?” The only thing electric about your conversation with Sukuna was the feeling of rage running through your veins faster than a million volts. 

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s mostly fangirls of Gojo and Geto who are relieved they aren’t taken,” she adds, your silence seemingly scaring her, “you should look on the bright side, people are really excited for the movie, and after what happened in your trailer…the director’s happy too,” you see a text from Satoru and Suguru. 

The Boys 💕🤍🖤

Bangs Baby: when are you coming home? 

Six Eyed Dork: we’re already making dinner. 

And you scrub a hand down your face, never having such irritation over the prospect of dinner, “Tell that to my makeup artist,” because you know you’ll be littered with marks by the end of this. 

“We’re adding a sex scene,” and you nearly spit out your drink that morning, sitting at the round table with the director, several staff members, and an extremely unfazed Sukuna. 

“What?” you say, trying hold your tongue, that was only writhing under your hold to say something much, much worse, “that’s not anywhere in the script or the source material,” 

“It was my suggestion,” Sukuna lifts his hand casually, before pressing his hand to his chin, painted black nails gleaming in the dim light of the early morning, “the characters felt lacking,” 

Then play your role better. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead you ask, “how so?” 

And Sukuna glances at the director, who clears his throat, eyes shifting from him to you, “We thought it would be better to build more intimacy between the characters. Add a certain level of—“ 

“Raunchiness?” you scoff. 

“Tasteful raunchiness,” Sukuna corrects, doing nothing to suppress his smirk, “if you don’t want to, I’m sure we can make due with the stunt double—“ 

Fucker. He could have his pick of any movie — he was a pillar of the industry, but you had to be stuck with him. And stuck with the director following his every, irritating whim. 

You grit your teeth, “when are we shooting it?” And Sukuna grins wider, leaning back in his chair. 

“About that—“ 

“You’re going where?” You resisted the urge to rub at your temples, as you pack your things, Satoru’s pout filling the majority of the screen. 

“You heard me. We’re filming in Canada,” with a flight that left the next day, you barely had time to pack, much less talk. Fuck, you don’t have a thing for the cold, but you were told that coats and thermals would be provided — or at least they better be, “I’ll be gone for a couple weeks,” you say, wondering if the sounds of you packing would be enough to drown out or enough sweaters would somehow soften the blow. 

“Weeks?” Suguru repeats, taking the phone from Satoru, “sweetheart, you had said filming would be over soon enough — you said a month of filming in Japan—,” and you sigh, it seems like you had been doing a lot of that lately. 

The throbbing in your head only got worse — the long shoots and lack of sleep weighing on your body like iron weights around your neck, “I know, love, but the director wanted to add more scenes,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “there’s one more thing,” and Satoru is pushing into view of the camera as well, a click of Suguru’s as he shoots a glare at him, “the director decided to add…an intimate scene to the film,” 

Silence, but Suguru speaks first, “And that wasn’t in the script before?” And you shake your head. 

Satoru gives a bitter laugh, “Such bullshit. They planned it and got you to invest yourself in the movie—“ he cuts himself off, “sweetheart, I want to have a word with the director,”

“No, Toru, it won’t help,” you run your fingers through your hair, trying to keep your tone level, “it just won’t. It will just make me look like I have to rely on my boyfriends for protection,” 

“It still isn’t right, what they are doing to you is exploitative,” Suguru cuts in, “adding a sex scene last minute after you already spent weeks filming—“ 

“You don’t think I know that?” you say quietly, “what am I supposed to do? Quit? Let you guys run to the director to protect me? Great, either way, my career would be over,” the words slip out far more cutting than you want, but this has been a knife you’ve honed against stones thrown at you, and you were tired of being the one to take the blows. 

Satoru furrows his brow, “What are we supposed to do? Watch you get taken advantage of?”

“No, but don’t talk down to me like I don’t understand what’s happening,” you snap, “these weeks I’ve had to deal with fucking Sukuna and these shoots, while balancing your feelings too and I’m tired of it. I’m just done,” you shake your head, willing your voice not to break, “I’ll text you both when I board and land, ok?”

“Sweetheart—“ 

“Baby—“ 

“Bye,” and you hang up, eyes burning not just from your lack of sleep but now everything else too. You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t see them. You couldn’t quit the movie. You couldn’t fix this. You couldn’t do anything — you glanced at your suitcase — except keep going. 

“You look like hell,” you don’t bother looking at Sukuna when he speaks, and out of all the seats, how did you end up next to him? Either you had the absolute worst luck in the world — or bad luck had a little help from your agents and the director. 

“You look like you’d know—been to your kingdom lately?” you’re placing your suitcase away when a flight attendant rushes over to do it for you, and you thank them, before rifling through your bag for your headphones. Noise canceling headphones that were going to be your best friend as long as you were stuck with him. 

“Why visit a kingdom when my queen is here?” Your eye twitches, and you only wish that planes worked the same as ships when it came to jurisdiction. And if so, you would have tossed him into the high seas without a second though. You could start over — no extradition on Satoru’s island. 

You glanced at your phone — no reply to your text about getting on the second flight. And they had both barely responded to your other texts about boarding and landing. Maybe it was your fault. You had blown up at them, and ignored all their calls and texts all day, until they finally stopped (even Satoru had given up sending you selfies of him crying). You switched it into airplane mode and locked it, tucking it away into your bag, before taking your seat and buckling your seatbelt. 

“Trouble in paradise?” And you scowl, pulling out your headphones, “c’mon you can tell me about your other boyfriends — I know I’m your favorite,” 

“Do you ever shut up?” You put your headphones on, your eyes growing heavy as the plane begins to prepare for take off. You choose a playlist, and start to fall asleep. The only good thing about this flight was you could finally get some sleep. 

And maybe your life wouldn’t be hell when you woke up. 

“I already got us a private jet,” Satoru walks into Suguru’s place, suitcase in hand, as he tugs his mask off, “we can be in Canada by tomorrow—we just need to pack—“ 

“What are you talking about?” Suguru looks up from his phone, “have you even thought this through, dumbass? She barely wants us coming over because of paparazzi, you think if someone sees us in Canada with her that they will write it off as a coincidence?” 

“If we’re careful, it won’t come to that,” he sets down his things, “you heard her, Suguru, she said she’s done,” 

“She’s just tired and frustrated,” Suguru sighs, tossing his phone aside, “we haven’t exactly made this any easier on her either,” 

“I know, which is why we should go make it up to her,” Satoru sighed, “I can tell by her texts that she’s upset — it’s all periods and short one word responses. Y’know that’s bad,” he’s pulling out his phone to show Suguru your texts — and Suguru ignored the several sad selfies Satoru had sent, before handing it back. 

“And we should make her more upset by doing the one thing she told us not to do?” Suguru shakes his head, “we’re better off waiting for her to calm down and come to us—“ and Satoru stares at his phone, “what is it? Did she text?” 

“No, worse,” he shows Suguru a news article — ARE THINGS HEATING UP ON AND OFF SET? SUKUNA SPOTTED WITH HIS COSTAR GETTING COZY ON PLANES AND IN THE AIRPORT.  

And below were images of you and him asleep, fingers interlaced on the plane, and a picture of him with his arm around your waist walking through the airport. 

Suguru’s eyes narrow, “Do you want risk losing her, Suguru?” And he knows it’s a bad idea, he knows it may only make things worse, but — he looks at the pictures of you and Sukuna again — losing you would be far worse. 

“When’s the flight?” 

CLICK! 

You stir at the sound, as you hear it again and again, shifting in your sleep. Fuck, what was that noise? Everything’s heavy, thoughts swimming through thick syrup as it tries to break to the surface and into consciousness. Another click makes you grasp at your headphones with one hand, the other caught on something, but you feel nothing but your neck and shirt. And finally, your eyes fly open just to find a camera lens in front of your face, and something holding your hand. 

Or rather someone. 

“What the—“ 

“Finally woke up? How was your coma?” and the photographers are shooed away, as you pull your fingers free only for him to drop your hand, wiping your hand on the seat, “I didn’t do anything but hold it,” he shrugs, “probably—“ 

You scowl, “my headphones?” He holds them up, and you gape at him, “they fell off. You’re quite the restless sleeper,” and you snatch them back. 

“They fell off or you took them off for that photo op,” you snap, glancing at him, “since when did I give my permission to be photographed while sleeping?” 

“When you decided to go into this business,” he replies drily, dry as his skin was from holding his hand, “are you that naive? Can anyone keep anything from anyone without paying them off one way or another? I’m pretty sure that’s how your little throuple does it,” 

And you couldn’t deny it — the paparazzi more than ever was a toll or a tool — a toll to pay when you wanted word to stay quiet, and a tool when you wanted things to blow up. And Satoru had been paying them off since the three of you had started this — insisting that his connection gave him discounts, but it was more likely to blow his father’s money. 

“So what was that photo op about?” The plane is slowly descending now, your ears popping, as you spare a glance outside, and he only scoffs, as if to ask if you were that stupid? 

“To announce our arrival.” 

“Why are there so many security guards and people?” you mutter, tugging at your mask, as you hurry through the airport with what felt like a military and police escort of men around you. 

“To create a scene, generate interest,” Sukuna seemed uninterested as he strolled along the airport, raising an eyebrow, “not used to this? The adoring fans,” and you spare a glance at the crowds, taking pictures more than even looking at your actual faces. 

“This is adoring?” and then the security guards begin to stumble as the crowd grows a rowdy, as people push through to get through their gates, others try to duck between the security guards to get closer. A security guard knocks against you, nearly sending you tumbling,  “what—“ 

And a wrist grabs you and pulls you hard, as the security guard tumbles to the ground, another arm around your waist. He steadies you, as you sigh, glancing to find Sukuna. 

“Be careful,” you blink — wow was he actually a nice— and then he nearly shoved you away, “don’t need you getting injured and messing up my movie,” he strides off, and you watch dumbstruck, as you watch his back recede until bodyguards check on you and urge you along. 

You can’t believe you thought even for a second that Ryomen Sukuna was nice. 

And now you had to spend the entirety of tomorrow kissing up to him — literally. 

Fucking ass. 

“You can’t seduce me into letting you go,” Sukuna smiled, one hand on your hip and the other resting against the wall, pinning you against the headboard of the bed, “just because I let you win tonight—“ 

“Then I’ve won the battle,” you reply, fingers toying with a lock of his hair, twirling it around your finger, before dragging a finger down his cheek, “it’s only a matter of time until I win the war,” 

He chuckles, hand cupping your chin, “such a brat, how did I ever fall for you?” And you only lean close, brushing your lips against his chin, delighting in the way his body shivered, “fuck—“ 

“You love it,” and he’s gotten you pinned to the bed in a moment with one hand, the other large palm sliding up your body, dragging your shirt along with it— 

“CUT!” 

You both sigh, glancing at the director as you both untangle yourselves — how many times did that make? Twelve? Fourteen? 

“I think we’ll be dead before he gets it right,” Sukuna mutters under his breath, as a P.A. brings him a towel to dab at his skin. 

“We’re calling it for the day,” the director announced, hair askew from the number of times he had pulled at it, “we’ll resume tomorrow, first thing,” there was almost an audible groan from the crew as everyone packed up for the day. 

After all that, you’re making your way to your hotel room when someone stops you, you’re trying to brush past them absentmindedly, but his voice stops you dead in your tracks. 

“Can’t run from us that easy, sweetheart,” and your head snaps up, finding Satoru in front of you, and you’re speechless, no words finding their way to your lips, before the hotel room next to yours opens up. 

“Princess, in here, before anyone sees,” and Satoru’s hand tries to find yours, but you ignore it, walking into the room, not speaking until the door clicks behind Satoru. 

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” and you waver when you see Satoru’s sad gaze and Suguru’s tight frown, and you sigh, evening out your tone, “sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped — what are you guys doing here? I told you it’s risky—“ 

“We didn’t want to leave things the way they were, I couldn’t. Not like that,” Satoru shakes his head, “we needed to see you, baby, I couldn’t—“ he breaks off. 

Suguru speaks in his stead, “We couldn’t fathom that was the last time we spoke,” 

Your brows knit together, “Why would you think—“ and you’re sighing, scrubbing a hand down your face as your words ring in your own ears, and you know where their minds had went — fuck, “I would never ever break up with you two,” you’re stepping forward, “you’re idiots, but you’re mine,” and their arms are slipping around you in an instant, “I just got frustrated with everything, it wasn’t just you guys — the movie, Sukuna, long shoots, lack of sleep, and not seeing you two—“ 

“We should be the ones who’re sorry,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “we made it all about us and didn’t see that you needed us,” 

“We’re never going to make that mistake again, Princess,” Suguru presses a soft kiss to your neck, and you sigh, stress melting under touch with the ease of a lit candle wick melts wax, “we’re sorry for being so selfish,” 

“Yeah, Suguru’s sorry—“ and that earns Satoru a sharp elbow from said actor, “and I’m sorry too. We didn’t mean to add more stress. You’re already dealing with so much. We should have been there for you, sweetheart,” he finds your lips in a sweet kiss that has you sighing, “we trust you — it’s just—“

“Him, I know, but I hate him,” you say, and Suguru chuckles, fingers turning your head towards him, pressing his forehead agaisnt yours, “seriously, everything we’ve done is just for the movie or for publicity,” Suguru kisses you, teeth teasingly running along his bottom lip. 

“You seemed pretty cozy with him in those pictures,” Satoru presses open mouthed kisses along your neck, and you blink. 

“What pictures?” and then it occurs to you, “on the plane? They framed those—“ and Satoru’s cutting you off with another kiss, “Toru—“ and Suguru nuzzles the nape of your neck, “Sugu—“ 

“Just let us take care of you tonight,” Suguru murmurs, lazy fingers drawing circles on your hips, “been too long since we’ve seen you, Princess,” 

In a moment they have you on your back on the bed, Satoru’s eyes gleaming with need, their hands slipping up your body, “I’m yours,” you murmur, “both of yours.” 

And that’s all they needed to hear. 

“Toru, I’m trying to make us breakfast,” you chuckle, half laughing, half exasperated, as he nearly engulfs you in a hug from behind, his face buried in the crook of your neck. 

“So? I’m not in the way,” Satoru mumbles, sighing as he kisses the skin behind your ear, “right, Suguru?” 

“You’re hindering the process, Toru,” you’re trying to flip pancakes for said boyfriend as he traces constellations of kisses against your shoulder and neck, “right Sugu?” 

“Now, now, play nice you two,” Suguru replies drily, glancing at the two of you from the couch, “can’t blame us for missing you, sweetheart,” 

“Y’know how many months I had to go without being able to cuddle you,” Satoru’s pouting against your skin now, “I have to make up for all that lost time,” 

Shooting had finally ended three months ago — after a month and half spent in Canada, you flew back to Japan. Satoru and Suguru had taken up residence in a hotel room next door (under fake names of course) for about a week before flying back because of work. Satoru had tried to convince you to let him fly back and forth, but for the sake of the environment (and your sanity), you sent them both home. 

And still, they both were acting as if you had been away for several years, not months. 

“Does it have to be now?” And Satoru nods, grinning, and you relent, “well, this is much better than having dinner with Sukuna,” 

“There’s a name we haven’t heard in a while,” Suguru raises an eyebrow, as he strolls into the kitchen, hands in his pockets. 

“Thankfully,” Satoru adds, brow wrinkled, “what does he want?” 

“Just a dinner to celebrate the end of production,” you sigh, as you step past Satoru to grab a plate for the pancakes, “the movie is going to have its premiere in a few months, so it’s also to plan ahead for that,” 

“Did they announce a date yet?” Suguru asks, leaning against the counter on the other side of you, beginning to prepare coffee. 

“Not yet, but it should be sometime this coming summer,” and you’re flipping pancake after pancake for the three of you, a stack forming, until you’re finally done. You catch the two of them shsring a look, until Satoru asks: 

“Can you get us tickets to the premiere?” 

“Of course I’m inviting the entire JJK cast,” you smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to Suguru’s cheek, “why would you two be any different?”

“And what about us two?” Satoru hums, as he shuts off the stove for you, daring less than an inch away from your lips, “Do we get the VIP treatment?”

“Uh-huh,” you bite back a laugh. 

“Does the VIP package include you?” Suguru murmurs, a smirk against your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth, 

“Of course,” you murmur, as Suguru’s arms wrap around your waist, lips brushing against your pulse, “once we’re away from cameras and phones and press,” 

“All access?” Suguru murmurs, large palms slipping under your shirt, making you shiver from their cool touch, and you roll your eyes, as Satoru presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“All access.” 

“I don’t understand why we had to get ready together,” you grumble, assistants gather around you, one adjusting your gown, another fixing your makeup, and a third trying to tame your hair, “we could have just been picked up and taken to the venue together,” 

The two of you had been ushered into these adjoining hotel rooms bright and early — much too early for you to even be awake, much less have to deal with Sukuna. The only consolation was while you were getting your makeup and clothes on, you didn’t have to see him. 

“Someone might have seen us,” Sukuna replies, letting the assistant put his watch on, “or your throuple would undoubtedly get in the way,” you shoot a glare at him. 

“Can you not call us that? They have names,” and Sukuna scoffs, fingers running over his charcoal suit coat to ensure there wasn’t even a single crease, the cut of his lapels sharp as knives. 

“Like I care to remember them, brat,” and you raise an eyebrow. 

“Do you even know my name?” he bears no reaction, but the corner of his lips twitch, “you don’t even fuc—“ 

“Are we all ready?” Your agent enters the hotel room with the director, “we should start heading to the venue,” and Sukuna brushed past you, and out the door, his entourage following behind him. 

And you sighed, you were surely ready — ready to put this movie and Sukuna far behind you. 

But of course he wasn’t behind you, so much so that he was beside you. Plastered to your side for the press to eat up, his arm slithered around your waist, as you both made your way down the carpeted premiere. 

You had been to a premiere for both seasons of Jujutsu Kaisen — but never like this. The camera flashes were blinding, the sounds of the crowd deafening, and the walk down the carpet amongst all these others was disorienting. You were almost grateful for Sukuna’s gruff and short temper, he kept most interviews on the carpet from dragging too long, 

You finally make your way inside and Sukuna parts from your side a moment without a word, beckoned off by someone or another. And it feels like too much. The day, the long hours, the carpet — all of it bears down on you at once, and you feel as if someone sucked the air from your lungs, using it to fill this hall with the smallest remnants of oxygen. 

Fuck, you grasped tightly to your clutch, you were going to pass out if you didn’t go somewhere, somewhere else with less goddamn people, but where? 

And you only take a stumbling step forward, before an arm is around your waist again, and a different voice murmurs in the opposite side, “Lost without us, sweetheart?” Suguru’s voice steadies you, keeps you from slipping deeper away from them, while Satoru’s touch grounds you. 

“Let’s get her somewhere private, hm? Does that sound okay, Princess?” And you’re nodding; as the two of them discreetly usher you away, you barely can keep your eyes open, still feeling your breath lodged in your throat, choking on the very thing that was supposed to keep you alive. It doesn’t feel okay until you’re sitting on a bed, holding your head. 

You feel the bed divut in as they both sit on either side of you, and their bodies brush against yours as if to ask for permission; and you’re leaning against their touch, until they engulf you in it. 

And this was what you needed. 

You don’t think about premieres, ruining your makeup, tripping, cameras, or anything else — just both of them and you. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Suguru murmurs softly, and you’re nodding, “did you get overwhelmed?” And you nod again, and he sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I really wish you could have come with us,” 

“I told ya we should have just taken her with us anyway,” you know Satoru’s face is scrunched up in worry, “the movie’s out anyway,” 

“Not like I didn’t agree — I just told you she would never agree,” Suguru muttered, most assuredly rolling his eyes, “plus, we said we wouldn’t do that to her again,” 

“Can you guys not talk like I’m not here?” and they instantly refocus on you, as you bury your head in the crook of Suguru’s neck, while Satoru does the same to you, pressing butterfly kisses to your skin, as Suguru carefully carded through your locks. And you just sat like that for a while, until you grew calmer by the second and finally lift your head, “sorry,”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Satoru furrowed his brow, “you didn’t drool all over Suguru’s suit did you?” and you elbow him lightly in the ribs. 

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t mind anyway, I’m used to you drooling on me one way or another,” and now you glare at Suguru, “you’re the one apologizing for no real reason,” 

“There is a reason,” you sigh, shaking your head, “we should be out there enjoying the party, but instead, we’re—” 

“All alone, with the two most important people to us?” Satoru tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “if anything, this was exactly the VIP treatment I was looking for, just us alone, in a room together?” Satoru’s tilting your head if only to press kisses up the side of your neck, nosing your pulse. 

“He’s right, princess, we only came here for you — no one else, we’re so proud of you,” Suguru murmurs, his hand finding its way onto your thigh, “and all we want is to see you happy,” 

Happy? When had been the last time you had been happy in the last few months? It had been far too long since it had been consistent — but the two people that ran consistently through every up, far too little downs? Satoru and Suguru. It had been so hard — and now it was almost over. Only a few more interviews and public appearances, and you would be done with Sukuna.

But you didn’t want to think about Sukuna now — you wanted them. More than ever. 

Your lips find Suguru’s first, lips sliding against his — a hesitation for a millisecond, before he’s melting into it, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before you’re pulling away, soft pants filling the silence, until a warm hand is turning your head, and Satoru kisses you next, needy and persistent, as he always was, his fingers threaded in your hair, grazing against the nape of your neck. But Suguru doesn’t waste time, a hand sneaking up the silt of your dress, dragging against your pantyhose, snapping the skintight, translucent fabric against your skin. 

You part from Satoru for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his, and you see the lipstick smeared on both their lips — you can only imagine what little you have left is painting more than just your lips at this point. 

“If we don’t stop right now, don’t know if I can, baby,” Satoru murmurs, guiding your palm to his already hard erection, “it’s risky,” 

“It is, someone could catch us,” Suguru is still drawing tempting circles on your upper thigh, his nose brushes against yours as he presses his forehead against yours, “What do you want to do?” 

And you knew the right thing to do would be to fix your faces and return to the party, act as if this hadn’t happened, as the three of you suffer through an evening without each other — until you get home far too late and far too tired to fall asleep beside them. That was the right thing, the sensible thing. 

But your need for them both was hardly sensible. It wasn’t sensible when the three of you had gotten drunk multiple nights after shooting together — Satoru only drinking a shot each time at your and Suguru’s insistence to get far too plastered too quickly. It wasn’t sensible when the two asked you who the better kisser was — your character the envy of every fangirl as you got to kiss the two “strongest” sorcerers — and then when you cheekily replied you weren’t sure, they didn’t hesitate to kiss you then and there, one after another — and you realized you never wanted to stop (and the three you never did that night). It wasn’t sensible to hook up again a few nights later, heading back to Satoru’s place to hang out, only for the three of you end up in bed together yet again — a habit formed, but that you couldn’t quit. And it surely wasn’t sensible when the three of you had started to date — it was far from it, in a business like this. But you did it anyway — because it was them. 

It was always them. 

You rise to your feet, facing them a moment, before turning your back to them, looking over your shoulder at them, “Well? You’re going to have to help me get out of this dress because I’m not letting you two ruin it.” 

And they share a look, before their lips curl into grins, as they reply. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Of course, baby.” 

“Suguru no—“ and he snaps the fabric of your pantyhose against you making you whimper, “I told you not—“ 

“To ruin your dress, you said nothing about your pantyhose,” his nails digging crescents into your lovely thighs, “and you should worry more about Satoru,” 

Satoru’s lips were nearly glued to your neck, tongue dragging up the side, until he pulled away to scowl at Suguru, “Eh? Why me?”

Suguru shrugs, “who left all those marks all over her neck last time?” 

“You left marks over her thighs,”

“Jealous?” 

“No, but I think you are that everyone saw mine, but no one saw yours,” and Suguru scoffs, 

“My marks aren’t for anyone else but me,” and his fingers tear at the fabric of your pantyhose, as you whine, lips curling as your skin is freed, “and if anyone else was seeing them, well,” his thumb drags across the swell of your far too wet cunt, drawing a pretty gasp from your lips, “I’d have to punish her wouldn’t I?” He kisses the skin exposed between the patchwork tears, making you whimper, “make her cum over and over, until she begs me to stop, show everyone how I fuck her well,” 

“Not as well as I do,” Satoru replies, ���isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“I’m not answering that,” you scoff — you knew nothing good came from getting between their fights, except maybe getting between their bodies. 

“Then maybe we’ll have to remind you,” Suguru’s hands drag over your legs again, tugging off the shreds of your pantyhose off, “give you our dicks over and over until you tell us which one’s better,” 

“Sounds good to me, yeah?” Satoru leans down to kiss the valley of your breasts, before his fingers follow, finding the front latch with a grin, “planned for this sweetheart? And I thought I was the one who wanted this the most,” and he undoes the clasp with practiced ease, your chest exposed to his touch, nipples pebbling under the cool air. 

“You still are,” Suguru replies, as he nips at your thigh, eyes flicking down to Satoru’s obvious erection straining against the fabric of his slacks, “ready to burst just from looking at her chest, bet you wouldn’t last a minute getting her off,” 

“Oh yeah? Then let’s see who lasts longer,” Satoru undoes and tosses his shirt with ease, his deep blue suit coat long discarded, before he pulls you up into a sitting position while he lies back, and then lifts you with ease onto the middle of his bare chest, “you in her mouth or me eating her out,” 

“Toru—“ you squealed, as you squirmed, your already embarrassingly wet panties clinging to your dripping cunt, slick against his skin, but he holds your hips steady with large hands, “I can’t — I’ll crush you—“ 

“Ride my face, baby,” Satoru smiles up at you, that same smile you could never say no to — the one that made your stomach tie itself in knots, “wanna watch you cum all over my face, wanna walk around covered with your slick m—“ 

“Fuck—“ you cover your face, cheeks burning, “stop,” 

“Already embarrassed? That’s not good, Princess,” Suguru clicks his tongue, as gentle but teasing fingers pry your hands off your face, “can’t have that, we barely started,” 

“Please, baby?” Satoru pouts, and you can’t resist — a small nod, and his thousand watt smile almost makes it worth it, “take your seat on your throne, Princess,” you snort, almost. 

You gingerly shift yourself over him, still hovering as you hesitate. You whimper as he inhaled, a shudder leaving his body, “how is it possible for you smell so fucking good?” And you hear the distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt and the zipper of his pants, and you knew he was already palming at his length. 

Yet still, insecurity creeps up your body from his gaze, as he gazes up at your messy folds “Are you sure I won’t suffocate—” and he leans up to drag his tongue up your clothed cunt, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “ngh, Toru,” his name comes out far too needy for your taste, knees already beginning to buckle, quivering when he tugs at your drenched panties to snap them against your glistening folds, “fuck—” and he’s pulling the thin fabric aside, his warm breath sending ribbons of heat up your body, nearly shuddering from anticipation alone, and it’s nothing compared to when he pulls you down to seat you fully on his face. 

“Fuck,” your body folds forward, and you barely catch yourself, as Satoru’s needy tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, “Toru, oh my god —- fuck,”

You barely register the creak of the bed, and the rustle of clothes or the click of the belt, “That’s the idea after all, princess,” Suguru knelt before you, his pretty cock aching for you and an inch in front of you — he was thicker than Satoru, lovely veins that you wanted nothing more than to trace, and pretty beads of pre-cum dripping from his slit, “are you going to be a good girl and—” he hisses when your lips part to suckle at his tip,tongue flicking over his slit, before you let his cock part your lips again. 

But Satoru wasn’t one to be ignored — his tongue circling your clit faster, as his hands rest on your ass, squeezing, before slapping his hand down against the sensitive flesh, sending you forward onto Suguru’s cock. 

Suguru grunts, fingers threading into your strands, nails digging into your scalp, “s’fucking good for me, princess. Such a good cockeater,” his fingers cup your chin, forcing your gaze higher, eyes blown out in pleasure, boobs bouncing with the way you rocked against Satoru’s face and Suguru’s shallow thrusts, the heavy weight of his dick on your tongue. 

And Suguru can’t resist — palming at your breasts because you’re so pretty when you whine, as he pinches your erect nipples before rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. You moan around Suguru’s length, your hands grasping at his hips, sloppily sucking him off, as Satoru grinds his face against your cunt. 

The wet squelch of your pussy rings in your ears, greedily lapping at your juices like a man wanting to drown, diving deeper and deeper to depths unknown. And when his thumbs reach up to part your hole further apart, you’re nearly choking on Suguru’s dick, as Satoru’s tongue slips into your entrance. 

You whine when he teasingly pulls away, pressing sweet kisses to your clit, “Gonna fuck you right, sweetheart — make sure you can’t remember anything tonight except the feel of my tongue inside you, that is, until I fuck you open,” and he’s burying you back, moaning at the feeling of your juices slipping off the side of his face, “gotta open wide for you baby — gotta swallow this whole cunt, yeah?” 

And you would have moaned if you hadn’t had your mouth full of Suguru’s dick, nearly beginning to choke on it when he began to lazily thrust into your mouth, a shiver down his spine as he looks at you drooling around his length, sloppily tracing his veins, a graze of his teeth against the sensitive skin, and a hiss parts his lips, “careful there,” and he gives a particularly hard thrust, “don’t want me to fuck this throat do you?” and your moan makes a mean smirk curl his lips, “or maybe you do,” 

Fuck, you were getting close — and so was Suguru by the way his hips began to buck into your mouth, and Satoru for that matter — the wet sounds of his fisting his cock along with the messy moans against your cunt sending more pleasure up and down your spine. And fuck, his bucking against his hand was making the bed shake — and god, you’d reach behind you and jack him off if you weren’t holding onto Suguru for dear life. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, swallow my cock, fuck, g’nna cum soon,” Suguru’s balls slap against your face as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest, “Toru looks he’s about ready to burst too, gonna clean up our cocks before we fuck you, pretty?” 

“Fuck, she nearly clamped down on my mouth from that,” Satoru says, thoroughly muffled from your heat pressed tight to his mouth, his tongue then returning to fuck you, as you ride his face to find your release, unable to think about anything else but cumming, “cum on my face, baby,” and when Satoru sucks around your clit, a sharp palm bearing down on your ass again, you’re cumming, grinding and riding out your high on his face, as he welcomes your release with an open mouth. The wet sounds of his slurping and sucking, as your juices roll off both sides of his face and stain the mattress underneath him.

And then you’re eagerly sucking at Suguru’s cock, swallowing around him as he fucks your face, “g’nna cum, are you gonna let me cum alone — are you going to help Satoru cum too?” and he’s helping you reach back, leaning back with you so his cock never parts your pretty lips, and right as your fingers brush against Satoru’s cock, squeezing around the base, you hollow out your cheeks, letting Suguru’s tip brush your throat. 

They both groan your name as they cum, thick spurts of Suguru’s release down your throat, while Satoru cums all over his stomach and your hand. They slowly still their movements, Suguru slowly pulling his cock from your mouth, strings like a spiderweb of cum and your spit connecting your lips to his dick, and Satoru helps you off his face, eyes shut as your legs are still shaking from the way he ate you out still, as they lay you down on the bed. 

Your eyes flutter open to find Satoru licking his face clean, still glossy with your release and his spit, “Fuck, sweetheart, how do you taste so good?” he murmurs almost reverently, a grin on his lips, “I’ll have to sit on my face more often,” and you’re rolling your eyes. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be sitting on my throne very often, you weirdo,” you chuckle softly, far too breathlessly, and you turn to Suguru to find him leaning on his elbow, gaze still dark. 

“Well, you do have two thrones after all,” Suguru leans down to find your lips in a kiss, tasting himself on your lips, a soft moan pulled from your lips, “you’ll have to use the other at one point or another,” 

“Jealous?” you echo Satoru, and Suguru has you pulled into his lap in a moment, your back pressed flush to his chest, his cock already far too hard, far too quickly, and your head falls back as he drags the tip over your still sensitive folds, “a-ah, Sugu, I—” 

“The only thing I’m jealous about is that the only thing that’s been in this pretty pussy tonight has been Satoru’s tongue,” and he’s tilting your head down, to watch your cunt rub against his length, a whine leaving your throat that you barely recognize as your own, “think we should fix that, shouldn’t we?” 

“Room for another over there?” Satoru adds, drawing closer, his length in hand, as he lazily pumps it to full mast, and you whimper at the sight of him, “our princess is so needy, she needs two of us to fill her, yeah?” 

And Suguru takes the opportunity to spread your folds with his hand, and sink his length into you, your head falling back into his shoulder, as a pornographic moans parts your lips, and Suguru is shushing you all the same, as he works himself into you inch by inch, “Don’t want anything to think we’re filming a different kind of movie in here, hm?” 

“Imagine the headlines then,” Satoru hums, as he teases your clit with his cock, “movie star found cheating on her co star — one dick just wasn’t enough — she needs two,” 

“Can they blame her?” Suguru’s finally inside you fully, his stretch far too delicious, shorting out your nerves with the pleasure — and you swear your cunt was making a mold of his cock, complete with every lovely vein, pretty curve, and each inch, “this pussy deserves the best after all,” 

“S’full,” you’re a mess, walls already fluttering around Suguru, practically begging him to begin moving, while welcoming Satoru in with folds that only craved his cock, “so big,” you whine. 

“Mmhmm, I know, baby,” Satoru’s tilting up your chin, lips curled in a grin, “Suguru’s almost too much for me — how are you going to fit me too?” and you whimper, shaking your head, “you still want me?” and you nod far too eagerly, and he chuckles, “well, you heard our princess, Suguru, mind giving me a hand?” 

And you furrow your brow, unsure, until you feel Suguru’s hands reach around to your front and spreads your pussy lips wider for Satoru, making your cunt clamp down on him, “fuck, she just got tighter,” but Satoru takes it in stride, gathering some of your juices on his fingers to further lube himself up. 

“No matter how much we fuck her like this, she’s always so tight for us,” Satoru’s pressing his tip to your spread entrance, and you whimper, “maybe tonight,” his fingers tilt your chin upwards, “we’ll finally fuck her to remember our shapes,” 

And he guides his cock into you, and Suguru braces your body against his as your back arches, as both of their lengths stretch you open — like they said, no matter how many times they did this, you never quite got used to it. 

But this pleasure? You were far too used to — they had ruined you for anyone else, because no matter what, no man could please you like either of them, much less both of them. 

“S’full, fuck, I-I can’t—” your walls are squeezing them hard, dicks rubbing together, drawing deep groans from both of them. 

“Don’t have to break our dicks off to get us to fuck you all the time, baby,” Satoru mutters, panting, as he lifts your leg, hooking one around his hip, “already gonna fuck you stupid anytime you want,” 

“Shit, I’m not gonna last that long, Satoru,” Suguru says through gritted teeth, pressing heated kisses to your neck, “gonna start moving, sweetheart,” and you’re nodding, as they both begin to fuck you in tandem. Suguru thrusted upwards steadily, forcing you to ride him, allowing his dick to sink into sweeter depths, pleasure ripping up your spine, while Satoru fucked into you at a rough pace, hands gripping your thighs as he did. Both of their movements drove the other deeper into you, reaching depths you didn’t think were possible. 

“F-fuck, Sugu, Toru,” you’re babbling, lost in the thick haze of pleasure, dripping over your skin like hot molasses, slow but burning all the same, as your walls fluttered around both of them, “s’good, I can’t—” tears burning at your eyes, as your hands brace themselves on Satoru’s shoulders. 

“That’s it, such a good girl, been thinking about you spread out on me like this since the moment I saw you,” Suguru grunts, rutting into you faster, “couldn’t wait to rip off this dress to fuck you right — didn’t think you’d let us so soon,” and you swear their cocks were kissing your cervix at this point, and surely you’d look down and see a bulge in your stomach from how deep they were. 

“Pretty girl takes us so well, no one compares to you, sweetheart,” Satoru sighs, watching the way his cock sunk into you again and again, “you’re ours, just ours,” 

“I’m close, s’close, g’nna—” pleasure built like a coil in your stomach, ready to snap, and they were only more than happy to pull you apart, as long as they were the only one to put you back together. 

And Satoru rubs at your clit, a moan on his lips, “Cum for us princess,” and you do, toes curling as you cum hard with their names on your lips, clamping down around both of their cocks. Low moans of your name leave their lips as they fuck you through your orgasm, hips stuttering when they slowed, “g’nna cum,” 

“Where—” Suguru chokes out, and you’re leaning into Suguru, while your arms wrap around Satoru’s neck, pulling him close. 

“Inside, please, give me your cum,” And they both moan, slowing until they notch themselves deep as they both cum, thick releases painting your walls, continuing to fuck their cum deeper inside, “ngh, fuck,” And Suguru finds your lips in a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, as Satoru digs his teeth into your neck, no protest coming to your mind, only just a want for more, more, more. 

And they slow, creak of the mattress and the pants stilling into silence, as you lean back against Suguru, Satoru’s face buried in the crook of your shoulder as the three of you bask in the afterglow. 

And finally, Satoru slowly pulls himself from you, groaning as he watches the evidence of the double creampie they gave you drips from inside you, “Fuck, sweetheart, we filled you up,” 

“A shame to waste it,” Suguru murmurs, as he pulls his softening erection from inside you, “should we plug her up, make her keep our cum inside her for the rest of the night?” and you’re biting back a moan, but Satoru doesn’t miss the way your lower lips twitch. 

“Oh, she likes that,” Satoru grins, cupping your face to find your lips in a languid kiss, and you taste yourself on his tongue that teases teasingly over the seam of your lips,  “or maybe we should fuck her again and give her more until it drips down her thighs all night, hm?” 

And the moment is fraught with tension, as the two of them lean in again to kiss you, before the door bursts open, making all three of you freeze. 

Fuck (and not in the good way). 

“Oi, what the fuck,” the three of you glance over, as Satoru and Suguru hurriedly covered you up with Suguru’s nearby discarded jacket, “you fucking idiots—” 

“Look who’s talking,” Satoru scoffs, “fuck off,” 

“I would say the same to you, but you already did,” Sukuna shakes his head, “all night you’ve been gone, and you can’t be bothered to keep track of the time?” and your brow knits together, “it’s nearly time for the fucking—”

“Question and answer, with the press,” the warmth of their embraces erased in a moment by the news, a bucket of ice water spilled over your head, “fuck,” you’re trying to scramble to get up, “fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t out there like this—” 

“No fuck you can’t,” Sukuna scoffs, and Suguru glares at him, as he helps you into your dress, while Satoru stands with his jacket as a partition.

“Stop talking if you’re not going to help,” and you’re lucky the dress doesn’t require six people to get into, and you had chosen something relatively simple, with a fucking string corset you were beginning to regret as Suguru tried to retie it as best he could, “fuck, why was this dress so easy to take off?” But he finally gets it, as you open the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror. 

“My makeup, my hair — I can fix it, but not the way it was before,” you’re covering your face, how was your career over before you barely started? “Fuck, what do I do—” 

“It’s simple,” Satoru sighs, “as much as I hate to suggest this, and I probably will go gouge my eyes out—” 

You sigh, “Toru—” 

“I have an idea,” Satoru’s eyes slide to Sukuna, disgust evident in his face, until he glances back at you, “but we’ll need his help,” 

“Don’t worry, I don’t know your name either,” Satoru’s head snaps back to Sukuna. 

“You don’t know—” 

Sukuna smirks, “What’s the plan?” 

Satoru’s expression sours, as he scratches the back of his head, “Well…” 

“You surprised me, brat,” Sukuna says, as he holds your arm, as the two of you make your way back into the ballroom, and you’re adjusting your dress, still far too self conscious — as if everyone could see what you did — even though that was the plan. 

“That I agreed to this?” you murmur. 

“No, that you bit me that hard,” he rubbed the mark you left on his neck, as your cheeks burn, “didn’t expect a tiny thing like you to be able to bite that well,” 

“Well, I had to make it look real,” you look away, but look back when you’re about to reach the doors of the ballroom, “fuck, everyone is going to look at us, aren’t they?” 

“Let them enjoy the show,” an arm slides around your waist, “you know they will.” 

~~~

It’s only been a few weeks since the film premiered, and it’s already far surpassed some of the top grossing films this year. A lot of the buzz generated from the film has been around rumors surrounding the relationship between the two lead co-stars—their tumultuous relationship seems to have come to an end—

And you tune out the video for a moment, scrolling into the comments to see what people are saying: 

sukunasthirdleg69: damn can i get on him next? 👅 

gegesnumber1hater: wonder if she got back with gojo or geto again? 🤭 I’d like to see that groupchat pop off. 

gogecutestprincess replied to gegesnumber1hater: no way she lost her chance with gojo and geto 😤 they deserve better…like each other

You chuckled, at least the news of you and Sukuna had spread as planned. You had enough of the coverage of the premiere with the zoomed in images of your clothes and the marks on both of your bodies. But finally it was done — but how long would it be until you slipped up with Satoru or Suguru and the rumors would begin again? 

“What are you thinking about so much? Aside from me,” Satoru collapses on the couch beside you, hair still damp from the shower, arm slipping around your waist, as he leans over your shoulder, “what are they saying now?” 

“Just more rumors — some are wondering if we got back together,” 

“How could they ever think we let you go?” Suguru presses a kiss to the top of your head, before sitting beside you. 

“I still hate that they think the marks I left are from Sukuna,” Satoru mumbles, as you flip through the comments, burying his face further into the crook of your neck, “how could they not realize it was my hard work that put those marks there?” 

“Because it’s so distinct,” you snort, and he’s pouting as you press a kiss to his cheek, “not everyone has your sharp eyes, Toru,” 

“And yet you saved every picture they got of her,” Suguru smirks, and Satoru glares at him, “but I did too,” 

“What are we going to do when they start talking about us again?” Satoru tilts his head at your question. 

“Let them,” Satoru leans back on the couch, fingers toying with a strand of your hair, “and if you really don’t like it, we can pay them off,” 

“And if I don’t want to pay them off?” Both of them furrow their brows, “what if I want them to know?” You add, chewing on your lip, “about us?” 

“You want to?” Suguru’s gaze softens, “but more than us, it could impact your career,” 

“It already had,” you scoff, when had it not recently? If it was going to be like this, you would at least like to be in control of the narrative, “everyone is always talking about us, well,” your lips curl into a grin, why don’t we give them something to talk about?” 

“And what would that be?” Satoru hums. 

You lock your phone screen, “When does shooting and press start for season three of jjk?” 

~~~~

A few months later….

“A successful film, several offers to be in other blockbusters, and now you’re back shooting season three of Jujutsu Kaisen,” the interviewer leans back, shaking her head, as she fans herself with her interview cards, “I think we were lucky to get an interview with you now! Although it isn’t in person this time,” 

“Well, you can’t forget your roots,” and you couldn’t — this was the first show that had requested you for an interview all those years ago when season one of Jujutsu Kaisen was airing, even if you had relegate them to a video interview, “it feels like this year has been that in many ways,” 

“Oh? How is that?” and your lips curl. 

“Last year with my first feature film and everything else, it felt like starting over — starting from scratch with something so new that I barely recognized myself at some point,” your hands clasped in your lap, “this year, after the film gained so much traction, and going back to film the show that made my career, it just feels like coming home — especially to the cast,” 

“Speaking of the cast, are you going to see more behind the scenes with Gojo and Geto?” she grins, “so many of your videos with those two went viral — are we going to see more of the three of you messing around?” 

And you can’t help the smile on your lips, “Oh definitely you will be seeing more of that,” you’re tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the lights glint off a set of two rings on your finger, diamonds glinting as if begging for notice, and you hear a small gasp. 

“Is that—” and you freeze a moment, before your smile grows wider, and the interviewer squeals, “Are you married?” 

“Guilty,” 

The interviewer grins harder than you are — and you’re not quite sure if she’s more thrilled at the news or of getting this exclusive, “Who’s the lucky man?” 

And you open your mouth, when the camera goes out of focus for a moment, only for it to come back into focus with Satoru and Suguru leaning into the frame of the camera, their arms around your sides. And Satoru lowers his sunglasses with a smirk. 

“Who said it’s just one?” 

✧ a/n: ahh this was super fun to write just because of how much crack it was hahah, i hope you guys enjoyed <3

✧ taglist: @forest-hashira , @supilyu , @yamaguccitadashi, @kentocalls, @magicalgirlb, @ssetsuka , @isabeauwolf , @lemonintrovert01 , @astraecea-silversin , @cerene-dipity , @whorefornoodles , @hobimysolecito , @risuola , @ja-zz , @spider-fan72 , @jayathelostdragon , @therealestpussyeater , @too-much-snow , @umarureid , @rosso-seta , @maddie-jayne , @at-the-chateau , @cherrypieyourface, @sleepysaurusworld , @lucilferz , @spltbtch , @bobfloydluvsblackwomen , @johannakhalafalla , @augustwinesworld , @catsgomurp , @psychxbby, @hellkaiserinphoenix , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @cstandsforchaos , @sunamatic , @lycoris-01 , @mua-for-now , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @voids-universe , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @gorouenjoyer

[cheralith]

wish you well — 「 celebrity!gojo x manager!reader (drabble & headcanons 」

synopsis ; after being one of the nation's most well-loved celebrity's manager for nine years, it's time to call it quits. said celebrity, however, doesn't take it too well.

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, no pronouns for reader used, mild angst, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; celebrity!au, a-list actor!gojo satoru, manager!reader, no powers au

notes ; plot inspired by "what's wrong with secretary kim" after my nth rewatch haha

now playing ; i wish you love - nancy wilson

Everyone goes to lean forward in their seats, gripping the edge of it as the music that’s singing from the movie theatre’s speakers suddenly stops, letting the sound effects of rain pebble through instead. The screen displays a running, drenched man in the rain of a lonesome road in the middle of the countryside, his crystal blue eyes hazy with a brim of tears balancing in them as he huffs and puffs, the exhaustion within him visible. The camera cuts to a woman seated safely under a bus stop as the rain pours down with the same view of a descending countryside town still blurred in the distance. She grips the handle of her suitcase as her head goes to gaze solemnly at her shoes. 

A bus goes to a screeching halt, only the tender wheel of it visible as the woman’s gaze is still stuck on the floor before she looks up to see the bus doors opening before her. The running man appears before the screen, desperation clear on his face before the camera slowly turns towards the bus stop the formerly-sitting woman is now standing under. 

“Loretta! Don’t you dare get on that bus!”  the man yells out, earning the woman’s attention.

The woman widens her pale green eyes at the sight of him breaking out into a sprint. She swallows a nervous gulp, too frozen to move from her spot until the man enters under the shelter of the bus stop. His chest engraved with the lining of visible muscles are evident through his pale blue button-down that’s slicked with water and the sight earns a couple of lip bites from women in the theatre. 

The woman stammers, “Y-you know I need to do this…”

“No you don’t,” the man mutters, the camera panning to show his eyes holding desperation and a slight flicker of anger. “Your father wants you to do this, but I know you. I know you don’t want to.”

“But it’s my duty, Vincent—”

“Don’t give me that ‘duty’ shit!” The man shakes his head, letting droplets of water fling all over. “Loretta, please… just stay here with me,” he pleads, holding her face in his hands and forcing the woman to look up at him as his thumbs wipe away her tears that grab onto mascara. “We can stay here… get a house together… build a family… die old together like you said we would. You’re not gonna break your promise, are you?”

“Vincent, that was when we were six!” the woman exclaims sadly, “Don’t tell me you’re still hanging onto that.”

“I’m not hanging onto that promise,” he whispers, pulling her face closer to his. 

The instrumental of a music track begins to play softly in the background, obvious tension rising to the surface in the theatre as the scene continues. A couple of hands shovel into large popcorn buckets and without thinking, shove the popcorn into their salivating mouths. Nails dig into the palms of hands as some chew on them out of anticipation. Eyes wide and unblinking, they give their full attention to the screen.

“Say the line…” whispers one person.

The man tenderly kisses her in a short, but passionate kiss, letting her release from him with a dreamy sigh. 

“I’m holding on to you,” he murmurs ever so softly. 

Compared to the quietness of the man on the screen, the theatre goes absolutely crazy. Shouts and cheers ring through the air as numerous rounds of applause go to harmonize with them. 

The scene in the movie finalizes with Loretta finally swallowing her pride and nodding to Vincent’s agreement, sealing the movie with a kiss that lasts until the screen slowly fades to black. 

“Annnd… that’s a wrap,” the director of the movie jokes as he stands up from his seat. He earns a few laughs from the cast and the crew of the movie. The theatre begins to light up once more and gives a clear view of everyone, including the section that holds the main cast up near the back. “I’d like to give one last thank you to Satoru Gojo and Yuki Tsukumo one last time for giving an amazing performance and dedicating their time for the past year and a half. Thank you both ever so dearly.”

Satoru Gojo, also known as Vincent, goes to stand up with his co-star, also known as Loretta, and they give a synchronized bow to the people in the theatre as the premier for his latest movie finally draws the curtains from behind the audience. “Thank you for directing another outstanding movie. I truly do look forward to working with you again in the future,” he gives another dazzling smile as he and Yuki elegantly walk down the stairs together. They say their final goodbyes as co-stars and depart to opposite sides of the theatre where they’re greeted with their teams. 

You go to hand him his coat you’ve been hanging on to for the past ninety minutes, the scent of cologne finally fading after a suffocating hour and a half. Glancing at the director who heartily laughs with some of the editors of the movie, you let out a light chuckle. 

“Hm? What’s so funny?” Satoru inquires as he shoves on his coat. 

“You’re such a liar,” you say, shrugging as you and him exit the movie’s premiere together, some of the actor’s team following shortly after, conversing with another about how spectacular the movie was. “You’d rather throw yourself off a cliff than work with that guy again.”

Without looking at you, Satoru grins ahead. “You know me so well.”

Ijichi, the chauffeur, is waiting patiently outside the venue despite the winter cold. When he sights the many delighted smiles and laughter, he asks, “I take it the premiere went well?” 

“Very,” you nod, getting into the car to enjoy its warmth.

The car ride is nothing out of the usual, just quiet jazz playing in the background and the city lights glimmer from above. 

“Oh, what’s the agenda for tomorrow by the way?” Satoru asks, his gaze turning from the window to you, who still is focused on the tablet that checks off today’s draining tasks for the celebrity. 

Photoshoot for Ray Ban… done. Look over next month’s plans for Season Two of Jujutsu Kaisen… done. Suit fitting for movie premiere… done. Movie premiere… done!

“(Y/N)~” Satoru calls again but dragging the last syllable of your name and snapping his fingers in front of you to capture your attention. He chuckles when you jolt in your seat. 

“Sorry,” you mutter before swiping to tomorrow’s agenda. “Alright, nothing too big. You just gotta sign that contract that you’ll be the spokesperson for Chaumet, then right after, you have an Elle interview regarding the movie. Then, you’ll have a final dinner with the entire cast and that’s it for the week.”

Satoru nods in approval and obviously ready to take on tomorrow’s attacks. Only three things? He can handle that with ease. If anything, it’s been less of a load to bring on from the recent events that had been happening as of lately. His feet could really use a break from walking over so many red carpets. 

The road begins to lead down a familiar path as you realize you pass the local family diner, your apartment’s entrance shortly coming to view. Ijichi slows to a stop and unlocks the door, letting you out. Before Satoru can say goodbye to his beloved manager, however, you stop the window from rolling up and lean down into the car again. 

“Oh, I forgot to say this earlier, but,” you pause, making sure his attention is all on you for this short, but possibly life-alternating moment. “You’re also meeting your new manager tomorrow, too. She’s really sweet and—”

Time freezes for a moment.

“Wait a minute,” Satoru furrows his brows and faces his body completely towards you, his countenance pulling the curtains to reveal a confused, serious expression that rarely appears on his face. “New manager…? What do you mean?”

The question comes out more as a demand. Breath hitching for a short moment, you release it and smile gently with the corners not letting your eyes curve. You had been anticipating this moment for the longest time now—around half a year of decision making and weighing the pros and cons, then three months deciding when the right time to break the news would be. But at this time, you’ve ran out of time and you’ve ultimately decided to push it towards the day before the deadline, something you almost never do. A little solemnly, you sigh out softly and finally declare the groundbreaking news to the A-list celebrity, your head still high.

“I’ll be quitting as your manager, soon.”

Actor!Gojo, who doesn't get a good night sleep after that abrupt statement, in which you barely gave him time to try and ask why on earth you're giving up the job that many people would kill for, only leaving him with a small wave and a subtle "goodnight." Your voice replayed in his head the entire night, the sentence resembling nails on a chalkboard the more he repeated it to himself—"I'll be quitting as your manager, soon."

Actor!Gojo, who thinks you have the nerve to put on a smile and greet him good morning the following sunrise as if nothing happened, as if you weren't breaking a bond of nearly nine years with him. Your words for today’s plans go in and out of his ears as Satoru wearily examines your appearance and movements in the kitchen that he almost never uses as he rounds up his thoughts that poisoned his head ever since you said that all-too-bold statement last night that shifted his entire world in the matter of seconds.

Actor!Gojo, who cuts you off mid-sentence, asking you sharply why you're quitting as his manager out of the blue, his usually-playful baby blue hues piercing right into you. He notices your smile faltering a bit, but never completely dissipating, though it comes severely close to doing so when you tell him why.

Actor!Gojo, who listens much too intently for his liking when he hears you out, a feat he rarely does. "The past nine years have been wonderful, don't get me wrong," you murmur as you slather on a sugary marmalade on his toast. "But I don't think I'm really getting much out of life just being someone's manager."

Actor!Gojo, who pretends as if those last two words don't sting his chest. Someone's manager... as if he's not one of the most worshipped and celebrated A-list actors in the industry right now. But he supposes that's why he stuck by you, since you understood that he, too, was just a regular human being at the end of the day like the rest of humanity, even with his godlike good looks.

Actor!Gojo, whose mouth runs dry when you continue. "I don't want to be the side character to someone's story. I deserve to live fully too." you finish, pushing Gojo's plate of breakfast towards him before snacking on the leftovers. You stare at him, awaiting his response. You understand that despite you thinking over such a big decision for a few months, that it was better to rip off the bandaid and avoid any further complications by quitting unexpectedly, even though you knew Gojo better than anyone.

Actor!Gojo, who attempts to understand where you're coming from. Yes, he can get that maybe this life wasn't the most exciting, but then again, what other jobs out there are? At least with this one, you're guaranteed good—dare he say, great—pay and stability, along with experiencing second-hand what it's like to see all the glitz and glamour most of the population fiend for. It's thanks to him that you've been draped in designer clothes for premiers, that you've tried Michelin delicacies, that you've travelled the world. So... why ditch all of that for a more simple life? Aren't you content?

Actor!Gojo, whose mind flashes back to the moment where you stared a little too longingly at a lovesick couple in the window of a coffee shop, or when your eyes lingered on the engagement rings in a shop window that one day he had to get a suit tailored. He suddenly remembers the one dress rehearsal where he witnessed an extra asking for your number before you declined politely. He had asked you jokingly that you were blind to reject such a handsome guy (second to him, of course), only for you to reply you smiled gently at him and said you had no time to date.

Actor!Gojo, who suddenly blurts out without any restraint, and with a little more edge than expected, "What? D'you want to get married or something?"

Actor!Gojo, who regrets the sentence as soon as it escapes his lips. He swallows thickly and attempts to organize the right words for a proper apology. You stare blankly at him for a moment, and before Gojo can say anything, you nod. "Yeah. It's been a dream of mine to, actually..."

Actor!Gojo, who thinks his coffee tastes much bitter than usual, silently nods after a moment of awkward silence. You open your mouth first to try and cut it through, but he beats you to it. "I'm sure I could re-arrange some stuff in the schedule so you can get out there and meet someone. There's no need to quit." He ignores the weird pang in his chest the moment he says "someone."

Actor!Gojo, who frowns when you shake your head. You explain it would still be hard, as he'd remain your first priority despite it all. You mention that you've already submitted your resignation letter to his agency three weeks ago and that it's been processed, that it'll be your last two weeks as you being his manager and that you'll be saying goodbye to what had been nearly a decade of companionship with the celebrity.

Actor!Gojo, who flinches as the doorbell rings and watches miserably as you fetch the person at the door. She's a young girl, around the age when you first started as his manager, with choppy bangs and long blue hair, along with a bright and ready smile. You introduce her as his to-be manager, but Gojo can't shake off the thought of being greeted by her face in the morning and seeing her face as the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep instead of yours.

Actor!Gojo, who thinks this week is going much too fast for his liking. Despite essentially begging for the director of his latest TV show to give him some extra scenes to shoot, he was excused early with the rest of the crew after all the required scenes were shot nicely. Somehow, the brand deal commercial and meeting flew by much faster than usual, too. But despite it all, Gojo couldn't help his eyes constantly flickering to your figure whenever you were in his field of vision, even receiving multiple warnings from the director from the commercial to stop getting distracted.

Actor!Gojo, who finds his gaze lingering on a rather old picture of you and him, along with some blurry figures in the background. Nine years younger, both of you, with outdated fashion and makeup. He remembers you were just shy of being his manager for four months, when he was still trying to break out of the shell of being a nepotism baby and attempting to create a name for himself. Gojo prided himself on his independence, but he'd be fooling himself if he didn't give a hefty amount of credit of his success to you. After all, you were the one that was in charge of his many brand deals and were the one that landed him roles that granted him film awards.

Actor!Gojo, who can't find the right words to say during the drives home, hating how the air is always thick whenever you were alone with him. He doesn't think he can get used to not pulling up to your apartment when the night comes to an end before going to his, despite your affirmations that him and Miwa would get along great. He murmurs a good night to you, not facing you despite watching your reflection intently in the window, but before you wish him a good evening, you say something that forces him to face you.

"I have... a dinner reservation with someone at 6:30 p.m., so I'll be leaving early tomorrow."

Gojo blinks. "Is that implying you have a date?"

"I..." you swallow anticipatingly. "I suppose you could say that."

Actor!Gojo, who feels the familiar pang of his chest as the thought of someone else sharing a dinner with you, something you've been doing with him since the very beginning of his career. He can't even imagine a person, only some sort of foggy figure sitting across from you, sharing a shabby meal. He can tell you're waiting a response from him before you head into your apartment, and he wryly says, "That's great... Hope you have a good time or whatever..." before commanding the driver to drive off, not even waiting for another word from you.

Actor!Gojo, who drums his fingers with great boredom against the door's handle, fighting off the nuisance that was the city's insane traffic this evening. When he gazes out the window to find some other distraction other than his phone, however, he instantly finds himself drawn to a familiar figure being seated at the window a few stories up in the restaurant his car was stuck in front of. You're up there, dressed regally for another, giggling with them at something they said (something stupid, Gojo thinks to himself). Teeth grit against themselves when they feed you a small portion of their food with their fork, the indirect kiss making his eyes narrow.

Actor!Gojo, whose spontaneous anger suddenly dispels when he repeats your words from earlier that week.

"What? D'you want to get married or something?"

"Yeah. It's been a dream of mine to, actually..."

Gojo suddenly pauses and goes still for a while, thinking over something incredulous. He blinks repeatedly, before a grin etches on his face as his plan settles into his consciousness. Gojo may not give you anything you desire if you're just his mere manager...

... but if he were your husband, then that meant your dream would be fulfilled and you could stay at his side for what was essentially the rest of his life and give you anything you wanted. He'd never have to fret about you leaving his life ever again.

Satoru Gojo, you absolute Einstein... he compliments himself proudly in his mind. Letting out a confident huff as the car begins to drive on, he tells the driver to head on over to the nearest jewelry store before heading home.

a/n: hi sorry it's been a while! i was finishing up a semester at uni, so forgive my absence with this little weird hybrid ficlet of mine featuring the one and only

i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my writing! likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

[itadores]

note: actor!nanami plaguing me frfr

tags: fem!reader, actor!au (you and nanami both), nanami is the most perfectest gentleman ever <3

actor!nanami who is so beloved by his audience for how respectful and polite he is. he’s not uppity like some actors of his standing, nothing like those who have let the amount of fame they’ve accumulated over-inflate their ego and level of self-importance. he treats celebrities and normal everyday people alike with the respect they deserve. nanami believes the bar must be in hell for him to be praised for having some common decency, but alas he also knows how fickle people of fame and fortune can be.

but it’s not just nanami’s well-mannered nature that has people singing his praises. no, it’s the way he treats you — his co-star. fans were excited to learn of the two of you starring in a film together and became even more ecstatic when they learned you would be playing each other’s love interests. you and nanami are both incredible actors, well-known and well-loved, but have never starred in the same film before until now. it has people buzzing to know how you two will mesh with one another on screen and wondering how the chemistry between you guys will take shape.

since the film is soon to premiere in just a short while, you and nanami do a number of various interviews to promote it. fans promptly lose their minds when the interviews finally air. not only do you and nanami complement each other very well much to their utter delight, but nanami is such a gentleman in each and every interview with you. he’s always offering a hand to you and helping you in and out of your seat at the start and end of the interviews. wordlessly passing you the water bottle by your feet when it seems like you may be getting thirsty. redirecting any potentially rude questions posed to you while chastising the interviewer in the process. it makes fans swoon watching how nice he is with you.

but what really has fans going wild is the way nanami helps with any wardrobe malfunctions you may have. if the strap of your top happens to slip down, nanami gently pulls it back onto your shoulder to its original place. if you bend over or lean forward too much and your chest becomes overly exposed, nanami is reaching a hand across to help cover you up. or if your skirt rides up, threatening to reveal your undergarments to the camera, nanami is carefully tugging the edge of your skirt down. he does all of this without missing a beat when speaking, his movements practiced as if he’s more than accustomed to doing this.

it quite literally breaks the internet. edits and compilations of you and nanami flood social media immediately, and rumors abound about whether you two are together or not. i mean, they’ve never seen nanami act so comfortable with a co-star before! he seemed to be throughly enjoying himself throughout the interviews, even cracking a smile multiple times, which is so unlike him. fans are divided on whether your guys’ closeness is just to generate more interest in the film or whether the chemistry between you two is real. regardless, many are shipping the two of you together, a mash of your names trending across all social medias.

it makes you laugh.

if you had known you’d receive this kind of reaction, you would have starred in a film with your husband sooner.

[rafedarling]

your last one shot about them being actors was so fun!! do you know how vogue or gq does those how well do you know your partner video? maybe they could do it? or the reader does a vogue beauty secrets video and rafe intervenes accidentally

oooooh that’s a great ideas anon, thank you for send in!!

𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐦

pairing: rafe cameron x actress!reader summary: vogue invites you to participate in their popular “secret beauty” series, where you’ll share your personal beauty routine on camera. filming alone in the comfort of your home, you’re deep into your routine when your husband, rafe, accidentally interrupts the shoot. what follows is a light-hearted and playful exchange between the two of you, filled with the kind of easy affection and banter that defines your relationship. rafe’s unexpected appearance adds a layer of fun and warmth to the video, showcasing not only your beauty secrets but also the loving dynamic between you and rafe. warning: english is not my native language. fluff au: like, reblog and comment are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. a sequel to “love, fame and the future” but can be read as a stand alone one-shot. taglist

Afternoon sun streamed through the windows of your living room, casting a warm glow over the sleek, modern décor that you and Rafe had carefully chosen together. The space was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional distant chirp of birds outside. You were alone-well, almost alone-getting ready to film a special “Secret Beauty” video for Vogue.

You’d been thrilled when the invitation came through. As an actor, you were used to being in front of the camera, but this was different. This was personal, an opportunity to share a side of yourself that fans rarely got to see. And doing it in the comfort of the home you shared with Rafe made it even more special.

The crew had sent over the necessary equipment the day before, but you’d opted to set everything up yourself. It felt more intimate that way, just you and the camera. You’d arranged a small vanity area in the corner of the living room, where the light was best. Your collection of beauty products, everything from skincare to makeup was neatly laid out in front of you.

You did a quick check to make sure the camera was positioned correctly, framing the scene just as you wanted. Satisfied, you hit record, flashing a bright smile at the lens.

“Hi, everyone! I’m Y/n Cameron, and welcome to my Vogue Secret Beauty video. Today, I’m going to be sharing my everyday beauty routine with you all. This is what I do to keep my skin looking fresh and my makeup natural, especially when I’m off set or just hanging out at home.”

You reached for the first product on your vanity, a gentle cleanser. “So, I always start with a good cleanse. It’s really important to make sure your skin is clean before you do anything else. I’ve been using this cleanser for a while now, it’s super gentle and doesn’t dry out my skin.”

As you explained, you began applying the cleanser, massaging it into your skin with gentle, circular motions. “I usually spend about a minute doing this, making sure I get every part of my face.”

Once you were satisfied, you reached for a soft towel, patting your face dry. “Next up is toner. This one’s great because it helps balance my skin’s pH and preps it for the rest of my routine. I just put a few drops on a cotton pad and gently sweep it across my face.”

You demonstrated, moving the cotton pad across your skin with care. “It’s really refreshing and makes my skin feel super smooth.”

You paused, letting the toner absorb, and then reached for your favorite serum. “Okay, so this is one of my must-haves. It’s a vitamin C serum that brightens my skin and helps with any dark spots. I just take a few drops and press it into my skin, focusing on areas that need a little extra love.”

As you applied the serum, you glanced at the camera, flashing a playful smile. “Rafe actually loves this stuff too, even though he won’t admit it.”

You laughed softly at the thought, your mind wandering to your husband. He was out at the moment, running some errands, but you knew he’d be back soon. Knowing Rafe, there was a good chance he’d come back while you were still filming, which could make for an interesting and probably hilarious outtake.

“Alright, now that the serum is on, I’m going to follow up with my moisturizer,” you continued, reaching for the jar. “This is super important, especially after applying a serum. It locks in all that goodness and keeps your skin hydrated.”

You scooped out a small amount of the moisturizer and began applying it in gentle upward strokes. “I like to use something lightweight during the day, so it doesn’t feel too heavy under makeup.”

You were just finishing up with the moisturizer when you heard the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized Rafe must be back. You kept filming, wondering if he’d notice you were in the middle of something.

Just as you were about to reach for your eye cream, you heard his voice from the hallway. “Babe? I’m back! You won’t believe the traffic out there—”

He appeared in the doorway, stopping short when he saw the camera. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then a slow grin spread across his face.

“Am I interrupting something?” Rafe asked, clearly amused.

You couldn’t help but laugh, turning to face him. “Just a little. I’m filming my Vogue beauty routine.”

Rafe’s grin widened as he walked over, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh, so this is the famous ‘Secret Beauty’ routine? I’ve been dying to know what goes into it.”

“Really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “You already know most of it. You’ve borrowed half these products at some point.”

He chuckled, moving closer to inspect the array of products on the vanity. “I might have. You’ve got good taste, what can I say?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “Well, since you’re here, do you want to help me with the rest of it? The viewers might enjoy a little guest appearance.”

Rafe looked at the camera, then back at you, feigning a thoughtful expression. “Hmm, I don’t know. Do I have to do anything?”

“Not really,” you said, reaching for your eye cream. “Just look pretty and maybe pass me a couple of things.”

He laughed at that, pulling up a chair next to you. “Alright, I think I can manage that.”

You grinned at the camera, happy to have Rafe by your side. “So, where were we? Oh, right-eye cream. This is essential, especially on days when I haven’t had enough sleep. Just a tiny bit under each eye to help with puffiness and dark circles.”

You dabbed the cream under your eyes as you explained. Rafe watched with interest, occasionally glancing at the camera as if to check if he was doing it right.

“And now,” you said, setting the eye cream down, “we’re moving on to the makeup. I like to keep it light and natural, especially when I’m just hanging out at home.”

Rafe reached for the foundation, holding it up like a game show host presenting a prize. “This is the one, right?”

You laughed, taking it from him. “Yep, that’s the one. It’s really lightweight and gives just enough coverage without feeling heavy.”

As you applied the foundation, Rafe watched, leaning in occasionally to make funny faces at the camera behind your back, which you noticed only through the camera’s reflection. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help laughing.

“Okay, now for some concealer,” you said, reaching for the small tube. “This just goes on any spots that need a little extra coverage.”

Rafe nodded sagely, as if he were learning some deep, important secret. “You know, I’ve got a spot right here,” he said, pointing to a non-existent blemish on his cheek.

You playfully pushed him away. “Very funny.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to learn,” he protested with a grin.

“Sure you are,” you said, blending in the concealer. “Alright, now for a bit of bronzer to warm up the face.”

Rafe picked up the bronzer and handed it to you with a flourish. “Your bronzer, madam.”

You accepted it with a mock curtsey. “Thank you, kind sir.”

As you dusted the bronzer along your cheekbones and forehead, Rafe looked on, clearly entertained. You could tell he was enjoying himself, which made you even more relaxed and playful.

“Next, some blush for a bit of color,” you said, swirling the brush in the blush compact. “Just a little on the apples of the cheeks.”

Rafe tilted his head, studying your technique. “Looks good. You missed a spot, though.”

You paused, mid-swipe, giving him a look. “Really?”

He leaned in, brushing his thumb lightly across your cheek. “Right… here.”

His touch was soft, and you felt your breath hitch slightly, caught off guard by the sudden tenderness. He pulled back with a satisfied smile, leaving you a little flustered, but in a good way.

“Thanks,” you managed, giving him a playful shove. “Now, let’s finish up with some mascara and a bit of lip balm.”

Rafe picked up the mascara, twirling it between his fingers before handing it to you. “Be careful with this one. It’s dangerous.”

You laughed, carefully applying the mascara to your lashes. “I’ll try not to poke my eye out.”

Once your makeup was finished, you reached for your lip balm, applying a quick swipe across your lips. “And that’s it! My secret beauty routine are simple, natural, and easy enough that even Rafe could do it.”

Rafe, who had been leaning back in his chair with a smug grin, feigned mock offense. “Hey, I might just take that as a challenge. Next time, I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, really? I’d love to see that.”

He smirked, leaning closer to the camera as if sharing a secret. “Maybe we should film a ‘Rafe Cameron Beauty Routine’ next. Show everyone how I maintain this rugged charm.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea, shaking your head. “I’m sure your fans would love that. You know, maybe we should actually do it. Could be fun.”

Rafe’s eyes lit up at the thought, clearly entertained by the idea. “You’re on. But you have to be my assistant. I can’t possibly do it alone.”

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “Deal. But only if you promise not to turn it into a comedy routine.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. “No promises, but I’ll try to keep it professional.”

The two of you shared a quiet moment, your laughter fading into comfortable silence as you sat together, Rafe’s arm warm around you. The camera was still recording, capturing the easy affection between you, something that came naturally, whether the cameras were on or not.

Finally, you turned back to the camera, giving the viewers a warm smile. “Well, I think that’s a wrap for today. Thanks so much for joining me on this little behind-the-scenes look at my beauty routine. I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did.”

Rafe chimed in, his tone playful. “And remember, if you want a real beauty routine, stay tuned for the Rafe Cameron edition.”

You laughed, playfully shoving him again before waving at the camera. “Thanks for watching, everyone! See you next time!”

With that, you reached over and hit the stop button, ending the recording. The red light on the camera blinked off, signaling the end of the shoot. You leaned back in your chair, feeling a sense of accomplishment and a bit of relief that it had all gone smoothly, well, almost.

Rafe stood up, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied grin. “Not bad, Mrs. Cameron. You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

You smiled up at him, feeling a warm flush at the way he called you by your married name. “Well, I’ve had a bit of practice. But I think you might have stolen the show.”

He chuckled, reaching down to pull you up from your chair. “Hey, I’m just here to support my wife. And maybe sneak in a little screen time.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately, letting him pull you into a hug. “You know, you actually made it a lot more fun. I’m glad you interrupted.”

Rafe’s smile softened as he looked down at you, his hands resting comfortably on your waist. “Yeah? I’m glad too. It’s nice to be part of these little moments with you.”

You rested your head against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your ear. “Me too. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”

For a few moments, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside your home feeling miles away. It was in these quiet moments that you were reminded of just how lucky you were to have found someone who understood you so completely, who made every moment, whether big or small does feel special.

Rafe finally broke the silence, his voice soft and teasing. “So, how about we celebrate our first Vogue feature with some takeout and a movie? Maybe we can critique my on-camera skills.”

You laughed, pulling back to look up at him. “That sounds perfect. But I think you might just be a natural.”

He grinned, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Only because I have the best partner.”

With that, the two of you started to clean up the vanity, chatting and joking as you put away the beauty products. The light in the room was starting to fade as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything.

As you worked together, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. This was your life now, a life full of love, laughter, and the kind of everyday moments that made everything else worthwhile. And as long as you had Rafe by your side, you knew that every day would be an adventure, filled with more joy than you ever thought possible.

[chrollogy]

A LOVER’S UNWRITTEN SCRIPT

— kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

syn: A-list actor, Kuroo Tetsurou—your ex lover—is still shamelessly in love with you. It doesn’t help how the intimate scenes you film together feels like a trip down to memory lane where you held each other’s hearts in the past. Despite Kuroo’s best efforts to keep the bubbling feelings at bay, he shamelessly bares the truth that lay inside his heart during a private rehearsal with you—in hopes to rekindle the once passionate relationship you two shared.

18+ MDNI; actor au, ex-lover!kuroo, implied breakup, mutual pining, exes to lovers, light angst, fluff, kuroo is horrendously down bad for reader (pathetically, even), explicit smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby, temptress, my love), not beta read.

word count: 4.8k

notes: weeeee just a lil gift for my dear friend @avatarofstars whom i promised to write a kuroo oneshot for hehe !! enjoy :> divider: cafekitsune.

mimi approved: “he [kuroo] folded like a wet napkin.”

The air was thick, and suffocating, as if it had its large hands wrapped around your neck, blunt fingertips digging into your flushed skin as each second passed, each thundering heartbeat that knocked against your chest. Caged in between familiar arms atop the soft mattress, your gaze was met with bare skin—a beautifully sun kissed chest—peeking beneath an ivory evening shirt with a few buttons sinfully undone.

Kuroo.

An icy shiver kissed along the length of his spine as your digit sensually traced the dips of his collarbones, and down, down, down to the valley of his chest until it's halted by a fastened button. Breath hitching at the eye contact, his hooded gaze clouded with nothing but pure carnal desire, pools of endless hazel reeling you into wicked temptation as his stare lingered on your own a little too long for your liking.

And as Kuroo slowly inched in, your heart skipped a beat or two, the musky scent of his cologne driving all five of your senses up the wall, his evening shirt bunched beneath your very palm.

Fluttering your eyes shut, the mattress shifted beneath the weight of his palms as the tip of his nose found your own, lightly rubbing it against each other—teasing the intimacy of your faces. God, what a tease.

Mere centimetres apart from your lips, the tension in the air steadily climbed to its peak as Kuroo’s hot breath interlaced with your own, locked in an endless dance before being whisked away as he seals your lips together in a passionate kiss.

Familiar. It was all too familiar—the movement of his lips, the heavy breath that planted butterfly kisses all over your face, the miniature sounds that slipped past his mouth, the plushness of it.

Vivid memories burned into your eyelids at the familiarity of the kiss, recounting the bittersweet past that you once shared with the ravenette—the sweet exchanges, the ‘i love you’s’, the countless nights spent tangled in each other’s bodies under the moonlit skies.

A low groan stirred from Kuroo’s chest as he eagerly pressed his face further, the back of your head flushed against the ivory pillow beneath as the soft smacks of your lips together filled the thick atmosphere of the room. It made him dizzy, his body eager for more, more, more as the cloud he rode ascended higher.

Before Kuroo could brazenly slip his hot tongue past your lips to take it up a notch, the director’s sharp voice sliced through the sultry atmosphere, bitterly reeling him back to reality—as if his whole body had been drenched in icy waters,

“Cut!”

It felt like your bodies were mere magnets attracted to one another because it took all of Kuroo’s sanity to hesitantly pull away from you—from your lips—giving ample distance between both your bodies, a daring contrast to a few seconds ago. Lips parted, and chest heaving to satiate his lungs with much needed oxygen, Kuroo took the time to ground himself; to remind himself that, in fact, this was all just an act. Nothing was real.

A breeze of coolness engulfed your skin at the lack of your co-star’s body warmth, a tinge of loneliness rooting itself as you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Reality slowly settled in your skin, slowly becoming aware of the amount of crew, and equipment around—harsh lights flooded from the side, the view of the boom mic hovering above the bed, the camera that captured each scene.

Kuroo couldn’t hear a damn thing the director was saying over the harsh pounding of his heart, mind plagued with endless thoughts of you—it was always you. No one else.

Sure, this was all for the upcoming movie the both of you starred in but he couldn’t erase the fact that everything felt so normal, like it was meant to be. It pained his yearning heart that outside these calculated scenes, you were cold, and distant, carefully treading around him as if you were surrounded by a field of landmines—one wrong move, and everything burns to ashes.

At the end of the day, Kuroo couldn’t blame you, he was the one who initiated the break up in the first place. Five years ago, you were both aspiring actors under the same agency, auditioning for supporting roles left, and right to get your respective names out in the film industry—to get noticed by your unique talents. Somewhere down the line, Kuroo prioritised his career, leaving you to man the boat in the staggering relationship until one day, he finally saw fit to break it off.

A long time has passed since then, now, the two of you were illustrious actors that became household names through sheer talent, starring in countless award winning films. You, and Kuroo only saw each other through prestigious award shows, and buzzing premiere nights but nothing more than a few distant glances here, and there. And it was certainly both your first time to land a romantic leading role together.

The first time Kuroo properly saw you again was during table work for script analysis. Bare faced, clad in the simplest clothes, and a navy blue hat over your head—it had his heart shamelessly hammering away despite the awkward greeting you both exchanged. Safe to say, the ravenette had his hazel gaze locked on you the entire time, stuttering over his words the entire time while a deep crimson blush stained his sun kissed cheeks.

You were different—attractively different. The way you carried yourself in absolute confidence had him weak in the knees. It felt like he was young, and crushing all over again. A feeling Kuroo swore he’d never get tired of as long as it was for you.

Back in his trailer, the raven-haired male unceremoniously plopped himself atop the black leather couch, the fabric groaning beneath his weight. Resting an arm over his closed eyes, he let out a sigh into the empty trailer, silence engulfing his whole body.

It had been a long day of filming for 16 hours, albeit, only the second day, Kuroo still hasn’t gotten used to spending full days with you, he only had his personal trailer to collect his thoughts, and calm himself down from the raging feelings that bubbled in his chest. It was embarrassing, really, a grown man acting like a lovesick, hormonal teenager around his ex-lover.

He felt guilty on his end—you’ve been nothing but completely professional as any actor should be. You voiced your thoughts with the director during particularly challenging scenes, even going out of your way to discuss, and rehearse some lines with Kuroo before the initial shooting had started. Meanwhile on his end, he gawked at you like some starstruck fan, blindly agreeing to whatever you suggested, if it meant getting closer to you.

Funny thing was that Kuroo was forced to work twice as hard to ignore the blossoming feeling deep within the pit of his stomach; the feel of your clothed body beneath his palms, your plush lips, your gaze that never failed to make his breath hitch, it all drove him absolutely insane. 

Removing the arm over his eyes, Kuroo’s phone loudly buzzed from the vanity table, the noise hastily reeling him back to reality. He let out a short sigh before standing up to check the device, legs heavy with exhaustion in each step. The device lit up in his hand, displaying a text message from you; that’s right, you’d asked for Kuroo’s number during the script analysis—he never really deleted yours but it was no use anyway, you had a new one.

‘Hey, Kuroo. Sorry for the late notice! I was just wondering if you wanted to briefly rehearse a few lines with me tonight before filming the scenes tomorrow?’

One thing he couldn’t get used to was you calling him by his surname—it was always Tetsurou or Tetsu from you. God, how he missed the way it rolled off your tongue like honey, saccharine, and smooth. Now, Kuroo just sounded so. . empty, and cold.

Nonetheless, he shook off the uncomfortable feeling rooted deep within his chest, rolling his broad shoulder’s back, muscles moving beneath his ivory evening shirt—it was a habit Kuroo had picked up whenever he felt slightly off.

He swiftly typed back a response, ‘Don’t worry, I don’t mind it at all! I’ll meet you in an hour?’

Seemed casual enough. 

A second later, you replied, ‘Cool :) Meet at my suite in an hour.’ Kuroo’s heart pounded at the thought of spending the late hours of the night in your hotel suite. Sure, he had previously rehearsed lines with you but that was in one of the rooms in your talent agency which felt like he was on the clock. Practising scenes with you in your hotel suite however, it was a completely different story—it felt more intimate.

Given the far distance of shooting location, the production had booked separate suites for you, and Kuroo under the same hotel. It had its pros, and cons—pro: being able to see you first thing in the morning whenever you both headed to the shoot in the mornings; con: even with a wall between your suites, just thinking about how close you were drove Kuroo a little crazy.

Given the ample time to wash up, and prepare for the night ahead, Kuroo stood before the ivory double doors to your suite, script in one hand while the other lightly knocked. After a heartbeat, padded footsteps from the other side hastily made its way towards the doors, faint sounds of the lock becoming undone. A door swung open, revealing you in your relaxed late night attire,

“Come in. Thanks again for coming.”

It was exactly the same view that Kuroo had in his suite—boasting a vast, modern space for its esteemed guest, the suite exuded utmost sophistication, and luxury with its grandeur floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the bustling city beneath. Not trusting his voice, and giving you a nod, Kuroo stiffly headed for the champagne couch beneath the gleaming chandeliers.

You weren’t going to lie, seeing Kuroo standing before your door was something you kind of missed, the way his build almost completely obscured the view of the carpeted hallway outside—it wasn’t a foreign sight at all. You had to mentally slap your face for ogling the man, even for a brief second. 

Though, no one could really blame you with the way Kuroo’s casual attire hugged his physique; clad in a white printed tee that you knew very well, paired with comfy, jet black sweats. The shirt he wore was his favourite, even back then, though, the only difference was that his torso filled it out much, much better now—the slight bulge of his muscled chest that left little to one’s imagination, and the sinful stretch of the ivory fabric circling his beefy biceps.

Oh, god.

Mentally cursing yourself, you followed suit after locking the doors behind, opting to sit on the champagne couch parallel to where Kuroo sat—his back was straight, and away from the backrest, sitting slightly on the edge of the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. Did you want anything? Hm, the complimentary dom pérignon is still unopened in the wine fridge. .”

Kuroo shook his head, “I’m fine.”

Mixing alcohol into this rehearsal sounded like a nightmare considering how much of a blabbermouth he became once liquid courage stained his bloodstream.

Nodding at his contentment, both of you spent the first few minutes sharing a few notes about the script from the table read, exchanging thoughts and ideas to grasp a deeper understanding of the scene at hand.

You had to physically refrain yourself from smiling at the way Kuroo stumbled over his words from time to time, his hands animatedly moving with each sentence that slipped past his lips. He was always so confident around everyone else but when it came to you, his mind just blanked. After all these years, he was still the same old Kuroo that you loved, and knew.

Something deep in your chest bubbled.

After a while, you were both on your feet, acting out the scene in the expansive living room which involved a bit of a heated argument back, and forth between the female lead, and the male lead.

Kuroo’s tall figure loomed over your own, pools of hazel staring down at you, full of hurt, and confusion, chest heaving from all the emotions that surged through every fibre of his body, “Do you—do you not love me anymore? To even throw baseless accusations at me while my heart yearns for you day, and night is unfair. If you don’t feel the same way for me anymore, tell me, my love,” Two steps closer, trembling hands coming up to cup your jaw, while his solemn gaze locked on to yours.

“Just. . just say the word, and I’ll let you be. Even if this is the very thing that breaks my beating heart.”

Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you inhaled a sharp breath, returning Kuroo’s solemn gaze, your hand sliding up to rest atop one of his own, “No—god, never. I love you so much it hurts. I love you with all my heart, and soul. . ‘M sorry I said stupid things. I just—”

“Shh, it’s okay, my love.” He whispers into the air, barely audible. Kuroo leans his forehead against yours, staying still for a brief moment, before pulling away, eyes shifting down to your lips—the next part had a passionate kissing scene between your character, and Kuroo’s character.

He waited for your approval with a bated breath, and with a slight dip of your chin, Kuroo didn’t hesitate to dive into your lips, letting out a content sigh as he sealed the distance.

The kiss was slow, and deep—it felt real, almost like it came from the depths of his heart. He took his time with your lips, moving ever so slowly to savour the saccharine taste, and angling his head to gain better access. The two of you stood there, in the middle of the spacious living room, lips locked in a sensual kiss, neither one dared to pull away as if waiting to hear the director’s voice say ‘Cut!’ to end the scene.

It never came.

And Kuroo gripped your face a little tighter, pressing himself further into you, savouring the plush of your lips before abruptly pulling away. You shamelessly chased his lips for more, looking up at your ex lover through hooded eyes. Something in the atmosphere shifted—maybe it was the way Kuroo looked down at you, his pink lips parted, and chest heaving or maybe it was the way his kiss felt too real. It was different from the kisses he gave in front of the camera.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint it but Kuroo’s kiss weighed with history behind it.

“I love you. God, I still do. So fucking much.” Kuroo breathed out, voice shaky. He couldn’t hear his own words properly over the hammering of his heart. Fuck, he felt his head spinning. 

That wasn’t in the script. Was he improvising?

You froze beneath Kuroo’s searing touch upon hearing the sudden confession, meeting his solemn hazel eyes. If he was being honest, he didn’t know why he had the sudden urge to just let you know what lay inside his heart, all Kuroo knew was he was still shamelessly in love with you—none could change that fact.

“Kuroo . . ?” A deep crease between your brows formed as you furrowed them, trying to find an answer beyond pools of amber. He gave a mournful smile, “I’m sorry, I was such an idiot back then. I-I know it’s stupid to ask you to come back to me but . . you’re the only one I truly want.”

The man before you sheepishly looked down at his feet as you stared at him in disbelief, like you’ve seen some kind of ghost. Your head spun—it was too much to process, you didn’t know whether to be happy because you felt the same way or angry since Kuroo had the audacity to confess that easily after leaving you in the air for so long.

Fuck it.

At your deafening silence, the hands that cupped your face loosened, Kuroo’s body slowly reeling back but before he could put ample distance between, you grabbed him by the collar of his ivory shirt, and eagerly sealed your lips together, earning a surprised gasp from the taller male.

Melting into each other’s hold, Kuroo cut the sweet kiss short, opting to pepper hot, open mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, nose grazing against your sensitive skin to breathe in your intoxicating scent,

“Mhm—! Tetsu. .”

The sudden use of his nickname earned a sharp bite at the junction of your neck, pulling out a dulcet moan from you. Kuroo’s head spun at your dizzying sounds—god, he missed the way his name effortlessly rolled off your sinful tongue. The slumbering beast between his legs stirred as you continued to call out his name into the air like a prayer.

It wasn’t long before the two of you stumbled onto the soft bed while locked in a messy, passionate kiss, trails of discarded articles of clothing along the wooden floors of the suite, just like a pair of lovers who had been long deprived of each other’s blazing touch—it awakened yours, and Kuroo’s dormant, yearning hearts, and nothing was bound to stop it now.

It had been far too long silently orbiting around one another like two celestial bodies intertwined in an endless dance, gravity never straying you both too far from each other but also neither bringing you closer. Tonight, however, it seemed like the universe had granted you, and Kuroo a potent gravitational force—two celestial beings bound for a planetary collision.

It was scandalous—something keen-eyed tabloids would go crazy over—all teeth, and tongue paired with a series of whispered names into the night air. Professionalism was long thrown out the window.

Oh, you could already imagine the amount of bizarre headlines with your names plastered all over the media if one were to see a glimpse behind the doors of your hotel suite.

Just like the scene shot earlier today, Kuroo caged your naked body with his arms, every dip, and curve of his muscles contoured beneath warm hues of the lights above. He slowly kissed his way down the valley of your breasts—teasingly poking his sinful tongue to lap in between them—down to your stomach until reaching the very place where you needed him the most.

“Just like I remembered—beautiful as ever.” Kuroo breathed out, in awe of your raw beauty laid out in front of him to absolutely devour, hazel eyes filled with genuine admiration. His breath fanned over your hot sex, pulling your thighs apart to reveal your glistening cunt.

He didn’t hesitate to dive in, groaning into your soft skin as his tongue eagerly explored your sensitive core. With his eyes closed, forehead creased in absolute concentration, and fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, Kuroo pressed his face further, relishing the familiar flavour that graced his taste buds—you. Your hands were quick to fly down to his unruly raven strands, tugging at it as he lapped your insides like there was no tomorrow.

Whimpers of his name lingered on the damp air, going straight to his cock that hardened with each moan of his name.

Sinful, lewd sounds of Kuroo’s tongue against your velvety walls, mixed with your moans reverberated throughout the expansive suite. He pulled a long, airy whimper from your lips as he nudged the tip of his nose against your sensitive clit, sucking profusely on your sopping cunt.

God, he felt right at home.

The feeling Kuroo had been chasing for the past five years finally came to him on a silver platter, and he wasn’t about to let it go again.

A bubbling feeling in the depths of your core slowly made itself known, rapidly rising up, up, up near the surface where it was bound to release but before that could happen, you mustered all your strength amidst the lustful daze to form a coherent sentence,

“T-Tetsu—wait! Mhm! Hold on. .” You audibly gasped, prying him away from your sensitive cunt. A smack of Kuroo’s lips lingered in the air as he pulled away, hooded gaze staring up at you with concern laced in his eyes, “Something wrong? Did I hurt you?” He panted, hot breath ghosting over the apex of your legs; you watched as his eyes frantically scanned your face, looking for any signs of discomfort.

Shaking your head, Kuroo softly melted onto the ivory sheets below with ease, waiting for you to voice your thoughts; keen hazel eyes watched as you bit your bottom lip, a tinge of hesitancy clouding your blissful expression, “I want to cum around you.”

There was a heartbeat, a brief moment as your words registered in Kuroo’s head—his lips, glistening with your essence, slowly parted, the crimson blush across his cheeks deepening as he fully grasped your sentence. Millions of emotions surged through every fibre of his being, ranging from A to Z. He deemed himself the luckiest man alive, just the thought of feeling your hot, velvety walls around his cock made his head spin with lust.

”You little temptress.” He breathlessly chuckled, it was anything but innocent.

Kuroo eagerly situated himself to your left, propping his body sideways to face you. As if communicating through telepathy, you mirrored his action, bare back flush against his naked chest—it was second nature at this point, having done this countless times in the past; safe to say it was yours, and Kuroo’s favourite position.

Hooking your left hand under your thigh, you propped it up onto the air, a dainty moan escaping your swollen lips as Kuroo teasingly brushed the tip of his hard cock. It made you a little nervous with the knowledge of how thick he was—sure, you’ve taken him inside you before but five years was a long time ago. As if he could sense your nerves, Kuroo placed a trail of chaste kisses from your neck down to your shoulder, whispering sweet nothings into your skin.

With a bated breath, he slowly inched in bit by bit, earning a series of colourful profanities slipping past your lips. God, Kuroo was fucking thick. “Mhm . . Y-you feel so good.” He whined, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he bottomed out, relishing in the way your eager walls sucked him in without an ounce of hesitancy, almost like they were welcoming him back.

Both of you stayed still for a moment, sounds of heavy breathing filling the warm air of the night, basking in the rawness of each other’s body, the intimacy of the whole thing—the way Kuroo felt inside you, and the way you felt around him. “I missed you so much, Tetsu . .” That was the last coherent sentence you confessed before he slowly drew his hips back until the head remained, and sensually thrusting back in.

Kuroo wanted to take his time, giving you deep, slow thrusts to feel every inch of him, and fuck, you absolutely did. The way the head of his cock kissed your sweet, sweet spot had your eyes rolling back, and hand gripping on the ivory sheets below; it didn’t help how Kuroo directly moaned into your ear, hearing every incoherent mumble that slipped past his lips.

His fingers dug into the plush of your hips, angling his own to gain better access. Soft, lewd squelches of your bodies meeting filled your ears as Kuroo’s pace picked up a bit, the bubbling feeling once again resurfacing as each hammering heartbeat pounded on your chest.

Fuck, it’s been so, so long since you’ve had him—the way your body reacted under his touch were enough proof of how deprived you were of this man.

Tears pooled around your eyes at the depth of his sheathed cock, hitting places inside you that you’ve never discovered. A series of dulcet moans rumbled from your chest, and onto the high ceiling above, forehead pressed against the soft mattress beneath as pleasure engulfed your whole body. Tired, burning muscles on your left thigh was nothing compared to the ecstasy that gnawed at every fibre of your being.

But before you could reach the peak, Kuroo slowed down, earning a loud whine from you. Looking over your shoulder, you met his lustful gaze, lashes, and eyes glazed from tears of bliss, 

“W-wha—Why’d you stop, Tetsu . . ?” “I’m sorry but I really want to see you, my love.”

Next thing you knew, Kuroo had flipped your bodies—he remained on the bed while you straddled him, legs on either side of his waist. Impatience brewing in your chest, you wordlessly grabbed his hefty cock, and slipped it inside, earning a unison of deep moans from both of you.

An icy shudder licked up Kuroo’s spine as your nails scraped his bare chest. “Tetsu.” You whined, slowly moving your hips up, and down, up, and down. Raven strands stuck to his sweaty forehead, beads of sweat rolling down his flushed skin; he stared up at your fucked out expression, biting on his bottom lip at the sight before him; oh, how he missed this view.

It didn’t take long for you to become a whimpering mess as Kuroo thrusted upwards, meeting your hips as you came down. This earned a loud moan of his name, curling over your own body, and planting your forehead flush against his sweaty chest. 

He let out a humourless chuckle, “Tired, baby?”

Before you could muster a response, Kuroo shifted beneath your limp body, hands coming up to rest on your hips, and planting the soles of his feet firmly on the mattress before mercilessly pistoning his hips into yours.

You eyes swiftly opened at the intense pleasure that ate away at your body—fuck, you didn’t even know they were closed—moaning loudly against Kuroo’s skin like there was no tomorrow. The room was filled with the heavy scent of sex, sounds of shameless skin slapping echoing throughout the walls of your suite; if one were to walk along the hallway, they’d know exactly what was happening beyond the ivory doors.

Unable to move your hips due to Kuroo’s deathly grip, you lay limp on top of his naked body, taking all of him, and the relentless pounding, your bare figure jerking with every sinful thrust. Looking up at him with teary eyes, you rested a trembling hand on his cheek, basking in his handsome beauty—his face concentrated in pure bliss.

“A-ah—! Tetsu. . ‘M coming!”

All it took for Kuroo to cum with you was your blissful expression, and the broken whine of his name. Sheathing his hard cock deep inside your cunt until his hips were flush against yours, he let out a shameless moan of your name, head pressing into the pillows beneath as icy shivers ran up his spine. Your body stiffened with pleasure, clenching around Kuroo’s cock as you reached your orgasm; a small whine left your lips at the feeling of his hot cum painting your walls white. 

You lay limp atop his body, sweaty, muscles burning with exhaustion, and blissfully on cloud nine. Staying still for a brief moment, heavy breaths filled the air as the situation settled onto your bones. With your eyes still locked on Kuroo, your thumb gently caressed his cheek, earning his hazel gaze in return.

“I thought you were improvising earlier.” You let out a tired laugh, trying to lighten the mood now that lust was slowly wearing off your mind.

He looked down at you for a brief second before fixing his gaze onto the ceiling above, a solemn smile gracing his lips, “I meant every word I said back there, you know? I . . I still do love you. Like I mentioned earlier, it's stupid but I want to at least try again. I’d be more than a fool to let you go.”

Kuroo looked down at you once again as you placed a chaste kiss on the tip of his chin—something he had grown fond of—gaze melting as you met his eyes once again; he gave you a smile, one that reached his eyes.

“I’d be the more stupid one if I refused. I missed you a lot, Tetsu.”

The next morning, the shoot started off without a hitch. Surprisingly—as observed by the crew—there wasn’t a sense of awkwardness between you, and Kuroo in comparison to the first two days of filming where many had noticed that you, and your co-star didn’t have much chemistry off-camera to begin with.

No one dared to point it out but many have noticed the lingering touches here, and there, the prolonged eye contact, and the stolen glances. One member of the crew even swore to have seen you sneak over to Kuroo’s personal trailer at the end of the shoot with a lovesick smile written all over your face.

Safe to say that these subtle actions carried onto premiere night, and press tours for the film which may or may not have had eagle-eyed fans, and tabloids speculating about a budding relationship between you, and Kuroo, especially when asked during promotional interviews.

Though, you’d both usually just laugh it off with a shrug. It was best to keep it personal—like an unwritten script.

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

[mononijikayu]

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

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

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

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

WORD COUNT: 15k words

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

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

the good life ― masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wish I was.”

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

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

And then you heard it.

The click of a camera. 

The murmur of a voice. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me, ma’am—”

You could see Kenshin’s jaw tensed. 

Keiko’s entire jubilation just harshly fell.

You swallowed the bile down your throat.

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

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

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

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

But they didn’t care about all that.

“Ma’am, are you considering divorce?”

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

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

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

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

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

And you, well you always did what you did.

You faced your children well and fully smiled.

Like you always did, you wore the mask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach turned. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The way their eyes surged with such devastation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Years?”

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, you already knew the answer.

And your kids probably also knew.

Because you still loved the bastard.

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t even turn around. “No.”

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

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

You smiled bitterly. “They know, Kento.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. “…Did you sleep well?”

Your daughter didn’t even glance up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch your tone—”

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

You flinched. “Keiko, look….”

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

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

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

“I never—”

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

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

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

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

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

And you hated yourself for it.

He knew you hated yourself for it.

But you hated separation more.

That, you hate about yourself too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kento sighed. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

“…I know,” you finally whispered.

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

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

But you couldn’t say it at all.

Because you still loved him.

And you hated yourself for it.

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

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

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

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

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

You saw it in his eyes.

He knew those words to be true.

And he still wasn’t letting you go.

Kento’s grip on you tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t stop there.

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

And you lost it.

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe, please—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had given him what he wanted, his dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His control.

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

This was the price of his betrayal.

And he had no choice but to pay it.

That was your quid pro quo after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you saw her.

Fushiguro Toji’s wife.

And she was staring back at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you never forgot her because of that.

She was the only one who had ever apologized.

She was the only one who truly meant it.

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

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

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

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

“…It’s not your fault.”

The woman froze. “…What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only difference between you and her was simple.

You weren’t that woman anymore.

You had already been shattered. 

You had already lived through the aftermath.

But her?

She was just beginning to fall apart.

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

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

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

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

And her face was completely crumpled. 

Tears burned her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled.

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t answer him.

You just smiled for the cameras.

And he didn’t force you anymore.

Instead, he smiled right beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

Nanami Kento was.

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

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

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

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

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

The crowd awed. 

That had irked you.

But you still smiled.

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

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

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

Because they thought you were emotional.

But you weren’t, you really were not.

You were fucking numb, to all of it.

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

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

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

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

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

And Kento fucking knew it.

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

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

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

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

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

Kento’s jaw clenched. “For what?”

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

Kento completely broke. “Baby…..”

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

The silence in the car was suffocating. 

Kento didn’t speak.

You didn’t either.

Maybe that was for the best.

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

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

"Over here!"

"You look stunning tonight!"

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

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

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

You hated it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You inhaled deeply, trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

You just wanted to go home.

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

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

But then you heard it.

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

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

“She still stayed after everything? Jesus.”

Your throat closed. 

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

Your hands shook.

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

That was when you broke. 

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

“Baby, please don’t—”

“I need a minute, Kento.”

And you walked off.

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

“…Hello?”

Your head snapped up.

And there he was.

Gojo Satoru.

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

“…Yes?” you managed, still dazed.

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

You blinked. “You… recognized me?”

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

Your stomach turned. “…What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach tightened. “…Why?”

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

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

“That’s—”

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

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

And yet, here it was.

Here he was.

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

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

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

“Everything else matters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know what to do with that.

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

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

“But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “It's frustration."

You felt your pulse quicken. "Frustration?"

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

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

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

You snicker. “And why is that?”

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

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

Gojo Satoru saw you.

He saw the truth of you.

He saw nothing but you.

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

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

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

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

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

Your husband Kento.

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

And he hated it.

But he didn’t say anything.

He really shouldn’t.

Even if he wants to.

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t you make me remember this?”

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

“Satoru–kun—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your mind was elsewhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I saw her. She was here tonight.”

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

Satoru’s smirk widened. “Her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I’ll just have to remind her.”

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

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

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

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

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

And the worst part?

Geto Suguru knew he meant it.

That’s what’s worrying him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spoilers.” he murmured.

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

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

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

“But where’s the fun in that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[27vampyresinhermind]

Acts of Love Chapter 7: Every Second, Every Minute Make Me Wanna Celebrate It

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58751896/chapters/162370015

[nouearth]

love in the making.

grant gustin x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the talk of the town is the production of a new picture starring hollywood's elite star, grant gustin and his co-star, you! as the chemistry between you and grant escalates, so do the tabloids, and the executives aren't happy. what will happen to your relationship with grant when the studio takes matters into their own hands?

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 13.6k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 mid 1950s!au 〳 coworkers!au 〳 movie star!grant 〳 up and coming actor!reader 〳 smoking 〳 yearning 〳 slow-burn(?) 〳 gossip columns 〳 soap opera type of drama 〳 sexual content: top!grant, bottom!reader, anal penetration, breeding, kissing, spitting, blowjob (r!giving), praising, body worship, snowballing.

The leathery smell of cigar permeated the room. Grant added to the thickness in the air with several puffs, then suddenly modulated his breath when he realized it was his turn to run through his lines.

“Pardon me, Katharine. Your voice was so mesmerizing, I nearly fell to a slumber. Where were you when my mother ran out of bedtime stories to tell?” Grant cleared his throat, fulfilled by the laughter scattering from one person to the next while Katharine Scott, the leading lady of the picture, turned scarlet.

He began reading his dialogue.

It was half of the truth. Grant just didn’t bother mentioning that you’d been on his mind since the minute you walked in and introduced yourself -- that would’ve garnered a peculiar reaction. Aside from the screenplay, Grant’s eyes often meandered to you when they needed a break. The words on the script were beginning to scramble like alphabet blocks.

Before the tables were pushed together for the read-through, he noticed how your feet were crossed at the ankles, toes tapping to a rhythm he never noticed. In moments where the writer consulted with the director about the wooden dialogue, Grant could hear your muted taps speed up. Were you nervous? You had to be; you only had your foot in the industry for barely more than a year -- which was apparent.

You still had that humility in your smile.

Maybe it was frustration? Grant chewed on a pen he was holding as he attempted to decipher those pursed lips of yours. It was the color of flesh -- as it should be -- but why did he find them so… entrancing? It wasn’t just the color that got to him, but also the texture. They looked soft, really soft, as you ran through your lines with Katharine. Soft like your voice when you said your name for the first time. Soft like the grip of your handshake, which Grant knew you were well-aware of because you suddenly tensed your fingers at his fingers, nails into his palm, to compensate for your lack of callous. Soft like the ham and cheese bagel he had this morning, you would bite your own lip from how indistinguishable the bread roll and your mouth were from one other.

He chewed harder at the thought. Why does Grant want to see that happen?

“Grant? It’s your line.”

When Grant’s vision focused harder on your lips, he realized your mouth was aiming directly at him. Separating and closing, all for him. He immediately perked up.

“What—oh. Right. Where were we…” Grant felt warmth creeping up his neck, rubbing at it to ward off the heat. He only made it worse as it climbed to his chin and mouth, the taste of heat almost perceptible when he fought it off with a lick of his lips. “Gross, what the hell is—“

Metallic, acidic, and bitter on his tongue -- it was a taste that made him fully alert to the blue stain on his script. Then quickly after, the peculiar heat dripping off the corner of his mouth.

“Grant, you have—“ He watched you conceal a gasp when he turned to you, but your eyes -- everyone’s eyes -- made it perfectly clear that he needed to break this habit of chewing pens.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me…”

He should’ve listened to his mother when he was little.

“Just my luck…”

Grant was bent over the sink, scrubbing away at his face with a soapy hand. He was dressed down to his undershirt, figuring he’d address the stain on his dress shirt later in the evening.

It was almost like there was an invisible force field around his chin because the ink stain was refusing to wash out. Grant was certainly in a better position than before, but he could still make out that splotch of grey-blue, muted from his unrelenting efforts to look somewhat presentable again.

“Grant, you all right? I’m coming in,” He recognized your voice immediately and perked up at the prospect of seeing you again, even if he really ought to know better than to be happy to see someone in this predicament.

Especially a handsome one.

“I think it’s coming off, you think? Could be my flesh that I’m tearing away at, but if it works…”

It was natural to glance at someone when they enter the bathroom. Humans are naturally inquisitive people. Innovation and evolution weren’t the result of keeping to oneself. What wasn’t natural was staring, particularly when it came to a man’s face, which seemed to have been exasperated from adrenaline.

You were panting and heaving as you made your way to counter. Grant took notice of your necktie, swinging from side to side with every step you took. You must’ve forgotten a tie clip. If not, then it must’ve fallen sometime between the moment he left the room and you entering the bathroom.

He had to admit, you looked—

“Keep at it and you’ll find the city of Atlantis,” you stifled a chuckle when Grant washed off the soap suds again, only to reveal what many would presume to be a rather strange five o’clock shadow.

Well, half of one.

“Speaking of finds,” he grabbed a handful of paper towels to dry his face, then nodded towards the paper bag that you had set on the counter. “What’s the loot?” Grant asked, partly because he wanted to distract you from watching him any longer and because he was simply curious.

Once again, inquisitive people drove evolution. In this context, Grant would like to get to know you more -- for the sake of the motion picture, of course.

“Went to the general store and thought you might need these,” you began unpacking the bag one by one.

A package of bar soap, a tin of cold cream, and a modest bag of assorted fruit chews. “Soap? We have soap right here.” Grant recognized the logo on the bag, there was a candy store west of the studio lot. He wondered where you went first. Did you get hungry during your brisk shopping trip, or was the general goods store on the way and you needed to kill time?

“Yes, well, that’s hand soap. You need Ivory soap, which is hydrating and better for your face. Hand soap will dry you out.”

He also wondered why you were helping him out. Not that people don’t go out of their way to help a celebrity of his status, but often, he could tell when someone was contriving flattery.

“What about the tin?” Grant asked. With one hand, he picked up the tin and analyzed the engraved packaging against the light.

You began rummaging through your bag of fruit chews. “Cold cream. It’s what my mother uses to remove her makeup. Use that before you wash your face. It should help melt the stain,” Pink wrapper, it was a strawberry chew. Grant deduced that it also must have been your favorite flavor since you searched high and low for it, flicking past the greens, blues, oranges, and yellows.

Replaying it back in his mind made him chuckle. He had been inside the candy store before, usually spending a few cents on chocolates for his dates. Still, the store was a marquee for locals who wanted to self-serve their candy bags and that hadn’t gone unnoticed. A buffet of confectionery to put it persuasively, which made Grant laugh again at the thought of you picking out the strawberry chews.

You could’ve avoided the trouble by not packing the other flavors at all.

“It’s for women… ‘She’s engaged, she’s lovely, she uses cold cream,’” The irony of the tagline shared a brief fit of laughter between you and Grant.

It felt good to hear you laugh, even if it was quite apparent that you were restraining yourself to lower the chances of choking on a fruit chew. Death was inevitable as much as it was arbitrary, and Grant was not letting a handsome man like yourself be the first case of ‘death by candy, and a badly timed joke.’

Besides the point, you were benign. Your knowledge in women’s beauty products caused a case of interest, and that made Grant want to excavate your formality even more.

“You look like you belong in the Looney Tunes, Gustin. That should be the least of your worries,” he watched you primp yourself in front of the mirror, minor adjustments to your hair where the gel had fallen loose. “Anyway, I’ll get us some lunch. They said we’ll resume in a bit. You like salami? I know a place that makes a great Italian sandwich. Good fries too.”

With autumn approaching, the weather was only getting windier. By dint of the way a strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead like the stem of a cherry, Grant figured he should make amends with the upcoming season if it meant he would be seeing more of you fixing your tousled hair.

“Actually—wait for me, yeah? I prefer dining in for lunch, can’t stand soggy fries,” Grant opened the tin of cold cream and was instantly hit with a whiff of nostalgia -- something of gardenia and vanilla all at once. He must have smelled this at his mother’s vanity at some point in his life.

“Well, you must hurry because I had nothing but double the allotment of caffeine. I feel like Lucy in that one run where all she had for dinner were mints,” you were referencing an episode of I Love Lucy, adjusting your tie in between glances.

He slathered on the white paste and rubbed at the stain on his chin. Grant wouldn’t have guessed this was part of a woman’s nightly routine. If he ignored the floral notes, the product resembled shaving cream for the most part.

“‘There’s nothing quite like a good after-dinner mint,’” Grant quoted a line from the same episode you had mentioned. In retrospect, he was glad he shelled out a couple hundred bucks for the hottest commodity of the decade. He had never seen someone’s eyes light up the way yours did.

If the building was set on fire and everyone had to be evacuated, Grant wouldn’t have known by virtue of your radiant smile -- it was disorienting. Whether or not he would’ve made it out in time… the matter of the fact was that his fate was entirely dependent on you, and Grant was surprisingly at ease with that proposition.

You cleared your throat when it registered that the stare shared between the two of you had stopped you in your tracks, Grant in his. The silence was almost tangible. Grant wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at your eyes, then your nose, and then your lips again. That information served no purpose, only to embarrass him with the strong chance that it might’ve been too long.

Much too long for him, he began noticing your delightful cologne and not the smell of floral and vanilla. If he took a step closer, maybe he could—

“You can wash it off now. I’m curious to see if it works.”

For now, Grant was content on watching you at arm’s length, eating your favorite piece of candy and laughing as you tidied yourself.

It seemed like he was only beginning to scratch the surface.

It had only been a little more than a week of principal photography, but Grant was quick to inform himself of the director’s social cues. Sucking in his bottom lip meant that something regarding the scene was off -- whether it be the lighting, the wrinkle in a shirt, the fumble of dialogue, or the stiff movement of the actors. He was a meticulous man, stopping a take when Grant’s hair wasn’t as slicked back as he had envisioned. Imposing at times, but the general kindness kept the set rather freeing.

Today, Grant received a firm nod behind the camera.

“You got a light?” Grant asked with a cigarette between his lips, patting his pockets only to leave with empty hands. He pulled a chair next to where you had been studiously scribbling notes on your script. He couldn’t have read it if he tried -- and he had tried once -- chicken scratch hadn’t left your fine motor skills anytime soon.

“Uh-huh. Every apartment has one if you find the right landlord,” you said dryly, flashing a cheeky grin and continuing to annotate the script in your hand.

“Cute,” he snickered while you fished a lighter out of your pant pocket. It wasn’t your scheduled smoke break yet, it was often reserved right before lunch. You figured that you mind as well get one out of the way since the clock was nearing lunch time anyhow.

Lighting up your cigarette, you drew in a breath of tobacco and felt it cloud over your brain after, tempering the stress signals with warmth. “Here,” your thumb remained on the flint wheel while your free hand hovered over the flame to block the desk fan. The wick of fire bridged the distance between you and Grant as you both leant forward to ignite his cigarette.

His hand rested on yours, gently bringing the lighter closer to the end of his cigarette stick, and stabilized itself until the tobacco was lit.

It shouldn’t have felt intimate. It was probably from the smoke, wasn’t it? The type of buzz that made Grant hallucinate all and everything around him -- black crows if he was in a troubled sate. In this case, it was the tremble of your hand when Grant held it, unsteady like the lighter’s flame before you had capped it. It was the look you gave him, aggravated if it was from most men, but almost imploring on your end. It was the silence that bestowed between the two of you, the type where Grant knew you could tell he was staring at you now, because you began scribbling arbitrary patterns on the margins of your script.

He should probably tell you that the scribbles were merging with your annotations, but Grant had to be careful. Otherwise, he was going to open his mouth and give you an earful of lunacy, starting with “Your hands are cold” and ending with “Can I hold them for longer?”

“So, what’s for lunch today?” You asked, stretching your arms overhead. Grant watched your fingers closely as they fanned out and held nothing but air.

“I could go for a hamburger. You?”

“Something light for me… think I’m coming down with a bug. My stomach suddenly hurts.”

Grant regretted letting go now.

“We missed you at shooting today. And yesterday. And the day before that. Mainly Wilder though—he likes how you can get scenes done in one take.”

You were caught off-guard hearing Grant’s voice through the handset. Even if he was calling from the other side of town, there was something about his presence that made you sit up and spruce up your surroundings, not forgetting your own appearance, of course.

“Well, that’s comforting. I’m sorry—how exactly did you get my telephone, Grant? Where are you calling from?” It must have been the hoarse sound of your voice that made Grant laugh into the handset. You could see it now, his smile.

“Don’t worry about that—and from my hotel. What you should be worrying about is your health. Why are you still up?” Grant started out lighthearted at first, but then muttered, like the weight of his concern strung his voice along.

Really, you ought to sleep. The positive of being sick meant that you could leisure all day and not feel guilty about watching television, even if you had outdone your daily average by a margin. The negative? Your senses were heightened by tenfold, which was ironic because your sinuses were blocked. That didn’t matter whatsoever. What did matter was that you kept waking multiple times throughout the night because your bed was either too warm, too cold, too soft, or too hard.

Now, sleep was as elusive as seeing Grant. It had only been a couple of days, yet you began to feel off -- which could be another symptom of the flu in hindsight.

“It’s wash day. I’m soaking my clothes as we speak,” you flicked off the television to hear Grant better. The rain was pouring down hard on your window.

“You do your own laundry?” Grant asked. He sounded genuinely astonished.

Picturing his expression alongside, you couldn’t contain your laughter any longer. “I am an adult, Grant.” Your toes said otherwise as they wiggled in your socks in complete bliss.

Hearing Grant’s voice was a much-needed energy boost -- way more effective than the oranges you had been eating, but not on par with the programs you had been watching. He’ll get there soon.

“I usually have my housekeeper do it for me,” he confessed.

It was no surprise. You read all about it in the papers before, how the wealthy hires a live-in help, or a nanny if the household contained a family with more than enough kids. They were all cut from the same cloth either way.

“And have you noticed any silk ties going missing?” You asked in jest.

“Now that you mentioned it—“ Before Grant could finish, you laughed, picturing his expression screw into realization that he hadn’t worn his red necktie in a bit.

Objectively, it made sense. The last thing you would want to do is clean the bathroom after coming home from work. It was a luxury you would like to have the option to afford one day, but for now, having a housekeeper was merely that—an option.

You had a much more ambitious goal in mind, and that was making an impact on Hollywood. “Case adjourned.”

Grant’s laugh suggested defeat, and you were all too familiar of the long silence that would come after. If he was here face-to-face, you both would sit in the sound of white noise, or the beating rain in this case, and simply stare at each other.

You weren’t sure when or how it came to fruition, and in the end that didn’t matter—because it was nice.

It was nice to be free from all things interfering with Grant.

“What was for dinner?” He asked, instantly reminding you of the emptiness in your stomach.

“I overslept—well, as overslept as one could be when all they have on their agenda for the day is to die in bed while watching re-runs.”

“Dying to one of Lucille Ball’s shenanigans doesn’t sound too bad. If you time it right, the audience can laugh when you exhale your very last breath,” you laughed at Grant’s morbid mind. “I’ll come over then.”

“You don’t know where I live, Grant. And no, I might pass the bug to you. You’re the production’s biggest asset. We can’t afford any more delays if you fall sick too.”

“I do, actually. The apartment with the orange accents. It’s all everyone talks about because it’s so bright. And I’ll be fine, (M/N). I shot quite a bit of my scenes already. I know you’re a rising star, but the whole world doesn’t stop for you, sweetheart.”

Hearing Grant call you ‘sweetheart’, even if it was said in jest, had you thinking of several different situations in which he would say it again -- preferably in earnest.

“It should. All the take-out places in my neighborhood closed early. What I would do if I had the world in my palm…” From the couch, you looked solemnly out your window, watching blocks of buildings sleep in the shadow of the moon. Your stomach growled as the rain poured harder.

“Even as a dictator, you wouldn’t be able to stop me from coming over. I’ll be there in a split.”

“But it’s raining—“

The line ended with a buzz.

“You know, you don’t have to keep checking up on me, or even bring me food for the matter. I stocked up on some ‘TV Dinner,’” you took a whiff at the steaming bowl of lobster bisque, putting your sinuses to the test. Still nothing. Giving up, you took a sip.

“No wonder you’ve been complaining about your throat! At least buy the meatloaf one,” Grant poured you a cup of orange juice before putting the jug back, rummaging through your freezer after. “And since we’re on the subject… I’ll try one of these bad boys out.”

It was strange seeing someone in your kitchen, let alone your apartment. As unfamiliar was it was, you couldn’t lie and say that you hated it. It was easier to talk to Grant, on the couch and eating a meal together, than it was with a bunch of people interrupting their conversation for either one of them, sometimes both, to do another take.

“Have you ever been offered the chance of being a mystery guest?” After finishing dinner, you curled up on one end of the sofa while Grant sat on the other, arms sprawled over the back and feet cushioned separately by a foot stool.

You and Grant were watching a late night re-run of ‘What’s My Line?’ Four panelists had to question contestants to determine their line of work with only yes-no questions. Toward the last round of every episode, there would be a celebrity mystery guest in which the panelists sought to determine the identity of while blindfolded. For tonight’s episode, the panelists were still stumped on the first contestant’s ‘occupation’—which hardly seemed fair because it was then revealed that she was a victim of a knife-throwing accident.

They let anyone participate these days.

“I have. I wanted to partake in it, but the studio rejected the idea.”

“Why’s that?” You asked, aghast.

Frankly, if you were in Grant’s shoes, you wouldn’t have take ‘no’ for an answer. Anyone who was anyone guested on that show. And if you were Grant’s manager, somehow scarcely able to believe you would even have the energy to be in meetings all day, you would have made his dreams come true. All of them, no matter how absurd they could be.

“They thought I’d be confused at the questions given to me,” Grant sounded aggrieved. You looked over. In the guise of his smile, you could tell those words still affected him. “I think I’m capable. I just lose my train of thought in front of a crowd sometimes.”

Which made the passing thought of being Grant’s manager only a fantasy as the guilt suddenly festered -- you believed those horde of headlines insulting his intellect once. Luckily, it had since dissipated once befriending him.

“Well, when the day comes, I don’t want you to tell me,” you confessed. “Leave the surprise to the broadcast.”

Though, it wasn’t like you thought lowly of him or made any disparaging remarks on his character because of those articles. Rather, you simply pitied. You weren’t going to tell him that, however. He doesn’t need to know how deep your affection for his films and personages go. That he gave you the kick you needed to pursue this strange, yet fulling path -- you could taste the accolades right around the corner, even if you were still living in a dingy apartment.

The awful truth was that Grant also didn’t need to know that you had fallen harder for him -- the real him -- than any other roles he had played. Maybe it was his gorgeous looks that projectors couldn’t do justice. Or the clumsy nature that strangely fit his otherworldly persona -- something had to humble him. Or how he was doing this, bringing you soup every day and making himself comfortable in your own home, like it was his as well.

Or how he was looking at you right now, curled up on the other end of the sofa, his foot accidentally brushing over yours in midst of finding a comfortable spot.

You stretched your legs out when you suddenly felt tense in the body, turning away from the television set to face your body to the ceiling, your chin to your chest to keep your eyes on Grant, who began mirroring your position. It was like you two discovered telepathy for the first time; your leg occupying the gap between his thighs, Grant between yours. He turned the TV off like you had been wanting, filling the living space with complete darkness, and blindly skimmed his sock over your own.

Feeling his sock rub against your ankle stirred something inside of you, and it wasn’t reassuring that this urge only bloomed when Grant did it again. Once at your ankle, two at your calf. Whether this was his idea of a sick joke, you didn’t want that to be answered. Your senses were already heightened from the flu, the stillness in the room deafening, but the intertwined pairs of feet -- the sound of cotton caressing cotton -- alerting. Enticing.

It was an urge that seemed confined to Grant, you realized that when your body responded out of instinct and nudged his ankle and calf in retaliation. Not to get him to stop, but to silently convince him to resist -- because you were frightened you couldn’t any longer.

After a few more cycles of this—whatever activity you two were engaging in—Grant straightened his legs by your hips, seemingly complacent in this exchange by the sound of his chuckle.

“I’ll leave by dawn.”

“Good night, Grant.”

For the past couple of days, you had gotten into the habit of looking forward to Grant’s daily delivery of soups from a restaurant not too far from where he lived—three meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner respectively. You had to admit, as delicious as they were, you were beginning to exhaust your taste buds of anything broth related. Substance was much needed, especially for a bite of the sandwiches that Grant had graciously introduced you to a couple weeks back.

However, you were feeling better, and that was the most important part—actually, scratch that.

The most important part was who was helping you recover from this aggravating bug. Sipping on the last spoonful of tomato soup, in hopes that your next meal would involve using your teeth, you were itching to resume filming.

At least you thought you did before you flipped through the daily paper. It was a still shot of Grant—blurry, walking down a sidewalk, hand in one pocket while the other was carrying a bag. That was normal, you had seen many of those in your lifetime.

What wasn’t normal was that you recognized the restaurant logo on the bag, the row of evergreens surrounding the perimeter, the distinct branding of the entrance of the building he was near.

Even if the photograph was in black and white, you could tell the handles and windows were painted with a shade darker than white. It made for a rather intriguing backdrop if you could choose to ignore the tightening feeling in your chest.

You started to panic as it became more apparent.

Orange.

“Shit.”

You braced yourself and read the headline.

HOLLYWOOD PLAYBOY STRIKES AGAIN: GRANT GUSTIN SPOTTED AT NEW ALLEGED LOVER’S RESIDENCE!

At first Grant thought he must have misunderstood. When he picked up today’s daily, he was half-expecting a gossip column regarding another one of his romantic adventures with a former co-star, the other half wishing the paper had focused on someone else for a change.

Last month’s column produced a rather in-depth, and slightly creepy, overview of his dinner with Miss Patton. He knew he had good reason to feel peculiar about the waiter serving them. If it hadn’t been for Miss Patton’s desperate plea to get a meal in her stomach as soon as possible, Grant would’ve demanded a switcheroo, effective immediately. The lanky, young man lingered far too long and asked too many questions for his liking, his presence alone made Grant’s Negroni Spritz go flat.

Did Grant’s reputation need to take another hit after finally recovering from those multitudes of fender benders a year and a half ago? Probably not -- Grant didn’t need to endure another hour-long chastising session about how his actions could damage the movie studio. It was all bluff anyway. Grant and the studio head both knew that scandals ushered in huge numbers, record-breaking attendances when it came to his most recent pictures.

Either way, had he known his private conversation with Miss Patton would become… well, not so private, Grant would’ve committed arson to the studio the night of. At least the executives could file an insurance claim based on the physical damage. Grant doubted there would be much validity to the claim if the reason provided was his inability to hold his tongue.

Luckily, Grant had since stopped pursuing after risks. It was what made a dent to his once speck-less Mercedes-Benz in the first place.

Dear God… my sweet Iris, what have I done to you?!

What he wasn’t expecting was—

“‘The Gustin Effect! Hollywood Heartthrob Grant Gustin Helps Local Restaurant Sell Out… Soups?,’” Grant repeated to himself. He was sweating as his eyes went over the large serif font for the nth time like skates on ice. He had to give it to The Daily Spring -- it wasn’t exactly an intriguing headline, but it made his heart race knowing the context. Regardless, it wasn’t exactly how he wanted to start off his day.

He suddenly felt compelled to pour another packet of sugar into his coffee.

“Keep reading, it’s a rather heart-warming article,” Grant’s manager said through the handset with a peculiar enthusiasm, as if the man wasn’t scolding him a few days ago for wandering about without telling him first. “Looks like we’re back on track, don’t you think?”

“As my manager, you’re supposed to be—I don’t know—warding off any worries that I might have. Not unsettle me any more than I already am…” Grant frowned, tucking the handset between his shoulder and ear before briefing into the rest of the gossip piece.

“What are you talking about? This is great news!”

“‘Local restaurant ‘The Cloud Room’ saw an unexpected surge in business after a photograph was published in the newspaper, showing movie star Grant Gustin holding a bag of the restaurant’s soups while en route to a secret rendezvous.

The image caught the attention of the public, leading to a wave of curious customers eager to try the same dish, dubbing the star’s powerful influence as ‘The Gustin Effect.’

With lines stretching down the block for the past three days, the possibility of the effect faltering anytime soon seems slim to none. The owners are considering expanding their hours to accommodate the growing number of customers drawn by the star's casual endorsement.’”

There were several more paragraphs, but Grant couldn’t be bothered to read any more of it. A sudden migraine had been festering the moment he laid eyes on the headline.

“Christ, Kid. You’re on a roll these days. I’d have to use both of my hands to count the number of articles written about you this past week. It’s impressive. If we play it right, then the upcoming picture could be your biggest hit yet. I know you’ve been clamoring for this moment, Kid.”

“Listen, I think I should—“ he groaned, rubbing at his temples.

“Oh, Grant. It’s just your typical fling, wasn’t it? Usually you sweeten a lady up with chocolates, but I guess… soup has its merit too. Nothing to worry about.”

Throbbing -- Grant’s head was throbbing now. He didn’t have the freedom to be indifferent to other people’s opinions. In fact, his career relied on it—on the public, on his manager, on his manager’s manager.

“No, the thing is—“

Now his hands were clamming up. He could feel the handset in his palm slipping, but he tightened his hold—because that was what people in his line of work did, right? If he was on the game show you and Grant were watching the other day, one of the questions would have been:

“Do you portray yourself as who you really are in your line of work?” “Are you free to express yourself however you wished in your occupation?” “Would people like the real person behind this persona of yours? Your parents, perhaps? Grandparents?” “Would you risk the comfort of your career for love?”

“I’ll run it by with the studio. Thank God for your little lady’s soup obsession because they were on my neck for letting you off my leash.”

Maybe his manager was correct in inducing this fear of the press, of anything that provided a space for a cluster of inquisitive people who sought for a piece of his life to sell.

Grant braced himself and exhaled, “It’s not a lady.”

Because Grant would answer all those questions with a resounding ‘No.’

“What, your brother in town? Do you even have a brother? Oh, it must’ve been your father then! Well, that will certainly fare better with the heads—”

All except one.

“It was (M/N).”

All the things Grant wasn’t saying sat heavy in his mouth. He wasn’t used to holding his tongue like this. Under normal circumstances, Grant would ramble non-stop about his favorite pastimes, like going up to Colorado to challenge the steepest ski run, or modestly luxuriating near the poolside at his mansion. It always got the conversation to a flying start with you.

Now, all of his efforts of building some kind of relationship with you seemed to be in vain.

Since Grant had revealed to his manager about his frequent visits to your apartment, there had been a constant stream of articles, propagated by the studio, about his love life, about his philanthropic efforts, about his wishes to build a family with a loving wife and four kids; all in the effort to bury his truth had it ever leak.

They brought his past flings back to the spotlight, even if he hadn’t communicated with these women in months. They brazenly brought you into the picture, gossip columnists regurgitating all types of bogus stories such as: your ego-trip when you demanded filming to stop because of your illness, your tantrum on set when Grant forgot his lines, your need to berate your assistant when she was as little of a second too late in fetching your coffee.

‘Inside sources,’ they’d call it—when really, these were excerpts manufactured from the publicity agent’s fictitious and unpublished novel, later trashed somewhere in the building to start a new one -- to find a new story for so-called ‘journalists’ would hound you with.

Articles about the alleged feud between you and Grant had only gotten more vicious and scathing on your end, and all Grant could do was watch in agony as the studio lot became a media circus, increasing day by day, week by week, with more photographers and reporters desperate to encounter these alleged incivilities. As a newcomer in the industry, it certainly raised your profile, but it was also to the detriment of your reputation -- a fact that everyone was content with considering the amount of coverage the film was receiving.

He had held onto your presence as a small comfort throughout the past bleak month, but even that necessity was taken away from him. More executives began coming onto set under the guise of quality assurance as shooting headed for its last week. Their intention became very much apparent whenever Grant would be inconvenienced with another obligation of shooting for more publicity stills.

Upon realizing you had done all your promotional material in solitude, there was nothing Grant had wanted more than to join you by your side. More so, when in a cursory attempt to blend in with your surroundings, you helped yourself to the catering service and tried to become interested in the employees. Grant knew you didn’t have enough energy in you to exchange more than a “How are you?” and some complimentary words about the food.

You didn’t stay much longer for the wrap party.

Nor were you even welcomed.

He was rarely in a situation where he could physically harm someone, but seeing the headlines the past month, how ostracized you had become during the last few weeks of filming, maybe the circumstances of his life would issue a free pass to do such heinous crimes out of the goodness of their heart -- especially since it pertained to you.

“You shouldn’t be here, Grant. Christ—someone could see you! How did you get here without someone following you?”

Before Grant was being sharply pulled into your apartment, he was contemplating on whether he should greet you with a reasonable “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” a pleading “It’s all my fault, please forgive me,” or a simple “Hi.”

The door clicked shut, and Grant mentally slapped himself out of his thoughts. Instead, it was none of that.

“Everyone got wasted by nine,” Grant revealed lightly; there was some apprehension that any louder, he would break you based on your meek appearance. “Your eyes are red.”

You made a dismissive noise, brushing Grant off as you passed him on your way to the bedroom. “It’s only been a month and you’re already forgetting the color of my eyes, Grant? I’ve been telling you to go to the doctor.

Grant followed. By simply watching your back, Grant noticed your walk had changed. “Stop. Stop that.” You walked too fast for your own good at times, missing shops because you had tunnel-visioned toward the front, but Grant easily caught up to grab your arm and stop you in your tracks.

Or maybe he was just getting accustomed to your pace before shit hit the fan.

“Stop what?” You turned, facing him as you leaned against your bedroom door with crossed arms. At your lower eyelids, Grant caught sight of tears forming along the waterline. He shouldn’t think that crying looked lovely on you, so he kept that thought to himself.

But it really did put him in a trance for a moment. During that moment of attraction, it couldn’t be helped that the open collar of your shirt also led various prospects nearly consume him and all of his being, making him take a step closer. His fingers brushed by the tip of yours, the wattage of the slightest physical touch making you flex your fingers like you were upholstered by secrets.

A month shouldn’t have felt that long, but this was the moment when it all came into fruition -- that Grant hadn’t properly spoken or seen you in a month. He remembered how he felt when you looked at him for the first time, something like a sensation coming painfully back to a numb limb. As torturous as it was, it made Grant feel alive.

“Stop pretending like you’re okay,” Grant swallowed hard, finding himself in a dilemma between wiping your tears for you or giving you the space you clearly needed, even if Grant had involuntarily done enough of that.

You scoffed, using the back of your sleeve to wipe your eyes. “I’m not pretending. I don’t even have stray cats in my balcony like I used to anymore to be okay for.”

“Stray cats would’ve brought you much more comfort than I ever could, I have to admit that,” Grant said, your face assuming an expression that led Grant to plausibly assume you would have disagreed. That, or he was simply toying with his delusions, knowing he couldn’t fathom the tangible truth of the damage his relationship with you had undergone.

He meant it when he didn’t want anything more than to join you by your side. Grant followed you to the sofa and sat next to you, knees and thighs touching. Hands—pairs of hand wishing they could hold you in between the passing silence.

“Why didn’t you call?” Grant didn’t think you mean for the reasonable question to sound as despondent as it did. He also didn’t think he has a lapse of control left, because you looked so fragile and nebulous—that despite his best efforts, Grant eventually slipped a hand into your palm because he was afraid acknowledging your existence would make you disappear.

He held you tighter.

“My hotel was under supervision… it’s not an excuse, I know. I should’ve tried to find a loophole. I couldn’t even write to you without the possibility of being caught. And when I was, they released more of those horrid articles about you. They were breathing down my neck, (M/N). I swear. I didn’t know what to do other than to… be complicit. I’m sorry. Truly. I’m a coward.”

“You’re not,” you sighed with eyes fixated on Grant’s hand in yours. “You have a lot more to lose than I do. I get it.”

He caressed his thumb over your palm, sparking some kind of will to exist by which he had the gentle squeeze of your hand to judge by. “Doesn’t mean it’s right, though. I don’t know, it all happened so fast. If I would’ve shut my damn mouth, none of this would have happened. I just—panicked. For God’s sake, it’s not like we’re…”

Lovers. Grant doesn’t think it was his imagination that something in you seemed to have unwound after the implication. If Grant hadn’t mentioned that he wasn’t great at comforting people, which he was confident that he had never told you, it counted for something when he was struck by the relief in your shoulders and hand, your palm seemingly sinking—but you didn’t have to fret, because Grant was there to catch you.

He was more capable at this than he had thought.

You chuckled over Grant’s reservation to even say the unspoken word, so you left him be. “My manager told me to lay low for the time-being and wait for the storm to pass. It’s nice to know I’m not fired or anything, they know it’s all deceptive.”

There was something so comforting in the ability to be physically touching you, in knowing that from here on out, Grant could simply take you by the hand, shut the door between the two of you and the rest of the world, and share your thoughts.

Maybe if all went swell, hand-holding wouldn’t be confined to a sad set of affairs. In Grant’s ideal world, holding your hand would also be the preface of something more, a bridge that allows him to cross his way over to you and explore all facets negative and positive, intimately so.

“We’re all pawns to the studio anyway. Vehicles that put in an extra floor to the building. Bad publicity is good publicity. It’s free marketing for the film. Scandals make stars, and you’re halfway there.”

Grant was sure of it. He had seen many other actors and actresses recover their careers with far worse rumors. The main priority was money, and as long as it didn’t stop the audience from filling up the theaters, there was no reason to drop a talent.

You brought your legs onto the sofa and crossed your legs facing Grant. “Is that supposed to be comfort me, Mister Fender Bender?”

“That was only three times—and, mind you, no one got hurt.” Grant followed suit. His bent knees pressed against yours. He had your hands opened in his palms as if telling fortune was second nature to him, tracing the lines embedded in your palm with an inquisitive index. “How am I supposed to comfort you, then? Tell me.”

Your hands weren’t much smaller than Grant’s, the fact had been known since the very moment you two had exchanged handshakes for the first time. Still, those beautiful appendages visited his dreams often. It hadn’t meant anything to Grant until one night, he was dreaming about the day he had his hand over yours as you lit his cigarette. The second night, he dreamed of you testing his temperature via the back of your hand to Grant’s forehead. The third night… well, Grant was ashamed to admit that his attraction had breached far into indecent territories by which helped him solve a night of endless tossing and turning in a matter of minutes.

Then multiple nights, because Grant since wholeheartedly accepted that this infatuation for your hands had actually preceded his deep affection for you.

Unless someone brought good reason that Grant should stop playing with your hands and obsessing over them, it wasn’t in his agenda to ever let go.

“You’ve done enough. I guess… I’m a little upset that I splurged on a new suit for nothing. I was going to wear it to the wrap party,” you huffed, idly playing a game of ‘Try To Catch Grant’s Finger.’ No prize money would be offered, just bragging rights—which did have some merit.

So far, you were losing.

Grant smirked as he managed to wriggle a finger out of your grip. Five points for him, two points for you. “Who said there can’t be one with just us two?”

“Cheater! And that’s called a date, Grant.”

“I would’ve stayed then.” Suddenly, the solution to end your pitiful evening slotted in place.

He sprung up from the sofa with a hop, smiling graciously at you. “Come on. On your feet. We’re bringing it to a place I know.”

For Grant to call his residence something as pedestrian and humdrum like ‘a place,’ as if all the great virtues and grandeur of the mansion had been entirely diminished because the construction of expanding his already-massive pool had been halted for whatever reason—you questioned, and was rather frightened to know, about what his idea of a party was. It soon became a momentary thought when Grant began giving you a brief tour around his mansion—and the amenities that came with it.

With its manicured gardens, gold-plated fixtures, towering columns that couldn’t have prepared you for the imposing entryway, Grant’s stately mansion exuded an aura of refinement and exclusivity, and you were in awe by the sense of splendor. You felt out of your element. It was extremely telling as you walked over the imported marble floors like they were made of crystals. Delicately caressed ornate sculptures stoned near every corridor because it would have been irresponsible for you to only observe the complex lines that made their forms so irresistible. It was the epitome of a lifestyle that you would never be able to afford, yet you weren’t jealous at all.

It was a spectacle for sure, but you couldn’t have possibly felt comfortable living with such large quantities of upkeep. Grant mentioned that his bedroom was his favorite, and that was what you could get behind. It wasn’t opulent like the rest of the resident was. It felt lived in, homely, comfortable, even though you were hyper-aware of the fact that his balcony practically contained another living space.

“Get changed in the bathroom. I’ll wait here,” Grant said, sitting on the end of his bed. You had never seen a king-size bed before, but the magazines weren’t lying when one of the print advertisements likened their mattress of that size to a cumulonimbus cloud.

The color of your bespoke formal wear spoke softly; champagne at the blazer and cedar at your slacks. The fabric so light, they almost seemed without substance. The great craftsmanship nearly made you empty a week’s worth of cigarettes in a day, but the tailoring of your suit, alongside the cut and detail, quickly separated you from the past appearance of a boy who had yet outgrown his father’s hand-me-downs to a well-dressed and confident man who paid his bills on time. Once you slicked your hair back for the final touch, you walked out of Grant’s bathroom to reveal yourself.

“I forgot my tie on your bed.”

Grant had opened his mouth to take another gulp of whiskey, but when he turned to look at you, his tongue was seemingly paralyzed in the back of his throat, suddenly coughing up the previous sip he had taken.

You laughed while you made your way to his full length mirror stationed by his closet. He was quick to follow behind, subsiding his raw throat with the last ounce of liquor and grabbing your tie on the way over.

“You look nice. Though, I didn’t take you to be someone who was keen on light colors. You always wore navy,” Grant said, turning you to face him by a gentle hold on your shoulders.

You tipped your head when Grant began to slip the necktie beneath your shirt collar. “Most of my clothes are from my father’s. I will say—as much as it made a dent in my wallet, it was nice buying something for myself for once.”

You tried not to be too obvious about looking at all facets of Grant; the careful attention of his gaze; the veins in his hands as he looped the cloth. In this moment, you came to realize that you wanted Grant in all the ways you were used to ignoring. This was different in the past, different from those peculiar exchanges between the two of you where playing footsie and skimming hands were simply done in the guise of naivety.

He caressed the green cloth in his hand while his gaze focused on yours, utterly complacent about how he compelled you to part your lips with a single look.“Well, you made a great choice. You look terrific. Handsome.” All so alluring, when he stalled further, slowly passing the fibers of silk between inquisitive fingertips. With one firm tug, Grant knotted the tie at your throat, pulling you closer to him in the process. “Beautiful.”

This was different because you knew Grant felt the same way.

“Beautiful?” You repeated for clarification. The word that came out of his mouth littered you goosebumps over your skin. Nobody had ever called you beautiful, you were sure you were the first man in history to be called as such.

You refused to believe this was a serious statement, but then Grant repeated cooly, “Beautiful,” and before you could counter, he pulled on your tie again, nearly closing the small distance between the two of you, and settled his lips on yours.

You collapsed into the kiss, like it was taking all the effort not to kiss Grant, and you were finally giving up. Grant knew that you wanted this, that by any sensible measure desperate for the taste of liquor to come from his mouth and pass into yours with the swap of his tongue. He knew it the way he knew that the Western End had the best suits in the city and that you needed a reservation for almost every restaurant in the district—it was a fact that he didn’t have to think about, and which everybody else knows, too.

You didn’t mean to make that noise come out of your mouth, but after suffering a lapse in Grant’s presence, his lips on yours felt like a whiskey sour on a hard day. It was much needed gift with the past few months you had been having. The softness and care in Grant’s lips made your breath shudder, one would think you had been laved by the cold sea, whereas you were actually melting, in Grant’s arms, gripping his lapel for balance.

“I missed you,” Grant said softly. He circled his arms over your hips, his hands sliding beneath your blazer because he needed to feel every muscle in your body tensing, to pull you impossibly closer to memorize how you fit in his arms.

You supposed you had to credit the liquor for his brazenness.

“I missed you too,” you collapsed into his arms, trusting the warmth of his embrace.

He kissed you in between breaths. “I missed you so much, I couldn’t function properly knowing you were hurting. Guilt was hollowing me from within,” Harder on your mouth, apparently coming to the conclusion that you relished in the roughness of his embrace, in the bruising link between your mouth and his, from the way you gasped and pulled more of him into you. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” Palm deep against his nape, you pushed his head toward the slant of your jaw because you needed to recover your breath. Quickly, before you would risk the chance of collapsing on behalf of lost time, dispelling your last remaining breath inside Grant’s mouth out of desperation to overcompensate.

“I told you it was fine, Grant—“ You groaned when he began nibbling at the underside of your jaw. By virtue of his unstoppable desire, Grant propelled forward, holding you tight, and you stumbled back into the corner until your back collided with the wall, the impact drawing out a pleasurable hiss from your throat.

“It’s not. It’s absolutely not. You nearly drove me into talking to a shrink about you.” You nearly stopped Grant to have a proper conversation, without all these interruptions. Between his kisses and the gripping, you were an incoherent mess if the tightness in your slacks had something to go by, but you instead followed along, entranced by how Grant could look so stunning when all he was doing was undressing you.

He started with the tie. “But then, that would’ve made matters entirely worse upon the realization that… I was so in love with you,” he whispered over your bare throat after sliding the cloth off. Next, was your shirt. “And that it can’t be fixed. I can’t be fixed. I can’t fix myself now knowing that you feel the same way. You do, don’t you?” Then, your undershirt.

You swallowed hard. “I do. I entirely do, am so much in love with you. Grant—” You struggled to get the words out without giving into Grant’s delirious kisses on your bare body. Maybe if you had stumbled, it would’ve delayed his ravenous appetite for your body a second or so longer—but even then, you weren’t sure if you were capable of witnessing and being at the hands of a man who was so clearly starving.

“Oh, Grant—that’s very…” Good. Erotic. Attractive. At least one of those words you were meant to say, but it would’ve been a relic of a bygone touch. Being mouthed at your perky nubs was as indescribable a feeling could get, but then when Grant began licking over your body, slowly sinking onto his knees as he worked his way down your torso, sucking spots and licking marks you hadn’t had the faintest idea about—you were reduced to the role of a whimpering bystander by which ultimately stripped your brain beyond words.

Grant undressed the lower half of you—all but your brown socks—and you had long accepted the fact that it was inevitable in showing Grant how much you enjoyed giving him free rein to your body. Your erection was strong, a reveal of flesh that made him suck in his lips to keep himself from ravishing you already.

“You’re leaking,” you wanted to hide and crawl in a ditch somewhere. It was embarrassing as Grant marveled over the thick trail of pre-cum that tagged over his fingertip when he curiously dipped a finger over your glans.

“Well, don’t comment on it…”It was like he read your mind, because Grant placed a warm palm on your stomach to prevent you from enacting on your wishes, ultimately trapping you in place by the gentle strokes over your cock. “Fuck…” you watched with bleary eyes, all sorts of feelings stockpiling to feed your endorphins

In turn, you felt your skin blossom with heat, patches on your neck and chest burning, because Grant refused to take his eyes off of you. He stroked your cock ardently while assuming an expression of treacly sentiment, like he couldn’t believe his dreams had become a reality. Watching you writhe over the wall, leak over his twisting fist, bite your moans into your hand; these were the exact amenities you would’ve have wanted had you sought for a mansion of your own. Not the towering stairwells, or the ornate carved fountain, or even a separate room for the live-in housekeeper.

Just Grant, his presence, and his magical touch. That was all you needed.

“Wait, wait. Grant, stop—“ You begged a second too late. Your balls tightened when Grant’s hand was only more relentless upon your desperate pleas. His hand massaged your thighs, lips mouthed at the underside of your sack. The prospect of you returning the favor for Grant—or better, with your mouth, hoarding what had yet to be revealed deep down your throat—made you shudder with a release. “Fuck—”

“It’s okay. I’ve been meaning to taste you…” Upon the violent tremble of your thighs, Grant scooted closer, deftly angling and pumping your cock over his open mouth, and let you shoot. You blinked past tears as you felt yourself spill thick shots in Grant’s mouth, over his tongue as he cradled your seeds like they were precious metals, and at the last second, over his face because you stumbled out of his grasp and caught yourself on the wall, heaving.

It had taken a moment for you to catch your breath, shutting your eyes as the tremor in your body would jolt from out of the blue. It was all too much, the sweet relief courteous by the man you loved. You were embarrassed by how quickly Grant had unraveled you, but that was certainly a testament to your attraction to him, or to his skills.

When you opened your eyes, Grant pulled you by the hips for another kiss. A strong embrace to control the tides in your body. Then, a wet and sloppy kiss to clarify that Grant wasn’t done yet, as he breached your mouth with his tongue and surprised you by passing cum into your mouth. It was an ongoing battle, the thick substance swapping from tongue to another, the bitter notes subsiding as more saliva snowballed into the mixture. Between the lewd exchange, Grant began undressing himself out of anticipation of what would come next.

“Swallow,” Grant broke the kiss with a whisper, resting his forehead on yours to feast his eyes on the very prospect of you fulfilling his demand. It was an immense pull of attraction, the slow cascade of his hand over your spine following along with it, that made you gulp the thick content in your mouth. He seemed satisfied when your throat bobbed, smiling. “Good?”

“I imagine yours would taste better,” you rested a hand over your his head, coming his hair back with your fingers until they reached the back of his neck, offering you leverage for another kiss—sweet and clean on Grant’s lips.

“I wouldn’t mind if you tried me out,” Grant was already down to his briefs, his eyes subtly pleading for the sake of his thickened bulge. Prior to noticing, you had been roaming your hand over his lean body. His bare chest, the well-defined muscles breaking you of your fantasies—because it was better than you could have imagined. Grant looked about two seconds away from forcing you on your knees himself, but lucky for him, you were just as eager.

Sinking onto your knees, you carefully pulled down his briefs. Slowly at first, to compose yourself, but then to test your patience, because the length of Grant’s shaft seemed never-ending. When you fully stripped him of his briefs, you had to take a scoot back in fear that his impressive cock would hit you in the face.

Grant was massive, the weight of his length making it stoop forward and dangle with every step he took. There was one protruding vein that nearly made you drop everything and sucked him off right then and there, until he was fully hard in your mouth and you could feel more veins throbbing—but again, you needed to show him some type of restraint, even though at this point, you doubted that he cared.

“So, the rumors are true, then?” Instantly, you were taken back to a gossip column regarding Grant’s size. Whoever tipped those writers off should win a Pulitzer Prize.

Grant shrugged, apparently nonchalant at the fact that he could practically cover the length of your face with such ease. “Had no idea where that came from, honestly…” Holding his thighs, you briefly trialed the theory out under the guise of kissing the underside of his thick shaft. Between licking the flesh, kissing his balls, and fondling his cock, you were also completely immersed in the smell of his cock. He smelled like pure arousal, a peculiar saltiness in your nostrils as you breathed him in, from unkempt pubic hairs to the leaking tip. Nonetheless, it was gratifying as your cock responded in several twitches.

“I don’t think I can fit you in my mouth,” you said, aware that you were grinning like a fool.

“It’s the effort that matters,” he chuckled, his hand smoothening over your head to rest on your nape, pushing your mouth closer to his hardening cock. With one hand braced on his thigh and the other wrapped around the base of his cock, you felt Grant tense when you cradled the tip into your mouth with your tongue, sucking. “Your mouth is so warm, (M/N)…”

He was as salty as he smelled. The pre-cum coated your tongue nicely, resembling the taste of your cum prior, but somehow ten times more potent, as if you were drinking sex directly from concentrate. What was even nicer was how heavy your mouth felt when you took more of Grant in. It was like the weight of him had its own gravitational pull, separating your mouth wider to accommodate the massive girth like sucking a cock this big came second-hand nature to you. You reckoned that you should become quickly accustomed to it though, because you couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving Grant disappointed.

You and Grant were like this for a couple of minutes; Grant pushing out drips of spit with his mouth to add onto the wetness and you doing the same thing, pushing your saliva out and spreading the thick layer over his shaft with your hand to help ease the slide into your mouth. You could barely fit more than a few inches, your cheeks hallowing for as long as they could before the strain of the stretch had gotten to the nerves.

“Oh, fuck…” Grant moaned, having had enough of your sloppy strokes by robbing you of your recovery once more and greedily pushing his cock back into your warm mouth.

God, the way it looked… a reddened, fat swollen cock straining in the grip of your fist, a drop of pre-cum glistening heavy on the tip, a thick layer of saliva over the thicker size of his staff… the fact that you could see your own fingers struggling to wrap around his cock as you sucked him off—it all felt so very surreal, and so very real.

“You’re so big, Grant. Fuck…” You lifted your gaze and stared into Grant’s nebulous eyes. Somehow, it made the act ten times more obscene upon realizing that you were practically servicing him, on your knees, worshiping all facets of his body. His calves were toned against your lips, thighs sturdier as Grant made an effort to stabilize his stance following your teasing mouth working up his legs with ticklish kisses, then back to the head of his cock, where you began nibbling at the swollen head.

“Christ, (M/N)…”

He was always very expressive, but in the moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Dumbfounded, as you began using two hands to stroke what you couldn’t fit inside of your mouth. Swiveling and twirling his wet cock with your fists, all while you sucked and licked on his swollen tip, feeding into the rush that made his cock throb so hard in your mouth and hands, into the delightful sounds that revived your sensitive cock back with life.

Grant bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making any sound. What came out were staggered breaths, clear evidence of his indulgence while his hips were moving without his volition. Your plump lips stretched wide around his pistoning cock, sucking and slobbering over the hot ample flesh, eyes wide and disbelieving, as if you couldn’t believe you could fit this much of Grant inside of your mouth.

It was endgame the moment Grant hissed and sunk in his stomach, flexing his abdomen under way—everything was building to the perfect eruption. You had your mouth opened, stroking him over your face to catch him with your tongue as he had done with you. Grant was close—so close that his face could make you spill for the second time of the night on the strength of his twisted expressions.

Your delusions consequently settled you in for a rude awakening when Grant suddenly pulled you up on your feet and kissed you hard, yet almost apologetically on the mouth. You whined against his lips, ultimately kissing him back because you couldn’t get a word in from how relentless he was being by which you couldn’t blame—the agony of being nearly relieved would’ve wrecked havoc on your mental state.

“I need to be inside of you first, please—“ Grant begged hot on your neck. He backed you into his bed until your backside collided with the mattress upon the push of his hand. Then your chest, when Grant took free liberty of your body and bent you over.

The first thing on your mind was that, “God, this mattress was lovely,” but the second you felt something wet spread over your hole, all the compliments you had reserved dissipated and expelled through a shuddering breath. You were blinded by the soft bedding, burying your moans into the sheets, but you could conjure up the holiest image of Grant spreading your asscheeks open and exploring you with eager licks.

“You’re so good at this,“ you sighed, curling your toes into your socks.

“You bring out the best in me, you know…” Grant muttered, squeezing your ass cheeks as a sign of affection when you looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. His mouth was much too busy to verbalize his feelings.

You wondered if Grant was aware of how obscene he had sounded—these wet, slurpy sounds that his mouth made while tasting your insides. His hot breath was beckoning, pushing your hips out by inclination for Grant to give you more. More, more, more. It seemed like he listened to your body because you stiffened immediately, barely suppressing a surprised gasp, when his slicked finger entered you.

You felt like you were in a free fall. Finally. This was exactly what you needed. Your mind went utterly blank, unable to comprehend the single digit curling inside of you. It was thought-annihilating, the way Grant had curled his fingers inside of you—two now, after deciding for himself that you had been clamoring for a bigger fill, that you needed to feel a stretch.

“Please, Grant—that’s enough, please. Need you,” you whimpered, self-conscious at the sound of his wet fingers slipping in and out of you. He liked playing with your body, screwing his fingers deep inside of you, only to yank them out because it made you yelp.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he brought the rest of your body onto the bed, bringing immediate relief to your legs. “One more.”

It made your tight hole beckon for more with a pucker.

With such control, forcefulness, and precision, your mouth fell open in a silent moan and your eyes went wide at the push of Grant’s third finger. You could barely keep your hips still, even with Grant’s efforts to hold you down with a palm on your lower back. It was all too much, your whole world seemed to have narrowed down to your sensitive hole; the sound of his hard fingers pumping in and out of you; the slick sounds obscene and alerting in your ear; the sweet stretch that made the discomfort all the worthwhile—because Grant was just as anguished as you were. You could hear him stroking his slicked cock, the anticipation of the inevitable building as you felt yourself loosened on account of his efforts.

You knew you were well-primed because your body still craved more.

“No more… need you,” you bit out, breathing unsteadily when Grant pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto your back. Your eyes naturally fell to Grant’s cock, and it looked as mouthwatering as it did a few moments ago. Your hole clenched at the likely chance that you’d be feeling the ramifications of taking such a well-endowed man well into the next day, and the day after that. “Please,” you begged once more, reaching low to prevail him with lazy to his erection.

“Other than getting over that nasty cold, I’ve never seen you so desperate for something,” Grant was kneeling on the bed, adjusting your position so your legs were wrapped around his hips, his cock teasing your entrance with careful ruts. You felt the head press ever so gently when he leaned forward and captured your lips for a soft kiss. “I find it really, really, really charming.”

“Mm…” Your fingers, tentative and slow, cupped the edge of Grant’s jaw. This was just the beginning, you realized. A new chapter for you and Grant where the idea of dropping hints of attraction was no longer needed because everything came unraveling, faster than you had anticipated, but nonetheless, it was exciting.

Grant put a free hand on the back of your neck, threading his fingers through your hair, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, securing his place on top of you. When Grant broke the kiss to look into your eyes, it made all the difference between lust and love as he slowly pressed his cock into your hole, unlatching some kind of internal safety mechanism within you until it had clasped over the plump head after getting cold feet.

“Slowly,” you groaned, sweating bullets beneath the shower of his kisses. You built up a strong resistance to Grant’s hips, reluctant, and to put it quite plainly, frightened to take him in stride. But it was Grant’s silent promise to take care of you that took the edge off your apprehension bit-by-bit.

Grant followed a pattern. He pushed deeper, paused, then found a place on your body to distract you from the discomforting stretch, reeled back a bit, then thrusted deeper than before, gradually opening you up. Adding on the pleasing strokes to your hard cock, you felt your muscles relax, the sweat bullets cooling your body.

“More…” you mumbled on his lips, and at times you regretted asking for it, because Grant made your stomach turn. His cock was so deep inside of you, too deep when the stretch nearly became unbearable, yet your cock pulsed and your hole clenched for the exact opposite.

You noticed he liked talking you through it especially, whispering bone-chilling compliments like, “You’re taking my cock so well,” “Look at you, you’re so beautiful…” and your favorite, “You’re driving me crazy. Do you have any idea how hard I’m restraining myself?”

Grant was listening to your body. He knew what it meant when you were clenching so tight around him, panting for him with that wide-eyed look of yours, supplying his broad back with unrelenting scratches. It meant that you weren’t full enough—it meant that you covertly indulged in the stretch he was providing you with.

It was the best and worst feeling in the world, because you knew with suddenly clarity that you wouldn’t be able to live without this. You would crave this feeling always, especially when Grant fully breached your hole with a thrust that filled you to the brim.

You were full. So fucking full.

“Oh, God—“ The cock in you was thick and throbbing, easily brushing your prostate without so much of a motion. You nearly passed out from how intense the sensation was, having your inner walls be massaged from within as Grant finally started moving.

“You took all of my cock, fuck—I knew you could. I know you so well,” Grant grunted against your mouth, pistoning in and out of you with hard thrusts. Your arms had dropped to Grant’s sides, fingers digging into Grant’s toned buttocks, trying to pull him deeper inside of you.

Instead, he reeled himself back.

Your legs dangled in the air as Grant pushed your knees to your chest, leveraging the back of your thighs hard to properly pile-drive his cock into your hole. Your feet sweltered in the confines of your socks, but you didn’t mind because you were getting accustomed to the humidity in the air.

Grant didn’t hesitate anymore. There was wild fury in his face, the imposing strength and passion managing to be its only rival as they equally sought for one purpose and one purpose only, which was to fuck you into oblivion. Grant looked dangerous, delirious, and you feared him as much as you wanted him. In your folded position, you spread your buttocks apart for Grant to see how well he was fucking you. How deep he was stroking your insides with his thick cock, making you gape when he completely pulled out, then making your body shiver—when he screwed himself in with one hard thrust, overfilling your guts.

“You put a smell on me, didn’t you?” His voice sounded spiteful, but what he does to you was pure love. He growled into one of your calves between pants, smooching and grazing his teeth at the toned muscle.

The bed creaked with every thrust of his, loud and heavy enough that you wouldn’t be surprised that the corridors of his mansion were echoing from it.

“F-fuck—if only. You would’ve d-done this sooner,” Tiny tremors and tingles exploded as Grant pummeled deep into your body and brushed over your prostate. You were stroking yourself to the sound of his ravenous moans, to the sound of his heavy balls slapping over your taint, to the sound of his sweaty thighs coming into contact with yours, warning you of a sensation of pin-needles sticking into the area by virtue of the thunderous claps.

Grant couldn’t have looked more beautiful than this. The gel in his hair loosened, letting delicate strands of brown locks to fall over his forehead. Every so often, he would push his fringe back with a careless swoop, and you whimpered at how effortlessly handsome he was at everything.

It lit you up inside, your body bursting with raw energy with the brutal impaling that Grant was feeding you. Your cock throbbed in your fist, and your hole squeezed at the unveiling of untamed passion. Grant must have seen the desire written on your face, because he was triumphant in the smile he had given you, leaning down to wake you from your state of stupor by means of a sloppy kiss.

“G-Grant, I-I’m so, I can’t—“ Grant took over your mind and body. He was everywhere, inside and around you. It was like you existed only for him, and his massive cock. His tongue pushed your lips apart and began cradling the flesh that had held your garbled moans from being remotely coherent.

“I can’t hear you,” Then, he fucked you like he wanted to gut you. Grant reached deep, hammering into your prostate every time his hips collided against yours. “Tell me, what do you want? I’ll give it to you. You know I will.”

Your eyes rolled until Grant could only see the whites of them. Your toes curled into your cotton of your socks at the contrasting affection in his voice. Your hands sprawled and crumpled a spot in the bed sheets, pulling and tugging hard enough for one corner of the satin bedding to untuck.

“Come. I need to come—“ you gasped out, struggling to breathe. Your world had shrunk to one sensation, the spot inside of you that had been gifted the ruthless beating of Grant’s cock. It was like he was chastising you for causing such feelings to stir inside of him. If that was the case, you needed to memorize the recipe, and quickly, because you were desperate to reduce the chances of ever being stripped of this sensation to a selfish zero.

“I’ll help you come,” he seized your body once again, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and pushed his total body weight on top of you. He blatantly disregarded the fact that your limbs had never been stretched this far before, but it was all worthwhile when Grant satisfied your longing by wrapping his warm hand over your cock and pumped. “I’ll make you come.”

“S-shit, Grant!” Each thrust harder than the last, his cockhead repeatedly hitting that golden spot, and your cock ached with desire in the lovely pulling of Grant’s hand. Your entire body seized, writhing as the familiar feeling in your stomach kept building and building without the intention to ever stop. It embarrassingly only took a few more strokes before you would spill thick all over his fist. All over your body, cumshots joining your sweat in layering your moist skin, when Grant kept stroking with the intent to empty your balls until they had tightened into your body.

Only then did Grant slow his thrusts and pull himself out. Did he change his mind about coming inside of you. Over your body? Face? You couldn’t tell what he was planning as you just began recovering from the daze your orgasm had put you into.

“You’re going to like this,” Grant grunted, pecking you on the lips before reaching down to angle himself back at your entrance.

Your gaze was casted with a mixture of utter bliss and wonder, chuckling. “What are you—fuck…“

Your hole felt warm and wet all over again when Grant pushed himself back inside of you with ease. Furthermore, it was a peculiar feeling, like there was an extra weight to his cock, the sound of the sticky substance—

You gasped, suddenly alert and clenching as you felt something viscous leak out of you.

Grant was fucking you with your own cum.

You couldn’t have been more turned on. Grant rolled his hips just right, slow and firm, coating your raw hole over and over with your seed, building back his stamina in the process. His cock pulsated in you. It was apparent that it was feeding into Grant’s satisfaction considering his gaze had been fixated on the translucent sheen of your cum passing back and forth on the girth of his cock and your internal walls.

“So beautiful…” Grant moaned out, clearly overwhelmed with the state of his arousal.

With every thrust, you swallowed him whole, the long glide of his thick, cum-covered shaft, the kiss to your prostate; you gyrated your hips to prolong his orgasm and allow him to recover his strength as Grant freed his hands from your body and tucked them behind his head, giving you free rein on his cock.

You rolled your hips, using your core to swing your ass forward and back on his throbbing cock, drawing out deep and guttural moans from the connection.

“Darling, (M/N), fuck—“ Hissing, he suddenly seized your waist and gripped hard, impaling you onto his cock with a rough pull, and you watched his stomach tighten, wrapping your legs back around his waist in preparation of his orgasm.

You watched in awe as you lost yourself in Grant’s fill. He came hard, gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into your thighs. It was a marvelous ache, both at your flesh and your hole, and you could feel his cock pumping multiple heavy loads deep inside of you and flooding your guts as reparation for your pain.

Even though Grant’s legs gave out, making him topple over your sweaty body, the strain in his thighs didn’t falter the desperate need to sow your insides with his warm seed. It was as if he was marking his territory, moving his hips slow and relaxed because he knew you were bound to him the moment he kissed you. Milking his cock inside of you was just a simple reminder, and you hugged his hard, spilling cock with gratitude.

His lips were slow and gentle, a contradictory to the merciless invasion of your guts. Nonetheless, you rocked on his shaft, blissfully spreading his love from deep within, and savored his shuddering breath.

“You’re heavy,” you groaned out, rubbing your hands from his shoulders to his sweaty back. Despite your complaint, you didn’t make much of an effort—if any at all—to push him away. It was peaceful like this, feeling his heart beat come to a somewhat normal pace while you two were stickily intertwined at the hip. “Some kind of confession…”

The sound of Grant’s muffled laughter into your neck made you smile. It was light and feathery, like the way you had always felt when you were with him.

“First kiss and sex, all on the same night. Who’s doing it like us?”

“No one. Absolutely no one.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[crstilia]

Arcane actor AU scenarios!

☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Jinx and viktor have a sibling dynamic and they always goof off on set despite not having many scenes together. They always get in trouble for talking during scenes they aren’t in and they are constantly told to stop laughing so loudly.

Vi has embraced the flop duo title and calls Jayce her “floppy.” The crew then surprised them with chairs that say “flop duo.” Jayce proceeded to cackle so hard he had to be escorted off set to get a breath of fresh air.

Caitlyn and Jayce love to film TikTok trends together and they did the “give me my money” prank on viktor. He hit Jayce with his cane.

“Ok so what is this?”

“Ok so me and Jayce have been seeing this thing on TikTok and you have to say “just give me my money” and then after wards we all clap.”

“Yeah! But you have to be dramatic or like funny when you say it.”

“Uhm? What’s the point in that? I don’t understand the joke.”

“We don’t either but everyone is doing it.”

“Hmmm… okay? I guess I’ll do your tic tac.”

“Ok I’ll go first… ahem… just give me my money!” Caitlyn struck a dramatic pose and Jayce cheered and whistled as viktor just clapped.

“Alright… just give me my money!” Jayce said it in a weird accent that made them giggle and they both clapped, Jayce clapping for himself.

“Ok… uhm. Just. give. me. my. money!” He said in a sassy tone and he smiled at the camera before he realized he’s been set up. He looked at Jayce and Caitlyn both of them averting eye contact and just snickering amongst themselves. Viktor took and deep breath, grabbed his cane, and threw it over his shoulder like a bat making Caitlyn and Jayce shriek trying to run away from him.

Mel made a secret group chat with Caitlyn, Ekko, and Viktor where they take pictures of their cast mates sleeping in their trailers. They make it a challenge to see who can take the most absurd awful picture. Ekko always wins because he’s always taking pictures of Silco with the .5 camera setting. Mel comes in second place taking pictures of Sevika since she sleeps with her mouth open.

Vander is seen as father figure by most of the cast mates and he always comes to set even in scenes he’s not in to make sure everyone is doing ok. He helps them with their lines, grabs them coffee, etc. He once had to give Jinx a serious talk because she was doubting herself as an actor. The conversation ended in them both crying and hugging each other.

[smileysuh]

model cowboy - TEASER

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You maintain eye contact until the moment your lips meet, and then, you do your best to just relax, to forget about the cameras pointed at you. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss, following Jaehyun's motions, following the gentle notes that soon become more heated. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and on instinct, you open your mouth for him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer.  You try to convince yourself that you’re leaning into this for the sake of the scene, that you’re just being good actors together, but there’s something underneath it all. There’s a desperation. You can almost taste it below the spearmint on his tongue. 

tw/cw. unprotected sex, dry humping, breast worship, slow and adequate foreplay/pussy stretching/prepping, pussy eating, fingering, praise, slight switchy power dynamic but Jae is generally the dom/top, slight overstim, face riding, slight hair pulling, precum (jae is horny), dirty talk, sappy sex, alcohol, etc… I pet names: (hers) superstar.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 13.2k

🍭 aus.actor!Jaehyun, singer!y/n, fake dating au, enemies to lovers au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. 

“Talk to me,” Johnny says lightly, giving an air of friendship despite the fact that he’s still in his role as manager. “Talk to me about this whole PR, fake dating thing.” 

Jaehyun shrugs. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Those fake tabloid pictures of you and y/n from yesterday on set dropped an hour ago, they’re trending on Twitter,” Johnny points out.

“It’s called ‘X’ now, actually.” 

Johnny narrows his eyes. “I’m never going to call it ‘X.’ It’s fucking Twitter.” 

Jaehyun can’t help but laugh, for real this time. He loves Johnny, loves him for all of his little millennial quirks.

“Honestly?” Jaehyun sighs, feeling his energy sift again. “Y/N’s super uptight, but… she can act like she’s not, and that’s a different side of her that I wasn’t really expecting.” 

Johnny is quiet for a few moments. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“That song from her first album, ‘Forget About Him,’ was that written about you? Is there a past here?”

“Nah, it wasn’t about me,” Jaehyun assures his manager. “As far as I know, she’s never been interested in me like that. We had this other costar, Haechan-”

“Lee Donghyuck?”

“Yeah, him. They uh, I think there was something there between them, for a little while at least.”

Jaehyun can feel Johnny’s assessing gaze, and he averts his own eyes. 

“It almost seems like you’re jealous, Jae.”

“Yeah, well, Haechan never went on to become a brand ambassador for Prada or star in movies, he was just some little child star.” Jaehyun can taste the bitterness in his words, but he can’t help himself. 

“You know who’s not just a child star?” Johnny asks. “Y/N. You two are, without argument, the most successful people to come out of the show you were in when you were younger.”

“We’re both very driven,” Jaehyun admits. “I do admire that about her, she has a Grammy for fucks sake.”  

“What I’m getting from this,” Johnny concludes, “is that you’re completely fine with this whole fake dating arrangement.”

“Well, as my manager, you should know I’m a good actor."

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.4k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr Friday the 13th of December 2024

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

interact to be tagged when the fic is posted, reblogs and replies will be prioritized

[jamneuromain]

Stalker Lady pt. 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn. NON-CON/DUB-CON, pussy spanking, PIV, creampie.

Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.

A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3

You haven’t spoke for twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately twenty minutes so far.

You avoid looking in his direction or saying anything to him. Anything, really, even when he forces himself in your way – a dick move, he knows, and he’s probably using up all the quota of being a dick and then some when he was around you – bumps into you deliberately, and not a word, not a noise would come from you. You just … carry on with your life.

You have decided to treat him like someone invisible. Or air. Air is probably more similar to the reactions (more like no actions) he’s getting out of you.

“Have ye tried apologizing? Actual apologizin’?” Soap slaps his large palm over Simon’s shoulder when they are having a drink together, all of them in 141, slurring in alcohol as Simon rolls his eyes because of the pain that booms over his bones, “Coz yer being a massive dick. Dickest-dick, I’ll give yer ‘at.”

“I’ve tried.” Simon groans in half misery and half reluctance.

John Price, otherwise known as “Captain”, clears his throat in amusement, “Riley, chasing after her back and shouting out your apology doesn’t count. Apology, as in, say it in her face and she’d accept it. With flowers. It’s probably for the best.”

Simon Riley has known his team, his brother-like porn-producing family for a little over five years now. And every now and then something they say still gets under his skin because they are right. They are often right and never wrong in life and war.

Still, Simon kept that bit where his newfound love interest is his patron from the rest of his founded family. Something is best hidden, he supposes, not quite sure why he did so.

“Wha’ ‘bout your porn career, eh? Did lil’ missy find out?” Soap laughs loudly. It is clear that now seventy-five percent of his body runs on rum and tequila shots – whatever the brand they were just drinking – instead of water.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny boy.” Simon punches Soap on the shoulder, “Jus’ shut up ‘bout it.”

“Nooope. Not a chance.” Soap grins from ear to ear, “Yer in love, matey. Yer in luuuuv-”

“Yeah, and yer out of love, you doofus.” Simon growls like a bear woken up during hibernation, all pissed and agitated, “Your ex dumped your sorry arse -”

Price stops their childish mocking and punching with a glance before this could very well turn into a bar fight. He is well aware of what would happen when he puts two grown men with a pile of drinks together; he knows them like the back of his hand.

Price decides to change the topic for now: “On a happier note, our team’s Pornhub account has reached ten thousand subscribers, and our website patron number is heading steadily towards five thousand. I think the stats look promising.”

He might be wrong, but Simon seems gloomier on the changed topic. More sullen. And Simon’s mood doesn’t get better even when Price announces the next round is on him.

Twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately fifty-five minutes.

That’s how long before the bloody silence between you finally crumbles into dust.

Thirty minutes after the get-together with his pals, Simon makes up his mind to take up the suggestions his friends kindly offered - an actual apology.

But his stupid brain hesitates. It’s almost the middle of the night. He is drunk. Hazy. They don’t have some flower shops around here because many people tend to grow the flowers in their front yards. And what would he even say to you? That he’s sorry? That sounds pathetic and weak.

“Sorry I think you were a stalker. Just my friend Johnny had this experience and I have to be cautious.”

“Sorry I’m mean towards you. I didn’t mean it. I want us to fuck … to be friends.”

“Sorry I kissed you. But then you slapped me so I’d call it even.”

No. No. And no.

How on earth are the apologies he comes up with filled with layers of phony and pretentiousness?

He walks up to your door, while knowing perfectly that his house is a few feet away.

Right. Apology.

“Sorry, I think you look like someone. My future girlfriend, I mean.”

The hand he lifts to knock freezes in mid-air.

Certainly not this bloody apology.

Maybe another day then? Another day when he’s more sober.

Simon pulls a few steps back from your porch. On another thought, he advances, and lifts his hand again to pound – he means, knock on your door.

He knocks, twice.

The streets shiver under the crispy autumn wind. It’s approaching midnight, driving Simon’s thought back to the comfort of his residence, with some warm tea and nice buttery biscuits.

Faint rustling of leaves rings everywhere. The cackling of someone’s fence someplace alerts him for a brief second, but that is what it is, iron bars clatter. There is not a living soul on the street in this godforsaken hour.

Right. Another day.

He makes up his mind to leave when the door opens. Your door opens. You drape a thick bathrobe over your shoulders, frowning, “Simon? What are you … What is it?”

The part of his mind that has slightly less alcohol invasion takes you in carefully. Your watery eyes, the lower lip you unconsciously chew on, and the leg bouncing border lining on impatient.

Simon sighs heavily, "Hey, listen … I'm sorry, okay? I was an idiot. I shouldn't have said ’ose things about you being a stalk’r. I’m a dick – That’s … not an excuse, but I didn't think … I'm very sorry …"

You let out an exhausted exhale. Honestly? It’s almost relieving to hear the apology coming out of his lips. But he couldn’t have found a worse time to deliver this speech. You thought his house was on fire or something.

A strange, but not unpleasant smell hits the tip of his nose. He sniffs. Then sniffs again. Simon narrows his eyes. He hasn’t deciphered what the smell is, to be exact, but it is certainly unusual, and his mouth waters simply on cue.

“Look, I appreciate we can work this misunderstanding out. But can we discuss this another time, please?” You rub your temple to ease the tension thumping in your brain. Your mind is just as tired as the rest of your body. Even though your body, your traitorous body gets turned on the minute you see this big hunk of a man at your door; frankly, the last thing you want to do right now is to deal with him.

Somehow, Simon’s eyes travel down. Below your thick white bathrobe, a small trail of creamy substance slowly makes its way down your left calf. Despite the dwindling of the clogs of his mind falling in place, he is able to put two and two together: your arousal is leaking down your thighs.

You can’t help but hug your bathrobe tighter under his scrutinizing gaze, “Well? If there’s nothing else, I’d -”

He interrupts you mid-sentence by swiping his fingers between your thighs, gathering some of the creamy arousal at the tip of his fingers.

“Christ.” He murmurs. “Leaking.”

You let out a shriek. Your instinct is to jump back into your house and slam the door right in his face, but the truth is, you raise your hand to smack him, and he captures your wrist in the air before it swoops down on his cheekbone, and brings it to his nose.

Sniff. Sniff.

Fucking bloodhound.

“You dirty little thing.” He muses, takes his massive body as an advantage, forces himself into your house, and pins you onto the wall, invading your personal space like he owns this place, “Playing with yourself for one second and coming to answer the door at the next? Tell me, do you use toys? Or your fingers alone could do the trick?”

You can smell alcohol in his breath, which makes you glare at him: “You’re drunk. Get out of my place before I scream for help.”

Simon nudges the door open with a kick of his boot. His eyes dart to the opened door before focusing on you, “By all means, scream.”

Your scream thrives for only two seconds, barely making its way out of your throat before his other hand circles your throat. A shallow hold. A forceless grip. Your mind somehow drifts to the toy upstairs. Stained with your juices. Lying cold on your towel.

These fingers are much bigger than your toy. Your mind helpfully supplies.

“I’m gonna take that up as an offer, sweet’art.” Simon runs the tip of his nose over your jawline, murmuring as if you were lovers instead of enemies over the past month, “Either you tell me to back off, or-” darkened desires swirl beneath his chocolate-brown eyes, “or you are goin’ to let me do every-fuckin’-thing I want to do to you. You’re not leaving your bed until I’m done with you and I’m gonn’ stuff you so good that ’ose pathetic audios will never be enough. All you gotta do is to say ‘Thank you, Simon’. ’at sound like a deal to you?”

Your brain has already gone mush at this point, the voice coming out of his hoarse throat seems to have pulled the bones out of your knees and below, rendering them weak, soft, unable to support your body.

“Say ‘Yes, Simon’.” His lips hover above yours, whispering like a man in love.

“Yes, Simon.”

Honestly, you have no idea what you have signed up for, but the fire itching in your core would do whatever he wanted to relieve you of this misery.

He sinks his fingers into your plush thighs, hoisting your thigh up to circle his waist on hearing the confirmation, lips crashing into yours, while carrying you like a bag of feathers to your bedroom.

Your toy swept to the floor with a throaty snigger. Your phone falls out of your pocket when you are put – more like pressed into your own bed.

Must have touched your skin or his, because the next thing you know, the goddamn Bluetooth speaker by the bed starts playing one of his audios.

He spares a glance, disabling the poor thing in seconds. And by disabling it, you actually mean slamming his fist on it.

“Jus’ a pathetic cock slut f’r me, hmm?” He smirks.

That cools your skin, dissolves the thirst you had.

You knit your brows into a tight knot, “Why’d you always do that?”

“Wot?” Stripping, he is soon down to his boxers.

“Be mean.”

He snorts. “Bollocks.”

“There’s a big difference between sounding mean and being mean.” You shove his shoulders out of your way, attempting to sit up, “I like you better when you are behind that screen.”

Simon does not waiver.

Warm skin blooms under your palm, soft muscles and hard plain. Some hard as rocks, some incredibly soft.

“Let me go, Simon.” You push his shoulder, but he doesn’t speak, nor does he react. Dark brown eyes bore into yours, like you spoke Klingon instead of English.

He flips the Bluetooth on again.

“Wha – Si -”

Ghost’s voice booms by your ear almost painfully and heart-strikingly.

Careful, sweetheart, sharp knife.

His hand brushes at the side of your breasts, down your abdomen, circling near your navel.

It is different from your own hands, your own arms, your own fingers.

Foreign. Alien. Wet.

Sweat from the heel of his hand.

Shivers buzzing your exposed skin.

You know everything, every word, every second by heart. The content of the audio. The dozens if not hundreds of times you’ve listened to it.

What scares you and excites you at the same time, is that he’s following every word of it.

The Mr. and Mrs. Ghost script. Two spies making hate more than love when they confront each other after trying to wring the life out of each other.

Trouble thinking? Answer me, sweetheart. Ghost laughs almost coldly.

“What are you doing, Simon – Simon!” Your nails bite into the back of his neck as he descends and licks a stripe between the valley of your breasts.

He gives you a wordless look. But you think you read his silent reply.

They just look so … perfect.

Simon pinches your nipple mercilessly, slapping on it simultaneously as the voice of a crisp slapping echoes in the speaker.

So perfect that I want to make it. Ghost whispers. Hurt.

You scream. Or you think you did. Your pussy clenches on its own.

Traitor.

A gleam flickers behind his eyes.

But that’s not a problem, though, is it? Ghost chuckles. Pain slut. Dripping. Leaking. Already.

Two fingers plunge inside your folds. Filthy squelch rings in your ears and your body. One more authentic than the other.

Oh no, oh fuck –

You widen your eyes, not out of horror, but out of your knowledge of what comes next.

A gentle rub on your long-ignored clit.

The fuck? Did you just slap me?

“Simon!” You cry out, “Simon don’t you dare-”

Two more crisp, swift slaps from the speaker.

Ghost curses.

Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve landed. Ghost chuckles darkly after being slapped, three times. It’s only fair if I return the flavor.

A slap.

White hot pain and pleasure shoot through your core. Sprawling over your stomach. Paralyzing your spine. His palm comes in contact with your clit. Hard. Fast. Takes all the breath out of your lungs.

Your slick runs down your thighs, running over the dried-up trails, running into his palm.

A slap for a slap. Fair, no? No? You fuckin’ don’t think so?

“Simon!” You scream, “Fuck you, Si-”

He smears your cream around your poor abused clit, before striking down again.

Your hips buck up violently.

Come on, sweetheart. Just one more. Won’t hurt. Ghost announces, which sounds like your death sentence.

Much.

You think you just died. Squirt on your thigh. His thigh. Tears down the corner of your eyes. Your cheek. You have never cummed so hard so fast.

Sorry? Ghost pauses. Sensitive?

You whimper.

Huh? Didn’t quite hear you, sweetheart. Ghost mocks condescendingly.

“It’s sensitive.” You sob as Simon traces his fingers on your pussy lips.

Ghost huffs out a laugh.

Afraid you have to be louder, sweetheart. My ears are still half deaf from that bullet you shot at me half an hour ago. But I can see this pretty pussy begging me to fill ‘er up. That what you want, sweetheart? To be my personal little whore?

“Fuck me”? That’s part of the ‘slut’ job description, if you insist.

Simon’s lips curl into an amused smile.

You feel his smile on your lips as he kisses you deeply. Licks over the roof of your mouth. Nips your lower lip. Unlike Ghost. Unlike what’s in the audio. Unlike his sharp teeth and tongue.

The sound of the zipper being pulled down.

Uh-huh. This is me fucking you like I mean it.

One deep plunge.

Not so snarky now, are you?

Reaches your cervix.

He moans unabashedly. Grunts. Breathes.

You owe me so much than you can count, sweetheart. I’m tryna’ make up for our lost time.

Slapping. Skin on skin. Panting. Kissing.

Bottoms to the end. Draws out.

That. Ghost grunts. Was for the time you tried to poison my drink in Moscow.

Simon follows every instruction. Every pause. Every comma. Every time the breath becomes heavy in the speaker, he bullies your pussy just as hard.

That. For the time - when you bought out the corrupt police – Christ, stop squirming, sweetheart - and locked me up in a Guatemalan jail.

How. Pants.

Could. Breathes.

I. Fuckin’. Forget. A low groan.

That. Time. You. Nearly. Put. A. Bloody. Bullet. Through. My. Skull. Loud and rushed and wet slapping noise.

Reaches the depth you didn’t know of. Rearrange your organs that felt out of place more than anything. Hitting all the spots you weren’t aware of until now.

I’m being petty? Ghost retorts. Guess I am, then. Huffs. Oh, you want to cum? You can cum as many times, as you bloody please, sweet’art. His Manchester accent slips out in all the anger. Go on, make a mess on my cock. Ah fuckin’ ‘ell, missed this tight lil’ pussy.

Pause. A scream from your lips fills the void.

Stop? You can’t cum anymore? He bullies his cock into your clenching hole again. And again. And again.

Let me make one thing clear- Ghost purrs by your ear. I’ll stop when I cum, sweet’art. ‘Til then, not gonn’ stop shaggin’ you. Coz ‘at wot slut is for, bein’ my personal fuck doll an’ all …

Thick, long fingers find your clit again.

C’mon, sweet’art. Know you’ve got one more in you.

Your nails dig into his wrist. Having just cummed twice, the pressure he puts on your clit felt like scorching flames. Stung and overstimulated.

Jus’ one more. Ghost coos. One more. Jus’ one more.

He rubs with precision. Slow yet undeniable. Even though your legs kicking. Your nails leaving bruises on his skin. Your breath ragged, shallow, broken.

“Can’t … I can’t, Simon … ”

Gonn’ be a good girl f’r me and cum, won’t you?

“Si-”

Right ‘ere, sweet’art. Good fuckin’ girl. Empty yer pretty lil’ head for me.

‘s bett’r when all you could think ‘bout is my name.

His voice becomes strained, tensed. Almost rambling.

Fuckin’ hell, I’mma fill you with my seed. Gonna put a plug in you so it’ll take root. My personal cumdump. Take it, baby, take it. Fuck, fuck –

Stripes of cum coat your insides. Making your whimper and your eyes water in sensitivity.

He collapses on top of your trembling body, covering you up like a thick warm blanket. Soft, delicate kisses bloom over your forehead. Rough pads of his fingers run up and down the side of your arm. It is a harsh fall, after your pleasure skyrocketed, but you find yourself caught by the web he weaved. A dark web with a white skull mask knitted in the middle.

You lift your arms to hug his broad shoulders so that his heart might beat right next to you above the thin layer of skin and flesh. He has yet to pull out, and somehow … you are not in a hurry to remind him of it.

“Hope this is as good as an apology.” He – Simon – says.

A small fit of laughter bursts out of you, some giggles, then he joins as well, rumbling chuckles that vibrate on your chest. It is silly and comes out of nowhere, but this laugh turns out to be just the trick in resolving the tension you have had for days.

“I’ll give it an eight out of ten.” You bite your lower lip from smiling too hard.

“Eight?!” He pushes himself up, staring at you in disbelief, as if deeply offended, “That was at least nine for effort.”

“If you say so…”

Noticing your twitching cheek and the corner of your lips, he exhales out of relief, burying his head in the crook of your neck, grumbling, “You cheeky little … eight?!”

You giggle, “The sound effects of Ghost are a little over the top, don’t you think?”

He muffles your words with a deep, searing kiss, when you feel his cock throb in the confines of your walls. The sight of his sweating forehead and thin lips pushes your heart beat faster.

“Brought this on yourself, swee’art.” A lop-sided grin makes its way over his face, as he surges forward all of a sudden and adds pressure to your already-sensitive clit, forcing a moan out of your throat and his cum gushing out of your abused hole. “Let’s see if we can have a nine, should we try hard … enough.”

Taglist (also tagging the ones who may be interested): @vnknowcrow @splaterparty0-0 @prettygirleli @ksa01 @laciaheavenm

@mrs-marc-spector @msilwrites @kawaiisugarinjectionattack @eccentricallygothic @mothex

@aishidunno @gluttonybiscuits @bittyslxt @cersei-phoenix-thorn @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@reader-1290 @ohdrey89 @brittney-121

Part 1 Part 2

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to lovers | fame au p6 (final part)

p1 p2 p3 p4 p5 interlude

Steve thinks about second chances, as he walks along Greenwich Ave. He thinks about them when he tosses the wig in a garbage can that reeks of puke. 

And he thinks about them, when Eddie opens the door, eyes catching on the rip in Steve’s jeans, the liner under his eyes. When he lights up & says, “You came.”

Yeah, Steve thinks about second chances.

He offers Eddie a small smile as he walks in, can’t bring himself to acknowledge it all. The world of them. Him going. Eddie playing that song.  What that could mean, like, actually mean. Can’t do it yet.

He likes this place better than the mansion in LA. It’s messy and grungy with stupid, corny shit plastered on the walls. Feels more… Eddie.

They walk out to the balcony. It overlooks a tiny little green space, his neighbors’ homes. Eddie lights a cigarette and offers one to Steve. Steve quit years ago. Eddie knows that now. He takes it anyway. 

“Last tour I sold out Madison Square Garden and now I sell out Forest Hills.” Eddie’s chuckling, “Like I’m back at the trailer park.”

Eddie’s third album didn’t do the numbers his first two had. So they’d downsized, just a little.

Steve sighs, he didn’t fly all the way out here to coddle his ex, “It was a good show, Eddie.” 

“Yeah.” He drags, smiles to himself. “It was a really good show. I’m really glad you saw it, baby.”

Steve cringes, full body shiver. Eddie doesn’t seem to realize what he said, Steve’s sure as hell not gonna clue him in.

“How’d your meeting go?”

Steve tries to play it off. “Good. Pretty good.”

Eddie chuckles again, leans into him that way he always does, like personal space is more of a suggestion than a boundary. A hand brushes his cheek, a light, teasing tap of knuckles, “What’s pretty good, Harrington?”

Steve smiles into it. Can’t help it. “There’s uh… you know that blacklist script I mentioned last month? There’s probably a lead there for me.”

Eddie lights up again, bright and true, “Steve, that’s amazing.”

Steve snorts, “Not jealous?”

“Nah, I’m happy for you ba-” Eddie catches it this time, chokes on his drag, coughs and flounders, “Happy for you, man.” 

Steve’s not sure if he can do this, actually. Can’t face this Eddie. The one whose ego isn’t a storm cloud, who’s okay failing, who’s okay seeing him succeed. Who’s honest and sincere and wants the best for him. Eddie who would lose thousands of fans just to sing Steve’s favorite song. 

Eddie’s eyes are shiny, “But you’ve been good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Good. Keeping busy. I filmed an Amex commercial. Good money. Made my agents happy.” He’s rambling around it. He squints into the dark, drops it casually as he can muster. “I’m gonna start seeing that country singer, probably. The one with that Kansas song? Our people are setting something up.”

Eddie’s face falls, the sun out with a sentence. “What are we doing here, Harrington?”

Steve’s tone is bleary, sheepish, “What?”

“Been losing my mind this last month. Can’t stand not having you around. But you- you’re dating?”

It’s a shrug, it’s all he's got, “Sure.”

Eddie’s hunched, shoulders tight. He talks small. “You told me you loved me. Before you left.”

Steve huffs a breath. The air is cold. “C’mon. You were like, obliterating my brain with your dick. I say impulsive shit like that all the time.”

He doesn’t. They both know that. 

Eddie clicks his teeth, shakes a whisper. “Nah. You don’t.”

Steve falters, trips on his tongue. He finds his voice low and hoarse, he can barely say it, “Please don’t hold me to it.” 

Eddie won’t look him in the eye. He blinks up at the sky, “I love you. For the record. I um, I never stopped. Guess I’ve been pretty obvious about it.”

“Eddie, c’mon. Don’t do this. It’s not fair.”

“Date Dorothy.” His laugh is glacial. “I don’t mind. It won’t be real, right? Those things never fucking are.”

“I don’t know– it could be.” The ground’s falling under Steve’s feet. “Down the line, or whatever.”

Something cracks, crumples. “I had you. God fucking damnit. I had you and I–”

Steve’s not expecting the sobs until they happen. Flemmed and shaky and pathetic. Those brown eyes silver-wet like moons. 

Eddie pushes his palms into his cheeks. “Sometimes, after you leave, I just stare up at the ceiling and try to invent like, time travel or something. Just to go back and slap the shit outta myself. I was a goddamn coward. Couldn’t face it. Could talk around it, sure. Write it into my songs like that was honest. But, nah, I couldn’t look in the mirror. Definitely couldn’t look at you. I’m facing it now. I need you to know that. It won’t fix all shit I did, won’t fix the stupid fucking way I tried to fix it the first time. It’s there, it’s out, hell, it’s goddamn double platinum.” He sputters it out miserable, “But I am trying. Even if this– if we can’t. Need you to know I’m facing it now. I want to be better.”

Then Eddie looks right at him, looks at Steve like looking is enough to break his heart. “And I don’t wanna be selfish anymore cause it’s poison, Steve. But fuck. I know I don’t deserve it but if you’ll have me, I’ll– I’m there. Whatever way you’ll take me.”

“Eddie.” Steve doesn’t know why he’s here. Why he keeps digging this wound, ripping out stitches.

“Please? Can’t walk away again. Don’t have it in me.”

“Yeah.” Steve laughs. “You only do that when it’s easy.”

Eddie flinches. Shoves a ringed hand into a pocket. “Too late, huh?”

Steve scratches the back of his head and turns on his heel, “We can’t keep doing this.”

He gets as far the kitchen. Eddie quicksteps in front of the counter, blocks his out. But he’s cowering, ducking his head. “Did you um, like the song?”

It swells up all at once, that bone-deep cruelty of it. A gust turned tsunami. “Not really, Ed. Kinda broke my fucking heart.”

“Shit,” Eddie clicks. “Yeah, I, um, I’m not all that good at the grand gesture thing. Probably should have figured that out by now.”

Steve lets it all in. The red that’s been thrumming through his body since this whole thing started. Lets it possess him. He pushes into Eddie’s space, callous and cruel. “You’re really fucking me up, here. Do you know that?”

“I– I’m not trying to.” Eddie blinks. Frustratingly earnest. 

“What we’re doing– Whatever this is. It makes me feel pathetic. I’d be the dumbest asshole on the planet if I took you back.” He’s screaming now. The balcony door is still open. He doesn’t care if anyone hears. He wants them to hear.

Eddie’s lip is shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate you.” Steve murmurs. The red’s coming off in whisps, quicker than it ever had, easier than it should. 

Eddie’s smile is weak. His face is wet. “I know.”

“You ruined me.” He leans in, finds half a punch in it. Last one he’s got. 

Eddie closes his eyes, brow furrowed. “I know.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” He’s tired. Bone tired. Tired of the ache that only ever seems to go away around, well–

Eddie’s guilt is plain. It's all of him. “I’m sorry.”

Steve takes a breath. He thinks about second chances.

“You really want to be with me?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s already burrowed in. Ribs and guts and blood. “Got my priorities way out of whack for a minute there. Jesus, way too many minutes there. But yeah. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.  You’re it for me, Stevie.”

Steve groans, taps his forehead lightly against a shelf. Eddie’s hand lands steady at his arm, awkward and cautious and right. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No.” Eddie says soft. “You’re not.”

“Yeah, I am.” Steve shakes his head. Waves a finger into Eddie’s chest. “You sang Dave fucking Matthews.”

“Don’t remind me, man. They’re gonna start shattering my CDs.” He pauses, sincere as ever. ‘I, uh, wouldn’t take it back though.”

Steve groans again, presses his head into Eddie’s shoulder. “No, you don’t get it. You sang Dave Matthews and now I’m gonna have to call my team and tell them it’s not gonna happen with the country singer.”

Eddie blubbers, big Saturday morning cartoon recalibration. “You’re– what?”

Steve shrugs, catches his eye. “Now I’m gonna have to talk about my coming out journey with Angie at People and dude, she’s been on my ass about it for years. Total sore winner.”

He’s shaking his head, “Harrington… Steve. Stevie.”

But Steve keeps rattling on, “I’m gonna have to tip off the paparazzi that Dark Pines star Steve Harrington was spotted sneaking into Eddie Munson’s brownstone at midnight for a secret rendezvous. Gonna have to go for a jog around the block first thing tomorrow, with like, more hickeys than a teen who just got their first girlfriend.”

“You’ve really thought about this, huh?”

Eddie’s back pushes into the edge of the kitchen counter. And Steve thinks about that photo that forced them together again, about Eddie’s easy grin, about the soft adoration high on his cheeks, about never being so young. He thinks about fucking up and growing up and growing apart and changing. And he smiles against chapped lips that taste like cigarettes and coming home.

And he says, “Gonna have to find someone to give me the hickeys.”

And Eddie lights up like the sun, “I know a guy.”

And Steve, well, he thinks about second chances. 

[saerotonins]

actor!yuuji & actor!sukuna headcanons

ft. itadori yuuji and ryomen sukuna 

content warnings: fluff, itadori twins au, overall cuteness, implied x reader (separated), jjk manga spoilers, characters are aged up to 20+

wc: 2.3k (jesus christ lol)

note: i miss my little actors so much lol. also, i think this is a bit too long, my bad 😭

jjk actor au masterlist

as twin actors:

believe it or not, jjk is like one of the roles that had them cast together 

both of them usually like to play different roles in different shows because they just don't want to be known as each other's twins

love that for them, they're so real for that

but when they were cast, they accepted it since the script and plot were interesting 

yuuji is a sweetheart inside out and sukuna is the quieter one between the two, sukuna is soft for his brother though so don't get fooled by his tough persona

yes, he is the older twin LOL and always holds it against yuuji just to be petty

"dude can you get me that can of soda?""why are you ordering your older brother around? have some shame"

yuuji just rolls his eyes but before he gets up and get it himself, sukuna will wordlessly stands up and does it anyway

checks on yuuji whenever he does intense fight scenes

both of them do the stunt themselves since they ate both so physically active

education wise, yuuji graduated as a marketing major and sukuna has a degree in physical therapy 

which explains why him and his brother always practice fight scenes together and he helps yuuji with his stance and warm ups!

it's adorable really and he's so tsundere about it too

"no not like that, put your legs this way dumbass" like that typa stuff

sukuna started off as a model but was later on casted because casting agencies thought he has that great villain face

yuuji started off as a side character and really likes acting (he is the theatre kid between the two and sukuna is the quiz bee kid, their mom is BOOKED and busy) and later on recognized because he's just THAT good

yuuji is usually a romance lead or 2nd lead and a slice-of-life guy so when fans found out he will be in an action show, they are excited!

sukuna on the other hand has been casted as a tsundere in romance shows, sometimes a bully and an antagonist in action shows, but a villain that is literally so powerful??? that is so new so his fans are anticipating 

both of them usually arrive on the set together (sukuna is the one driving btw and yuuji just sleeps during the trip)

yuuji prepares both of their bento boxes btw

sukuna loves it

he can cook, but that's it LMAO

he won't admit it but yuuji is the better cook

lowkey a picky eater so yeah

ACTOR!SUKUNA HEADCANONS:

sukuna is the intimidating one (obv) so when him and the other casts first met + the first few readings, it was sooo awkward 

turns out he's lowkey a goofy guy

has fun with his costars and helps them with fight scenes too, gotta put that physical therapy degree into good use

both him and nanami have this silent bond because whenever they're together they just don't talk and bask in the silence as they sit, they just peace amidst their crazy schedule

also an avid toji fan so when this guy found out he's in the same show with his idol he's almost shitting bricks

let out a really loud cheer when he found out and only yuuji knew about it LOL

has a deep-rooted respect towards him and it's sooo obvious whenever toji is around

he is such a fucking fangirl

he just thinks he's so badass and feels so honored to be casted in the same show as him

feels bad that he has to beat up almost everyone 😭 he is also a sweetheart deep inside

deep inside, he's such a caring and protective brother for yuuji because even though he doesn't have any scenes to be filmed, he still joins him on set whenever time allows him

he may not show it but he's sometimes lowkey terrified about fans tearing him up into shreds whenever he kills their favorite character 

imagine sukuna dripping big sweats by the time THAT episode with [redacted] aired oh my GOD he was so fucking nervous considering their fanbase is so big

yuuji has never seen his brother THIS nervous before and he's enjoying it

luckily though, not much hate happened and most of the time it's just memes and playful banter

his ass is barely on social media LOL

in the years of his instagram existing he only has like 90+ posts or even below 😭 usually it's just promotion, being an ambassador, magazine shoots— very lowkey 

doesn't have much digital footprint and i love that for him

whenever he posts, his fans are EATING IT UP since it happens every once in a blue moon lmfao

ACTOR!SUKUNA AS YOUR PARTNER:

as tough as he looks, he actually can be quite clingy, just behind closed doors though

lowkey feels bad when he has to beat up children (LMAO) and his co-actors and asks for cuddles from you for comfort

it's actually kind of adorable 

sometimes if his schedule doesn't allow him to have time to visit you, you'll get messages like "babe i just beat up megumi :(" 

since he's not active on social media, he knows some stuff online through you or yuuji

kind of a sad reason why he doesn't go online as much is because as tough as he looks, he's just a guy scared of the hate he's going to have just because he plays a villain or antagonist most of the time

he knows it's not his fault, he just knows that some people just don't know how to separate reality from acting

especially when that scene where he had to off a certain jujutsu sorcerer actor with a huge fanbase

oh boy was he so fucking scared and ran into your arms for comfort :(

he's a softie deep inside ok

when they have to go out of town or even overseas to film, he gets incredibly homesick and misses you so much 

expect a lot of "i miss you" messages, including selfies and candid pictures that he took around the set to

practicing his lines with you is close to impossible, this guy gets all blushy and shit because you're in front of him

and since most of his lines are mean as hell, he just doesn't want to be mean to you

he wants to impress you so bad but when you're around he just becomes a little high school boy with a big crush LMAO

he's such a sweetheart deep inside oh my god

when he decides he wants to post a new photo in his ig, you're the first and only person he'll ask for opinions

so this just means that most, if not all of his posts were handpicked by you

wears your matching stuff like accessories on set and gets sad when he has to take it off while filming

when he learned that his character would have face tattoos, the first thing he did was come home to you with his face makeup on (he had to ask his makeup artist to let it stay) and imitate it on your face

i have this headcanon that sukuna knows how to draw (and is very good at it) so it takes almost no effort to draw the tattoos on your face

you two then have a mini photoshoot (aka just taking a lot of selfies) with the both of you with sukuna marks on the face

it looks so cute that he made it his lock screen

he's lowkey such a sap don't let the character he's playing fool you

ACTOR!YUUJI HEADCANONS:

THE MAN THE MYTH THE BABY

he is literally a sunshine in or out of acting

so polite and so kind it's hard to hate him (not that he is even worth hating on)

so naturally, everyone on set loves to work with him!

unlike his brother, before acting, he doesn't really know a lot of fighting stance (he's a marketing major ffs lol) BUT ever since he was casted, he doubled up on his working out routine with the help of sukuna

even invested his time learning boxing which later on paid soooo much

can literally make everyone on set "aww" whenever his script requires him so cry or even witness a gruesome death scene *cough* nanami and nobara *cough*

during breaks, him and nobara do tiktok challenges and even those kpop challenges all the time and the crew enjoys watching them do it and the fans like it too

he does it too with choso and todo

this guy literally has 3 older brothers who are protective of him it's so cute

this man is so talented, he can cook, sing, dance, act, and is pretty smart too during his university days, it's so hard not to be in love with him

the greenest of the green flags (just like nanamin!) the girls the guys the folks LOVE him so much, literally the standard 

just like sukuna, he was fangirling so hard when he found out he's going to be in the same drama with THE nanami kento

he's such a big big BIG fan 

has a fan account of him on twitter that is pretty popular but you didn't hear that from me

it's so cute when they're together because they're literally THE father and son duo EVER

has the time of his life whenever he visits nanami and his wife's house and just chill there, sometimes brings his first-year trio besties too (both nanami and his wife don't mind at all)

aside from sukuna, he sometimes practices fight scenes with nanami too!

he is so active on social media 😭 interacts with as many fans as he can and posts all the time on ig and twitter 

has a lot of cute interactions with fans too

by extension, his account is sukuna's behind the scene account LOL

since his brother doesn't post a lot, sukuna's fans tune in to his posts and stories of sukuna behind the scenes or even just some pictures of him that he doesn't post

some of it are just pics of the brothers chilling or going out

yuuji is literally the sukuna fan's saint because of the amount of sukuna content he's giving them LOL

ok but don't get fooled by yuuji's sunshine personality, because he knows how to bite too

whenever he saw hate tweets his brother is getting for playing a villain, he is quick to respond and defend his brother

lowkey a nightmare for the PR team but they know where he's coming from

and despite sukuna telling him to just ignore it, he appreciates his little brother more than anything 

ACTOR!YUUJI AS YOUR PARTNER:

one word: ANGEL

he's literally so lover coded oh my goodness

leaves you some post-it notes on the fridge every single day before he leaves to film

if the trip goes on for days he will leave at least three long love letters for you to read when you miss him and he's busy

creates personal vlogs JUST FOR YOU so if the both of you can't facetime, you'll still know what he is up to

when he was contacted to be the main character of the show, he confided in you whether or not he should accept the offer

don't get him wrong, he is beyond grateful the people think he's capable enough to be the main lead but it makes him nervous 

this is his first main character role and the pressure of it all is heavy on his shoulders 

he asked for his brother's opinion too but he trusts you enough to talk about his feelings regarding this

of course, when you said that you'll be there with him in every step and support him all the time and do everything to keep the communication between the two of you going despite his soon-to-be hectic schedule, his heart is finally set on accepting the role

you are so proud of him! your baby finally getting the recognition he deserves? hell yeah

his busy schedule was never a barrier between the two of you, yuuji never forgets to update and call you whenever his time permits and he always appreciates every cheer you have given him

type of actor boyfie to show you off his social media platform!

he posts your dates and even hangouts with each other

his fans find it quite adorable and is in love with your whole relationship 

likes to do those couple tiktok challenges with you and post them online, you guys even have shippers lol

of course, if you're the lowkey type, yuuji would respect that and will only include you in his online shenanigans when you feel like it or allow him to post it

practicing lines with you is always exciting but never productive LOL

you both just end up giggling and laughing 

in the end you just both opt to cuddle instead (or even make our LMFAO)

yuuji just feels so lucky to have his ever-supporting partner along the way

[yvesssssssss]

i just found your fics and I love them they're sooo cute!! if i may make a request, do you think you can write some sakadays x readers au of them with regulat jobs? like the jobs Suzuki suggested in the fan book (actor nagumo, writer uzuki, pro wrestler gaku, etc.)? i haven't seen anyone write about it so far lol.

thank you for all your beautiful writing!! keep up the great work :)

Thank you so much!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)I love this idea! Nagumo being a smug actor, Uzuki getting way too serious about his writing, and Gaku causing absolute mayhem in the ring just fits too well.

Natsuki as a baker is so good—imagine him running a bakery with Mafuyu, constantly bickering

Shin as a veterinarian? Perfect. He’d be so good with animals, but also constantly stressed when they don’t listen to him.

And Shishiba? Yeah, he’d 100% have that exhausted Nanami from JJK energy, just done with everyone’s nonsense but still scarily competent.

Hope you like this one ! !(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Nagumo Yoichi (Actor) x You (Makeup Artist)

"Hold still, Nagumo." You press a brush against his face, trying to even out his foundation, but he keeps making exaggerated expressions in the mirror.

"But how else will the world appreciate my range?" he teases, smirking.

You sigh, stepping back to cross your arms. "If you keep moving, you're going to look ridiculous in HD."

Nagumo grins, tilting his head at you. "Even if I look ridiculous, you'll still think I'm handsome, right?"

You shove a powder puff against his cheek. "That's it. Extra setting powder for you."

He laughs, clearly enjoying your attention, but when you step back to admire your work, you catch a rare moment of stillness in him. His golden eyes soften. "You’re good at this," he murmurs. "Makes me want to mess up just so you’ll touch me again."

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters.

Uzuki Kei (Writer) x You (Editor/Proofreader)

"Uzuki, you can't just kill off half the cast in chapter two."

Uzuki looks at you, completely unfazed. "Why not?"

"Because it’s a romance novel," you stress, pushing the manuscript back toward him. "The readers want emotional development, not mass casualties."

Uzuki leans back, rubbing his temples. "I suppose I could let them survive until chapter five..."

You groan, but he suddenly chuckles, amused by your frustration. "Fine," he says. "I’ll rewrite it." He picks up his pen but then pauses. "You always take this so seriously. You must really care about my work."

You huff, but you can’t deny it. "Of course I do. Someone has to keep you from writing a bloodbath."

A small, rare smile tugs at his lips. "Then I’ll make sure my next story is one you’ll love."

Your breath catches. You wonder if he realizes what he just implied.

Gaku (Pro Wrestler) x You (Physical Therapist)

Gaku groans as you press your hands against his sore shoulder, his muscles tensing under your touch. "Tch. I can take a punch, but this? This is torture."

"You literally threw a guy out of the ring yesterday," you deadpan, pressing a bit harder.

"Yeah, but that was fun," he grumbles.

You shake your head, amused. "If you don't take care of your body, you won’t last in the ring."

Gaku peeks at you from under messy strands of hair. "You worried about me?"

You scoff. "I’m worried about my job security. If you get injured, I’m out of work."

He grins, sharp and teasing. "So you do care."

You don’t answer, focusing on kneading out the knots in his muscles, but his smirk stays.

Natsuki Seba (Baker) x You (Frequent Customer)

The smell of fresh pastries fills the air as you step into the small bakery. Behind the counter, Natsuki glances up, brushing flour off his apron. "You again? That’s the third time this week."

You shrug. "Maybe I just like the food."

He narrows his eyes, skeptical. "Or maybe you just like the baker."

Your face warms as you grab a croissant to avoid his gaze. "Don't flatter yourself."

But when you reach for your wallet, he waves you off. "On the house," he says, sliding a neatly wrapped treat toward you.

"You’re playing favorites," you point out.

"Maybe," he admits. "But I don’t do this for just anyone."

Your heart skips a beat. Maybe this bakery visit will turn into a daily habit after all.

Shin Asakura (Veterinarian) x You (Pet Owner)

"Okay, okay, calm down—!" Shin struggles to hold your squirming cat as it lets out an angry hiss. He winces when it swipes at him, barely dodging the claws. "Man, your cat really hates me."

You sigh, watching your pet thrash. "He doesn’t hate you. He just hates shots."

Shin frowns, rubbing the new scratch on his arm. "Doesn’t make me feel any better."

You reach over, gently stroking your cat’s head. The animal immediately relaxes, and Shin stares in disbelief. "Seriously? That’s all it takes?"

You grin. "Guess I have the magic touch."

Shin huffs, shaking his head. "Wish I had that kind of luck with you."

You blink. "Huh?"

His face flushes, and he suddenly turns away, pretending to focus on preparing the vaccine. "Nothing! Just—hold your cat still this time!"

You try to hide your smile as you gently restrain your pet. Maybe you'll have to bring your cat in for checkups more often.

Shishiba (9-to-5 Salaryman) x You (Café Worker)

The bell above the café door chimes as Shishiba walks in, looking like he just escaped from a business meeting. His tie is slightly loosened, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he orders his usual.

"Long day?" you ask, sliding him his coffee.

He exhales. "You have no idea. Office politics are worse than actual fights."

You chuckle, watching as he stirs his drink lazily. "And yet you come here every day. You must really like our coffee."

Shishiba takes a sip, then looks at you over the rim of his cup. "It’s not just the coffee."

Your breath catches slightly, but before you can react, he leans back with a smirk. "Also, the coffee’s only decent at best."

You narrow your eyes. "You just lost your regular discount."

Shishiba chuckles, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Worth it."

Hyo (Gym Trainer) x You (New Gym Member)

"Alright, show me what you got," Hyo says, arms crossed as he watches you struggle to lift the barbell.

You grit your teeth. "I… got nothing."

Hyo snorts, kneeling beside you. "Yeah, no kidding. You’ve got the strength of a wet noodle."

You groan, letting the bar rest. "Why am I paying you to insult me?"

He grins, tapping your shoulder. "Because I get results. Now, try again—this time, engage your core."

You sigh but follow his instructions. Hyo watches closely, his usual teasing demeanor softening. "There you go. See? Not bad."

You blink at him. "You… actually sound proud."

Hyo shrugs, smirking. "Well, I am the best trainer here." Then he leans in slightly, his voice dropping. "And you’re my favorite client."

Your face warms. "I’m your only client right now."

He laughs. "Still counts."